 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family |  |
THE NEW YEAR — AN ALLEGORY.
“What are your intentions towards Miss New-Year?”
sternly asked the old Guardian of Years, as Time, in the
garb of youth, stepped forward to make his proposals.
The fair being to whom he aspired stood veiled before
him, in mystical beauty, beside the seer, whose dim eyes
had seen the birth and death of thousands of years, and
whose beard was white with the frost of centuries, and
whose voice creaked with the rust of many ages.
Time, buoyant with the hopes of youth, promised
much. Their union, he said, would be fruitful of great
events. Joy and prosperity would attend upon it. By
their union the arms of the weak would be strengthened;
the tyrant's power be shorn of its might; the poor and
down-trodden be exalted; the desponding be made to
sing for joy; abuse be banished from the earth; the
wrath of man be restrained; and the struggle for right
be crowned with success.
The old guardian shook his head incredulously, and a
tear fell upon his gray beard as he spoke:
“Alas! alas!” he said, “the same promises were
made by your sire to her fair mother, and broken, as
have been all the promises of Time since the world began.
Where is the fruition of the glorious hopes held out for
bygone years? They have found their end in gloom and
charge to your arms in view of olden failures?”
Then young Time, laying down his hour-glass and
gayly swinging his scythe among the few weeds left of
the herbage of the old year, made answer, with a firm
tone and a cheerful air: —
“The violated promises of others should not be the
criterion for judging of mine; nor their failure be urged
as a presage of my own ill-success. Let me prove myself
by my acts, and if endeavor may win the goal, my chance
is good. Let me try.”
The old guardian grasped Time by the hand approvingly;
the hand of the virgin year was placed in his, and,
as the clock struck the hour of twelve, the form of the
old seer faded from view, and the mystical one, for better
and worse, for joy and sorrow, became the wedded bride
of Time.
Personal cleanliness is a virtue, but it is not pleasant
to see a man cleaning his teeth with a questionable
pocket-handkerchief; neither is it to see a man, however
attentive he may be to the wants of his family, put a
beef-steak in the crown of his hat, and fill his trousers'
pockets with cucumbers. It don't look well.
| Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family | |