Fremont journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County [Ohio]) 1853-1866, 1855-11-02
DentIl of the Season.

The following beautiful tribute to the
Autumnal Season, is from the pen of An
SON G. CEEsrER, of the Buffalo Erpress.-
Such thoughts are peculiarly appropriate
at this season:
"There are single words which contain
more emphasis. more meaning than can be
found in many a volume. Say. simply
Heaven to the follower of the Cross. and
his soul is filed with celestial rapture
Say Home to the exile, and you have reel,
ted the tenderest poem that could be cen
strGcsed. Say Mother to the obdurate
criminal and his heart will melt like lead
within a furnace. Say Autumn TO the
poet and bis fancy is at once uncur5ed-
the springs of his patbos are unsealed-and
the harp ofhis passions is swept by fingers
that never sweep those chords in vain.
Mature dies annually. Habit has rem
dered US Indifferent to the circumstance,
else would it move and profit US. We wit
ness the process and progress of the dis
ease that coDquers her at last-see the
burning Summer fever that follows the
sweet and heal;hful Spring of her exist
ence; observe the autumn hectic that Aush-
es Ler cheek, and the after palor that set
ties there; watch her dying throes, her
death and, finally, see her sweet clay clad
IN the lily shroud of Winter, and her sur
passing beauties committed TO the tomb,
and all this without pang, perhaps with
out a thought Oh! men are strangely
hard hearted. Few there are who will
leave their business, their pleasures, even
for an hour, to attend the funeral of Ma
ture-and 10 enrich themselves with the
grave suggestions OF the hour.
Again the time of her death comes on.
Strength has departed from her limbs-her
:sinews are enfeebIed-her veins are fast
drying up. Slower and yet slower pace the |
throbbings of her great heart--feebler and |
yet more feeble are the tickings of hidden
pulse-paler and more pale grows her gen
tie cbeek-dimmer and more dim wakes
the light Of her eloquent eye. Who watches
the invalid as she passes away? Who
loves her so well that he will not suffer her
to die alone?
The days Of the violets are gone; the
days Of the heat-when the earth ap-
JProaches nearest 10 the furnace of the sun,
and warns herself thereat, until the beads
Of sweat glitter on her forehead-havep pas
sed away the harvest is gathered; the
-bounties of the year are garnered up. She
who dies has bequeathed rich legacies to
the world, which it viii enjoy when she is
not Strange, that in the enjoyment of the
legacy, we should forget the source whence
it came But we do y
Let the brown leaves fall. Let the S
herbage sbriVel and wither. Let the shrill {
wind whistle over the dead plain and thro' I
;he naked branches. We are filed with !
good, and care not for the general desola- g
ton BY which we are surrounded We
live tho Nature dies
"And yet there are eyes which are blind ,
ed BY scaldIng tears, as they see the clos
ing hour draw nigh. For when she whose a
end is at hand, sunk TO rest before, she k
sank not alone, but took with her those who a
we're precious as life or Heaven. And
their grief returns to them now like an
avenging foe. who having Leen once foiled c
and gathered new strength for the contest, q
zones to crush us with his power. Let =,
he dry leaves fall They shall be sprin-
lled and moistened by the tears of unnum- Il
,ered weepers o.
."The death of the yearl 1t is time ''
or solemn reflections, for subdued fancies, cl
or holy resolutions. 1t is a time to be h,
not wasted. There is poetry in OF
he air when Nature brealhes her last u u
here is admonition in the scene, when her is
'osom ceases from its throbbings-there is
oy in her going, for we know that she will sa
eturn again. al
' The hour offers thee Jewels. See that -
hou dost place them in a setting that is
eemly. and dost wear them proudly A
Use wilt thou lose a treasure such as an
els cOyet.%