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The Sister Years
by
“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 hardly sensible, will be rubbed down and worn away 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 awhile longer, by inquiring the contents of the huge bandbox, 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 anything 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 gray 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 some dozens of essence-bottles, well corked and 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 farther. 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 bandbox; but the whole lot would not fetch a single bid, even at an auction of worn-out furniture; and as they are worth nothing either to you or anybody else, I need not trouble you with a longer catalogue.”