The record-union., 1896-09-27
THE VILLAGE OF old AGE.

mems business l had lived, content TO
find new joys in the passing days, and
to welcome, year by year, with unfail-
ing serenity, the placid monotony of fair
days and foul, the coming and the flying
of the swallows, the springing and the
falling of the leaf
And it was with the sad fafewells Of
the summer that my mother bade ME
good-by. With her falling to sleep the
world in some dim fashion was changed
to me- Strange and sombre tints So
bered the autumn; the birds piped a
softer note of melancholy; the dawn
came but to prophesy the twilight. In
the wish to rid myself in some degree of
a growing distaste for my fellows, an
ever-increasing moodiness of mien, l set
out from my haven of rest into the
busy tideways of the world. Surely"
thought l, friends are many, and well
come will be freely given me. / will
live laughing. and die then of Over-ripe-
ness" But soon found that men for
got and seldom wish to remember, that
friends once so charming and so f1atter-
ing see the world through keener eyes:
that tongues once melifluous taste the
bitterness of life, and that ready hands
| have too great labor to wave greetings
to one risen from the silence of the past.
Vexed and disappointed, with sore heart
| and i'll at ease, I bethOught myself of
Basil. Thank God, crossroads some
| times have the same goal. I was full of
hot enthusiasm to meet him face to face.
What medley of wit and philosophy
| his name recalled to me! One who
would choose path of thistles to f1out
the gardener of roses. A fellow at whom
death winked, of eternal youth and
heartiness. Il will go to him; he will
understand" thought l.
| Hopeful as a child I set out to find him.
| Nor was I greatly disturbed to find his
place empty. made my way to the viii
lage whittier report was that my friend
had fled, and came to a sleepy place of
| ancient cottages, Of silent, deserted
| streets, and of calm weather I asked
| lodgings of the gray landlord of the inn.
He considered me with filmy eyes He
was man shrunken and Weakened,
with open tOothless jaws. The days of
summer he spent summing himself in his
garden of vegetables, and trembling
! over the log fire in his brick fioored
hall in days of wintry weather.
AYE if jamie be Within said he.
mouldy stencil. but God a. mercy. thou'It
sleep no the worse"
What of the waking, my friend ?"
said I gayly.
AYE, what of the waking" said he.
If the slumbering be quiet and easy?
Who'll heed the fret of the day? The
graveyard for a, the graveyard for az
l eyed him askance-this echo of a
L.
and in bluff manner
Nonsense" said L. ."tis a place In
which to crow, is the graveyard. Pshaw,
we are live men. We go one better than
the mouldering bones with their scanty
record that Is not a moments thought
l sit on tombstone and see a cheerier
sun and blither day for the stuffing
of my seat
Il would no. doubt thou'rt a stranger
to these parts" said the old man with
weary lids. 'Ye canno' know the place. /"
He rose from his straw cushions and
tottered on feeble knees into the
shadow of the narrow courtyard of
lichen grown stones which led to the
house. And at his going the place
seemed wondrous cheerless and quiet.
The sky was blue almost to purple.
and not a cloud showed in the vast
eXpanSe. The trees wore the green of
spring in this month of July; but the
hum of insects, the twittering of birds.
were not on the air. An empty kennel.
| from which crawled a rusty chain. stood
in the shadow of the high wall. and
a crazy dovecot leaned against the red
bricks, over which climbed cherry tree
in rich profusion Of leaves. The fra
GRANGE of the flowers, the rich scent
of the earth, sluggishly intermingled in
the faint wind Surely, a sweet place
OF repose," thought /. II will purchase
pigeons and a growing cock, and 1 will
keep bees
Footsteps sounded hollowly on the
stones, and the old man, followed by a
feeble crone, came out of the cool
shade into the sunlight. l was mis-
taken. A young girl followed the old
man, but pale, and bent, and hollow
checked, with fettered limbs and scantv
hair. A beldame of ninety was the old
mans niece Of sixteen.
My uncle says, Get ready a bed"
said she in weak, monotonous voice.
Yes said 1 boisterously, II would
IKE to make a meal, too Gracious
me, lass, my hunger is a savage mon
ster believing for meat"
The old man was gone back to b;s
chair.
There be cheese and ale" said she.
And pretty maid to smile over the
froth," said /.
"A pretty maid" said she, as though
II We're the refrain of some doIefuI
ballad.
Have you no meat-a fat leg of NUT
ton or red sfrloin of beef, eh, with
brown Yorkshire pudding?"
There be bread and cheese" said she
with quaver. Her head almost rested
on her shoulder
Then Hunger shall wake Fancy :"
said |. Fetch out for me some bread
ana cheese will eat it here in this
good tankard of ale. That's If NV
sunny place, with the landIord-and .
dear
i pent and kissed her cheek. giving
her arm little pinch / am mast tho
fcpperies of youth, and it grieved NV
heart to see maid SO feeble and woe
begone. She simply turned witbou+
quip or toss of head. and went booL
into the house, out of the sunlight o,,ar
the cobbleStoneS. An old crow came
cawlns nigh up in the sky / watched
MN with eagerness until my eyes could
see nm no longer. Then l turned to the
oid man, thinking to take my seat AT his
SIDE. But seeing no chair, 1 went after
the maid The air in the courtyard was
cool, and pleasant, and cleanly. breath.
ing the fresh scent Of malt and NOT
unpieaslng mustiness of a wine cellar
Behlnd an open easement caugb+
sight Oh maid washing dishes. I pom
pea my head in at the window.