Democrat and sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1853-1866, 1860-11-07

IsT The melancholy days" are with Us
once more, for old Autumn has performed his !
work well. He has left but few vestiges of
tAe brief but glorious reign Of Summer, and
wherever We gaze we encounter proofs of the
perishabc nature of all that We deem most
lovely in this world. Although we cannot
say with favorite author, that this is the sea-
con "when meditation bids us feel, we once
have loved, though love is at end" (uo
one but nIisanrhrope could so feel, and
thank Heaven we do not belong to that un-
happy class of mortals,3 yet we de regard it as
the time when the mind is better disposed for
con temptation, and for fully comprehending
the frail tenure by which we hold our exis-
tence 10 this world than at any other season.
We behold on every hand the evidences of de-
cay and death. and passing away is legioly
engraved on almost every object that encoun-
GERS our gaze. There is uot withered flow
er or faded leaf on which we tread, that does
not remind US that we are but temporary So
jouruers in this world; that although health,
happiness and prosperity, may now be our
attendants, there will be an Autumn in our
earthly existence, which Will wither the
glowing hopes which we aow so fondly cher
ish; and that ere long our hearts will be still
led forever by the cold hand Of death. The
consideration of the certainty of death, the un-
certainty of what awaits US after we shall hare
passed that bourne from whence no traveller re-
turns, and kindred subjects, absorb our
thoughts. until We are compelled almost to ex-
claim in the words of the poet.
Between two worlds life hoyers like star,
'Twixt night s. morn. upon the horizons verge,
How little do we know that which are;
How less we may bel The eternal surge
OF time and tide rolls on and bars afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Iash'd from the foam of ages; whilst the graves
OF empires heave but like some passing waves" !"
Our old fricnd Nordecai. wh although not
much of scholar, says some quaint and even
some good things occasionally, in speaking of
the season and the thoughts which it is cal
culated to call up in the mind. remarked to
US the other day-"I think Mr. Editor, our
American law givers or rather law makers,
in nothing displayed their wisdom more, than
in having unanimously-with a few melan-
choly exceptions-selected Autumn as the
season for holding elections for all important
Offices" "Mordecai," we answered, can
perceive no particular wisdom in that 1 thins
our elections would answer the same purpose
if held in March. that they do iE October and
November. ''Mr. Editor" said Mordecai,' Il
See you don't understand so 1 must explain
You know that generally after our elections
e
didates. Now there is nothing IN the world
they say, so calculated to make man despair
despond and even to feel like committing sui.
eide, as to be defeated at the ballot box fol
an office. He is for few days at least q
disconsolate inhabtant of a gloomy world
in which hope and happiness seem 20 hin
to have no abiding place. Now is it not vel
that he experiences these sensations during
the season when dear Mature, the kindes
mother still" clad in her sombre robes
seems to sympathize with him, and even tc
join with him in mourning over his olghted
hopes? The trees stripped of their leaves
the withered flowers, all seem fellows in mis-
fortune, acd ne begins soon TO think taat after
all he is not the most unhappy wretch in the
world. Like our mutual friend George N
Smith, he abuses the Dutch, calls those who
voted against him political freebooters, or says
or does some equally foolish things, and i:
soon again in a good humor with himself and
the rest Of mankind. And now, Mr. Edi.
tor suppose we step up street and get some
cider. I'm as dry as two hours SER
mon, and so is my conversation. That's so,
Mordecai. but let us 60 and get the cider
we replied.