Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1868-05-30
Growing Old.

We perused an article IN one OF Oul
exchanges, the other day, under tn,
above caption, in which the writer la
mented the inevitable decree that set.
up the milestoEes of the years behind
and brings us nearer to the silent close
of our journey. To us the thought sug
gested different train of reflections
We 10 not feel that it is sad thing tc
grow old.
AS we go forward and meet the years
each is messenger that tells us pleas.
ant story of the land to which we have
taken up our pilgrimage, and, though
we may not lay hands upon them and
deiain them, still they imbue Us with
happy thoughts and pleasant memories,
which clothe each coming messenger in
halo-lIke garment of smiles and beauty.
The journey of lite is but short. but it
is long enough to teach us the idIeness
and lit.lcness of things earthly, and that
our earthly tabernacle is far too narrow
to hold in thrall that invisible fire of i'm
mortality that pulses through our being.
or even permit it to shine forth in that
brilliancy that it so much longs for.
Life is beautiful, but it is only bcauti-
tul as a panorama that moves on to the
great and final climax, when the cur
talns of eternity are drawn, and the
marvellous beauty of the universe opens
with its endless vistas of glory upon our
enlarged sight, and the dreams of tie
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
our 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 Il bright birds and
butterflies, for the vail of Time is but
mist TO the right and to the left of them,
and Love and Innocence stantf like cher
ubs, by the cradle and the grave.
1t is only when we are among the
tropical clouds Of the Middle Passage of
life that we entirely forget the emblems
of innocence, and turn the edge of the
sword against the unwarrlng armies of
Beauty. And this we do out of very
blindness, for, when we pass the noun
tain. summit, and go down the gentle
plain towards the gold and amethyst pill
lars of the sunset, we cast the sword be-
hind us, and reach forth tor the flowers
that wave and beckon us onward.
There is nothing more touching and
beautiful than age. The bent form, the
feeble, tottering step, the dimmed eye,
and the child-likc 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
feelings of that person who can say
sighting word to or of the aged of eve
ry condition in life, and whose strong
hand is Rot held out to them at every
rough corner and every narrow crossing
Not many days since we saw 4 bright
and beautiful girl, with almost the form
and semblence Of an angle, rudely jostle
a poor, decrepit old dame on the side,
walk, and tell her, in tones of petulance
to get out of her way. That girls
bright eyes will yet be dim and luster-
less, and her fair round shoulders bent
with the weight of years and the bur-
dens of life, and, if her life's sunset is
cold and obscured with clouds, it will be
because she herself, in the bloom of youth
poisoned the chalice with a suicidal hand.
Of all to be loved and cherished, and
kindly cared for, the aged are first de-
serving, for they have borne their share
of the burdens, and their patient old
eyes are only waiting to see the gates
lifted up, when they will be closed in an
ecstacy Of love. We grow old, but only
that We may re-hibilitate ourselves with
the garments of an endless youth.
Cincinnati Enquirer.