ments for the accommodation of a
transitory diurnal multitude. But a more important change awaits the
venerable town. An immense accumulation of musty prejudices 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 probable
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 dominion 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 inquiring the
contents of the huge bandbox 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 anything
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 beautiful women's bloom which the disconsolate
fair ones owe me a bitter grudge for stealing. I have likewise 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 eloquently 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-smelling flower--a species of rose."

"They soon