Rising Sun Times, Rising Sun, Ohio County, 1 January 1835 — Page 1

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NEW-YEAR'S ADDRESS OF THE OF

SING SUN TIMES,

"THE NEWS BOY hates the common way "Of running round the bush for pay; "Give him CASH, for gold is glory, "Then Lawyer-like he'll tell his story."

AGAIN old Time has cut his yearly through, Again the old year changes for the new - Again the voice of mirth is heard around, And happy hearts thrill with th' inspiring sound. Old THIRTY-FOUR is numbered with the past; For twelve months only could that number last, E'er on its heels another year doth tread, And then, alas! is numbered with the dead! Yet why regret that which we can't recall? - Change and mutation is the lot of all; E'en man himself, "Creation's lord" to-day, To morrow, worms may riot on his clay. 'T is our's while journeying on from year to year, To tread the path with caution and with care, To glean instruction wheresoe'er we can, And wisdom learn by studying Nature's plan. In pleasing retrospection let us cast A look behind upon the year that's past, For in that period much has been enjoy'd, And prospects bright have often been destroy'd. Our grateful hearts with rev'rence should adore The GIVER of all good, whose ample store, Has, with a rich reward, repaid the toil Bestow'd by man on earth's prolific soil. Jack Frost lias banish' d from his wintry reign, That enemy to health, that scourge of man, Whose darts insatiate seldom flew in vain, Nor age, nor sex, escaped its deadly aim. Our favor'd land, for aught I know, remains Free from intestine broils as despot's chains; Though demagogues there are who prophecy, That Freedom's Eagle soon must shriek and die. Such fools as these deserve the chains to wear, They fain would forge for others with such care; For when the bird of Jove forgets her home, That Guardian of our rights, the PRESS is gone.

It matters not whose hand controls the helm, When factious; billows rise to overwhelm The Ship of State -- the gale she'll safely ride, While Virtue and Intelligence preside. But when the day arrives, (and may it be Lost in long ages of futurity.) That Learning's lost, the Press forgotten -- then We'll be slaves, and well deserve to wear the chain. But this is an age of reformation, In Europe, too, as in our Yankee nation; Kings there are beggars made, and beggars Kings, And Misses rule tied to Ma's apron strings. And in our favor'd land of milk and honey, We're famous too, for reformation money; Old Uncle Sammy's Bank may sling his budget, And with his useless eel skins soon may trudge it. And now good people of this goodly town, I am no egotist you all will own, Or else an angel's name I would assume, In place of his whom all good people shun. It is my earnest wish to please you all, And chiefly those on whom I weekly call; And in my presence you need fear no evil, Although I am by Printers called "the DEVIL." I wish you all, yes from my heart I do, A happy and abundant year all through -- May apples, peaches, plums, and pumpkins, Bring you next fall both pies and dumplings; And may potatoes, turnips, cabbage, kail, In gveal abundance never fail; And may each shilling gain a crown, And then each crown a yellow guinea; Then if you fail to pay me down, Why then the very deuce is in you.

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