Now, too,—first evidences of the revivifying principle of the new-born year—for all that we have hitherto noticed are but lingering remnants of the old—Now, the golden and blue crocuses peep up their pointed coronals from amidst their guarding palisades of green and gray leaves, that they may be ready to come forth at the call of the first February sun that looks warmly upon them; and perchance one here and there, bolder than the rest, has started fairly out of the earth already, and half opened her trim form, pretending to have mistaken the true time; as a forward school-miss will occasionally be seen coquetting with a smart cornet, before she has been regularly produced,—as if she did not know that there was “any harm in it.”
We are now to consider the pretensions of January in general.
When the palm of merit is to be awarded among the Months, it is usual to assign it to May by acclamation. But if the claim depends on the sum of delight which each witnesses or brings with her, I doubt if January should not bear the bell from her more blooming sister, if it were only in virtue of her share in the aforenamed festivities of the Christmas Holidays. And then, what a happy influence does she not exercise on all the rest of the Year, by the family meetings she brings about, and by the kindling and renewing of the social affections that grow out of, and are chiefly dependent on these. And what sweet remembrances and associations does she not scatter before her, through all the time to come, by her gifts—the “new year’s gifts!” Christmas-boxes (as they are called) are but sordid boons in comparison of these; they are mere money paid for mere services rendered or expected; wages for work done and performed; barterings of value for value; offerings of the pocket to the pocket. But new year’s gifts are offerings of the affections to the affections—of the heart to the heart. The value of the first depends purely on themselves; and the gratitude (such as it is) which they call forth, is measured by the gross amount of that value. But the others owe their value to the wishes and intentions of the giver; and the gratitude they call forth springs from the affections of the receiver.
And then, who can see a New Year open upon him, without being better for the prospect—without making sundry wise reflections (for any reflections on this subject must be comparatively wise ones) on the step he is about to take towards the goal of his being? Every first of January that we arrive at, is an imaginary mile-stone on the turnpike track of human life; at once a resting-place for thought and meditation, and a starting point for fresh exertion in the performance of our journey. The man who does not at least propose to himself to be better this year than he was last, must be either very good or very bad indeed! And only to propose to be better, is something; if nothing else it is an acknowledgment of our need to be so,—which is the first step towards amendment. But in fact, to propose to oneself to do well, is in some sort to do well, positively; for there is no such thing as a stationary point in human endeavours; he who is not worse to-day than he was yesterday, is better; and he who is not better, is worse.
The very name of January, from Janus, two-faced, “looking before and after,” indicates the reflective propensities which she encourages, and which when duly exercised cannot fail to lead to good.
And then January is the youngest of the yearly brood, and therefore prima facie the best; for I protest most strenuously against the comparative age which Chaucer (I think) has assigned to this month by implication, when he compares an old husband and a young wife to “January and June.” These poets will sacrifice any thing to alliteration, even abstract truth. I am sorry to say this of Chaucer, whose poetry is more of “a true thing” than that of any other, always excepting Mr. Crabbe’s, which is too much of a true thing. And nobody knew better than Chaucer the respective merits of the Months, and the peculiar qualities and characteristics which appertain to each. But, I repeat, alliteration is the Scylla and Charybdis united of all who embark on the perilous ocean of poetry; and that Chaucer himself chose occasionally to “listen to the voice of the charmer, charmed she never so unwisely,” the above example affords sufficient proof. I am afraid poets themselves are too self-opiniated people to make it worth while for me to warn them on this point; but I hereby pray all prose writers pertinaciously to avoid so pernicious a practice. This, however, by the by.
I need scarcely accumulate other arguments and examples to show that my favourite January deserves to rank first among the Months in merit, as she does in place. But lest doubters should still remain, I will add, ask the makers-out of annual accounts whether any month can compare with January, since then they may begin to hope for a settlement, and may even in some cases venture to ask for it; which latter is a comfort that has been denied them during all the rest of the year; besides its being a remote step towards the said settlement. And on the other hand, ask the contractors of annual accounts whether January is not the best of all possible months, since then they may begin to order afresh, with the prospect of a whole year’s impunity. The answers to these two questions must of course decide the point, since the two classes of persons to whom they are addressed include the whole adult(erated) population of these commercial realms.