The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1860-01-12
For the National Era.
NEW YEARS EVE,

with hOrrid headlands, snow-eovered granite
buttresses, that scowl beneath the spectral
lances osthe Aurora. The hull of q ship loom
ing dimly above the ice-locked waste of waters
mans noblest symbol of motion bound in the
embrace and paralyzed by the agencies of
Nature.
sweep with the fierce blast upon this ocean
ceiling, in its pausss hear the tramp of the bear
in the cracking drift, and mark the barbados
of humnucks, and stand upon the deck.
Whatl are the old Morse gods at revel here,
roaring their runes over strong mead, robust
welcome to the lusty young Year2 Harkl
$50. landlord, fill the flowing how'll
A Christsaas catch, to be sure there is nothing
Scandinavian in that; no drinking from skulls
here, after all. A rift in the revelry, and "Auld
Lang Syne" falls in plaintive cadence upon the
ear my ear, listening alone beneath the star
less cope, while from the horizon streams a
quivering light to tell its mysteries in muter
music to the ear of Space.
Musing in the saddle, amid the mufaed tramp
of many feet. A long black line moving monot-
onously over sea of gray. l look upon the
stars; dark purple sky is everywhere above
me, and from it languid scintillations drop
through the warm, wide air. The dark purple
sky is everywhere above me, and all about the
great Sahara. flushed are the noises of the
caravan, except the merchants stifed cry when
he sees in his sleep the charging Bedouin, and
from time to time some cauel-driver's chant
The scene vanishes nor yet at once, for am
still conscious of a swaying motion in the sad
die, which mocks by Withholding me, almost in
their presence, from old companions. At
length, like the last spasms of pilgrim sufo.
eating in the simoom, the impressions Of my po-
sition become feeble and far apart. Then l
know it to be midnight in city, and, standing
in the shadow of an accustome spire, I gaze
upon windows where, through curtains of scar
let stuff, warm, inviting glow of light gushes
on the street; gaze but moment, and with
elastic step burst upon scene ofmerry making.
glare of gas and glass, little misty with
cigar smoke; shout of recognition" Hur.
rah my boy late, but in time for Tom Steele's
toast, bumpe-" = Just then, the old white
bearded Sbeik whirls by on his plunging mare,
brushing me with his burnoose, and once more
the dark.purple sky is everywhere above me,
and everywhere around the vast Sahara.
Tracking frozen river, apace with the lope.
ing wolves that shew black and gaunt when the
moonlight streams through intervals of rack
Scaling steep hillside, where the bare arms,
htfully contorted, of moaning trees seem to
threaten or implore, as if each trunk contained
tortured spirit. On an open plateau, a team
of oxen standing struggled across sled-track,
their red chests powdered with their frozen
breath. A huge log slipped from its fastenings
and underneath human fsce--'tis all see,
except hand rigidly clutching the strained
chaia-a face upturned in fixed, impassive
agony. The old companion of the ages, DEATH
sacrifices to the New Yearl
Night still, on the great deep. Night now a
fair young nun--the trade-~inds dallying with
her tresses, and the Southern cross upon her
breast | listen to the straining of the sails,
and watch the vessels phosphorescent wake. A
broad shaft of sivery light creeps from the hori-
zon, and rests upon the gently heaving bosom
of the sea. 1t is the moon rising, Venus like,
instinct with beauty, until her white disc, half
emerged, arches with the ocean. And so
gaze, and greet in fancy summer isles where
these same wanton trade winds wander at will
and taste the breath of sleeping groves. The
stewards voice disturbs my reverie-" Eight
bells, sir; and Captain Marlin would like you
to join him in a glass of grog to the New
Year"
"Another backlog, john IT'S surly
night. Sam, bring pitcher of cider-shut the
door, quick" and then the bluff old fellow
whistles, Cease, rude Boreas," unconscious OF
an invisible critic. Suddenly he stops, and
mutters, Twenty years agotonight." know
there is shadow on his face, although can
not see it, for he rests his head upon his hand.
Then he slowly says, swell! welll" and
then, seeming to break from the grip of sad
memory, he bends hurriedly forward, and stirs
the FIRE. Sam, think, has tapped whirlwind,
capacious pitcher, Dutch burgomaster in
crockery, upon the shining cherry table, and,
as the freight Aickers upon the topaz colored
beverage sparkling in the glasses
"a happy New Year!"
"Why, Dora, have been asleep? A New
Year it is /; and there are the chimesI
Ring out wild bells across the snow"
Philadelphia, Pa. D.B.c.
ADDISON AND IRvING.-At the meeting of the
Massachusetts Historical Society for the pur-
pose of honoring the memory Of Washington
Irving, Profs. Longfellow, Holmes, FELTON,, and
Edward Everett, made beautiful and appropr-
ate addresses. From that of Mr.. Everett we
make the following extract:
Mr.. Irvings manner is often compared with
Addison's, though, closely examined, there is
no great resemblance between them, except
that they both write in simple, unaffected
style, remote from the tresome stateliness of
johnson and Gibbon. 1t was one of the witty
but rather ill-natured sayings of Mr.. Samuel
Rogers, whose epigrams sometimes did as much
injustice to his own kind and generous nature
as they did to the victim of bis pleasantly, that
Washington Irving was Addison and Water; q
judgment which, if seriously dealt with, is alto
gether aside from the merits of the two writers,
who have very little in common. Addison had
received finished classical education at the
Charter House and at Oxford, was eminently a
man Of books, and had decided taste for lit
erary criticism. Mr.. Irving, for man of let
tiers, was not great reader, and If he possessed
the critical faculty, never exercised it. Add
son quoted the Latin poets frequently, aud
wrote correct Latin verses himself H. Irving
made no pretensions to families ssaaaintance
s with the classics, as a, snd probably never made
q Addison wrote some smooth English poetry.
which Mr. Irving, I believe, never s,;s,npte3
vi'ii ~ ~, ~ tFH " snfee exqulSte
hymns, which VIII last AZ lopg as the English
language doesl one brilliant smile Of six lines
in the Campaign, 2 and one or two seataptioHs
but not very brilliant passases fgam Cato. not
line Of Addison's poetry has been quoted for
hundred years. Rut Mr.. Irving's peculiar
vein al humor is not inferior ia playful iaciness
to Addison's; his nicely of characterization is
quite equal; his Judgment upon all moral re-
lations as sound and true; his human sympar
thies more comprehensive, tenderer. And
chaster; and his poetical faculty, though never
developed in verse, vastly above Add;sou,s