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THE VETERINARIAN, JANUARY I, 1863. 
Ne quid falsi dicere audeat, ne quid veri non audeat. — Cicero. 
ANNUAL ADDRESS OE THE EDITORS. 
“ Deep sounds the knell of the departing year; 
Scarce liad we time to chronicle its birth, 
To write its months, and feel, as it was meet. 
Its high demands, before it passed away— 
Passed like a shadow, or the lightning’s sheen, 
Or as a meteor, or a dream of night. 
’Twas here—’tis gone! So rapid is its flight.” 
The moralist has told us that it is wise to talk with our 
past hours. 
Hours are golden links, God’s token. 
Reaching Heaven; but one by one 
Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere thji pilgrimage be done.” 
Time, like a narrow sandbank, stands between two mighty 
seas—the eternity of the past and the eternity of the 
future, and is constantly shifting from the former towards 
the latter. Periodically, too, the ocean waves roll over it, 
bringing up to the surface indications of the many wrecks 
that have taken place upon it. These ever awaken reflections 
more or less profitable and pleasing, or it may be they are 
otherwise; nevertheless we shall always do well to draw 
from them admonitions to guide us in whatever may occur 
hereafter. 
Since our last address another portion of this sandbank 
has drifted away and become engulphed in the fathomless 
abyss. Let us look back, and by the aid of thought call 
to remembrance the past; if the gurgling waters cast up no 
fragments of a wreck, the footprints will then prove monitors, 
and afford us texts on which to descant. 
A traveller on ascending an eminence delights to look 
* 
back over that part of the road which he has traversed, and 
gratefully to acknowledge the support that has been afforded 
