No. CXVII.
The Archbishop of Cambray, the amiable Fenelon, has remarked, that God shows us the high value he sets upon time, by giving us, in absolute possession, one instant only, leaving us, in utter uncertainty, if we shall ever have another. And yet, so little are we disturbed, by this truly momentous consideration, that, long before the breath is fairly out of the old year’s body, we are found busily occupied, in gathering chaplets, for the brows of the new one.
The early Christians were opposed to New Year’s Gifts, as fixedly, as some of the latter Christians are opposed to the song and the dance. But I am inclined to believe the rising generation will take steps, very like their fathers—that light fantastic tongues and toes, will continue to wag, to all eternity—and that the unmusical and rheumatic will deplore over such heterodox and ungodly proceedings, till the world shall be no more.
The New Year’s gifts of the Romans were, originally, exceedingly simple. Sprigs of vervain, gathered in a wood, consecrated to Strenia, the goddess of Strength, somehow or other, came into favor, and were accounted of good omen. A custom arose of sending these sprigs about the neighborhood, as tokens of friendship, on New Year’s day; and these trifling remembrancers obtained the name of Strenæ. These sprigs of vervain, ere long, wore out their welcome; and were followed, in after years, by presents of dates, figs and honey. Clients thus complimented their patrons; and, before many anniversaries, the coin of Rome began to mingle with the donative, whatever it might be; and, very soon, the advantage of the receiver came less to be consulted, than the reputation of him, who gave.
When I contemplate those ample storehouses of all, that is gorgeous and glittering—those receptacles of useless finery, which nobody actually wants—and, at the same time, reflect upon all that I know, and much that I conjecture, of the necessities and distresses of mankind, I am not certain, that it may not be wise to resume the earlier custom of the Romans, and embody, in certain cases, our annual tokens of friendship and good will, in such useful materials, as figs, dates and honey.
Are there not individuals, who, upon the reception of some gaudy and expensive bagatelle, are ready to exclaim, with the cock in Æsop—“I had rather have one grain of dear, delicious, barley, than all the jewels under the sun!”
I am not so utopian, as to anticipate any immediate or very extensive reformation, in this practice, which, excellent as it is, when restrained within reasonable bounds, is, unquestionably, under certain circumstances, productive of evil. It is not to be expected, that expensive bijoux, for new year’s gifts, will speedily give place to sugar and molasses. But there are cases, not a few, when, upon a new year’s day, the wealthy giver, without paining the recipient, may convert the annual compliment, into something better than a worthless toy—a fantastical token of ostentatious remembrance.
The Christian world has settled down, at last, upon the first of January, as New Year’s day. It was not always thus; and, even now, no little difficulty occurs, in our attempts to refer historical events to particular years. We can do no better, perhaps, than to devote this number to a brief exposition of this difficulty.
Every schoolboy knows, that Romulus divided the year into ten months. The first was March, and, from March to December, they have retained their original names, for some six and twenty centuries, excepting the fifth and sixth month, which, from Quintilis and Sextilis, have been changed, in honor of Julius and Augustus.