THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

"O, this is beautiful—beautiful indeed!" cried a young and silvery voice, musical as fairy bells heard at midnight. "How white this snowy drapery hangs upon the roofs of these bright palaces!" and the speaker, a gay boy, danced trippingly along, following in the footsteps of an old, gray-bearded man who was tottering before him.

The old man turned. "You call that snowy drapery beautiful?" said he.

"Yes—it is like the raiment of a bride," said the boy.

"To me it seems a shroud thrown over the grave of buried hopes," answered the old man.

"But what are these joy bells ringing for?" said the boy.

"For a death and for a birth!" replied the old man.

"You speak riddles."

"I speak truth. The same sounds have a different import to different ears. To mine there is a death knell in these tremulous vibrations of the air."

"You are very old, father—and age has cankered you."

"A twelvemonth since, young child of Time," replied the old man, "I was like you."

"A twelvemonth! Your back is bent, your locks are silvery, your voice is tremulous. How is this?"

"Wrinkles and gray hairs are the work of sorrows, not of years. Eyes that are weary of the sight of suffering grow dim apace."

"But hark!" said the youth. "Hear you not that music—the peals of laughter that come from yonder illuminated house? It is a wedding festival."

"Yes," replied the old man, sadly. "A twelvemonth since, I heard the same sounds in the same house. There was music and feasting—it was, as now, a wedding festival. Where is the bride? Go to yonder churchyard. You will find her name inscribed on a simple stone. If you pass out of the city to the north, you will see some huge buildings of brick, towering upon an eminence. If you linger by the garden wall you will hear shrieks and curses, the howls of despair, the ravings of hopeless lunacy. The husband is there—the victim of his own evil passions—a raving maniac."

"Away with these croaking reminiscences!" cried the younger voice. "Let the music peal—let the dance go on. The wine is red within the cup."

"Yes—and the deadly serpent lurks below."

"Then the world is all desolate!" cried the New Year.

"No! there are green spots in the desert!" said the Old Year; "but beware of deeming it all fairyland! But a little while and you will follow me. But the end is not here—after Time, Eternity! There suffering and sin are unknown. There each departed spirit, after making the circuit of its appointed sphere, shall rise to a higher and a higher, while boundless love and wisdom illuminate all, radiating from a centre whose brightness no human senses can conceive."

The old man was gone. The joyous bells had rung his requiem. The young heir was enthroned—and with mingled hope and foreboding commenced the reign of 1853.