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Show IMfll'P A 7 I The Rights of the. Women of Zionf and the Rights of the Women of all Nations. SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH, JANUARY 1, 188 G. Vol. 14: ' . Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell shrill. The deep-tone- d cushat and the And yet some tints. of summer.splendor dwell ., 'Where the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western ' '' ':''.' V V fell." Y. VALE, 1885. red-brea- st In silence, and alone"! watching, wait; " Something I have known is in departing, I listen for the iron toague of Time. hush ! To start the revealing requiem The clock, my timely monitor, strikes twelve; 'Tis the noon of night-t- he year is gone e in is tighty-fivEighteen eternity Pass on old year ray hand I kiss to thee, And ho regret is lurking in my heart Thou wert a link in life's all mystic chain, And in thy transit scattered joy and grief And health and sickness, wealth and poverty. With all the chtquered scenes of earthly life; To many, thOu hast proved a jewel'd link, To others,, sorrow and terfavement sad. ' Silenceis the only. voice whose whisperings ... ,: Opening the reservoir of memory, Unfolds volumes to my spirit ear Thou hast performed thy mission unto all, And now art gone to render thy report. : '11 -- - f W. 1 . Life is a mighty boon! Jittle know ... . v "T w " ' . ' ' ' ' away From November to May In your saddest array Follow tHe bier ' ' Of the dead, cold year, Watch by her sepulchre." nd jjje jj, - . . , " " : -- quaint drawing of the approach of winter: "Boughs are daily rifled v By the dusty thieves; And the book of nature Getteth short of leaves." , . , i -.-- r , , "The.melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sere; Heaped in th hollows of the grove the autumn leaves lie -:T:z:r7Zr.rZZ , ';' . dead; the the with rustle to rabbit's and tread; eddying gust They The robin and the wren, are flown, and from the shrubs the , - - past! and I have no regrets, For if I stumbled, I a lesson learned. To walk more wisely and more cautiously; If sickness, or privation; then I learned How grand js health and nearer God I drew. . But of all poets, none ever told the tale of autumn m sweeter or. truer tones than did " By rant: . -- joy, .. - , And from the wood top calls the. crow through all the gloomy day." . is - ' Notwithstanding the great number of trees and shrubs in this land, one does not see such a. variety of autumn' tints as in Utah. The brilliant colors of autumn in a. mountainous region, clothing the hills,-a-s they do, in such gorgeous hues that the eye is filled with a picture of ineffable brilliance, are . unknown When all seems bankrupt on the earth to us, here. The reason is easily given. In Utah Then cries out our soul, ""Nearer, my God, to Thee; " the frost comes while the leaf is still in the So to the righteous all is well pass on vigor of life, and turns it into Colors of indesOld year welcome the child of eighty-fiv- e cribable loveliness each ?r".?:3 nf veg'fs'.:: n The Heir, entitled,eighty-six- . a Uai peculiar t itj-l- r. Tho coinri Hannah T. , King. ' ' Salt Lake living colors blended in that divine 886. J of endlesswhich distance always gives, produces harmony a combination of such brilliant hues as painter, THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. in his wildest aspirations, never dreamed of seeing realized on canvas. But in Irelandthe Tn this part, of the world October 13 frost.creeps on slowly. The leaves are already the month of falling leaves. The charging from the prevailing green to a John Fletcher understood this, and tells poet the deadened brown by the process natural to light in which. he viewed it: ' vegetable life; and by the time autumn nights "He that will to bed go sober, V'r bring that nipping air we sometimes feel on summer evenings, the leaves have lost their vi Falls with the leaves still in October." tality, arid every gust of wind sends them. Some of Sir Walter Scott's descriptions recall many a fantastic scene to those who have trembling and eddying to the ground like snow flakes, while the boughs are bereft and denuded. .never beheld the landscapes he has in The beech, of trees that are not painted evergreen, such glowing colors. The following line, holds its is often a brilliant and longest garb though having a local applicationrwill suggest yellow, particularly if it be small and the to every lover of nature a picture oft seen leaves are on new arid tender wood. The lonz though perhaps in different framings: and ever visible hawthorne hederes soon lose '"Autumn departs, but still his mantle fold, their apparel; its leaves dry up, curl and turn Rests on the gToves of noble Somerville, a dull dead brown in painful contrast with the Beneath a cloud of russet with draped gold. lre8h and still green foliage and Jong arms of Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,' the blackberry, which runs through ... and new-bor- ' City,-1885-- ' 1 " con-sider- . ed . , : "While Tom Hood, in his odd style, gives a we through the" hedges,. intertwining itself with the more vigorous, if hot more hardy, thorn. The:firt theJaurel, the yew and the juniper re tain their undying green, whicb winter seems only to make still brighter. The hoi Jyt with its polished, jagged leaves and bright red berries, is ever the picture of life and loveliness, of which the eye never tires, and which is full of, such joyous suggestions as gladden the heart-n- d bring back the memory of ma uy happy 'days that have gone with many a painful sigh and many a heartache. .Viewing a grove in the distance, some approach to a bright" red may be seen; and- there are at times innumerable shades of yellow and endless varieties of subdued brown and russet; but one looks in vain for those fiery tinU which seem to set the groves aflame and which brighten and make beautiful the deadest of surroundings, such as are common in countries pf lighter atmosphere and more sudden frosts. In the meadows, wnere trees sometimes..gtand out bare and alone, the fallen leaves, partially buried in the grass, , turn it, or seem to turn it, yellow, or. brown, or red and at times a dark, inky hue, as in the case of the copper-leafe- d beech.. The. pathways are covered with rustling leaves and in glens and grovesand along the banks of the brooks, where one, in other regions, often times sees so much that ia brilliant and striking and lovely, the same dreary brown hue only increases the ' prevailing monotony. We are not entirely bereft 6fxflowers. The modest daisy still timidly lifts its unassuming head and offers a singularly vigorous resistance to the encroachments of King Frost; an occasional dandelion puts iu a half, starved c appearance; a few clover blossoms even yet are ' warmed by the sunshine when it strikes some Half buried in tho grass sequestered spot and always wet with dew, even on the warmest days, one may still detect a small, sweet yellow v flower, rising from a creeping vine of singular beauty, but of a name unknown .to me. The hawberries do , add life and would do more so were it not for the absence of thai green which is the charm of the holly. Tie pink tips of willow bushe3 and of "sallies" also produce a cheerful effect seen at a distance while fallowing thewindings of- some uncomplaining "burn;" and the golden yellow of the sand lends a richness to the surroundings and begets a fense of mantling beauty such as suggests brighter scenes and adds a lustre to the mental picture that is felt after the original has been left behind. The cuckoo left long since; the corn crake is a thing c f the pa3tj1the robin still lingers, but the swallow has departed and that tiny biped, the wren, is no longer habitue of the umbrageous ash. The crow and the jack- daw-now maintain an undisputed reign. On a bright, frosty day, there seem to be in- - ' dications of more vivid colors; but on tiie return of dull, drowsy weather (in which the atmosphere is charged with" mokture,- not heavy enough to fall, bit so dense that the smoke sinks lazily to the ground and hides itself away amid the fast bleaching grass), t he signs of brightness fade and the dead tints and monotonous hues return also. I have seen ail autumn afternoon so like an Indian summer that one could scarce tell the difference. Light, dreamy clouds floated away through the heavens, softening the bright rays of the sun which wouldr however, burst Jhrqugh at times in floods of golden light, while warm tints flitted hither asd thither through the azure still space or faded slowly away a3 if wishing . 510 - No. 15. - jtJsilcQme - , Old year, I do not ligtitly bow thee out My heart is full of gratitude and love, . The hand of God is ever broodingly "Above the righteous the veil is tain That hides its presence from th mortal eye; But the rapt soul in holy adiencc Feels the incense of His presence tangibly I The past . . ! ? The The The The warm sun is failing, bleak wind is wailing, bare boughs are sighing, ' pale flowers are dying, I And the year On the earth, her death bed, In'a shroud of leaves dead Is lying. "T . Its power to bestow or take away; But all must know that in its transit Is a school thro' whose exact gradations All the human family must pass Blest are those students who enter wisely And steadily, to larn the" lessons taught. To cultivate those organs, heart and brain, Organs that germinate immortality t Developing the divinity within, That spark that revivifies the dead Shelley's lines on the dying, year, possess a coloring that is singularly autumnal in many particulars. 1 This link this infant of eternity Gome to all mortals laden with events, And in Its record will reveals tale Of battles won, of glory o'er defeat. "' ' .. A . . -- ( |