The Sister Years

From Twice Told Tales

Last night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when the Old Year was
leaving her final foot prints on the borders 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 destined to enjoy a long,
long sleep. I forgot to mention, that when she seated herself on the
steps, she deposited by her side a very capacious bandbox, in which,
as is the custom among travellers of her sex, she carried a great deal
of valuable property. Besides 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 taking 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 treading lightsomely on tiptoe along the street, from the
direction of the Railroad Depot. She was evidently a stranger, and
perhaps had come to town by the evening train of cars. There was a
smiling cheerfulness in this fair maiden's face, which bespoke her
fully confident of a kind reception from the multitude of 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 anticipating
some very desirable thing--the consummation 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 successive sisters,