MARRIED,

On Wednesday last, by the Right Rev. Bishop Provost, Capt. Alexander Don, to the amiable Miss Maria Berrimen, both of this city.

That union sure, completely blest must prove,

Founded on Virtue just esteem and love.

Happy, thrice happy, may you be thro’ life,

He the best husband, you the kindest wife.

On Saturday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Pilmore, Mr. William Shatzel, to Miss Elsie Hall, both of this city.

A knife, dear girl, cuts love they say,

Mere modish love perhaps it may:

For any tool of any kind

Can sep’rate what was never join’d—

The knife that cuts our love in two

Will have much tougher work to do;

Must cut our softness, worth and spirit,

Down to the vulgar size and merit;

To level yours with modern taste,

Must cut a world of sense to waste,

And from your single beauty’s store

Chip what would dizen out a score.

The self same blade from me must sever

Sensation, judgment, sight forever!

All mem’ry of endearments past,

All hope of comfort long to last,

All that makes fourteen years with you

A summer—and a short one too;

All that affection feels and fears,

When hours without you, seem like years;

Till that be done, (and I’d as soon

Believe this knife will chip the moon)

Accept my present undeterr’d,

And leave their proverbs to the herd.

If in a kiss (delicious treat)

Your lips acknowledge the receipt,

Love, fond of such substantial fare,

And proud to play the glutton there,

All thoughts of cutting will disdain,

Save only—cut and come again.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.