Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1879-06-10
EDITORS.


parents have son who IS so useless that
they cannot even make minister of him
they turn him over to the printers for an
editor. We see some very funny and
curious work from such fellows; but have
never struck anything more notable than
the following editorial from full hedged
local paper published in York County.
OF course the paper is neutral in politics,
and it being necessary to supply leader,
the editor delivers himself as follows:
MUSINGS AT, MIDNIGHT.
IL Is midnight, and sit at my open win
dow muslng. The air seems oppressive on
account of its very stiffness, \ stiffness
which awakens train Of thoughts and
memories which will not be quoted.
Another day has fled its requiem has
been sung by the night winds; tbs written
in the past's great record book, TO be
thought of by many only as something that
tods. Its transactions who can enumerated
Whose the pen that can sketch Its doings
Fortunes were lost and won,-hearts made
glad, aud hearts made sorrowfnl, -antici-
pations realized, and anticipationS blight
ed,-howery wreaths twined for buShing
brides and cypress ones for sable biers,-
homes made cheerful, and hearth-stoncs
desolate, eloquent voices silenced forever
and blooming laurels snatched from the
brows OF the brave. llarp-StringS have
been set vibrating by touch OF ApOllo's
wand, and the hearts Tyre tuned 10 cloves
young dream" Other chords have been
shattered and broken as storm Swellings
and passion tempcsts, and naught but wild
and discordant sounds will they ever give
forth again. Such are my thoughts, %
Time The transitions even OF day we
cannot cnumcrate.
How like a dream are our moments OF
pleasure aud Happiness For an hour We
are revealing in luxuries, gay and blithe as
wildwood songsters sunbcams sporting
around us life-sky bright as the azure OF
heaven; golden stars dancing bel fore US /;
visions OF beauty, charming with their fas-
cinating splendors castles loom up whose
spires penetrate the very blue or the celes-
tial vault; the music OF the spheres
thrills with delight our souls; we seem 10
bask in angels smiles, and sigh with regret
when we awake from a dream so bliSsf1l.
Night waucs and day dawus. The car
OF light rolls swiftly through the regions
OF enchantment; imaginary tableaux dis
appear before reality rs the misty vapor
before the brilliant daygod; We open our
eyes aud discover that our sphere is earth
w. We see but faint outlines OF anything
beautiful; clouds heck our landscape; time
cuts deep burrows as dwelling places OF
care: disappointment, gloomy as the folds
of nights curtain, hover over our path
way,-we become discouraged, halt by the
waySidc, think of those good old days gone
BY. live the past over again, drink deep of
youths fountain, larry In memory's ever
green isle, and, feeling refreshed dream
again. Such Is life from the cradle TO the
tomb.
As Byron says;
Between two worlds life hoyers like star,
'rwi1t night and morn upon the horizons verge; ;
How little do we know tia, which We are
How less what we may bel The eternal surge
OF time and tide rolls on, and bears sfar
Our bubbles; as the old burst new emerge,
Lashed from the foam Of ages while the graves
OF empires heAve but like some passing waves.
We would respectfully suggest that
night air is bad for infants, and that the
editor" had better shut up his "open
window"
But that is not all. In the same issue
we find the following lines-if they are
not too uneven to allow of that appellation,
suggestive of spring poetry Who can
doubt that both editorial" and poem
were engcndercd by one brain, which
belonged to the fellow who sat by his
"open window musing,' at midnight
cold;
THE MAYFLOWERS.
There Is n modest little nower,
blooming in every dell:
And in sunny days OF childhood,
Oh remember we'll,
Ger hill and vale loved to stray,
Ne'er needing neetlng hours.
To gather from Natures garden
The beautiful MAyfowers.
This lower is loved for beauty rare,
And for lis fragrance sweet
IL grows upon the mountains side
The shady woods retreat
Doth ever seem more beautiful,
More like an Eden fair,
II meath the oversnAdowing boughs,
We 1nd the May. flowers there.
Though blended with more gorgeous hues,
The other flowers may be,
We always love the sweet May flowers
For its simplicity.
IL breathes Of purest sentiment,
OF never changing love;
And e'er directs our thoughts TO Him,
The Omnipotent above.
CURRENT FUN.
What is more deserving OF our sympa-
thy than young man with Is cents in his
pocket, girl on each arm, and seven ice
cream signs in Standardization Tran
script.