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BOROVGH PETTY SESSIONS.

POSTAL ARRANGEMENTS.

Family Notices

VALE OF CRICKHOWELL RAILWAY…

TRUE IVORITISM.'"", r'-

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I 1-0 WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MOHTAL BE PROUD? BY PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 0, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a swift-fleeting meteorâa fast-tying cloud- A flash of the lightningâa break of ',he wave- He passetli from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be hid As the young and the old, and the low and the high' Shall crumble to dust, and together shall lie. The infant, a mother attended anclloved- The mother, that infant's affection who provedâ The father, that mother and infant who llest, Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rtst. The maid on whose brow,on whose cheek,in -"bose eye, Shone beauty and pleasureâher triumphs are by: And alike from the minds of the living erised Are the mem'ries of mortalsv. ho loved her anc praised. The hand of the king, that the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest, that the mitre hatl. worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave Are hidden and lost in the depths of the giave. The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to rap, The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar, who wandered in search of his tread, Have faded away like the grass that we tretd. So the multitude goes like the flower or wed, That withers away to let others succeed So the multitude comes, even those we beh)ld, To repeat every tale that has often been toll. For we are the same our forefathers have bien We see the same sights our fathers have setn We drink the same stream, we see the sane sun, And run the same course our fathers have lun. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers rlicthink From the death we are shrinking our fathers did shrink To the life we are clinging our fathers did ding, But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing. They lovedâbut the story we cannot unfoil; They scornedâbut the heart of the haughtyis cold They grievedâbut no wail from their slumbrs will come They joyedâbut the tongue of their gladness is dumb. They diedâah! they died-we things that a'e now, That walk on the turf that lies over their how, And make in their dwellings a transient alode, Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pin, Are mingled together like sunshine and ran And the smile, and the tear, and the song, tnd the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shioud- Then why should the spirit of mortal be proid I Primitive Methodist Magazine. Sent by E. RCGERS.

IN MEMORY OF J. T. JONES,…

BRECONSHIRE CHARITIES.

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BRECON CHARITIES.

BRECKNOCKSHIRE BAPTIST ASSOCIATION.!

PRESENTATION TO SERGEANT MAJOR…