Lyon County times. [volume] (Silver City, Nev.) 1874-1907, 1875-12-30
THE WAY WE. FEEL ABOUT 1T.

We know as well as any that it is
the custom of the press of the coun-
try at the commencement of every
new year to indulge in q long
winded holiday-dressed editorial,
generally commencing "With the
gray twilight of last evening, Old
Time, with gentle swoop Of his re-
morseless scythe, cut the hind legs
off from another dying year! Over
the virgin hill-tops a new light is
already beaming upon a happy
world! Three million four thousand
six hundred and seventy-nine years
ago last night, the guardian angel of
Time placed the laurel of life ON the
beetled brows of omnipotent nature!
Already we hear the velvet tread of
the departing year as he limps over
the sober hills of thought into the
shadowy valley of eternity! Already
we feel the presence of the newborn
year as it skips through the gilded
halls of the PRESENT. Now, this is
all right, of course, for those who
like it; but We don't, at this moment,
feel the least bit poetic. We can do
it, if we get right down to the table,
with our Grecian- nodded nose press
ing down volume of poetry and
our lap full Of Cyclopedias, last
years almanacs, and a box full Of
clippings from our contemporaries
last years holiday editorials. We
say we CAN do it. We could just as
we'll write something to make every
mothers son of you bawl like hired
mourner at a heightened funeral, as
to write something practical. We
make no pretentions to being funny.
The germ of that most useful flower
ever planted in the human soul by
lavish -Humor-struck the
sagebrush part Of our heart. The
seed swelled up as if to sprout,
but never bursted. We have been.
"bursted" lots of times, but that
bulb of the soul which, when half
way thrifty, deluges the heart with
the wine of laughter, and plasters a
pair of rose-colored spectacles over
the eyes for life, dried up with the
advent of our first severe life-trial-
weaningl 1t is far better to be prac-
teal. No man has right to praise
God unless he feels it. The year
which is just now staggering away,
disgusted with all Of us and glad to
be forgotten, has been tolerably
successful year for itself and human
ity. No person who reads that asser-
ton can deny but that ne owes much
to the year 1875. Everyone Of us
owe it 365 days of life, save the fresh
babies who have been born since last
New Years Day-and those among
us who may feel the ley fingers of
old Death reaching for US before
Saturday morning! A good many
of US have got rich during the year
just past; some of us have 6 lost our
little ALL" These are principally
shoemakers. Agood many Of us are
no better or no worse off to-day than
we were year ago. All we had
then was "great expectations"
We've got EN- yet. We shall have
'em next year, and the year after, ana
it is a safe bet that most of them
won't be realized this side the grave.
We don't know what we can do about
it, save to nerve our tired arms and
keep stiff upper lip for the future.
1t won't do to "lose our grip"
When memorable Fate meets US on
the highway of life, and, like Wells,
Fargo stage robber, demands our
treasures, the most sensible thing we
can do is to "throw up our hands,"
shell out, and start in again. We
have been intimately acquainted with
Poverty for 80 years. We wouldn't
know Wealth from a side of sole
leather; but then we don't care. Its
honorable to be poor, and we had
rather be poor and be sure of going
to Heaven, than to have coin and try
to shove a camel through the eye Of
needle, as the Bible says that
Sharon, John Mackey, Boss Tweed,
and those other fellows have got to
do. We don't parade our poverty,
because we expect New Years gift.
We don't believe it is right to accept
presents, and we wouldn't do it any
quicker than President Grant or a
wandering Italian. We have already