NEW-YEARS GIFTS
January 1st
The day of the month came into my mind as soon as I awoke. Another yearis separated from the of ages, and drops into the gulf of the past!
The crowd hasten to wele her young sister. But while all looks areturoward the future, mi to the past. Everyone smiles uponthe new queen; but, in spite of myself, I think of her whom time has justed in her winding-sheet. The past year!--at least I know what shewas, and what she has given me; while this one es surrounded by allthe forebodings of the unknown. What does she hide in the clouds thatmantle her? Is it the storm or the sunshine? Just now it rains, and Ifeel my mind as gloomy as the sky. I have a holiday today; but what e do on a rainy day? I walk up and down my attic out of temper, and Idetermio light my fire.
Unfortuhe matches are bad, the ey smokes, the wood goes out!
I throw down my bellows in disgust, and sink into my old armchair.
In truth, why should I rejoice to see the birth of a new year? All thosewho are already ireets, with holiday looks and smiling faces--dothey uand what makes them so gay? Do they even know what is themeaning of this holiday, or whenes the of New-Years gifts?
Here my mind pauses to prove to itself its superiority over that of thevulgar. I make a parenthesis in my ill-temper in favor of my vanity, andI bring together all the evidence which my knowledge produce.
(The old Romans divided the year into ten months only; it was NumaPompilius who added January and February. The former took its name fromJanus, to whom it was dedicated. As it opehe new year, theysurrous beginning with good omens, and thence came the ofvisits between neighbors, of wishing happiness, and of New-Years gifts.
The presents given by the Romans were symbolic. They sisted s, dates, honeyb, as emblems of "the sweetness of the auspider which the year should begin its course," and a small pieoneycalled stips, which foreboded riches.)
Here I close the parenthesis, aurn to my ill-humor. The littlespeech I have just addressed to myself has restored me my self-satisfa, but made me more dissatisfied with others. I could nowenjoy my breakfast; but the portress has fotten my ms milk, a of preserves is empty! Anyone else would have been vexed: as forme, I affect the most supreme indifferehere remains a hard crust,which I break by main strength, and which I carelessly nibble, as a manfar above the vanities of the world and of fresh rolls.
However, I do not know why my thoughts should grow mloomy by reasonof the difficulties of mastication. I once read the story of anEnglishman who hanged himself because they had brought him his teawithout sugar. There are hours in life when the most trifling crosstakes the form of a calamity. Our tempers are like an lass, whichmakes the object small reat acc to the end you look through.
Usually, the prospect that opens out before my window delights me. It isa mountain-range of roofs, with ridges crossing, interlag, and piledon one another, and upon which tall eys raise their peaks. It wasbut yesterday that they had an Alpine aspee, and I waited for thefirst snowstorm to see glaciers among them; to-day, I only see tiles andstone flues. The pigeons, which assisted my rural illusions, seem nomore than miserable birds which have mistaken the roof for the back yard;the smoke, which rises in light clouds, instead of making me dream of thepanting of Vesuvius, reminds me of ki