Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1834-08-28

The following beautiful extract is from
a new novel written by Miss PARDoE,
entitled "Spec ulation."
"How little do many Of us reflect as
the months and years speed past us, that
thoy are utterly irreclaimable, and how
ever ill-spent never to be amended! How
little, as we mark the beautilu! verdure
and painted flowers Of spring, succeeded
by the more thickly scattered blossoms
and brighter skies Of summer; and those
again replaced by the rich fruits, golden
harvests, and changeful tints Of autumn,
when blended and ever-varying hues Of
field and forest, like those Of kaleido-
scope, present to the eye variety at
once beautiful and evanescent; yielding
in their turn, to the ice and hoar Of win
ter; how little do wo regard them, save
as the mere common place effects of the
agency Of nature We forget, amid the
worlds cares equally as amid its plea
sures, that they are so many beckonings
towards eternlty-so many remembrance
ings Of the flight Of that time which the
, breath Of monarchs cannot recall nei-
ther can the prayers Of empire stay it
owe make festival Of the old year,
and rejoicing at the entry Of the new
one, as though this were the only observ-
ance required Of us! and we do even this
frequently, more from habit than from
feeling. We follow the customs of our
fathers those fathers whom past years
have swept into dark and silent grave
mans last earthly heritage To me,
these rejoicings at the termination of the
old year have melancholy in their very
mirth; l ever part with it as from a dear
friend, never to be looked upon again !;
and but ill-replaced by its successor,
which meets US with scowl, Us though
it mlstrusted the hiliarity which welcomes 3
it. l say dear friends; who is there
among us who is not its debtor for some
pleasing memory, some soul-knit recol-
lection ? A new year, on the contrary
IS like a new scene; we are strangers to
each other there is no tie between us
all IS barren speculation, and void uncer-
tainty: what may we not endure ere we
Fart company? pain, penury, or sickness
or that worst, that most, refined Of Ills,
the heartloathing which knows no rene
dy; the blighted hope; the soulless future
the spirit-void, whose immensity is to its
victim even as the fathomless chaos from
whence nature drew her being.
"There is spell on the heart,- "a,
least it is 80 with me while the months
pursue each other in that year which is
endeared to us by the enjoy yment of kind
lier affection, brighter fate or that far
more equivocal good, deeper, stronger
passion Month after month speeds on
: yet time seems motionless, and the Joy
Gus feeling is ever present to as: that
: fairy spell is broken at its close each
link Of the golden chain is worn through
by the ceaseless friction of time and
when the last gives way, the talismanic
witchery Of fancy, which has wound it:
own letters round the soul, melts, like @
vapor, with it ! We look back to the
events Of the departed year as to some.
thing already far distant, and only rem.
dered more beautiful by the condensa
ton of memory +; but still it is painful
beauty: the distinctness and individualit,
which once pleased lose their charm; the
tenacious retention of past Joy darken,
the tablet Of anticipation, and seems tc
} WOO US from the present 10 the past. Ina