n breast. His garments had
once been white and shining, but they were now stained and darkened by
travel, and portions of them trailed in the dust. As he drew nigh I
observed that the carried in his hand a closely written scroll, on which
was recorded the events of the past year. As I gazed upon the record, I
read of life begun, and of death in every circumstance and condition of
mortal being, of happiness and misery, of love and hate, of good and
evil,--all mingling their different results in that graphic record; and
I trembled as my own name met my view, with the long list of
opportunities for good unimproved, together with the many sins, both of
omission and commission, of which I had been guilty during the past
year; but there was nothing left out,--the events in the life of every
individual member of the human family were there all recorded in
legible characters. As the midnight hour struck, the aged, man who
typified the old year faded from my view, and, almost before I was aware
of the change, youth and beauty, stood smiling before me. The old year
gone, the new year had begun. His robes where white and glistening, his
voice was mirthful, and his step buoyant; health and vigor braced his
limbs. He too, bare in his hand a scroll, but white as the unsullied
snow; not a line was yet traced upon its pure surface except the title,
Record of 1872. I gazed on its fresh and gladsome visage with mingled
emotions of sorrow and joy, and I breathed my prayer for forgiveness,
for the follies and sins of the departed year.

End of Project Gutenberg's Stories and Sketches, by Harriet S. Caswell

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