78 



^ttlumn. 



The year is ;|)eeding fast witli its never-ceasing ronnd, 

 And the one green leaves are lying withered on the ground, 

 Scatter'd o'er the meadows by the diilly autumn breeze, 

 As it whistle^ through the branches of the leafless trees. 



And the path is strewn with wrecks, the silent glade along, 

 That rung not long ago with the sweet birds' cheerful song, 

 Now. flocking close together, they utter plaintive lays 

 In their own heart-stirring language, through the autumn days. 



And desolation reigns over forest, field, and hill ; 



And slowly runs the stream from behind the ruined mill ; 



AH nature seems to languish, ere stern winter holds its sway, 



And we mourn for Smniuer's beauties that are hastening to decay. 



AH the flush of Summer for this year now is over, 

 Harvest fruits are gone, and the sweetly-scented clover, 

 The beautiful wild-flowers in death around arc lying, 

 The wind a sad requiem over them is sighing. 



And each cloudy day seems shorter, as the weary sun, 

 Tired with its ceaseless lalionr, sets ei'e the day is done, 

 And we witl. sadder spirits have now no wish to roam, 

 Happy in the hallow'd precincts of a cheerful home. 



Sadly, where e'er we look, on every side are lying 



Decaying beauties, tokens of the dead and dying ; 



Mournful thrills the sDleinu warning through the death-like air, 



To all youthful nature, " loving souls, prepare, prepare." 



Leah. 



(Dbituanu 



We hare to record the death of a local genius, Mr. Simeon Hii-st, who died at 

 Woodland Terrace, on November 10th, 18GG, at the advanced age of 8-5 years. He was born 

 at Holdsworth, in this parish, on November 7th, 1781, and passed the most active part of 

 his life as a farmer, iilso, as a raanufactm-er of woreted goods, giving empIojTnent to one 

 hundred hand loom weavers, but since the rapid introduction of machinery for weaving, 

 Mr. Hirst has lived comfortably upon his means under a daughter's tender care. He was 

 popularly known by his himiorous poem of "DoUy's Gaon," and a prose piece entitled the 

 " Duke of Wellington's Legacy." The former was founded on a fact and is intended to shew 

 the effects of pride, and it is gratifying to learn that this is one of the few local pro- 

 ductions which has obtained a place among the "Ballads of Yorkshire, ancient and modern,*' 

 as it may be some incentive to those who have the power to write, even if it be a little 

 that they may leave behind them. 



'Footprints in the sands of time." J. W 



