The bells are ringing out the old year—an ancient but very unfeeling custom. It seems like revelling over the grave of a just departed friend; and my heart recoils at the sound. The horizon disdains congeniality to such ingratitude;—its early darkness, its loud sighs, and its tears, pay a different tribute.—Why not reserve it to usher in to-morrow’s dawn, with gladness that would not then, as now, have been unfeelingly anticipated? The sounds of clanging triumph may welcome, without reproach, the new-born year; and may it eventually prove worthy of the joy which shall hail its rising!—May it teem with occurrences which shall rescue the nation from its self-incurred perils!