The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1873-12-27
NEW YEARS.

There is something demoralizing about
New Years. Not at all that demoraliza-
ton is the main outcome of the institution;
but man must be strong in the faith to
withstand the effect upon his moral sys-
tenn of the knowledge that New Years
brings, even to the best of us. For it is
at this season of the year that man, so
to speak, takes stock of himself. He takes
his good resolutions, his good deeds, his
bad impulses and actions, his mixed mo-
tives-in fact, his whole moral belongings
and accomplishments, down from the
shelves, dusts them, looks them over, and
enters them in his books. There may be
profit, growth, advance; but there is apt
to be melancholy side to the fairest
showing.
For suppose that, on the whole, we have
reason to be encouraged by the condition
of affairs revealed-there are few of us
who do not find with each New Years an
increased sense of limitation. For we are
creatures of inheritance, and of habit; the
spirit may be willing, but o, how weak
the flesh !!
1t is not merely that we are to apt to
fail in the spiritual, with all our striving;
but strange barriers loom along the intel
lectual horizon. As we grow older, the
very element of Time, which in our youth
seems such vague, shadowy enemy-if
not a friend of infinite largesss-comes
bearing down upon Us, mighty, resistless-
an army with banners.
There are SO many things that for so
many years I have been hoping to do be-
fore each succeeding New Years Day
The contemplated crusades of boyhood
even yet haunt me as things destined TO
fortunate occurrence. Surely the summer
day is yet to come when / shall take up
my adventurous march on the Crosswicks
turnpike; the same night pitch my rag
carpet tent in the mysterious Pines; sleep
to the enhancing music of the hyena and
the jackal, and sally forth the next day to
Stay white Polar bear with my ivory
paper cutter.
Shall confess how often, since last New
Years, have stood looking over the rail-
ing of the ferry boat, and imagined that
at last the Moment had come: the Child
had fallen into the water; l had handed
my coat to the benevolent gentleman with
a Quaker hat and blue spectacles my gold
watch to celebrated stock gambler-(w who
is so much impressed by the generous con,
fidence and the general sublimity of the
scene, that he is reformed man from that
moment)-and am only hesitating whether
to place my pocket book in the keeping of
the pretty factory-girl with a pink para
sol, or in that of the clerical looking gen.
tleman, who may turn out to be pick
pocket disguised, before taking the final,
heroic plunge.
was quite certain I would have a
Christmas story ready by this time For,
bless you, had found my plot at last; or,
at least my theme. There was to be a
woman in white, with child in her arms,
standing on the steps of DR. H. church.,
| across the street; kind of an apparition
you know,-although, of course, the ex-
PLANTATION would be very simple, and would
only need to be limited at in the last para
graph in order to make it perfectly salts
factory, without destroying the weird.
supernatural effect. You see the way l
came upon the illusion was this -. No!
I'll have that done by next Christmas
I'll have that done, or something better
For, after all, let me give you a bit OF
optimism, after having shown the gloomy
side of the picture: The New Years have
| helped me to this belief, that man is very
apt to get, in some form or other,-a
man is very apt to accomplish, in this
way Or that honest thing he honestly
and earnestly desires to win and accom-
plish. But the story may not be story,
remember, or else no story of mine-per-
haps only good deed, such as giving the
plot to SAKE Holm.-Scribner.