Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1870-05-20
The Feeling of Growing Old.

THERE is mystery in the feeling of
growing old. Try as we may, we cannot
quite define the strange sensibility that
slowly creeps over the heart like distant
forerunner of the last icy cOldness "Do
you feel your age?" we ask some octoge-
marian, making our self solicitude in a
pathetic style Of politeness. But the an
swer seldom throws any light on the won
der we are vainly trying to master. Then
we endeaVor TO probe our own emotions,
and here, too, we are batfled. Why should
Christmas come round so soon? Why
should years crowd so fast on each other2
And even space-familiar space-why
should 1t contract itself so marVelousy?
The old farm, the encircling hills, the
remote mountain tops, the very heavens
none are as large as they once were,
| and yet for it all no reason!
The first shock of surprise with which
| advancing life announces itself is very
| definite experience. 1t is deep cut notch,
| and the bank of lite's tree never grows
over it. And then sets in the sophistry
of devices, Of all dextrous conceits,s Of
! pertinacious logic, to persuade ourselves
that we are not quite so old as the calen.
dar testides A spice of toolery gives
flavor to the effort Animal spirits are
zealJusly encouraged, young ways put on,
fashionable attire assumed, light manners
cultivated, boys and girls patronized, small
print resisted, big type eschewed, extra
| lights refused go as to disguise the fatal
! symptoms. But grandchild comes, then
another, and yet another, and so the sharp
! reality moves on us apace, the thin
Veneering rubs off, and the conclusion is
plumply met that we are getting old
Aud there is touch Of pathos in it, some
thing that Vigities one to ones sell, some
thing that emptics the memory very sud-
denly into present consciousness, some
thing that amaZes us by the immense con-
tents of the small word Life.
Not that the struggle is all over. The
resistance to the thought of age is not
| ended, IL is only intermltted and back il
comes on fine bTacing days, on festal oc-
casiOns, and when enterprises of pith and
moment challenge our pluck. If we
chance with elderly individuals, men that
are very lat, the weakness gets uppermost
again, and asserts itself with charming
buoyaney, verging on little deceit. But
at last the true nature begins toTecover its
lost ground. The gathering of the har-
vest is at hand soon the beautiful fruits
are ours; and then appear, one by one,
the sweet compcnsations for what has
been taken away from US. Slowly, too, a
new insight Is granted to our inward be-
! ing, and this touches the l. oart with strange
tenderness. A deep quietness pervades
us. We do not need our malignant pas
siOns to quicsen our intellects, for we can
be strong without anger, firm without OBJ
stinacy, decided without dogmatism, and
earnest without fanetlcism. If our senses
have decayed have not our souls gained
thereby The outer world has narrow
ed; how small is its horizon, and how few
friends stand in its fading light 1t is all
very sad, but the world within has glori
ously enlarged; its horizon has widened
into shining space, and It's zenith Is far
higherand It's lofty sky burns with serener
,, Tns london On. Ne..s says "The right TO