 | Twice-told tales |  |
THE SISTER YEARS.
Last night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when
the Old Year was leaving her final foot-prints on the
borders of Time's empire, she found herself in possession
of a few spare moments, and sat down —
of all places in the world — on the steps of our new
City Hall. The wintry moonlight showed that she
looked weary of body, and sad of heart, like many
another wayfarer of earth. Her garments, having
been exposed to much foul weather and rough usage,
were in very ill condition; and as the hurry of her
journey had never before allowed her to take an
instant's rest, her shoes were so worn as to be
scarcely worth the mending. But, after trudging only
a little distance further, this poor Old Year was destined
to enjoy a long, long sleep. I forgot to mention,
that when she seated herself on the steps, she
deposited by her side a very capacious band-box, in
which, as is the custom among travellers of her sex,
this luggage, there was a folio book under her arm,
very much resembling the annual volume of a newspaper.
Placing this volume across her knees, and
resting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in her
hands, the weary, bedraggled, world-worn Old Year
heaved a heavy sigh, and appeared to be taking no
very pleasant retrospect of her past existence.
While she thus awaited the midnight knell, that was
to summon her to the innumerable sisterhood of departe.
Years, there came a young maiden treading
lightsomely on tip-toe along the street, from the direction
of the Railroad Depôt. She was evidently a
stranger, and perhaps had come to town by the evening
train of cars. There was a smiling cheerfulness
in this fair maiden's face, which bespoke her fully
confident of a kind reception from the multitude of
people, with whom she was soon to form acquaintance.
Her dress was rather too airy for the season,
and was bedizened with fluttering ribbons and other
vanities, which were likely soon to be rent away by
the fierce storms, or to fade in the hot sunshine, amid
which she was to pursue her changeful course. But
still she was a wonderfully pleasant looking figure,
and had so much promise and such an indescribable
hopefulness in her aspect, that hardly any body could
meet her without anticipating some very desirable thing
— the consummation of some long sought good —
from her kind offices. A few dismal characters there
may be, here and there about the world, who have so
often been trifled with by young maidens as promising
upon the skirts of the New Year. But, for my own
part, I have great faith in her; and should I live to
see fifty more such, still, from each of those successive
sisters, I shall reckon upon receiving something
that will be worth living for.
The New Year — for this young maiden was no
less a personage — carried all her goods and chattels
in a basket of no great size or weight, which hung
upon her arm. She greeted the disconsolate Old
Year with great affection, and sat down beside her on
the steps of the City Hall, waiting for the signal to
begin her rambles through the world. The two were
own sisters, being both grand daughters of Time; and
though one looked so much older than the other, it
was rather owing to hardships and trouble than to
age, since there was but a twelvemonth's difference
between them.
`Well, my dear sister,' said the New Year, after
the first salutations, `you look almost tired to death.
What have you been about during your sojourn in
this part of Infinite Space?'
`Oh, I have it all recorded here in my Book of
Chronicles,' answered the Old Year, in a heavy tone.
`There is nothing that would amuse you; and you
will soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters
from your own personal experience. It is but tiresome
reading.'
Neverthless, she turned over the leaves of the folio,
and glanced at them by the light of the moon, feeling
an irresistible spell of interest in her own biography,
although its incidents were remembered without pleasure.
Chronicles, seemed to be neither more nor less than
the Salem Gazette for 1838; in the accuracy of which
journal this sagacious Old Year had so much confidence,
that she deemed it needless to record her history
with her own pen.
`What have you been doing in the political way?'
asked the New Year.
`Why, my course here in the United States,' said
the Old Year — `though perhaps I ought to blush at
the confession — my political course, I must acknowledge,
has been rather vacillatory, sometimes inclining
towards the Whigs — then causing the Administration
party to shout for triumph — and now again
uplifting what seemed the almost prostrate banner of
the Opposition; so that historians will hardly know
what to make of me, in this respect. But the Loco
Focos —'
`I do not like these party nicknames,' interrupted
her sister, who seemed remarkably touchy about some
points. `Perhaps we shall part in better humor, if
we avoid any political discussion.'
`With all my heart,' replied the Old Year, who
had already been tormented half to death with squabbles
of this kind. `I care not if the names of Whig
or Tory, with their interminable brawls about Banks
and the Sub Treasury, Abolition, Texas, the Florida
War, and a million of other topics — which you will
learn soon enough for your own comfort — I care not,
I say, if no whisper of these matters ever reaches my
ears again. Yet they have occupied so large a share of
you. There has indeed been a curious sort of war
on the Canada border, where blood has streamed in
the names of Liberty and Patriotism; but it must remain
for some future, perhaps far distant Year, to tell
whether or no those holy names have been rightfully
invoked. Nothing so much depresses me, in my
view of mortal affairs, as to see high energies wasted,
and human life and happiness thrown away, for ends
that appear oftentimes unwise; and still oftener remain
unaccomplished. But the wisest people and the
best keep a steadfast faith that the progress of Mankind
is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish
of the path serve to wear away the imperfections
of the Immortal Pilgrim, and will be felt no
more, when they have done their office.'
`Perhaps,' cried the hopeful New Year — `perhaps
I shall see that happy day!'
`I doubt whether it be so close at hand,' answered
the Old Year, gravely smiling. `You will soon grow
weary of looking for that blessed consummation, and
will turn for amusement (as has frequently been my
own practice) to the affairs of some sober little city,
like this of Salem. Here we sit, on the steps of the
new City Hall, which has been completed under my
administration; and it would make you laugh to see
how the game of politics, of which the Capitol at
Washington is the great chess-board, is here played
in miniature. Burning Ambition finds its fuel here;
here Patriotism speaks boldly in the people's behalf,
and virtuous Economy demands retrenchment in the
range their senatorial dignity around the Mayor's
chair of state, and the Common Council feel that
they have liberty in charge. In short, human weakness
and strength, passion and policy, Man's tendencies,
his aims and modes of pursuing them, his individual
character, and his character in the mass, may
be studied almost as well here as on the theatre of
nations; and with this great advantage, that, he the lesson ever so disastrous, its Lilliputian scope still
makes the beholder smile.'
`Have you done much for the improvement of the
City?' asked the New Year. `Judging from what
little I have seen, it appears to be ancient and timeworn.'
`I have opened the Railroad,' said the elder Year,
`and half a dozen times a day, you will hear the bell
(which once summoned the Monks of a Spanish Convent
to their devotions,) announcing the arrival or
departure of the cars. Old Salem now wears a much
livelier expression than when I first beheld her. —
Strangers rumble down from Boston by hundreds at
a time. New faces throng in Essex street. Railroad
hacks and omnibuses rattle over the pavements.
There is a perceptible increase of oyster-shops, and
other establishments for the accommodation of a transitory
diurnal multitude. But a more important
change awaits the venerable town. An immense
accumulation of musty prejudices will be carried off
by the free circulation of society. A peculiarity of
character, of which the inhabitants themselves are
by the attrition of foreign substances. Much of the
result will be good; there will likewise be a few
things not so good. Whether for better or worse,
there will be a probable diminution of the moral
influence of wealth, and the sway of an aristocratic
class, which, from an era far beyond my memory,
has held firmer dominion here than in any other New
England town.'
The Old Year, having talked away nearly all of
her little remaining breath, now closed her Book of
Chronicles, and was about to take her departure.
But her sister detained her a while longer, by inquiring
the contents of the huge band-box, which she was
so painfully lugging along with her.
`These are merely a few trifles,' replied the Old
Year, `which I have picked up in my rambles, and
am going to deposit, in the receptacle of things past
and forgotten. We sisterhood of Years never carry
any thing really valuable out of the world with us.
Here are patterns of most of the fashions which I
brought into vogue, and which have already lived out
their allotted term. You will supply their place, with
others equally ephemeral. Here, put up in little China
pots, like rouge, is a considerable lot of beautiful women's
bloom, which the disconsolate fair ones owe
me a bitter grudge for stealing. I have likewise a
quantity of men's dark hair, instead of which, I have
left grey locks, or none at all. The tears of widows
and other afflicted mortals, who have received comfort
during the last twelve months, are preserved in
sealed. I have several bundles of love-letters, eloquently
breathing an eternity of burning passion,
which grew cold and perished, almost before the ink
was dry. Moreover, here is an assortment of many
thousand broken promises, and other broken ware,
all very light and packed into little space. The
heaviest articles in my possession are a large parcel
of disappointed hopes, which, a little while ago,
were buoyant enough to have inflated Mr. Lauriat's
balloon.'
`I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket,' remarked
the New Year. `They are a sweet-smelling
flower — a species of rose.'
`They soon lose their perfume,' replied the sombre
Old Year. `What else have you brought to insure a
welcome from the discontented race of mortals?'
`Why, to say the truth, little or nothing else,' said
her sister, with a smile — `save a few new Annuals
and Almanacs, and some New Year's gifts for the
children. But I heartily wish well to poor mortals,
and mean to do all I can for their improvement and
happiness.'
`It is a good resolution,' rejoined the Old Year;
`and, by the way, I have a plentiful assortment of
good resolutions, which have now grown so stale and
musty, that I am ashamed to carry them any further.
Only for fear that the City authorities would send
constable Mansfield, with a warrant after me, I should
toss them into the street at once. Many other matters
go to make up the contents of my band-box; but
auction of worn out furniture; and as they are worth
nothing either to you or any body else, I need not
trouble you with a longer catalogue.'
`And must I also pick up such worthless luggage
in my travels?' asked the New Year.
`Most certainly — and well, if you have no heavier
load to bear,' replied the other. `And now, my dear
sister, I must bid you farewell, earnestly advising and
exhorting you to expect no gratitude nor good will
from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending
and worse-behaving world. However warmly
its inhabitants may seem to welcome you, yet, do
what you may, and lavish on them what means of
happiness you please, they will still be complaining,
still craving what it is not in your power to give,
still looking forward to some other Year for the accomplishment
of projects which ought never to have
been formed, and which, if successful, would only
provide new occasions of discontent. If these ridiculous
people ever see any thing tolerable in you, it
will be after you are gone forever.'
`But I,' cried the fresh-hearted New Year, `I shall
try to leave men wiser than I find them. I will
offer them freely whatever good gifts Providence
permits me to distribute, and will tell them to be
thankful for what they have, and humbly hopeful for
more; and surely, if they are not absolute fools, they
will condescend to be happy, and will allow me to be
a happy Year. For my happiness must depend on
them.'
`Alas for you, then, my poor sister!' said the Old
Year, sighing, as she uplifted her burthen. `We
grand children of Time are born to trouble. Happiness,
they say, dwells in the mansions of Eternity;
but we can only lead mortals thither, step by step,
with reluctant murmurings, and ourselves must perish
on the threshold. But hark! my task is done.'
The clock in the tall steeple of Dr. Emerson's
church struck twelve; there was a response from Dr.
Flint's, in the opposite quarter of the city; and while
the strokes were yet dropping into the air, the Old
Year either flitted or faded away — and not the wisdom
and might of Angels, to say nothing of the remorseful
yearnings of the millions who had used her
ill, could have prevailed with that departed Year to
return one step. But she, in the company of Time
and all her kindred, must hereafter hold a reckoning
with Mankind. So shall it be, likewise, with the
maidenly New Year, who, as the clock ceased to
strike, arose from the steps of the City Hall, and set
out rather timorously on her earthly course.
`A happy New Year!' cried a watchman, eyeing
her figure very questionably, but without the least
suspicion that he was addressing the New Year in
person.
`Thank you kindly!' said the New Year; and
she gave the watchman one of the roses of hope from
her basket. `May this flower keep a sweet smell,
long after I have bidden you good-by.'
Then she stept on more briskly through the silent
streets; and such as were awake at the moment,
come!' Wherever there was a knot of midnight
roisterers, they quaffed her health. She sighed, however,
to perceive that the air was tainted — as the atmosphere
of this world must continually be — with
the dying breaths of mortals who had lingered just
long enough for her to bury them. But there were
millions left alive, to rejoice at her coming; and so
she pursued her way with confidence, strewing emblematic
flowers on the door-step of almost every
dwelling, which some persons will gather up and wear
in their bosoms, and others will trample under foot.
The Carrier Boy can only say further, that, early
this morning, she filled his basket with New Year's
Addresses, assuring him that the whole City, with our
new Mayor, and the Aldermen and Common Council
at its head, would make a general rush to secure
copies. Kind Patrons, will not you redeem the pledge
of the NEW YEAR?
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