The Arizona sentinel., 1876-12-02
THE DYING YEAR.

suppose IL UOoS Ol6! w nat Oh III {!
We know that everything pertain
ing to this mundane sphere must
die; the word perish. is written
on every page of the book of ma
ture. But the recoId-what of the
record? All! much, very much!
Let each man settle that with his
own conscience. We have always
written our own editorials, and
whether good or bad. bright or
spooney, they were always our
own, and we are responsible for
them. But on this occasion our
bright friend Of the Burlington
Hack Eye has kindly sent US
what he entities ian autumnalre.
verie in prose, by an Iowa poet"
much of which Is appropriate to
this latitude; therefore we extract
as follows:
Oh dreamy haze, vestirg the
murmuring river that stretches
away like siIvery thread under
a mosquito bar, winding in wood
ed hooks and creeping through
'lOW-lyiDg islands where the balmy
breeze is redOlent with the oder
of dead leaves and dead fish. Oh
dreamy haze, what dreams of
soulful tenderness its name re-
calls. Oh musty hays in the
street car; oh hays that used to
he full of humble bees; Oh, hazel
nuts on q another mans farm with
big dog hid in the patch. Away,
these memories are too painful.
Altar, the hillsides glitter with
gold and scarlet, and the mesquit
bushes climbing the slope with
their nodding pIumes look like
new express wagon coming down
Main street. The mellow air
brings into the CITY the rustic Of
fallen leaves piled deep on wind
ing cow paths, treading through
quiet dells, and winding along
the side of purling brooks. 1t
brings an OdOr of something old
Because it blows over the Rincon
How faint and far is every
sound. The ghosts of the dead
Summer flowers sigh in every
breeze, and the phantom of the
cow that butted the freight train
tinkles her dr0wSy bell afar. And
in the muf1ed tenderness, as a
falling star might d op on feath
er bed, we hear the transfers
CHEEKY call, Cup! We gqnl ding
ed lop cared SPAWN, r I'Il lam the
hair off We with the black snake"
And the muffied creak Ofthe wood
wagon plaintively on the ear.
Five dollars a cord and only cut
three feet long at that, and piled
so when yOu go to measure it you
can throw felt hat through the
pile and never touch a stick.
List to the pIaintive piping Of
the quail in the stuble. All. quail
on toast, and the plaintive piping
of the anxious waiter fer seventy
five cents. Avaunt, dull dotard,
take thy black shadow from the
fairy scene. This remark Was
addressed to the waiter and not
the quail on toast. I
Why, in these dreamy dark
autumnal days-we don't know
what kind of a day day is, but
we wanted another word that be-
gins with d, and could only think
OF dark and another one, and the
other one wouldn't do at alI-tb csc
kind of days then bring with
them a sad-a sad-sad, sad some.
thing, we knew what it was when
we started out; but stopping tC
explain about that dark knocked
it clear out of our head; sad-ir
isn't saddle, nor Saduce, nOr-ah
yes, yes now we have it. These
dreary days that come like ten,
der poem yelled in the delicate
drappry that hangs over thf
distant landscape, bring with
No sir, this is not the tobacco
factory; its the next building NJ
the street. Thank heaven he's
gone.
Bring the sad yearning of &
restless heart that reaches Out
amid the hectic fiuShes of the
diving year, as it would CLASP
No mann we don't want to buy
the Centennial Gift Book fOl
Young Ladies; no, we. have nc
friends of any kind; we have nc
sisters, or brothers, or relations:
we have no money, we have nc
literary taste. we have no desire
to read anything; we can't read
and don't know Of anybody who
can.
Among the hectic fluskes Of
the dying year, as though it would
plaSn-