The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1866-01-19

AhOIAhAA ApAAA NAA1SAeS
about. In his onward Journey he is
not likely to encounter anything abso-
lutely new. He has already conjuga-
ted every tense of the verb To Be, He
has been in love twice or thrice. be
has been married d.-only once let US
trust. In all proba bility he is the tath-
er of fine family of children. BE has
been i'll and he has recovered; he has
experienced triumph and failure he
has known what it Is to have money in
his purse, and what 1t is to want monr
ey in his purse. Sometimes he has
been a debtor, sometimes he has bean
creditor. He has. stood by the brink OF
halfiR dozen graves, aid heard the clod
falling on the Icoffn-lid. All this he
has experienced /; the only new thing
before him is death, and even to that
he has at various times approximated
Life has lost most OF the unexpected-
ness, Its zest, its novelty, and has be-
come like a worn shoe or a threadbare
doubletii p To- him there is no new
growing old is gradual pro
cess and zest, sparkle, and nov
city are not essential to happiness.
The man who has reached fve-and-
forty has learned what n pleasure there
is in customariness and use and won't,
lin hayingeyerything aEouna. ~ nun ma IA
miliar, tried, confidential. Life may
have become humdrum, but his tastes
have become humdrum too, Novelty
annoys him, the intrusion of an unta-
miliar object puts him out. a pair of
newly embroidered slippers would be
much more ornamental than the we'll
worn articles which lie warming for
him before the library fire; but then
he cannot get his feet into them so east-
ly. He is contented with his old friends,
Ia new friend would break the charm
of the old familiar faces. He loves the
hedgerows and the fields and the brook
and the bridge which hesees every day,
and he would not exchange them for
Alps and glaciers. By the time man
has reached forty-five he lies as com
fortably in his habits as the .silk-worm
in its cocoon. On the whole, take
It that middle age is q happier period
than youth. In the entire circle of
the year there are no days SO delight
full as those of fine . October,
when the trees are bare TO the
mild heavens, and the red leaves
bestrew the road, and you can feel the
breath of winter morning and evening,
mo days so calm, so tenderly solemn
and with such a reverent meekness IN
the air. The Lyrical up-burst OF the
lark at such a time would be 1ncongru-
GUS. The only sounds suitable to the
season are the rusty cav of the home
ward-sliding rook, ,-the creaking of
vain returning empty from the farm
ward. There is an unrest which men
miscall delight" and of that "unrest"
youth is for the most part composed.
From that middle age is free. The set
ting suns ofyouth are crimson snd gold;
the setting suns of middle age 9
apo take sober colorlng from. an eye :,
That hath keptwatch Ger mans mortanty.
Youth is the slave of beautiful faces,
and fine eyes, and silver-sweet voices,
-they distract, madden, alarm. 10
middle age they nre but the graceful-
lest statues, the loveliest poems.
They delight but hnrt not. They
awake no passion, they heighten no
pulse. And the imaginative man of
middle age possesses after a fashion all
the passionate turbulence, all the Keen
delights, of his earlier days. They are
not tdead,-they,are dwelling in the an
te-chamber of memory awaiting his
call; and when they are called they
Wear an ethereal something which is
not their own. The Muses. are the
daughters of Memory; youth Is the
time to love, but middle age the period
at which the best lovespoetry is written;
And middle age too-the early period
of it, when man is a master of his
instruments and knows what he can do
is the best season of intellectual ac-
tivity.a The playful capering flames of
II newly-kindIed fire is a pretty sight;
but not nearly so effective-any house
wife will tell you-as when the flames
are gone and the whole mass of fuel
has become caked into a, sober redness
that emits a steady glow. There is
nothing good in this world which time
does not Improve. A silver wedding is
better than the voice of the Eptthala-
MUM. And the most beautifnl lace
that ever was is made yet more beauti-
full when there is laid upon ii the rever-
ence of silver hairs. ,.l g,
There is a certain even-handed jus
tice in Time; and for what he takes
away he gives us something in return.
He robs us of elasticity of limb and
spirit, and in its place he brings tran
guilty and repose,-the mild uau-
tumnal weather of the soul. he
takes away Hope, but he gives us Mem
ory. And the settled, unfluctuating at
mosphere of, middle age is no bad
exchange for the stormful emotions,
the passionate crises and suspenses, of
The earlier day. The constitutional
melancholy of the middle-aged man is
a dim background on which the pale
flowers of life are brought out in the
tenderest relief Youth is the time for
action, middle age for, thought. In
youth we hurriedly crop the heritage |;
| inmiddle age, in sheltered place, we
chew the ruminative cud- In YOUTH
red-handed, red-ankled, with songs
4 anu VIC kdllAGL
in n1iddle-age, under our own. fig-tree,
or in quiet gossip with friend, we
drink the wine free of all turbid lees.
Youth is lyrical poet, middle age a
quiet sessayist, fond of recounting e1-
| periences and of appending moral to
every incident, In youth the world 1s
strange and unfamiliar, novel and ex-
citing, everything wears the face and
garb Of a stranger; in middle age the
world is covered over with remtnis-
cence as with garment,-it is made
homely with usage, It is made sa-
cred with graves. The midd dle-aged man
can go nowhere without treading the
mark of his own footsteps. And in
middle age, too o,-providedt the man has
been good and an ordinarily happy
one.-along with this mental tranquili-
| ty there comes corresponding sweet
ness of the moral atmosphere. He has
seen the good and the evil that are in the
world the ups and the downs, the al
| most general desire of the men and the
| women therein to do the right thing if
they could but see how,-and he has
| learned TO be uncensorious, humane; to
attribute the best motives to every ac-
ton, and to be chary of imputing a
sweeping and cruel blame. BE has a
QUIET smile for the vainglorious boast, a
feeling of respect for shabby-genteel
virtues; a pity for the threadbare gar
ments proudly worn, and for the napless
hat glazed into more than pristineib bril-
liancy from frequent brushing after
rain. He would not be satirical for the
world. BE has no finger of scorn to
point at ANYTHING under the sun. He
has hearty "amen" for every good
wish, and in the worst cases he leans to
a verdict of Not Proven. And along
with this pleasant blandness and char
ity, certain grave, serious humor, ga
smile on the lip and tear in the eye"
Is noticeable frequently in middIe-aged