The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1881-12-01
'rHE DYING YEAR.

Autumn Thoughts on the Solemn Hush of
Nature by the Sad-Eyetl Poet of Wyoming.
From the Lamarie Boomerang.
solemn hush of nature that proceeds the
death of the year. The golden glory of
autumn with the pillowy bronze aud velvet
! azure Of the skies above the royal robes Of
oak and maple, bespeak the closing hours
OF natures teeming life and the silent fare
we'll to humanity's gauze underwear.
Thus while nature dOns her regal robes
of scarlet and gold in honor of the fare
well benefit to autumn, the sad-eyed poet
! steals swiftly away 10 the neighboring
clothes line, and in honor of natures grand
! blowout dons the flaming fannels 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. Aud yet how sadly
at variance with decaying nature is the TO.
| bust coal market.
Another glorious summer with its wealth
| of pleasant memories is stored away among
the archives Of our history. Another gloomy
winter is upon US. These wonderful colors
that flame across the softened sky of Indian
summer like the CORY banner of royal
conquer come but 10 warn us that in 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 humble bees
amid the honeys1ckle and pumpkin BIOS
SONS, storing away perhaps little glucose
honey and buckwheat pancakes for the
future; but all at once, like newspaper
thief in the night, the king of frost and
ripe, mellow chilblains is upon us, and we
crouch beneath the wintry blast and hump
our spinal column up to the crisp air like
| Texas steer that has thou8htlessly swallow
! ed raw cactus.
Life is one continued round of alternate
joys and SORROWS. To-day. we are on the
top wave of prosperity and warming our
| selves in the glad sunlight of plenty, and
tomorrow we are cast down financially, and
have to stanl up the washerwoman for our
clean shirt or stay at home from the opera
The October sky already frowns down
upon us, and it's frozen tears begin to fall
The little birds have hushed their little Law.
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 vcluptuous stuffing and
then sewed up. The florid features Of the
polyga1nous gobler will be wrapped in sad
ness, and cranberry pie will be burden,
for the veal outlet eoeth to his long home,
| and the ice cream freezer is broken in the
woodhouse.
Oh. Time! thou bald-headed pelican
with the venerable corn cutter and the Sec
ond hand hour glass, thou playest strange
pranks upon the children OF men. No one
would think to look at thy bilious counten-
ance and store teeth. that in thy bony bos-
ON lurked such eccentric schemes.
The chubby boy, whose danger signal
hangs sadly through the lattice work of his
pants, knows that time, who wants for no
man, will one day, If he struggles heroical-
ly Oh, give him knowledge and suspenders,
and a solid girl: and experience and soft
white noustache, and eventually low
grave in the valley beneath the, sighiug
elms ami the weeping willows, where, in
the misty twilight of the year, noiselessly
upon his breast shall fall the dead leaf while
the silent tear Of the autumnal sky will
come and sink into the yellow grass above
his head