Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1836-01-07
THEOLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

How little do many of us ect,-says
writer, whose remarks have just chanced to
fan beneath our notice-as the months and
years speed past US, that they are utterly ir-
reclaimable, and, however ill-spent, never to
be amended. How little, as we mark the
beautiful verdure and painted flowers of
spring, succeeded by the more thickly scat
tered blossoms and brighter skies of summer;
and these again replaced by the rich fruits,
golden harvest, and changefu tints of the au-
tumn. when the blended and ever-varyingI
hues Of field and forest, like those of kalei-
doscope, present to the eye variety a. once
beautiful and evanescent, yielding, in their
turn, to the ice and hoar of winter how little
do we regard them, save as the mere common
place effects of the agency Of nature We
forget, amid the worlds cares, equally as a.
mid its pleasures, that they are so many beck
onings towards eternity, so many remem-
brancings of the fight of that time which the
breath of monarchs cannot recall; neither can
the prayers of empires stay it.
We make festival Of the exit Of the old
year, and rejoicing at the entrance Of the
new one, as though this we're the only OBJ
servance requested of u.s. And we do this,
frequently, more from habit than from feeling.
We follow the customs of our fathers: those
fathers whom past years have swept into a
dark and silent grsve-mans last earthly hen-
tage! To me, these rejoicings at the termi-
nation Of the old year have melancholy in
their mrth; even part from it as from dear
friend, never to be looked upon again; and
but ill-replaced by its successor, which meets
us with a scowl, as though it mistrusted the
hilarity which welcomes it. | say, a dear
friend; for who is there among us who is not
its debtor for some pleasing memory, some
sou-knit recollection? A new year, on the
contrary, is like new scene; we are strang-
ers to each other; there is no tie between us;
all is barren apprehenslon,and void uncertain
ty: what may we not endure ere we part com
pany? Pain, ,penury, or sickness; or that worst,
that most refined Of ills, the heart-loathing
which knows no remedy; the blighted hope;
the soulless future; the spirit-void, whose inn
mensity is to it's victim even as the fathom-
less chaos whence nature drew her being.
There Is spell on the heart-at least II is
so with melville the months pursue each
other in that year, which is endeared to us
by the enjoyment Of kindlier affections,
brighter fate, or that far more equivocal good,
deeper, stronger passion! Month after month
speeds on, yet time seems motionless, and the
Joyous feeling is ever present to us; that fai-
ry spell IL broken at its close; each link Of the
golden chain is worn through by the cease
less friction Of time; and when the last gives
way, the talsmsnic witchery Of fancy, which
had wound its own fetters round the soul,
melts, like a vapor, with il! We look back
TO the events of the departed year as to some
thing already far distant, and only rendered
more besutiiul By the condensation Of memo
rv; but still il is painful beauty. The distinct
ness and individuality which once pleased,
Zee their charm; the tenacious retention Of
past Joy darkens the tablet ofanticipstion, and