Nothing so much depresses me in my view of mortalaffairs as to see high energies wasted and human life andhappiness thrown away for ends that appear oftentimesunwise， and still oftener remain unaccomplished. Butthe wisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith thatthe progress of mankind is onward and upward， and thatthe toil and anguish of the path serve to wear away theimperfections of the immortal pilgrim， and will be felt nomore when they have done their office.”
“Perhaps，” cried the hopeful New Year— “perhaps Ishall see that happy day.”
“I doubt whether it be so close at hand，” answered theOld Year， gravely smiling. “You will soon grow weary oflooking for that blessed consummation， and will turn foramusement—as has frequently been my own practice—tothe affairs of some sober little city like this of Salem.
Here we sit on the steps of the new city-hall which hasbeen completed under my administration， and it wouldmake you laugh to see how the game of politics of whichthe Capitol at Washington is the great chess-board ishere played in miniature. Burning Ambition finds its fuelhere； here patriotism speaks boldly in the people’s behalfand virtuous economy demands retrenchment in theemoluments of a lamplighter； here the aldermen rangetheir senatorial dignity around the mayor’s chair of stateand the common council feel that they have liberty incharge. In short， human weakness and strength， passionand policy， man’s tendencies， his aims and modes ofpursuing them， his individual character and his characterin the mass， may be studied almost as well here as on thetheatre of nations， and with this great advantage—that，be the lesson ever so disastrous， its Liliputian scope stillmakes 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 time-worn.”
“I have opened the railroad，” said the elder Year， “andhalf a dozen times a day you will hear the bell whichonce summoned the monks of a Spanish convent to theirdevotions announcing the arrival or departure of the cars.
Old Salem now wears a much livelier expression than whenI first beheld her. Strangers rumble down from Bostonby 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 otherestablishments for the accommodation of a transitorydiurnal multitude. But a more important change awaitsthe venerable town. An immense accumulation of mustyprejudices will be carried off by the free circulation ofsociety. A peculiarity of character of which the inhabitantsthemselves are hardly sensible will be rubbed down andworn away by the attrition of foreign substances. Much ofthe result will be good； there will likewise be a few thingsnot so good. Whether for better or worse， there will bea probable diminution of the moral influence of wealth，and the sway of an aristocratic class which from an era farbeyond my memory has held firmer dominion here than inany other New England town.”
The Old Year， having talked away nearly all of her littleremaining breath， now closed her book of chronicles， andwas about to take her departure， but her sister detainedher a while longer by inquiring the contents of the hugebandbox which she was so painfully lugging along withher.
“These are merely a few trifles，” replied the Old Year，“which I have picked up in my rambles and am going todeposit in the receptacle of things past and forgotten. Wesisterhood of years never carry anything really valuableout of the world with us. Here are patterns of most ofthe fashions which I brought into vogue， and which havealready lived out their allotted term； you will supply theirplace with others equally ephemeral. Here， put up in littlechina pots， like rouge， is a considerable lot of beautifulwomen’s bloom which the disconsolate fair ones owe mea bitter grudge for stealing. I have likewise a quantity ofmen’s dark hair， instead of which I have left gray locks ornone at all. The tears of widows and other afflicted mortalswho have received comfort during the last twelve monthsare preserved in some dozens of essence-bottles wellcorked and sealed. I have several bundles of love-letterseloquently breathing an eternity of burning passion whichgrew cold and perished almost before the ink was dry.
Moreover， here is an assortment of many thousand brokenpromises and other broken ware， all very light and packedinto little space. The heaviest articles in my possession area large parcel of disappointed hopes which a little whileago were buoyant enough to have inflated Mr. Lauriat’sballoon.”