Year: 1877

We are revolving upon the third
wheel of the year and scarcely per-
ceive the rapidity with which we
foil Let us suppose the venerable
gentleman, time, has hung his seythe
upon tree, set his hour glass upon
stump and is lying upon the road
side enjoying himself as though ne
had resigned his Office in fit of
lazIness. Let us look around lit
tie. observe, consider and moralize.
The leaves in the book of nature are
becoming brown Ike those in an
old ancestral bible, and yet it hath
its beanties. Its pictures are re-
touched with glowing colors, as if
with fancy's own pencil, and they
seem to brighten at every gaze.
When we look upon the wan fea-
lures of the fields, take survey of
the devastated dominions of Flora,
and then behold in what gorgeous
apparel the woodlands are arrayed,
we can help thinking some spirit
hand has collected all our bright
and favorite flowers, thrown them
into a cauldron, boiled them to-
gether and poured the dye-stuff
upon every grove and forest and be-
sprinkled the whole with the pow
der of last summers rainbow. How
calm; how quiet; how beautiful.
! The skies have assumed a more
tranquil hue; the atmosphere is
milder than of late; the distant hills
have donned bluer mantles ana
heaven touches their tops nearer
home and the sunsets-the glori-
Gus sunsets. And yet how silent
are the halls of nature. The dying
leaf Ioosens its frail hold and flick
ers down to the dead without a
murmur. The very breeze comes
holding its breath. and the minstrel
winds wander silently through the
woods as if they wist not what to
sing. The flowers are fading, the
singing birds have flown to a warm
er cline, and autumn is here.


Last Sabbath Rev. f. F. Pagan
preached his farewell sermon at
Trinity. He said that it was in
that house that he was licensed to
preach; in that house he first took
the Sacrament, and that he felt like
he was leaving home. His feelings
seemed to suppress his words, and
no wonder, for silence with me has
ever been the fitting language OF
sorrow. Farewell, Fielding! and
wherever you go may the Good
Shepherd turn you into the green
pastures of pure and heavenly pleas
ure; let you ramble along the flow
cry wales of delight; lie down be-
meath the cooling shades of con-
tentment; drink from the refreshing
fountains of hope; shelter you from
the bleak winds that blow in life's
wintry season, and in the evening
tide of life, when deaths dark shad'
ows begin to lengthen along the
dull valley of age, may you slip as
gently away as the mist that steals
from the mountain, and find your
self safely in Heaven without being
aware of having released a single
hold on earth.


You know, Mr.. Editor, that we've
cot two or three osd bachelors about
here that have told you about be
fore. The last time l saw Joe hC
looked as tired and weak as the ole
moon of a morning. And Franl
has just been lying around, kicked
about like an old hat, nearly useC
up by the flagellations of time, anC
soon they'll begin to grunt beneath
the burden of age, feeling their way


with a cane down the dark valley


singing, / would not live alway,
ask not to stay where storm afte


storm rises dark DER the way


''There is no mistake about this,



as the boy said when he awoke il
the night, felt of the sheets and fan


cied that he had perspired with al


uncommon profuseness. am sorr.
, for you, boys, from the apex of N,
! caput to the bottom of my pedes
Jack McKissack has laid arounC


too without a wife until he looks a
pale and as sickly as the sunligh
strained through the windows of
, Catholic cathedral. On account 0
such doings as that the girls hav'
to squeeze themselves into an un
? natural small circumference, whicl
! doesn't give the bellows in thei


bosoms a chance to blow and keel
the flame OF existence bright.


, like to see small waists as well a
anybody, and girls with hour elas
, shapes always suited my fame,


much better than these Dutch
churn, soap-barrel sort of figures
; but don't want the credit given T.
the corset. Now there is no use il
r that, girls. You give the boys
I chance and if they don't give yo
. such a squeeze as to make yo'


think a patent bed screw was pu
to you, Tll forego my faith in a


mechanical operations.


K. N. PEPPER.


The Secretary of the National AS
r @Nsx ..