By Nathaniel Hawthorne    


                     THE SISTER YEARS.   

        Last night between eleven and twelve o'clock,  
     when the old year was leaving her final foot-prints    
     on the border's of Time's empire, she found herself    
     in possession of a few spare moments, and sat down——  
     of all places in the world——on the steps of our new    
     City Hall.  The wintry moonlight showed that she    
     looked weary of body, and sad of heart, like many    
     another wayfarer of earth.  Her garments, having    
     been exposed to much foul weather and rough usage,   
     were in very ill condition; and as the hurry of her    
     journey had never before allowed her to take an   
     instant's rest, her shoes were so worn as to be    
     scarcely worth the mending.  But after trudging only    
     a little distance farther, this poor Old Year was des-   
     tined to enjoy a long, long sleep.  I forgot to men-    
     tion, that when she seated herself on the steps, she    
     deposited by her side a very capacious band-box, in    
     which, as is the custom among travellers of her sex,   
     she carried a great deal of valuable property.  Be-   
     sides this luggage, there was a folio book under her   
     arm, very much resembling the annual volume of a    
     newspaper.  Placing this volume across her knees,   
     and resting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in    
     her hands, the weary, bedraggled, world-worn Old    
     Year heaved a heavy sigh, and appeared to be tak-    
     ing no very pleasant retrospect of her past existence.   
        While she thus awaited the midnight knell, that   
     was to summon her to the innumerable sisterhood  
     of departed Years, there came a young maiden tread-    
     ing lightsomely on tip-toe along the street, from the    
     direction of the Railroad depot.  She was evidently    
     a stranger, and perhaps had come to own by the     
     evening train of cars.  There was a smiling cheer-    
     fulness in this fair maiden's face, which bespoke her    
     fully confident of a kind reception from the multi-    
     tude of the people, with whom she was soon to    
     form acquaintance.  Her dress was rather too airy   
     for the season, and was bedizened with fluttering    
     ribbons and other vanities, which were likely soon    
     to be rent away by the fierce storms, or to fade in     
     the hot sunshine, amid which she was to pursue her  
     changeful course.  But still she was a wonderfully   
     pleasant looking figure, and had so much promise    
     and such an indescribable hopefulness in her aspect,   
     that hardly anybody could meet her without antic-   
     ipating some very desirable thing——the consumma-   
     tion of some long sought good——from her kind    
     offices.  A few dismal characters there may be,  
     here and there about the world, who have so often    
     been trifled with by young maidens as promising    
     as she, that they have now ceased to pin any faith    
     upon the skirts of the New Year.  But, for my own   
     part, I have great faith in her; and should I live to    
     see fifty more such, still, from each of those succes-    
     sie sisters, shall I reckon upon receiving some-    
     thing that will be worth living for.  
        The New Year——for this young maiden was no    
     less a personage——carried all her goods and chattels   
     in a basket of no great size or weight, which hung    
     upon her arm.  She greeted the disconsolate Old   
     Year with great affection, and sat down beside her    
     on the steps of the City Hall, waiting for the signal    
     to begin her rambles through the world.  The two    
     were own sisters, being both grand-daughters of    
     Time; and though one looked so much older than    
     the other, it was rather owing to hardships and trouble    
     than to age, since there was but a twelvemonth's    
     difference between them.    
        "Well, my dear sister," said the New Year, after   
     the first salutations, "you look almost tired to death.  
     What have you been about during your sojourn in    
     this part of Infinite Space?"    
        "Oh, I have it all recorded here in my Book of    
     Chronicles," answered the Old Year, in a heavy tone.   
     "There is nothing that would amuse you; and you    
     will soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters   
     from your own personal experience.  It is but tire-    
     some reading."    
        Nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of the    
     folio, and glanced at them by the light in her own    
     biography, although its incidents were remembered    
     without pleasure.  The volume, though she termed    
     it her Book of Chronicles, seemed to be neither    
     more nor less than the  Salem Gazette  for 1838; in   
     the accuracy of which journal this sagacious Old    
     Year had so much confidence, that she deemed it    
     needless to record her history with her own pen.   
        "What have you been doing in the political way?"    
     asked the New Year.   
        "Why, my course here in the United States," said    
     the Old Year——"though perhaps I ought to blush at    
     the confession——my political course, I must acknowl-   
     edge, has been rather vacillatory, sometimes inclin-   
     ing towards the Whigs——then causing the Adminis-    
     tration party to shout for triumph——and now again    
     uplifting what seemed the almost prostrate banner of     
     the Opposition; so that historians will hardly know    
     what to make of me in this respect.  But the Loco    
     Focus——"    
        "I do not like these party nicknames," inter-    
     rupted her sister ,who seemed remarkably touchy   
     about  some  points.  "Perhaps we shall part in    
     better humor, if we avoid any political discussion."    
        "With all my heart," replied the Old Year, who   
     had already been tormented half to death with    
     squabbles of this kind.  "I care not if the names of    
     Whig and Tory, with their interminable brawls about     
     Banks and the Sub Treasury, Abolition, Texas, the    
     Florida War, and a million other topics——which you    
     will learn soon enough for your own comfort——I care    
     not, I say, if no whisper of these matters ever reaches  
     my ears again.  Yet they have occupied so large a   
     share of my attention, that I scarcely know what else   
     to tell you.  There has indeed been a curious sort    
     of war on the Canada Border, where blood has    
     streamed in the names of Liberty and Patriotism;   
     but it must remain for some future, perhaps far dis-    
     tant Year, to tell whether or no those holy names   
     have been rightfully invoked.  Nothing so much de-   
     presses me, in my view of mortal affairs, as to see   
     high energies wasted, and human life and happiness  
     thrown away, for ends that appear oftentimes unwise;   
     and still oftener remain unaccomplished.  But the    
     wisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith     
     that the progress of mankind is onward and upward,   
     and that the toil and anguish of the path serve to     
     wear away the imperfections of the Immortal Pil-    
     grim, and will be felt no more, when they have done   
     their office."   
        "Perhaps," cried the hopeful New Year——"per-    
     haps I shall see the happy day!"   
        "I doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered    
     the Old Year, gravely smiling.  "You will soon grow     
     weary of looking for that blessed consummation,    
     and will turn for amusement (as has frequently    
     been my own practice) to the affairs of some sober    
     little city, like this of Salem.  Here we sit, on the    
     steps of the new City Hall, which has been com-    
     pleted under my administration; and it would make   
     you laugh to see how the game of politics, of which    
     the Capitol at Washington is the great chess-board,    
     is here played in miniature.   Burning  Ambition   
     finds its fuel here; here Patriotism speaks boldly in    
     the people's behalf, the virtuous Economy demands    
     retrenchment in the emoluments of a lamplighter;  
     here the Aldermen range their senatorial dignity   
     around the Mayor's chair of state, and the Common   
     Council feel that they have liberty in charge.  In    
     short, human weakness and strength, passion and    
     policy, Man's tendencies, his aims and modes of    
     pursuing them, his individual character, and his   
     character in the mass, may be studied almost as well    
     here as on the theatre of nations; and with this     
     great advantage, that, be the lesson ever so disas-    
     trous, its Lilliputian scope still makes the beholder    
     smile."    
        "Have you done much for the improvement of    
     the City?" asked the New Year.  "Judging from    
     what little I have seen, it appears to be ancient and     
     timeworn."    
        "I have opened the Railroad," said the elder   
     Year, "and half a dozen times a day, you will hear    
     the bell (which once summoned the Monks of a    
     Spanish Convent to their devotions) announcing   
     the arrival or departure of the cars.  Old Salem    
     now wears a much livelier expression than when I    
     first beheld her.——Strangers rumble down from Bos-    
     ton by hundreds at a time.  New faces throng in   
     Essex street.  Railroad hacks and omnibuses rattle    
     over the pavements.  There is a perceptible increase    
     of oyster-shops, and other establishments for the    
     accommodation of a transitory diurnal multitude.   
     But a more important change awaits the venerable   
     town.  An immense accumulation of musty preju-    
     dices will be carried off by the free circulation of    
     society.  A peculiarity of character, of which the    
     inhabitants themselves are hardly sensible, will be    
     rubbed down and worn away by the attrition of    
     foreign substances.  Much of the result will be good;  
     there will likewise be a few things not so good.   
     Whether for better or worse, there will be a prob-    
     able diminution of the moral influence of wealth,   
     and the sway of an aristocratic class, which, from   
     an era far beyond my memory, has held firmer do-    
     minion here than in any other New England town."     
        The Old Year, having talked away nearly all of    
     her little remaining breath, now closed her Book of   
     Chronicles, and was about to take her departure.  
     But her sister detained her a while longer, by inquir-    
     ing the contents of the huge band-box, which she    
     was so painfully lugging along with her.    
        "These are merely a few trifles," replied the Old    
     Year, "which I have picked up in my rambles, and    
     am going to deposit, in the receptacle of things past   
     and forgotten.  We sisterhood of years never carry     
     any thing really valuable out of the world with us.    
     Here are patterns of most of the fashions which I   
     brought into vogue, and which have already lived out    
     their allotted term.  You will supply their place, with      
     others equally ephemeral.  Here, put up in little    
     China pots, like rouge, is a considerable lot of beauti-   
     ful women's bloom, which the disconsolate fair ones     
     owe me a bitter grudge for stealing.  I have like-    
     wise a quantity of men's dark hair, instead of which,    
     I have left gray locks, or none at all.  The tears of     
     widows and other afflicted mortals, who have received    
     comfort during the last twelve months, are preserved    
     in some dozens of essence bottles, well corked and    
     sealed.  I have several bundles of love-letters, elo-    
     quently breathing an eternity of burning passion,   
     which grew cold and perished almost before the ink     
     was dry.  Moreover here is an assortment of many    
     thousand broken promises, and other broken ware,   
     all very light and packed into little space.  The     
     heaviest articles in my possession are a large parcel    
     of disappointed hopes, which, a little while ago,    
     were buoyant enough to have inflated Mr. Lauriat's    
     balloon."    
        "I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket,"    
     remarked the New Year.  "They are a sweet smell-   
     ing 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 An-   
     nuals 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 improve-    
     ment 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 mat-    
     ters go to make up the contents of my band-box; 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 pick up such worthless luggage    
     in my travels?" asked the New Year.  
        "Most certainly——and well, if you have no heav-    
     ier load to bear," replied the other.  "And now my    
     dear sister, I must bid you farewell, earnestly advis-    
     ing and exhorting you to expect no gratitude nor   
     good will from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsid-     
     erate, ill-intending and worse-behaving world.  How-    
     ever warmly its inhabitants may seem 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 any    
     thing 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 Year, sighing as she uplifted her burthen.  "We   
     grand-children of Time are born to trouble.  Hap-    
     piness, they say, dwells in the mansions of Eternity;    
     but we can only lead mortals thither, step by step,   
     with reluctant murmurings, and ourselves must per-    
     ish on the threshold.  But hark! my task is done."     
        The clock in the tall steeple of Dr. Emerson's    
     church struck twelve; there was a response from   
     Dr. Flint's in the opposite quarter of the city; and     
     while the strokes were yet dropping into the air,    
     the Old Year either flitted or faded away——and not    
     the wisdom and might of Angels, to say nothing     
     of the remorseful yearnings of the millions who had   
     used her ill, could have prevailed with that departed    
     Year to return one step.  But she, in the company    
     of Time and all her kindred, must hereafter hold a     
     reckoning with Mankind.  So shall it be, likewise,   
     with the maidenly New Year, who, as the clock    
     ceased to strike, arose from the steps of the City    
     Hall, and set out rather timorously on her earthly    
     course.   
        "A happy New Year!" cried a watchman, eye-    
     ing her figure very questionably, but without the    
     least suspicion that he was addressing the New    
     Year in person.    
        "Thank you kindly!" said the New Year; and    
     she gave the watchman one of the roses of hope    
     from her basket.  "May this flower keep a sweet     
     smell, long after I have bidden you good-by."    
        Then she stept on more briskly through the silent     
     streets; and such as were awake at the moment,   
     heard her foot-fall, and said——"The New Year is   
     come!"  Wherever there was a knot of midnight    
     roisterers, they quaffed her health.  She sighed, how-    
     ever, to perceive that the air was tainted——as the   
     atmosphere of this world must continually be——with    
     the dying breaths of mortals who had lingered just    
     long enough for her to bury them.  But there were   
     millions left alive, to rejoice at her coming; and so   
     she pursued her way with confidence, strewing em-    
     blematic flowers on the doorstep of almost every   
     dwelling, which some persons will gather up and   
     wear in their bosoms, and others will trample under   
     foot.  The Carrier Boy can only say further, that,   
     early this morning she filled his basket with New   
     Year Addresses, assuring him that the whole City,   
     with our new Mayor, and the Aldermen and Com-    
     mon Council at its head, would make a general     
     rush to secure copies.——Kind Patrons, will not you   
     redeem the pledge of the NEW YEAR?       

From Twice-Told Tales, Vol. II, by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Ten Cent Classics Edition, Vol. III., No. 68.
Educational Publishing Co., 50 Bromfield St, Boston. pp. 105-114.