what very proud feelings will be yours, to find you
are appreciated and esteemed for the good qualities of the heart and
endowments of the mind, and to hear after months of trial, the _wife_
pronounced _dearer_ than the _bride_.

Look around at the many who have entered the pale of matrimony before
you, equally buoyant with hope; with the same loving hearts and the
same bright prospects as you had,--and yet the stern realities of life
have sobered down that romance of feeling with which they started; yet
they are perhaps more happy, though it is a quiet happiness, founded
on esteem. Oh, you know not the extent to which the conduct I have
urged you to pursue, may affect your well-being, and that of him to
whom you are united.

And now with the same greeting I commenced with, will I take my
leave--a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all, and may each
succeeding return find you progressing in all that can give you peace
and happiness, not only here but hereafter!

THE DYING HORSE.

Heaven! what enormous strength does death possess!
How muscular the giant's arm must be
To grasp that strong boned horse, and, spite of all
His furious efforts, fix him to the earth!
Yet, hold, he rises!--no--the struggle's vain;
His strength avails him not. Beneath the gripe
Of the remorseless monster, stretched at length
He lies with neck extended; head hard pressed
Upon the very turf where late he fed.
His writhing fibres speak his inward pain!
His smoking nostrils speak his inward fire!
Oh! how he glares! and hark! methinks I hear
His bubbling blood, which seems to burst the veins.
Amazement! Horror! What a desperate plunge,
See! where his ironed hoof has dashed a sod
With the velocity of lightning. Ah!--
He rises,--triumphs;--yes, the victory's his!
No--the wrestler Death again has thrown him
And--oh! with what a murdering dreadful fall!
Soft!--he is quiet. Yet whence came that groan,
Was't from his chest, or from the throat of death
Exulting in his conquest! I know not,
But if 'twas his, it surely was his last;
For see, he scarcely stirs! Soft! Does he breathe?
Ah no! he breathes no more. 'Tis very strange!

How still he's now! how fiery hot--how cold
How terrible! How lifeless! all within
A few brief moments!--My reason staggers!
Philosophy, thy poor enlightened dotard,
Who canst for every thing assign a cause,
Here take thy stand beside me, and e