"I do not like these party nicknames," interrupted her sister, who
seemed remarkably touchy about some points. "Perhaps we shall part in
better humor, if we avoid any political discussion."

"With all my heart," replied the Old Year, who had already been
tormented half to death with squabbles of this kind. "I care not if
the navies of Whig or Tory, with their interminable brawls about Banks
and the SubTreasury, Abolition, Texas, the Florida War, and a million
of other topics,--which you will learn soon enough for your own
comfort,--I care not, I say, if no whisper of these matters ever
reaches my ears again. Yet they have occupied so large a share of my
attention, that I scarcely know what else to tell you. There has
indeed been a curious sort of war on the Canada border, where blood
has streamed in the names of Liberty and Patriotism; but it must
remain for some future, perhaps far distant Year, to tell whether or
no those holy names have been rightfully invoked. Nothing so much
depresses me, in my view of mortal affairs, as to see high energies
wasted, and human life and happiness thrown away, for ends that appear
oftentimes unwise, and still oftener remain unaccomplished. But the
wisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith that the progress of
Mankind is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish of the
path serve to wear away the imperfections of the Immortal Pilgrim, and
will be felt no more, when they have done their office."

"Perhaps," cried the hopeful New Year,--"perhaps I shall see that
happy day!"

"I doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered the Old Year,
gravely smiling. "You will soon grow weary of looking for that
blessed consummation, and will turn for amusement (as has frequently