THE GUARDIAN:

A Magazine Devoted to the Interests of Young Men and Ladies.

A NEW-YEAR has knocked at our door! How they do roll around, these solemn years! As they pass, how many things they cause us to leave behind; and how many other things they bring us to. Do we look back?-how many cherished friends have grown pale, bowed us an adieu, and have passed into the land of mysteries? How silent is the place where they once labored and loved. Do we look around?—what new faces, friendly like those that have turned away, look in upon us. While they fill their places, they also remind us, by their smiles, of those who have gone. Do we look before us?-our faith can look cheerfully into the solemn future. The promises can tell us what good it has in store for those that do worthily. O Thou, who art the same yesterday, and to-day, and forever, gently guide us, and bring us through all our changes higher and nearer to Thee!

This is now the SEVENTH time that we greet our readers with "A Happy New-Year!" Six years The Guardian has gone forth in the service of the young. Time has shown that we were not mistaken when we commenced its publication, convinced that something of the kind was needed. Our labors have been cheered by the approbation of many young gentlemen and ladies, who have continued to manifest the warmest interest in our magazine.

The Guardian will keep on its accustomed course. It will be, as heretofore, devoted to the highest interests of the young, at the most solemn and interesting period of their life. It will offer its friendly counsels to them in an earnest though free and cheerful way It will solemnly seek to warn them against the wrong, and affectionately allure them to the right. The Editor will endeavor to make its contents true, pure, fresh, and healthy as the morning of life. It will particularly urge self-culture and early piety as of the highest importance. It will seek to move in the element of its motto: "LIFE-LIGHT-LOVE."

The Guardian has no denominational or party bias. It interferes not with controversies either in Church or State. It is its ambition to

take the quiet way of peace and love. It would turn the attention of its readers to that first and greatest of duties, the cultivation of the heart, mind, social feelings, and pious affections. It will have its reward if it can be the means of making Hearts better, Homes happier, and Heaven surer. The evidence that it has in a degree done this, which the experience of six years has furnished, is more precious to us than gain or gold. Cheerfully, hopefully, and believingly we look into the future as we take our pilgrim-staff in hand to travel another year.

Our standing promise to improve The Guardian, as fast as its patronage will allow, is again redeemed. The Publisher has honestly and truly performed his part. New type, fine white paper, and a pleasant page greets the reader's eye. A very beautiful embellishment, with its rich symbolical representations of "The Seasons," introduces the volume. The exterior is new and tasty; and while the title page slightly varies from the original emblem, it still preserves the idea of angelic guardianship, which has from the beginning been associated with our magazine and its contents. Those friendly celestials, who do always behold the face of our Father in Heaven, and who are sent forth to minister to those who shall be heirs of salvation, and who have charge over us, are still bending over our monthly labors. Thus, without interfering with the associations of those to whom The Guardian has become familiar, the publisher has made decided and desirable improvements.

We humbly submit our work to our friends. We respectfully ask those who approve of the design, matter, and spirit of The Guardian, to give us their friendly aid in its circulation. Young men and young ladies can do us a great kindness by procuring the names of their associates as subscribers. May not such also confer a lasting good upon those into whose hands they place it? If you have found its contents a benefit to yourself, we ask with confidence that you aid us in placing it into other hands, and other families.

We would also ask of Pastors, who have favored its introduction into their charges, a continuance of the same kindness and interest. We cannot and do not expect their personal labors to this end; yet would ask them to request some active young persons in their congregations to send us on a list of names.

Once more, "A Happy New-Year." May that unseen hand-seen by faith—which has led us thus far, lead us on; and whatever this year may bring to us, may it find us earnestly engaged at our post-doing, and suffering, and waiting, in patience, peace, and love.

HIEREAFTER.

Ir all our hopes and all our fears
Were prisoners in life's narrow bound;

If, travelers in this vale of tears,

We saw no "* better world" beyond;

Oh what would check the rising sigh,
What earthly thing could pleasure give?
Oh! who would venture then to die?

Oh! who would venture then to live?

THE VOICE OF THE NEW YEAR.

BY T. H. STOCKTON.

I SAW the Old Year. He was lying on a bed of gathered leaves. The grass around was brown and withered, save here and there, close by the edge of the snow-patches, where it retained somewhat of its greenness. The turf was almost as hard as the pike-the smooth and stony pike, that glared in the lamp-light, and rung under the rattling iron hoofs and wheels of the passing mail. Of course it was a secluded spot; away from the tide, with its ships and steamboats, and away from the wire, the rail, and the whistle. The spring gurgled out from the hill-side; but was almost hidden by the long icicles that hung thick from the mossline, on the front of the over-jutting rock, down to the very basin of the fountain; nor was it seen long, for, as it came out between the icicles, it slipped under the ice that covered its channel, and again found itself almost as much in the dark as it was before it escaped from the inner crevices of the hill. Over the rude couch of the dying year, the trees spread their leafless, snow-sprinkled branches as though they would gladly have sheltered him if they could; and the breeze moaned by his side, as tenderly as though a woman's sympathy had touched it into piteous sweetness. The air was very keen, and very clear; and the barking of the distant watch dog, startled by that passing mail, sounded loud and fierce, as if on the very border of the glen.

The glen was thronged with an almost innumerable spiritual multitude. The four Seasons were there. The twelve Months were there. The fifty-two Weeks were there. Three hundred and sixty-five Days were there. Three hundred and sixty-five Nights were there. Nearly nine thousand Hours were there. More than half a million Minutes were there. And more than thirty millions of Seconds were there. The Seasons were distinguished by the varied color of their robes-white, green, yellow, and purple. The Months had a fillet of silver net-work on every forehead, adorned with a crescent of shining pearl. The Weeks wore a seven-hued girdle, with a brilliant clasp-adorned with an altar, olive-branch and trumpet. The Days bore an image of the sun on every breast-plate. The Nights held a star, downward, on the head of every sceptre. The Hours, Minutes, and Seconds carried each a miniature diamond chronometer: those of the hours, with an hour-hand alone; those of the minutes, with a minute-hand alone; and those of the seconds, with a second-hand alone.

The pale Patriarch, thus surrounded by his immense host of descendants, summoned me into his immediate presence. I passed through the parted lines, and knelt by his humble pallet. "I have called you hither," said he, "not for your own sake alone, but for the sake of the church and congregation to which you minister. I have called you to commit to you, for them, my last and most solemn message. I am only one of the six thousand Princes of Time. Time is the son of eternity. Eternity is the son of God. Next to his being the Father of the Lord