Time's Portraiture

Being the Carrier's Address to the Patrons of "The Salem Gazette" for
the 1st of January, 1838.

ADDRESS.

Kind Patrons:---We newspaper carriers are Time's errand-boys; and all
the year round, the old gentleman sends us from one of your doors to
another, to let you know what he is talking about and what he is doing.
We are a strange set of urchins; for, punctually on New Year's morning,
one and all of us are seized with a fit of rhyme, and breakforth in such
hideous strains, that it would be no wonder if the infant Year, with her
step upon the threshold, were frightened away by the discord with which
we strive to welcome her. On these occasions, most generous patrons,
you never fail to give us a taste of your bounty; but whether as a
reward for our verses, or to purchase a respite from further infliction
of them, is best known to your worshipful selves. Moreover, we, Time's
errand-boys as aforesaid, feel it incumbent upon us, on the first day of
every year, to present a sort of summary of our master's dealings with
the world, throughout the whole of the preceding twelvemonth. Now it
has so chanced by a misfortune heretofore unheard of, that I, your
present petitioner, have been altogether forgotten by the Muse. Instead
of being able (as I naturally expected) to measure my ideas into six-
foot lilies, and tack a rhyme at each of their tails, I find myself,
this blessed morning, the same simple proser that I was yesterday, and
shall probably be to-morrow. And to my further mortification, being a
humble-minded little sinner, I feel no wise capable of talking to your
worships with the customary wisdom of my brethren, and giving sage
opinions as to what Time has done right, and what he has done wrong, and
what of right or wrong he means to do hereafter. Such being my unhappy
predicament, it is with no small confusion of face, that I make bold to
present myself at your doors. Yet it were surely a pity that my non-
appearance should defeat your bountiful designs for the replenishing of
my pockets. Wherefore I have bethought me, that it might not displease
your worships to hear a few particulars about the person and habits of
Father Time, with whom, as being one of his errand-boys, I have more
acquaintance than most lads of my years.

For a great many years past, there has been a woodcut on the cover of
the "Farmer's Almanac," pretending to be a portrait of Father Time. It
represents that respectable personage as almost in a state of nudity,
with a single lock of hair on his forehead, wings on his shoulders, and
accoutred with a scythe and an hour-glass. These two latter symbols
appear to betoken that the old fellow works in haying time, by the hour.
But, within my recollection, Time has