Cleveland morning leader. [volume] (Cleveland [Ohio]) 1854-1865, 1860-04-17
MORNING LEADER.
RuRsDAY MoRNINQ, APRIL Ig, Ise0.
GroWinE Old.


lf0na hes young heart in his LEFT breast.
pocket and everything has gone right with him
ever SINCE be can remember, and he ats in his
arm chaiEs be may easily fancy himself young
l--indeed, quite yeung-in fact, jHvsaile, but
4 Vill not do be is old in spite OF his heart.
and his armchaiE, and his fanoies. -
Il isa painful process, that of beginning to find
ont what the world has known ever 50 long
that onois growing old. How Il shocks him
some day, ss he is walking In the garden. 70
hear the gardener talk 10 the eoOs about the
old man" and the old man, nobody il life but
bis own adolascept self, Old mani And he
steps as spEy as cat, and discharges the IN.
fortunate gardener, ahd is too much ia a pas
sion 70 give him q character %
Then, again, i'the arassshopper Is . burden, y
for little things trouble him, as they never did
years ago, but be thinks, little things have got
their growth since these old times Bot this
dent quite satisfy him, and he muses. over il,
and be wonders why his shai0m extends 30 faF
70 the eastward
Some days be meets stranger in the street:
ne u booted like trooper, and bearded like
pardi he looks him s'squaEe" ia the eye He is
glad to see him; wonders if he don't remember
him; declares that he is little Bill Stokes that
was, that be made Eastwood whistles for when
D
Corners; and there he is right before him, man
TO man. There is no use denying it; he cannot
prove an alibi, and he falls into 3 brown study
as he thinks Tic.
Then, again, there's something the matter
with his back, but be always calls it "crick,"
when all the day it is the river Time that is
playing the mischief He knows that it will
not do Tor him TO sit near an open window as
be used to do, but it has latterly been favorite
idea with him that the summers grow briefer
and the winters colder. And what work they
make new with the baking; such crusts Of
granite to them. Not such as did his old moth
er bring out from the old oven on the long.
handled shovel, on those long gone Saturdays,
when he faneied gingerbread the daily fare Of
the angels.
By-and by he begins to experience some
difficulty in reading his old newspaper-somes
thing with an L or an XII vol in the corner of
it, that he never remembers that he has taken
since il was two KS and an I; but then be
charges it upon the type, and pronounces an
anathema upon nonparel and minion, when it
.is nothing but BREWER.
He faneies, too, that the girls have changed,
when the change is nearer home, for the man is
growing old, and those same maidens are Wons
dering the while if he ever had sweetheart, or
could possibly at any time have been young
enough to love.
So this painful process Of discOvs progress
es, until, prisoner, he keeps the old arm
chair, and the old clock dial grows dim, and
the old clock bell sounds great way off, and
be dozes in the open door, and loves to look at
the setting sun, and shares the children's toys
and talks himselftO sleep. is a summer
evening; yellow light falls upon the threshold,
and along the floor, and invests the old mans
form with an old glory. He sits in the dweI>
ling Of bis son son; his head reclines upon his
breast. Light steps steal softly around him,
but he hears them not. A set of little fingers
are playing with his thin, white hair, but he
does not heed it. Two generations call to
him; the second is strong and manly; it is "fa-
ther" they utter; the third is child ike and
gentle; It is grandfather" they say, but he
returns no answer 20 either.
''The sun has set" somebody says; ''the
clock has justrun down." cries another; 'fhe
old man is asleep" whispers third; and sure
enough he is. for the old man is dead a.