“I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket,” remarked the New Year. “They are a sweet-smelling flower,--a species of rose.” “They soon lose their perfume,” replied the sombre Old Year. “What else have you brought to insure a welcome from the discontented race of mortals?” “Why, to say the truth, little or nothing else,” said her sister, with a smile,--“save a few new Annuals and Almanacs, and some New Year’s gifts for the children. But I heartily wish well to poor mortals, and mean to do all I can for their improvement and happiness.” “It is a good resolution,” rejoined the Old Year; “and, by the way, I have a plentiful assortment of good resolutions, which have now grown so stale and musty, that I am ashamed to carry them any farther. Only for fear that the City authorities would send Constable Mansfield, with a warrant after me, I should toss them into the street at once. Many other matters go to make up the contents of my bandbox; but the whole lot would not fetch a single bid, even at an auction of worn-out furniture; and as they are worth nothing either to you or anybody else, I need not trouble you with a longer catalogue.” “And must I also pickup such worthless luggage in my travels?” asked the New Year. “Most certainly; and well, if you have no heavier load to bear,” replied the other. “And now, my dear sister, I must bid you farewell, earnestly advising and exhorting you to expect no gratitude ‘nor goodwill from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending, and worse-behaving world. However warmly its inhabitants may seen to welcome you, yet, do what you may, and lavish on them what means of happiness you please, they will still be complaining, still craving what it is not in your power to give, still looking forward to some other Year for the accomplishment of projects which ought never to have been formed, and which, if successful, would only provide new occasions of discontent. If these ridiculous people ever see anything tolerable in you, it will be after you are gone forever.” “But I,” cried the fresh-hearted New Year,--“I shall try to leave men wiser than I find them. I will offer them freely whatever good gifts Providence permits me to distribute, and will tell them to be thankful for what they have, and humbly hopeful for more; and surely, if they are not absolute fools, they will condescend to be happy, and will allow me to be a happy Year. For my happiness must depend on them.” “Alas for you, then, my poor sister!” said the Old fear, sighing, as she uplifted her burden. “We grand-children of Time are born to trouble. Happiness, they say, dwells in the mansions of Eternity; but we can only lead mortals thither, step by step, with reluctant murmurings, and ourselves must perish on the threshold. But hark! my task is done.”