EDITOR’S TABLE.
The New Year.—We are standing once more together, reader, at that fairy vestibule which opens rich with hope and bright to expectation upon another twelve-month; a coming lapse of time that like a swell of the ocean tossing with its fellows, heaves onward to the land of Death and Silence. At such a time, although it seem not meet, it may be, to indulge in sad thoughts and pensive recollections, who can refrain from giving a backward glance to years that have passed like a weaver’s shuttle, and woven our ‘checkered web of life?’ Shall we not for one moment remember too, even at this joyous season, the loved and lost who have gone before us, to solve the great mystery of life, and the momentous secrets of death and the grave? Shall we not remember that we too are passing away; and in thoughtful mood, pause to ask with the poet:
‘Another year! another year!
Oh! who shall see another year?
Shalt thou, old man, of hoary head,
Of eye-sight dim, and feeble tread?
Expect it not! Time, pain, and grief
Have made thee like an autumn leaf;
Ready, by blast or self-decay,
From its slight hold to drop away;