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“or nnucn-non MEN nncohu: lulsr ro ].!AD, um‘ nlrrrcurr ro nurvl:-sasr -ro aovslm, B171‘ mrossrunn -ro r:.vsl.Avl:."-l.or.n BRCUGHAM.
NUMBER 84.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1842.
The Last: Day of the Old Year.
HY-Till ll7I1'l)l'l: .
(31: the time this sheetis in the hands of our more
distant readers, the year 1812 will have ended its career-
with the time computers of this sphere, at all events-p
and gone to keep company with its eighteen hundred
and forty-one brethren that have preceded it since the
Christian era. Some three hundred and sixty-five days
have brought their contributions to our stock ofh:lppi-
ness or unhappiness, and we now begin a new combi-
nation of figures, which will identify, for the benefit of
futurity, the transactions ofthc year 18-13. We care
not ifthe last has been productive of individual misfor-
tune or benefit, for we hold it the wiser plan to look
only at the days of sunshine that make up the year,
leaving the gloomy ones to be buried in the ccnotaph of
the past. It is but a poor mind that continually evokes
the recollection of sad thoughts. Life hasquite enough
ofdespondency in its every-day occurrences, without
adding to our sum of misery the items of past annoy-
ances. In retrospt-ction, the ghosts alone ofdepnrted
pleasures should stalk forthetho forms only ofburied
joys sllould he disinterred; and if there be one time
more than another when these phantoms should walk
abroad, the last day of the old year is most assuredly
the time fitting. It is then that we srrike, as it were,
an annual balance between disappointed hopes and their
realizations ‘" ‘ the fulfilment at self-made pro-
mises, nnd those which we have broken. Man then
hegins,.to acertain extent, his life again-there is a
perplexing veil over the face of the future, which the
hand oftime alone can remove; and accordingly we
find that however uneasy at first we may be in encoun-
tering the new year, habit at last renders it familiar to
us, and the old one is regarded asa once intimate friend,
who has left us for nye, and who lives only in the me-
mory oi bygone realities.
The bells are ringiug'out the old year; harmonious
jaugling-for, contradictory as these phrases. seem, they
imply, atthis moment,tllc feelings with which we hear
thernestrilres upon the listener’s ear as the funeral ofone
we loved, and truly is ita funeral that awakes their sound.
The one year is dead-the other is born from the matrix
ofTime, and scarcely a second separate:-sthe two changes.
Various are the thoughts that creep OVPI ill? mind "5
midnight approaches, connected with the past. ‘lie ["9-
aeut, llnd the future. Like Columbus, when recognising
from the drifting seaarood that limited past him the
proximity of a new world, the mental vision becomes
conscious of another eventful era, from these symbols of
time's swiftness. The mind leaps into the future, and
dreams offuture bliss, always in store for those who bow
down at the shrine of imagination, are ready to repay
its votaries with glittering promises, that fade like the
mirage ofArabia’s deserts us they are approached. But
one more goblet of this toast and ale, and lo! poesy I‘:-
minds us that rhyme may have its claim as well as rea-
son. Our hrst 0lTering is to the past-brim up yon
tunltnrd with the beverage of the season, till the liquid
kisses thelips oftho curved ampulla, and, as, the old
yeartlies, lend time wings ofjollity to cheer his path.
' "line. to but who long
Hath wallcll the pod’! liglrl-3
The girl who gave Io song. ,
' what gold could never buy!"
And, with this apostrophe, let us, ye stalwart hearts,
. whose pen has been ever ready to aid our labours, do
right royal honour to the christening of 1843. A libs-
No. 52. Val. ll.
tion to the festive gods, and we will ourselves set the
example for our vocal con‘ributors to follow-
THI REGRET.
There is a pleasant memory clings,
To all our after years,
That like a (ran ' '
. Ill‘ 1 never die,
Iuoug we his wish in n dull,
That rullnll our very Ilexrlsllings lic,
Till death has snapped the Ihreull.
There is one face um he or lcparls
Though fate may do in mm,
s n-con-.1 ll)i’e lhntl. clmius ollr h-an.-,
lint ncvuzrlike me am:
Th-rear: some hopi-s lllul ne'er llccay,
Bill linger lolhe .ls'l.
The lvllli;;lll uf(lt:paIle1.l day,
The relics oftlla: past.
So as eaclllwclvemnnlll days roll round,
2 lnwe l0i'L'Il of yore,
ollr hearts llume joy: are found,
we have full In-fun.-;
Aml lhns as (oil: lllml bournc, ,
The lllmlal ' loves,
We rind Ult it-cling-, lhonghls, rclurn,
But nevcrfonllur loves.
wnhin
Thai
No, by’r lady they are too soon embodied in that same
Capulet cemetery the Swan ofllvon speaks of, to enjoy
a patriarchal longevity. liut, right welcome, Owen
Iowell, to our festive board, we have missed thee fmm
our circle too long, and still more regret the cause.
Troll a carol, man, instantcr, for the penalty of playing
truunt in our pages, and we grant an absolution forth-
with. Aye! that as nling nod is the best passport to
our favour, so list, friends, to ihs
SOINO OP " OWEN l>I0“'ILl.."
“ Ding! Dong, dong." go we ohl cllurult hell...
As uiry suing’ llrrul higll,
rly.
" Ding, llon dung, I Ihe olll church bells,
enlrr ma l-hllrcll nnh glee,
‘ t'orlife,llleb h- laullwifc,
in dong r on.
r
=
E
e
<
<- Ding, (long, tlovlg," go the nhl church bells,
' ' I I,
lnll dad,
by.
go Ille ol-I rhnrcll bells,
And why do you think Ihcy inn,-1
Thai llie than Hilly clalln a um-nan name
" Ding, dong" an the cllrlslt-uinz
9 ey wing in llleir turret high
For a rnnml huh Collie up the path,
Sollleylnll r m .
“ Ding, (Ion doing," go the old church bells,
nd lllcy seem to loudl wall
Oh! prepare to die for your lilllc is nigh,
" illg, dung," lvr tllefuneral.
" ping, (long, 4l<vng," go the on church heln
There is a useful moral, friend Owen, in the lay that
plenseth us much. It is a spirit such as this that pre-
serves the belle: (elm: from becoming dead letters, and
we hope that the day is far distant on which it becomes
extinct. But think not, as that incipient smile indicates,
our well-beloved Oscnliun, that you have betrayed n pun
updh our lips; no, rather do weeschew the verbal-
twisting art. A un is-but out with your tempting
scroll, that looks as mysterious as Sperlser's “Faery
Queene," and as enticing. too. " An imitation of
Spenser, with an inimitable specimen of the llnthos,"
ehl Why hast thou forgotten in thy temerity that arch
scribe, Mnrlinus Scrihlerus, who. in summing up a
martial chnraclijrin most grandiloquent strains, suddenly
pops plumb into the language of the regimental roll-book,
nndis inspired by the muse of the "Army List ;"
“Far-famed Dalhollsic ihc gm: god ol -m,
Llclllenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar."
[last thou forgotten this’! No, we are sure not, but
Pnlcn THREE HALFPENCE.
thou wouldst fain essay nrivalship; then a place for
Spenser redirirlls in our literary coterie
A l..l,Vosc.u-2 (AFITR sruxszn.)
n n osuo-rus-.,
Cay pratllinz down you rluhly nmlln!ain's brow,
Yrparkling lriils a lime wayward stream,
llltcrlng sweet. and rustling In ll! ow
from OV'ry vlllbiolls he-nn
Vnh myrinl sparks or lwiiltlllriiillg light
That as tllry Iotlch the uallil like walllullrle luciri.-is ignite.
Green on me mar
vrtinh >r'
ml rreqm-nt mute be llu-re e-pied, a fvw
G.-an shaggy tuns hr corrcl crimson-tipt in hue.
Ccrlu, um himplc mne was fair run! -
Good sonlh, lhe slrminitl b2lJl.)ll‘ll mi imiocdi
Aye gnniing in awhile; ‘lung Vi-lfet glow
Di’ inox:-primkthnnit--, “in-re mhins lw u did breed
Th:-ir t'dll0W)mIII;'. culling the tlmvny. cl
Ofdsnllullun Im-try .-blossoms Ill
Trt-Inhlvll (III by" . ;-lunllmlnlc wool
Hm none rnnml nnninm lueen, WV r I'nq blink
the purple-ningn moi um in hllns.-n nc‘cr Awlllkf.
o u n o u
N-.<hlen beyond l).-lme Nature‘: lillic di-plzy.
sn y .-c.1I'l-r'rI on hrrtt-(min-1 .
Far smllrrt than llic pipe nrnhihllinz iay
nn, w.n.-.-., or the plinnm-em Mp-
lrAma.,llnlna mivl my n
E:-lmlvl lllmc remnant rrlllllbi
nn...rn....nnq he
The llalllsl-l nwin , -mu in more
Turns on llII: oillor l-iilu, and gl‘I1lYIl)l(‘! " IVIMI a bore ."'
an.
a ibnusanll score l
The old ycar is dying; his eyes lack lustre, his touch
is cold and clamlny, and the feeble tones of his voice,
breaking at intervals through the stillness of the night,
are indicative ofllerlining strength. His last lamenta-
tions are borne upon the breeze, and speak of the plea-
suros of his youth,-ofthe grassy spring time, of the
golden summer. of the gauzy autumn. llis mindreverts
to Ihe long nights of.lune, wllcn stars looked downfrom
Heaven to witness earthly bliss, to sanction the exchange
of love-fraught vows, that perchancc his successor will
see broken. He hath witnessed the la t hours ofmany
human beings, and now we assemble lo behold his. He
hath seen the aged tottl-r oil‘ the stage oft-xistence, and
the young falter in the path oflife are the rose had paleul
upon their cheek. lie hath seen tears fall more as refresh-
ingdew than as dosolatingtorrents, breaking the heart and
paling the check in their efects. and with all thishe has
grown wiser in his progress, and profited by the lesson
he has been taught. rt’ brave sclloolmasie is the old
year that teacheth us much of what it is most profitable
for us,to know. He is ever a trusty friend whilst he
dwelleth amongst us, and when gone, his escutcheun
is hung upon our hearts as a memorial of Ihe past, as a
rnonilion for the future. Scatter roses on his bier, then,
imtead of thorns, and for n dirge let us have ncnrol
blyihe as the season which sees him drop into the tomb
me. '
But, hark! the bells have chimed the last quarter, and
I full argon of toast and ale is yet at our side. Up
then, contributors, all, and drain it to the llregs. Stay,
gently measure the melllegli-l in fair award to each, and
pause awhile in solemn silence, as the old rear crawls
slowly out. Erect, and with brow uncover:-ll, do honour
to his muncs. Twelve o‘clocL' strikes-tlrinkl
I 1842 is Dead. [
Z?‘
0
"t
‘ lirnnz-colll
rrmi.-a dwelling.
9
5 .)‘ouIn-- twuler.
: twink-in labour.
.. . ,
‘mu’