The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1893-08-18

one who was not intoxicated with his
own misery"
The caryatid bears burdens, and, even
when the load is lifted, its wings are
still stretched to the tension to which
the habit of burden bearing has accus-
toned them.
We will touch kindly the history of
those who have the backward look in
their faces, the light in whose eyes is
that of retrospection.
We found an old sailor upon his back
in a little rear room which he had chris
tened the "fo'cassel," because it re-
minded him of that part of the ship.
He is foreigner, shipwrecked far from
home, and, like Enoch Arden, waiting
for "a sail" 1t is almost within hail,
to bear him out over the wide ocean of
eternity.
One old woman has friends who want
her to go east and live with them, but
she will not, because her family are
buried in this place and she wants
to rest beside them. She has
saved few dollars for a tombstone,
and wanted it elaborately carved in
verse, but has consented to have some
thing simple, setting forth her age and
her virtues.
Another old German woman is wait
ing for legacy. She has land some
where, which she expects will be sold.
When she gets the money from this
terra incognita' she is going home to
the fatherland. The nurse said her
thoughts were always wandering away
to this one object, like carrier doves
which had learned the way to a favorite
spot.
While the old people who keep alive
some forlorn hope in their souls are
pitiabie, yet those who are without this
spark seem more so. They are dead to
all but physical existence.
That old man who lies so still, taking
no notice, was baby on his mothers
knee more than century ago. l
wonder if his mind, which seems asleep
now, holds the pictures of the past, of
the round of years during which
nations have marched to liberty and
marked off century of progress.
Does he remember how steam and
electricity have flashed the world on
ward? How labor has been lightened
by invention and genius has outdone
the fairy lore of his far-off childhood?
Alas! with all this there is poverty
and pain, which no invention of genius
has ever been able to make easy or
| abolish.
In room full of old ladies one was
reading prayer, to which all the
others responded. They kept their re-
ligion and its ceremonies closely inter-
woven with their lives
| We remember how men in all ages of
the world, in critical moments, have
sought the advice of old women. The
sibyls and seers, who are not all dead
yet, either gave them advice out of the
wisdom of their experience, or humored
the superstition of philosophers up to
the top of its bent.
What bits of experience you could
piece together in your crazy quilt of life,
my withered danes, in your little black
caps Once in awhile we detect a light
in your eyes which tells that the dreams
are not all over yet.
We are glad you are comfortable in
your warm flannel, and for the most of
you the heart has also put on its winter
clothing, swathed itself, so to speak, in
fannel-al the loves and hopes and
ambitions wrapped within, caring only
for bit of warmth and comfort.
Some have fought hard battles with
life and been defeated, and have eX-
tracted the bitterness out of it, instead
of the sweets.
The uses we make of adversity are
strangely pictured in the face. Usually
they leave deep shadows. Sometimes
God puts in the high lights.
Many Of these old people are crooked
sticks, not easy to bind into bundles.
rules which have been adopted with
great care for the good of the majority.
While these institutions are among
the fairest monuments raised to Chris
tian civilization, without which we
shudder to think that many of our
aged poor would be houseless and COM
fortress, yet in contrast to these we
place another picture, 'the ineffable,
eternal aristocracy of home" The dear
old grandsire sits by the fire, and is still
consulted for his wisdom and expe-
rience. The grand-dame, domestic, and
cheerful and cozy as the family tea
kettle which sings upon the hearth.
Surrounded by their descendants, with
still tender interest in the things
around them and blessed hope for the
things beyond.
Love and happiness do make such a
difference in life. Whatever is lost or
won, love is the only thing worth gar
nering for the winter of time, and how
thirsty every soul is for draught OF
affection.
A basket of fruit was brought on a
Christmas morning to one of the old
women sick in the hospital. Her simple
gratitude was quite affecting.
Though don't want for nothin' at
ALL" she said, ''yet it makes the heart
warm to know that some one thinks
o. me lynn here" She might have
added:
Like some poor Arab, old and blind,
The caravans have left behind"
Lizzie York Case, in Detroit Free Press
| III