The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1878-12-19
HOLIDAY Sights,

Holiday sights.
There she goes along the street, an ele-
gantly attired lady, with magnificent
chignon, leading her little dog with a
s'lken cord. The day is cool, and the
lady has caused her delicate, Hver-col-
ored pet to be covered with a handsome
piece of embroidered cloth, which is
fastened around the dogs body with
beautiful crimson and cerulean ribbons,
befringed in grand style. Everybody
looks at the lad y and her dog. The gen
tlemen and "b'hoys" smile, and the
young misses whisper to each other as
they pass, Chow sweetw And the lady
stalks along, her proud eyes shining, her
curls dancing about in the holiday
winds, her step more stately than that
of the modest, unassuming Queen of the
British Empire, while her liver-coIored
poodle, with his slim limbs and delicate
body trembles and shivers under his en-
broidered robe
an old man, holding a child by each
hand The three are ragged almost to a
violation of decency. The children are
shaking with cold and weakness-the
man is gazing into vacancy, his features
bearing the unmistakable impress of
woe and starvation. The queenly fe-
male stalks on, with her naughty,
painted face in the air; her dog trots be-
hind her in his embroidered trappings
the b'hoys" smile; the young misses
whisper their alteration of the lovely
lady and her "sweet dog;" and the
wretched old man and his two ragged,
attenuated little ones pass on unnoticed
by the holiday crowd of civilized
Christianity that fills the gay streets.
And there, interrupting the gay lady
at the street-crossing, goes a funeral
Yes-a funeral; for people can not
evade the dart of the " ruthless con
querer," even in the bright, busy, giddy
holidays. He aciU come in all seasons
alike. There are many eternities in the
human heart in this poor life of time
that are thus broken up when the heart:
of all are beating at the very highest
Eternal wishes, eternal hopes, perpetua
sights, perpetual sounds, delicious delu
sions of gladdened faculties, are swep
away in moment from the proudest O
mankind.
And it all ends in funeral
And this is funeral-the ore which
now passes us in the streets-of
wealthy and beautiful woman. Las
year, at this very hour, she wake,
through the streets with as stately
mien as the lady we have spoken O
above. Oh, she was beautiful beyon
conception-a paragon of loveliness
When the eye saw her, it blessed her fo
the beauty of her person and the perfet
tion of her toilet.
did Crecian ch;sal trooo
nymph, a naiad, or a grace,
With finer form or lovlier face!''
A few days ago this fair, fraiI flow
. suddenly wilted and died. And no,
: her form is borne to its last restin
place by large crowd of weeping rel.
! tives. What splendid decorations O
, , the hearse, with its wealthy sabl
! ostrich plumes! What an array of ca
riages and liveried servants! And ther,
e in a white robe of satin, in rich caskt
: lined with the same material, the faul
less form, that no sculptor's art could r
!, val, sleeps in its last repose, wreathe
. and garlanded, and strewn with whit
i camellias, white rosebuds, orange-blo
e SONS, and other pale and precious hoy
f ers-the bride of DEATH
e What terrible holiday pantomime
this-mocking our merriment, and Sc
', ting itself across our path as warnin
q A warning! But who cares? Sue
f sights are everyday ones. We ha,
e got used to them. They cross our wall
e the year through, interrupting us n
:, in the pursuit of business or pleasur
i nor interfering moment with our I
v pose. We know that our time mu
e come, too. But why think of it? L
e Ms make merry while we have the rnaar
e The rich dead, in her splendid orn
n a ments, feels neither sorrow nor pleasu
. at our enjoyment. She used life whi
# she could; and why should we pause
If mourn her fate any more than that
h the poor pauper, in his squalid rags al
lie pine coffin, who is borne to the Potter
g field in an express wagon, followed at
'e 'e distance by only the dogging footsteps
~ the resurrectionist?
-e " Such is life."