Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1868-05-21
G,hoift stilisesllany.
Growing OLD.

We perused an article in one of our
exchanges the other day, under the above
caption, in which the writer lamented
the inevitable decree that sets up the
miiestones of the years behind, and
brings us nearer to the silent close of our
journey. TO us the thought suggested q
different train of reflections. We do not
feel that it is sad thing to grow old.
AS we go forward and meet the years,
each is messenger that tells us pleas
mt story of the land to which we have
taken UP our pilgrimage, and though we
may not lay hands upon them and de-
tain them, yet they imbue MS with happy
thoughts and pleasant memories, that
clothe each coming messenger in halo
like garment of smiles and beauty. The
journey of life Is but short, but it is long
enough to teach us the idleness and lit
tleness of things earthly, and that our
earthly tabernacle Is far too narrow to
hold in thrall that invisible fire of inn
mortality that pulses through our being,
or even permit IL TO shine forth in that
brilliancy that IL so much longs for.
Life is beautiful, but 1t is only beauti-
full as q panorama that moves on to the
great and final climax, when the cur
tains of eternity are drawn, and the
marvellous beauty of the universe opens
with it's endless vistas of glory upon our
enlarged sight and tho dreams of the
past are paled from view in the blaze of
the never ending Present. The toy, the
sword and the toy make up the sum of
cur existence, for the old and the young
are nearest heaven. Prattling childhood
and silver age walk hand in hand, and
laugh at the gamboling lambs and make
pretty speeches to the bright birds and
butterflies, for the vail of Time Is but q
mist to the right and TO the left of them
and Love and Innocence stand like cher
ubs by the cradle and the grave.
1t Is only when we are among the trop.
ical clouds of the Middle Passage of life
that we utterly forget tho emblems al
innocence and turn the edge of the sword
against the unwarrng armies of Beauty
And this we do out of very blindness
fer when we pass the mountain summit
and 90 down the gentle plain toward the
gold and amethyst pillars of the sunset
we cast the sword behind us and reach
forth for the flowers that wave and beck.
OH us onward.
Thore IL nothing more touching and
beautiful than age. The bent form, the
feeble, tottering step, the dimmed eye
and the child like confidence of the aged
speak to every heart not dead to every
human emotion, with wonderful pow.
er and pathos. We do not envy the
Ieellugs Oi tllab person VINO can say
sighting word to or of the aged of every
condition In life, and whose strong hand
is not held out 10 them at every rough
corner and every narrow crossing. Not
many days since we saw bright and
beautiful girl, having almost the form
and semblance Of an angel, rudely jostl,
apoor, decrepid old dame on the side
walk, and tell her in tones of petulanc,
TO keep out of her way. That girl'i
bright eyes will yet be dim and luster
less, and her fair round ghoulders ben
with the weight of years and tho bur
dens Of life, aud II her life's sunset Il
cold and obscured with clouds, IL will b,
because she herself, In the bloom o
youth, poisoned the chaiice with suici
dial hand. OF all TO be loved and cher
ished, and kindly cared for, the aged ar
first deserving, for they have borne thei
share OF the burdens and their patlen
old eyes are only waiting TO see the gate
lifted up, when they will be closed In al
ecstasy Of love. We grow old, but onl
that we may rohabilitatc ourselves witt
the garments of an endless youth.