nfant year,
Which now so gay and bright appears,
Will soon by dark oblivion's wave
Be chas'd into the silent grave.

But all seem forming airy dreams
On future hopes and future schemes,
Though other years have prov'd untrue:
It will not be so with the new.

Joy beams upon the face of all;
Some meet within the festive hall,
Where music trills her gayest note;
And fairy forms in circles float,
And all seem feasting with delight
Upon the pleasures of the night,
None thinks upon the grief or pain,
That soon must follow in their train,--
The coffin shroud, and death's cold pall,
That must so soon be flung o'er all;
But yet, in that gay circle there,
We can detect corroding care,
Can plainly see, in sparkling eyes,
Sorrow, clad in gay disguise,--
Trying happy to appear,
To usher in another year.

Tis ever thus, the heedless throng,
That meet in revelry and song,--
Must ever feel within the breast
An aching void; while those possessed
Of pure Religion, may enjoy
Joys nothing earthly can destroy

The Unhappy Marriage.

"Hannah, it will not do," said Captain Currier to his eldest daughter,
a neat, quiet looking girl about eighteen, who sat sewing by a window.
"I say Hannah," continued he sternly, as her eyes met his, "it will
never do for you to throw yourself away upon that miserable scapegrace
that has visited you so often of late."

The blood mounted in torrents to her cheeks as she replied,

"Why, father, you surely cannot mean William Lawrence?"

"And who else should I mean? He is not worth a single iota, and what
is more, he is never like to be."

"True, he is not rich, but he is industrious, and with his excellent
habits I have no fears on that account."

"Oh, you have not, have you," said her father, almost fiercely, "but I
tell you Miss, it will never do, so you may think the matter over
at your leisure, and settle the affair, I hope, without any farther
interference on my part."

She raised her eyes timidly to her father's and said,

"I think, sir, you will be obliged to finish the work if it is ever
done; my faith is plighted to William, and you know, father, I cannot
break my word."

This candid avowal but added "fuel to the flame" of the enraged
father, and he sternly said,

"My commands are upon you, and I expect you to obey me."

"But father," began the trembling girl,

"There is no but in the case. But I will leave