The Closing Year.

The year 1848 is now numbered with the things that were.—By the revolution of days, and weeks, and months, and seasons, and years, the uniform course of life is marked, and we are reminded periodically of the shortness and the swiftness of time, and the rapidity with which we are hastening forward into that state where duration will be marked by cycles of which at present we can form no conception. The closing year, like a dying friend, speaks solemn truths to thoughtless men. “The present moment, “it says, “is yours; the past is gone; and the future is unseen and uncertain.”

“Improve the present hour, or all beside
Is a mere feather on a torrents side.”