Year: 1873

w no comes with verse, and wishes fervent


Of Happy New Year, and, dear, SO on


Wishes and hopes that best of cheer


May bless you all throughout the year.
There was heavy time last night,
Throughout the land-think you twas right?
For men and boys, in throngs together,
In spite of dark and bitter weather,


To make night hideous with noise,


Which startled sleep and startled joys.
BY banging crackers, pistols, guns,


As though the bloody savage Hunns
Had from their mountain homes come down
To hold high carnival in town


1t made me mad, perhaps you too,
That men and boys should such things do,
Tdisturb our slumbcrs, and mar our dreams,
Draw us from fancy to worldly schemes,
And rout US from sleeping peace
To horrors which t seem dwould never cease
But let such wicked ones roll on,


+ er many years to them are gone,
They'll surely of their folly shame
When others play them the same game.


The yearjust closed had many spots,
Standing as recollection dots,


On which the speculative man


A pyramid of theories can
Build up. But these are not our theme.
With theories we cannot scheme.


Facts, stubborn facts, alone will suit
To urge us on in our pursuit
OF Knowledge, worthy of the name
knowledge that leadeth on to fame.
And yet look at past events


May bring wisdom, if our intents
Are such as to force on the turn
OF things by which men live and learn.
In the past year we We had selection,
By means Of ballot at Election,
OF the man to rule as President
The strife ran high, bat good intent
Govern j the folks, and scarce a crease.
Now mars our eountry's usual peace.
Much noise was made, and windy cant,
Bat was no use, for Gen raj Grant
Was from the first the peoples man
And triumph d as was in the plan.
But sad, indeed, proved the end
The country and mankinds true friend
The man who to all good gave freely
The matchless scribe great Horace Greeley
To the great work of the campaign,
To watchfulness by bed of pain,


To sorrows blighting, sorrows drear
Grown out of death Of wife so dear,
! Succomb'd, and Horace now has bed
In Greenwood mong the silent dead.
The people rejoice at first event,
Bat O er the last, in sorrow bent,
They mourn the loss to all mankind,
The wisdom and the mighty mind,
That mid the ranks Of Greenwood serried
In deaths last sleep fore er lies buried.
Well drop this theme-we have no voice
With which, mid sorrow, to rejoice,
Wen further on. and try to find
Food better suited to our mind.


But where turn our eyes? Food for pen
Is sad at best. On plain, in glen
Not much to cheer illumes the eye,
That we, in searching, can descry.
The Fire fiend with craving NAV
With ne er a thought of mercy law
Has, spite of worth, aud wealth, and taste,
Laid many pleasant places waste.
Why zen in Boston, there's the rub
He scorchcd the pride of the great Hub. y
New York, too, felt bis teeth, concarn him,
He even scorched the g humbug' Barnum.
And many others felt his ire,
In, killing, devastating Fire.
And Railroads, too, have had their share
OF bloody. burning deeds, not rare.
Indeed, take the year all way through,
There was little of pleasure to pursue
And, yet, with health and plenty, see
The year came both to you and me;
So that, for US, all was not sad,
And we may just as well be glad,
And laugh, and chat, as well as cry,
The l.St Won secs ali i'm my eve