San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1882-01-19
Autumu Thoughts.

IntT6 Gun Dc uOtuiuB nuutSa 'h"H 49,
solemn hush of nature that pres edes
the death Of the year. The golden
glory of autumn, with the blllowy
bronze and velvet of the skies above
the royal robes of oak and maple, speak
the closing hours of natures teeming
life and the silent farewell to HUMANE
tvs gauze underwear.
Thus while nature dons her regal
robes of scarlet aud gold i'll honor of
the farewell benefit in autumn, the sad
eyed poet steals swiftly away to tue
neighboring clothes line, ana i'll the
hour of natures grand blowout dons
the flaming hannels 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 decaying nature
is the robust coul 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.
Those wonderful colors that flame
across the softened sky of Indian sum-
mer, like the CORY banner OF royal
conaueror, come but to warn us that In
few short weeks the er-pipe will
be burst in the kitchen and the deco
rated wash bowl will be broken.
We fit through the dreamy hour OF
summer like swift winged humble bees
amid the honeysuckle and pumpkin
blossoms, storing away, perhaps, a 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 into the crisp air like a
Texas steer that has thoughtlessly swal-
lowed q raw cactus.
Life is one continued round of alter
nate joys and sorrows. To-day we are
on the top wave of prosperity and
warming ourselves in the glad sunlight
of plenty, and tomorrow we are cast
down and depressed financially, and
have to stand off the washerwoman 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 III
the cold, calm features of the Thanks
giving turkey will be filled with volup-
tuous stuffing and then sewed up. The
ford features of the polygamous COB
bier 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 pelican
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 countenance and store teeth
that in thy bony bosom lurked such &C.
centric schemes.
The chubby boy, whose danger signal
hangs sadly through the lattice work OF
his pants, knows that Time, who waits
for no man, will one day, if he struggles
heroically Oh, give him knowledge and
suspenders, and solid girl, and expe-
rience, and a soft, white mustache, and
eventually a low grave in the valley
beneath the signing elms and the weep
ing willow, wkere, in the misty twilight
of the year, noiselessly upon his breast
shall fall the dead leaf, while the silent
tear of the CORY Autumnal sky will come
and sink into the yellow grass above his
head.-Lnramie Boomerang.