Year: 1862

The pilgrimage Of old 1862 draws to a
close. With rapid strides he fast approach
es the Winter Of Death. 4 few short
days and he will wrap the drapery of his
icy couch about him and lie down in
endless sleep. The last sands are drop
ping from the life-glass of the old year,
How swiftly as an arrow from a strong
bow, it has flown. How rapidly the
days, like chariots laden with the trophies
Of victory, have swept by! 1t seems but
yesterday that we stood at the portals of
the year, now 50 near its close, orreturned
thanks that the light of New Year had
dawnel upon the tents of our pilgrimage.
1t seems as though but single forward
step has been taken, for the shrines Of the
New Years day are still in sight-but
still it is the real fact that we have jour
neyed long distance, and are many days
of toilsome travel nearer our journeys
end than when the year began. We have
mounted many a hill of Difficulty, rested
at many way-side inn of Content, drank
Of many bitter pool of Sorrow, upon
which we shall never look-over which
we shall never toil-Gt which we shall
never kneel again. We have passed on
our journey many a milestone, and pluck
ed old MOSES from it, beside which we
shall never again pause for rest. We have
spoken sad good-byes to friends-friend5
whose faces we shall look upon no more;
we have smiled at bridals whose pealing
anthems of rejoicing we shall never hear
again; we have stood at graves, and lain
dear ones therein, whose feet will never
again walk the green paths of earth, and
whose sunny smiles will never again cheer
our dropping spirits,


But in the year so swiftly going, thus
thickly strewing life with shadows, have
we not also gathered here and there, clus-
ters of pleasant fruits by the wayside in
which we journeyed? Have we not found
leaves Of healing, with the cypress wreath
and sometimes, too, pearls at the bottom
of our cups of sorrow? Can we see no
ray of sunshine through the lowering war
clouds that enshroud, the e,nation like pail
and above the battles din and tumult
hear no sweet voice whispering Hope and
Happiness in the future?


All, yes! No life is wholly dark, thcro
are flowers as well as bramJles in every
garden: there are Joys AMI victories, as
well as griefs and defeats in every expert
once And to-day, looking backward
over the war-path Of desolation, .strewn
with blood and carnage, though we see
deserted places-dreary hearth-stones and
friends weeping for the slain in battle
we see also some pleasant hooks where we
have loitered, and golden epochs whose
glory crowned US with a halo. Therefore
let us be content.


The days passive grow old-threads
of ruSSet hue are woven into the woof of
life-silvery hairs lie upon our foreheads
staff and crutch become familiar COM
panions-our eyes grow dim and we see
but little way ahead; but the days in
passing rpen us for the life to come; the
russet tdread and silvery hair win for us
homage and respect--the crutch and staff
help us, weary pilgrims, to the home that
awaits us; and on our dim eyes we know
new light shall come, and behind tho
narrowing skies there is Better Land,
where staff, and crutch. and the ills Of old
age, and the soiled vesture wherein tho
immortal soul was wapped for brief
day, shall all bcput away ioreyer.-Day-
Ion Empire.