Staunton spectator and vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1896-1916, 1899-01-05
The Dyjnu Year.

This is the first Sabbath and the
first day in 1899. Last night the old
year died. Did you see that old man.
so pale, frail and ghostly, who stood
out on the bleak and icy bills, last
night, leaning in his decrepitude upon
the feeble arm of his last surviving
but dying child, the departing De-
cember? The chaplet of buds, flow
ers and fruit, wreathed around his
brow by Spring, Summer and Au-
tumn, were frosted by winter; his
sandals were old and covered with
mud; his garments were tattered,
and glistening with sleet were folded
around his wasted form; his gray
locks were frosty; his breath was cold,
and his pulse quivered like an Icy
thread in his chilled and shrunken
arm. Who was he? He was the child
of remorseless Time. He was one of
a numerous family, whose genealogy
presents us in two contemporaries
The birth of one has always been pre-
coded by the death of the solitary
other. The walling requiems over the
death OF the one has always ended in
lullabys over the cradle of it's success
sOr. Who was he? He was the Old
Year. Last night eternity's horologe
tolled out low twelve upon it's sound
ing bell. 1t was his death knell, and
at that lonely hour while we slept
when cadaverous ghosts are tabled to
cross amid the ivied ruins of castles
old, and shrek through the crew
ices of tottering church belfries, and
dry old bones shake and clatter in
their vaults in church yards, he died,
and the spirits of winter hearSed him
in cold cloud drawn by boreal winds,
and drove him out to sepulchral OBJ
llvlon and buried him in grave whose
cerementS are eternal. He will return
no moreno, forever. Farewell, old
year! Let thy cold ghost mingle with
the shades of thy predecessors, but let
1t not come back; oh, let it not come
back to haunt us when we die. Gone,
but he has left his footprints The
lovely babe the mother so fondly
kissed last New Year is not here this
morning. 1t simply came, smiled,
then Wept and departed. 1t seemed
to come from heaven and to stay Just
long enough to make us love it, and
then to return. Its mission appears to
have been to gather up our affections
and carry them back to heaven with
it, to make us love heaven more and
earth less. Some beautiful girls and
noble boys, whose laugh and shout en-
llvened our homes during the last
Christmas and New Y ear holidays,
are not with us to-day. Dreamless
they sleep beneath the SHOWS of the
winter, in our neighboring cemeteries,
and foul decay has marred their love-
ly forms. In placing the house in
order for these holidays we have found
toy, a shoe, a hat, book. unclaimed
and OwnerleSs, which made US weep
anew. Oh, shall they ever live again !?
The old arm chair which sat in the
corner, and was tenanted by smiling
old age one year ago, is empty now !;
the occupant is gone and some of us
are fatherless. The Lead of the table
is also vacated. The dust lies heavily
upon the mantelpiece, and disorder
has crept in the family chamber, for
with some of us mother is gone, too.
Some friend is gone, some familiar
football is missed, some we'll known
voice is hushed. The recedipg year
has touched us somewhere. We are a
year older. year nearer the grave.
But as the misty spirit of the old year
wreathed away into the dark, dim past,
the angels of God sang the birth hymn
of the New Year. And still you may
hear the inspiring touches of the dy
ing music still lingering in the noun
tain top and quivering gently in the
happy air, and coursing sweetly the
nerve corridors leading to the mind 8
censorlum to greet the human soul.
1899 is here. How many years since
the world was made 1 know not, neith-
er does any man. How many years
since man was made l know not; our
chronologies cannot be absolutely re-
lied upon. But it is 1899 years since
the infant Savior was born, wrapped
in swaddling clothes and laid to sleep
in a manger. 1866 years since the cru
cifixion, burial, resurrection and as
cension to heaven.
The New Year is here, and withhim
his children. Two come around with
glittering frost and robes of trailing
snow; two with tempests in their fists
and stray sunbeams upon their brews;
four clothed in green, enamelled with
buds, flowers and fruit, and straited
with golden ripeness; three with robes
OF red. yellow and purple; one in freez-
ing nudity with a sceptre OF ice. Be-
fore the first may pass we may be
dead. And the remainingSelven may
dance their rounds upon our graves.
MUNsEY.
From the Daily Spectator, Sunday.