A NEW YEAR STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14250, 22 December 1909, Page 6 (Supplement)

A NEW YEAR STORY.

It was eve: of a Now Year. Father Time, according to his custom, was spending the last hours of the old year in reading through and sorting out the piles of Good Resolution Documents received by him just twelve months back. " Every Now Year Eve he sat down to this t isk with a somewhat heavy heart, for he know from ago-long experience that moat of tho documents he would have to consign to his huge waste-paper basket, and that, comparatively speaking, only a few would remain to form his " Year Book of Deals Done," which volume he had compiled for thousands of years. Age after age, and century after century, Father Time had carefully collected the story of the years, one by one; and as ho now looked round his vast library, etocked with the chronicles of the world's progress and achievement, ho was moved to take down one of the roost ancient-looking tomes, cracked and wrinkled with the passage, of ten thousand years. As ho glanced down the half-obliterated pages, ho smiled as he read, for there he saw the Good Resolutions of those whose single purpose well achieved was to slay m many men in battle and steal so many beasts from their neighbours during the year to follow. "Well! Weli!" said Father me, "those were at least days of action, day© of independence, when every man strove lustily for life, and dreamed not of alms from another." Book after book he took down, thoughtfully fingering the thread of endeavour throughout the ages. Here were Resolutions devoutly accomplished, weary of the stress of daily battle, betook themselves to tho silent wilderness to pass the time in holy-meditation, far from the din and danger of warfare. "Gentle, timorous souls were these, 'paid Father Time tenderly. Then remembering the words of ono of his greatest tons, lie murmured, " I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue !' But ho closed the book softly, for many of these, too, had been heroes, having waged & silent war against themselves. The?) he cam© to records, the edges ot which till gleamed brightly, and of which the bindings buro scarcely the duet of two

decades. Page after page he read, now smiling, now frowning, as he noted the groat designs of men who had done their share towards the enrichment of knowledge, the increase of power and the prosperity of the multitudes. Although the book had been printed throughout in gold, some of the entries now appeared black and lustreless. It was these which had brought the frown to Father Time's ancient brow, for now ho knew that much which had at first appeared to bo prompted by highest motives only, had, indeed, been planned and executed to satisfy the lust for place or the greed of gold. . As he scanned tho latest volume, his face paled and his eyes grow sombre. For here nearly all tho lettering had lost it*> golden lifstro, although but a year had passed since the book had taken its due place upon the library shelf. Over and over again, as if for comfort, Father Time read the few still-shining passages. "It is good," he told himself, "that there are still some clean-hearted, clear-eyed men in the world—still a few who win work for the good work's sake, and not for greed or visible possessions." | As he spoke the Spirit of the Age came | and stood beside him, laughing hoarsely in | his ear. « | "Visible possessions," it cried scornfully. " What else is there worth living for?" For answer Father Time pointed steadily to one golden passage after another upon, the open pages, and road aloud tho names inscribed beneath.

" Go, ask those for an answer," ho said sternly. And the Spirit of tho Age slunk away as silently as it had come. Then, with not another%lance at the black letters, Father Time shut the book, and returned to the waiting piles of Good Resolutions of the year that was just about to die. Slowly and laboriously he read each document. With infinite care he checked each Good Resolution achieved, and placed it aside with its fellows, ready for his Year Book of Things Done. Many and many a time he sighed heavily as a Good Resolution, nobly conceived, fluttered down vainly into his huge wastepaper basket, to be consumed at last by the great funeral pyre in the Valley of Oblivion. And as these pitiful fragments so preci- ! oils, so great with high intention and fine 1 fervour but twelve months pact, left his

grudging hand, Father Time at length paused to consider the sad procession of lost deeds. " How does it come about," ho mused aloud, " that so much greatness passes into the Valley of Oblivion, into the Tomb of Nothingness? Here lies the achievements of many smaller minds—many minor deeds carried through to successful issues. There," he gazed at the waste at hits feet, "there lie ideas instinct with power, plans sublimely imagined ! yet lost for all time!" The Spirit of Thought advanced from the shadows as he spoke. With grieved and apologetic air the Phantom stood before him. V Upon me bo the blame for so much wasted treasure," it said, bowing its head ! as if in shame. "Nay," cried Father Time, "not so! To you, great Spirit of Thought', belongs the garnered harvests of all the ages. To you the world owe© all its progress. En-en those. minor deeds are the product of your inspiration." " That may be so," said tho Spirit, " hut thoso succeeded because they did nob fall utterly under my spell. To iny great brother, the Spirit of Action, ho praise is due." Then Father Time raised his head eagerly, and besought the Spirit of Thought, to read tho riddle for him more clearly. Then tho Phantom began " Once there were two brothers who were gardeners, and their gardens lay side by side. The elder was known among the neighbours as Plod-Along. The other, little to his liking, was known as Quick Wits. " Now, the lord of tho land was a great lover of gardens. It rejoiced his heart to see fair llowers in great' abundance. So he promised a great reward to the gardener whose garden should show the most beautiful flowers and strongest plants upon his, tho lord's, return after a year-long journey. " The two brothers heard of their lord's promise, and each thought straightway of his own garden. Within an hour of the news, Quick-Wits had planned his garden, had decided what to uproot, and what strange new wonderful plants to obtain and set therein. Meantime Plod-Along was quietly picking out grubs and throwing out weeds according to his usual practice. "As the days passed, Quick-Wits' plane succeeded slowly, if, indeed, at all. Ho hired a man to uproot tho undesired plants, while ho #ave his time to thinking about

the hew marvels anon to be his. There was truly much to think about. Special knowledge was required for the rearing of these uncommon growths, and that knowledge Quick-Wits obtained slowly, for books were costly, and he was a poor man. " Many weeks, oven months, and the more Quick-Wits read and thought, and thought and read, the more doubtful lie became of his ability to put his scheme into effect. His gardening tools lay rusting while ho sat oil the bench thinking, thinking." Here the Spirit of Thought paused, and looked mournfully at his listener. Then he continued : "But all this time, Plod-Along had gone about his usual business, thinking a little now and then, but not too much, and placing more faith in his spade and rake and trowel than upon books of science and gardening manuals. " And when, at last, after twelve long months, the lord of the hind returned from his journey, he. found the garden of PlodAlong bright with sturdy, wholesome, if not uncommon flowers, while the garden of Quick-Wits was but a wilderness of weeds. And thus, to Plod-Along was given the great reward." For a few moments there was silence. Then Father Time said huskily : " But, had Quick-Wits only carried out his plan, how matchless, would have been 'his garden!" " Alas ! He thought too much, and actjed too little," said the Spirit. "So it is only too often with my dearest devotees. My brother, the great Spirit of Action, wields the wiser sceptre." And with a long) slow sigh, the Phantom disappeared. Then Father Time took up his ancient pen and wrote these words of counsel for the New Year : " Let thought and action go steadily hand in hand, lest each fall on evil days. So shall the year bring golden harvests of intention well fulfilled." As he laid down his pen, the New Year bells burst merrily upon the night air. A fresh year of promise was born 1

" I wonder what causes tlio flight of time?" paid the fair maid at the Christmas party. "It is probably urged on by the spur of the moment," rejoined the brilliant young man,, shackling iafcr hie glace of claret amy-''