AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

Otago Witness, Issue 2287, 30 December 1897, Page 44

AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

. Aye, tarn them all out ! — all the odd corners ;.let no spot of the old year's dust remain to greet the new. Turn out all the old boxes ; shake out each article : shake and air them all— moths are abhorrent. AH is bustle and hurry and gladness — the New Year is coming, and he must be welcomed with shining things. There is a ripple of mirtb, a flow of pleasant chat ; but what is this that checks the laughter so'suddenly? Only a photograph, faded and soiled. A boyish face looking out from it, and by its side another — a girl's — a bright, smiling face, well pleased with itself and all others. And yet tears are falling on the photo — it is Memory's work. She shows the boy learning many of Life's sterner lessons in Sorrow's hard school, and tells how he lay just a year ago to-day dying, dying in such anguish that we prayed God to cut it short and take him to that home where sorrow and snfieriDg cease ; and He toolc him — took the spirit — and the dust lies in a lonely grave. And the girl — what of her 1 I ccc her in fancy now, but her face is faded and worn. Suffering has wrought its cruel work there: God grant her compensating joy. Brush away the tears; we must fiaish our work, and tears hinder.

Now we are smiling over old-fashioned garments, wondering how people could ever wear them. Yet handle them tenderly, the wearers all played a part In life's drama : but who could help laughing over this gailyfigured vest ? Surely it waß never really worn ? Ye?, it was worn, little one — donned proudly by a gay youth on his bridal morn. 'Long/, happy years they journeyed — he and the girl bride ; but on a sudden a whirlwind arose, .blew fiercely for a few moments, and then he stood alone, with imploring arms stretched vainly out, while from his heart bursts the bitter cry, " How shall I live without thee ? " Yet he lived. Every heart hides its own story of joy or grief. What a queer little " tidy " ! Shall I throw it out with the rubbish? No, child, nol Bright, happy thoughts were woven with every stitch. I was a lassie then ; had learned neither csre nor sorrow, or not well enough to remember the lessons. Life -was rose hued ; great thiog3 seemed easy of achievement. Hope was bright and brave and strong, as were faith ia God and trust in my fellow beings. Success seemed always near. And how is it now ? Ab, well, I have learned many thicg*, have known many sorrows, have waded deep waters and been very tired, but Hope has never left me uncheered. Faith grows stronger as need of her increases. ' Trust in mankind- wavers not. I have learned that by sorrow God moulds us for the fulfilment of His will. Yes, child, life is worth living when we are in earnest, and all sorrow for which there is no balm is home-made. But we must speed on. Ah, that bundle of ' old letters— -this from our wanderer — full of bright promises and loving thought, stirs the heart. Where is he now ? Is the boyish heart still true to home and home's dear ones ? God guide and keep him wherever he is. This faded writiog in delicate hand, with its well-remembered abbreviation?, its words of loving counsel, strong and brave, its bright encouragement, tender sympathy :' this is my mother's ; none other wrote^as she wrote : " Be ye steadfast., immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord." Though the writing pales, its pleading is still strong. Close the box; children — lam tired.' In the bustle of house brightening and cleansing, let us not forget to cleanse our heartu, ere dies the good old year, of. envy and hatred. Let forgiveness rule, bringing in her train peace and goodwill.

Ab, surely if God p9rmits us to enter the New Year, we may do so with" hearts at peace with all, with thankfulness for the mercies of the past, and with well-grounded resolves to abstain from all that might cause Regret to stand, like a grizzly wolf, by us in the close of the next year, and by diffusing happiness we can best secure it to ourselves. ' Seeds which mildew in the garner, scattered fill with life the plain. Violet.