Year: 1878

/ There is charm in the mild days


of autumn that tranquilizes the soul


and mellows the heart. When we


see the leaves falling to the ground


one after another, we are reminded


of the frailty of human life. When


we behold the peace, the loveliness


and the glory with which autumn


expires, we just say TO ourselves,


this is the last hour of the good man


encircled with the iris of hope, while


the golden rays of happiness shine


through the windows of eternity,


and sweet voice whispers in his


souls ear that the morning of i'm


mortality has dawned and breakfast


is ready.


The silkworm lays its eggs and


dies; and so it is with nature, she
drops her ovaries upon the ground


and crawis into her annual sepul-
cher. She is now expiring upon


her autumnal couch, ard her faded
wardrobe lies scattered about in
every room and corner of the uni
verse. Her summer glories are fad
ing fast away, but she goes smiling
down to the grave, and bushes at
the approach of the bridegroom,
Death, as a young and beautiful
bride bushes before the hymenial
altar and over the tomb of her past
virgin delights. Ere she breathes
her last the pine, tie hemlock and
the laurel shall twine together and
crown her withered brow with an
evergreen wreath, which shall flour
ish through the long gloom of win
ter like the bays of faith which the
Christian wears untouched and un-
touchable by the boary frosts of
time.


Talking about brides and bride
grooms, Mr. Editor, reminds me: A
very comical sort of affair has just
happened in this neighborhood. A
Mr.. II. was to have married Miss
Mary Puryear last Sunday night;
but last Wednesday a Mr.. Nelson
came into this neighborhood and
swore out an attachment and served
a writ of what Andy Conner used
to call "sira plucus'' (that is, a writ
with which you can take man just
as well where he Is not as where he
is on Sunday morning and took
her to Pulaski without giving Mr..
Ii. any notice whatever OF his inten-
tions. MIR. Ii. is sort of an old
wIdOwer and ought to have known
that a woman is very much like a
horse-may look pretty well, but
don't go right every time. The last
we heard of Mr.. II. he was riding
up Weakley's creek looking as sour
as an old maid. swearing that if he
had the power of wizard he'd |
straddle broomstick and ride from
Patagonia to the buttsend of time
to blast the fair prospects of that
mans posterity. Now, friend H.,
let me give you p little piece of ad-
vice. You keep out of the way of |
an old maid after this, for they'll Il |
ignite your combustibles and laugh |
at you jump, and she'll kick you
about like an old hat. Now, you
wait till next spring when the sap
rises and try an old widow. She
knows what's what, and longs for
further information. She'll smooth |
your linen and your cares for you;
mend your trowsers and perchance
your manners; sweeten your sour
moments as we'll as your coffee;
ruffle perhaps your shirt bosoms,
but not your temper; and instead
of sowing the seeds of sorrow she'll
sew buttons on your shirts; she'll
do anything but receive company
in her every day clothes-she won't
do that to save your life.


Until recently our neighborhood
has been quiet enough to render a
glass of soda water too stupid 30
but there is little cloud
arising in the matrimonial horison,
though not larger than a mans
hand now, yet it will soon be as
large as a bed blanket at least. And
as Elijah told Ahab to run lest he
he deluged in the coming storm, SO
Cally says to Cliff and Gray-"Fire
in the mountainsl run boys, runr'


Miss Willie Campbell of Mem
phis, who has been spending the
summer with her aunt, Mrs. Wilson,
left us few days ago, taking with
her Miss George Wilson to remain
until next summer. Miss Willie's
presence at the Wilson Home was a
around which cluster many
pleasant associations and bright re-
membranes, and we hope that her
recollection of the past will always
be a green spot upon memory's
waste, and if we never see her smil
ing face and laughing eyes again,
may she never be less happy than
when we saw her last. And to you,
Miss George, let me say


"when ranting round in pleasures ring,


Religion may be blinded,


Or if she gle random sing,


# may be little minded;


But when on life we're tempest driven,


conscience but a eanker-


Il correspondence fixed with heaven


Is sure noble anchor"


The young lady whom Frank
thought not "A-miss to Ida-lize"
was at Vale Mills a few days ago
complaining of her jaws being
rusty; she couldn't talk well, she
said; was afraid of lock jaw l am
afraid she won't live long, for
no woman ever had. loek-jaw long
before she died. / would prescribe
that Frank go over and tell her that
he was sorry TO hear that she had
made up her mind never to marry;
and if that don't loosen her jaws,
she is in a bad way.


Now, Mr.. Editor, let me tell you
a secret. 1t is whispered about
that the divergent rays of Joe Lind
says affections are being brought
to a focus by the burning lens of
love. Some young lady kissed him
the other day and ever since then
he says whenever he comes across a
beautiful young girl with tell .ale
eyes and rose-buddy lips. he can't
help swallowing what spittle he has
in his mouth TO save his life, and
that when Jacob kissed Rachael,