Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by S. G. Goodrich, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
MERRY’S
MUSEUM.
JANUARY, 1843.
Vol. V. No 1.
A New-Year’s Bow.
Well, here we are again at the opening of a new year! It might seem that New-Year’s day had come so often as to have lost its interest; that by repetition it would become stale; that the words, “I wish you a happy new year!” would cease to excite the slightest regard. But it is not so. New-Year’s day seems always to take us by a kind of pleasant surprise, and never fails to be welcomed by old and young, boys and girls. It has been said by some old writers, that such anniversaries as this of New-Year’s day, are, in the journey of life, like milestones along the road, marking the distance we have travelled, and informing us of the position we occupy in respect to the beginning and end of our existence. If, indeed, we were to use them as such; if, on New-Year’s day, we were accustomed to look over our past lives, to compare what we have done with what is required of us; to see when we have performed, and when failed in, our duty; to mourn over past errors and neglect, and adopt new resolutions of improvement for the future—then, indeed, would New-Year’s day be an instructive mile-stone on our journey, a point of reckoning of the greatest benefit; and then it would not pass by as a mere thoughtless holiday of pleasant speeches and profitless amusement.
And why, blue eyes and black eyes!—tell me why we should not thus use our New-Year’s day—or at least a little piece of it? I will not ask you to give the whole day to a moral lecture. No! You may partake freely of the frolics and festivities of the day; you may greet all your friends and companions with that pleasant salutation—“A happy new year!” It is a cheerful sound, especially when uttered from child to child; from the child to the parent; from friend to friend. And you may engage in the various amusements of the season, as freely as if old Bob Merry were a child again, and romping with you, the gayest of the gay.
But, after your sports are done, just sit down in the chimney corner, with me. Don’t be afraid, for I am not about to scold you; or if I do scold a little, remember that I shall do it in all kindness; remember that I am like old Baldwin’s dog, who had lost his teeth,—my bark is worse than my bite. So, here we are! Now sit still, boys; don’t giggle, you girls! John, Tom, Peter, silence! I am about to tell you a story of New-Year’s day.