(For the Mirror.)

  It was but yesterday the snow
    Of thy dead sire was on the hill—­
  It was but yesterday the flow
    Of thy spring showers increased the rill,
  And made a thousand blossoms swell
    To welcome summer’s festival..... 
  And now all these are of the past,
    For this lone hour must be thy last!

  Thou must depart! where none may know—­
    The sun for thee hath ever set,
  The star of morn, the silver bow,
    No more shall gem thy coronet
  And give thee glory; but the sky
    Shall shine on thy posterity!...

So there’s an end of 1828; “all its great and glorious transactions are now nothing more than mere matter of history!” What wars of arms and words! what lots of changes and secessions! what debates on “guarantee,” “stipulations,” and “untoward” events! what “piles of legislation!” what a fund of speculation for the denizens of the stock-exchange, and newspaper press!—­all may now be embodied in that little word—­the past; and only serve to fill up and figure in the pages of the next “Annual Register!”—­sic transit gloria—­“but the proverb is somewhat musty.”  One, two, three.... ten, eleven, twelve, and now “methinks my soul hath elbow room.”

Those versed in the lore of Francis Moore, physician, which must doubtless include most of our readers, are aware that our veteran friend, eighteen hundred and twenty-eight, has been for some time in what is called a “galloping” consumption, and it is certain cannot possibly survive after the bells “chime twelve” on Wednesday night, the thirty-first of December,—­

  “—­as if an angel spoke,
  I hear the solemn sound,”

when he will depart this life, and be gathered to his ancestors, who have successively been entombed in the vault of Time.

Well, taking all things into consideration, we predict he will not have many mourners in his train.  “Rumours of wars” have gone through the land, and the ominous hieroglyphics of “Raphael” in his “Prophetic Messenger,” unfold to the lover of futurity, that “war with all its bloody train,” will visit this quarter of the globe with unusual severity the coming year—­and we have had comets and “rumours” of comets for many months past, while the red and glaring appearance of the planet, Mars, is as we have elsewhere observed, considered by the many a forerunner, and sign of long wars and much bloodshed.  To dwell further on the political horizon, or the “events and fortunes” of the past year would be out of place in the fair pages of the mirror; and should it be our fate to present its readers with future “notings” on another year, we will then dwell upon the good or ill-fortune of Turk or Russian to the quantum suff. of the most inveterate politician.