The Columbus journal., 1881-11-16
Ausnnsn Thoughts.

There can be nothing sadder than
the solemn hush of nature that pre-
cedes the death of the year. The
golden glory OF autumn, with the
billowy bronze and velvet azure of
the skies above the royal robes of
oak and maple, bespeak the closing
hours of natures teeming life and
the silent farewell to humanity's g
gauze underwear.
| Thus while nature dons her regal
robes of scarlet and gold i'm honor
of the farewell benefit to autumn,
the sad-eyed poet steals swiftly away
to the neighboring clothes line, and
in the honr of natures grand blow
out dons the flaming faunels of his
friend out of respect. for the hectic
flush of the dying year.
Leaves have their time to fall, and
so has the price of coal. And yet
how sadly at variance with decay
ing nature is the robust coal mar
ket.
Another glorious summer with
its wealth of pleasant memories is
stored away among the archives of
our history. Another gloomy win
ter is upon us. These wonderful
colors that flame across the softened
sky of Indian summer like the CORY
banner of a royal conquerer, come
but to warn us that in q few short
weeks the water pipe will be busted
in the kitchen and the decorated
wash bowl will be broken.
We fit through the dreamy hours
of summer like swift-winged bum
BILE bees amid the honeysuckle and
pumpkin blossoms, storing away
perhaps little glucose honey and
buckwheat pancakes for the future,
but all at once, like a newspaper
thief in the night, the king of frost
aud ripe, mellow chilblains is upon
us, and we crouch beneath the win
try blast and hump our spinal COL
umn up into the crisp air like q
Texas steer that has thoughtlessly
swallowed a raw cactus.
Life is one continued round Of al
ternate joys and sorrow. To-day
we are on the top wave Of prosper
ity and warming ourselves in the
glad sunlight of plenty, and to-mor-
row we are cast down and depressed
financially, and have to stand off the
washerwomsn for our clean shirt or
stay at home from the opera.
The October sky already frowns
down upon US, and its frozen tears
begin to fall. The little birds have
hushed their little lay. So has the
fatigued hen. Only little while
and the yawning chasm in the cold,
calm features of the Thanksgiving
turkey will be filled with voluptu-
Gus stuffing and then sewcd up. The
florid features of the polygamous
gobbler will be wrapped in sadness,
and cranberry pie will be burden,
for the veal outlet goeth to its long
home, and the ice-cream freezer is
broken in the wood house.
Oh, time! thou bald-headed pei
lean with the venerable corn cutter
and the secondhand hour-glass,
thou playest strange pranks upon
the children of men. No one would
think, to look at thy bilious coun-
tensnce and store teeth, that in thy
pony bosom lurked such eccentric
schemes.
The chubby boy, who danger sig
nal hang sadly through the lattice
work of his pants, knows that Time,
who waits for no man, will one day,
if he struggles heroically on, give
him knowledge and suspenders, and
a solid girl, and experience and a
soft white mustache, and eventually
a low grave in the valley beneath
the signing elms and the weeping
willow, where, in the misty twilight
Of the year, nOiselessly upon his
breast shall fall the dead leaf, while
tho silent tear of the gray autumnal
sky will come and sink into the yell
low grass above his hesd.-Ldramie
boomerang.