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ANY a man at this time will spend a few moments reflecting upon the successes and disappointments of
the Old Year; but it will not pay to sit long by the fireside or in the office and gaze into the ashes of the
past. The Old Year has gone, with its sorrows and its pleasures—Le rot est mort; vive le roi.
The Old Year is laid away and long live the new!
When a year passes some weep, some rejoice, but the big world spins on and cares not at all. Another of
earth's great ones succeeds and looms up proudly upon the business or.political horizon and another goes down in
the blackness of defeat.
What does it matter? Some broken hearts and blasted reputations.
Some wear the laurel wreath and other heads are circled by a crown of wild oats; but no matter whether we
wear the laurel or the oaten wreath in a little while all is gone and with hardly a parting thought—a fleeting look
the endless caravan of life moves on.
And, yet, another year—another twelve months in which to win or lose—another year in which some of us
may sip a sweeter brew and others may be compelled to drink the bitter draughts of disappointment. The yea?
should mean much to all of us.
Some always try to play the game fair. They take their share of joy and grief and like life as they find it.
And life for many is good enough—some days have some sunshine and in some there are darkening fogs. But
there are all kinds of men, some good, some bad, still most men are loyal, honest, square—most women kind and
true and tender.
There is in the world more love than hate,
More sweetness than bitterness or scandal,
And, though sometimes the odds are great,
I have found the game is worth the candle,
I am glad I have known both toil and strife. In other words, I like this life and I like a man who can look
trouble straight in the eye and smile. I like a man who can stand calm amidst the pressing tasks and obligations
of a busy day-—confident—clean !
I like a man who can sing a small song of thankfulness that life and strength and toil are his. T like the world.
I have had my share of joy and grief; and I suppose to every man about this season of the year comes a reflec-
tive mood. Pie is planning larger things—better things for the New Year.
It is that ambition—that restless desire to do things—which shortens the horizons of the world.
The far away points are brought nearer together by man's industry and ability and we are coming to know
each other better all the while. It does seem more than peculiar that with so much of the good all about us that we
should descend to the narrow, petty, spiteful things which still exist in social and in business life. They are the in-
dications of diseased or undeveloped minds.
The Old Year has in some respects been disappointing, but all years will be, for it is rare indeed that we ever
come up to our fullest expectations. When we reach one point we see another hill beyond which we are desirous
of climbing, and so on until the end of the chapter we are anticipating pleasure in certain accomplishments and
no sooner are they won than we find that there are other points beyond which attract.
Another year!
And what may it mean for many of us, what hidden mysteries may it contain? The dying year was not so
bad in many ways. Good bye, Old Year.
My friends in the music trade have been good to me during 1911 and I have striven to win their approval, I
have endeavored in my humble way to play my part as well as I knew—as well as my energies would permit—as
well as I could with my limited resources; and on the threshold of the New Year T wish to express my thanks for all
of the favors that I have received in the past and to say that T shall continue the tight better equipped—with
stronger resolves and, I think, with keener vision, always striving to climb up hill
instead of down. The going clown is very easy—the upward pull mighty hard
at times—ah, but the satisfaction in winning a battle worthy of a struggle!
Happy New Year, everybody !