The Tupelo journal., 1903-05-22

~ INV A&AAS 0uh1 oak ~
Of life. when
November strews the woodland DER
With many y brilliant color"
have seen the dashing river in the
mountains carrying trees and powders
as If they were but straws, but nc
green savannas were mirrored in the
depths. l have heard the thunder
of the cataract, and have seen the
foam n spray dim the splendor OF
the noon. But far up in the noun
tains | have seen the limpid lake
copying the flora on the banks, and
at night the starry mysteries of heav-
en-. Piety, in old age, has the Sc
renity and clearness of the embow.
cred lake. Piety, in youth and in he
roic manhood, has the dash, the
swing, the rhythm and the majesty
of the river and the sea. Old age,
fashioned into comeliness, radiant
with the beauty of holiness, is the
fulfillment and realization of the di-
vine ideal. He who leaned on the
bosom of his Lord and dipped his pen
in the pure love of heaven, wrote the
fourth gospel with nearly a century
in his heart. A full age, like a shock
of corn, is essential to the maturity
Of wisdom, the equipoise and balanced
calm OF life, the symmetry of char
acter.
There is an inspiration in looking
at a sanity man sitting in his chair
beflowered with Christian graces.
Memories fragrant as s%pikenard are
his companions. His life is green
as the leaflets of spring, and sweet
as the blossoms of May, although he
is an autumn leaf. And while his
body is crumbling, his soul is radi-
antly youthful. and looks forward to
death as the gateway to coronation.
The finished life, like the snow-white
pillars carved into lily work, cannot
be wrought out in a year.
1t requires time to ripen the grain
and mellow the fruits and array them
in their final colors. 1t requires
time to bring the lily and the rose
to their ultimate Towering. and the
vine to it's stage when purple clusters
CLEAN through it's leaves. And it
requires time to produce a rounded
character, as tender as It's brave, as
gentle as tbs strong; clarified by the
waters of sorrow, and chastened by
the fires of affection, is the browning
work of time. And what is such
a character, in it's -graciousness and
beauty, but a picture in art? The
painter, the architect, the musician.
deal with the beautiful forms and
colors and sounds. But fond IS we
are of gazing on pictures in stone and
marble, in colors tremendously ar
ranged, and in hearing sounds that
make us think and dream of heaven,
we must confess, the soul, when finely
carved and shaped-all abloom with
springlike glory and morning fresh
ness-is a greater picture.
A life fashioned in harmony with
high ideals, marked by unusual ele-
walton and spirituality of tone, gentle
as n of the nights in autumn when
all the leaves are still, full of win
some courtesy and affectionate behav-
lor, is a fine art-mOre ~curiOuSly
wrought than the Portland vase, and
mor exquisitely fashioned than the
Venus of Milo. 1t is Gods master.
piece.
But if we wish to stand in the au-
tumn of life, covered with all the
glory of October, We must pay at
tention to the planting time. We
SttD AlA W. oOns AdtbAAi A4ly
mean decay. darkness and death; or
it may mean abundance, light and
sweetness. All autumn leaves are
not beautiful. Some have been de-
faced. They do not pass from glory
to glory in the normal process of
development. Something touched
them and robbed them of their green
ness in the summer, and their fam
mo- GOLD or canrInr in tho nl1ttnnn
And there are aged people like blight
ed leaves or worm-eaten fruit. They
did not begin right. They planted
the wrong kind of seed, and, as the
result, they are not sweetened. You
might as well expect a perfect lily
from a decayed bulb, OF choice roses
from a worthless slip, as to expect
the consummate flower of spirituality
from wrongdoing.
Fruit, in it's initial stage, is acerb
and bitter, but in it's ripened state ii
is luscious and very pleasant to the
taste. We expect in the young buoy
ancy, rashness, passion and fire, but
in the old we expect serenity and
sweetness of temper. 1t is sad to
see old people bitter as NORWOOD.
We do not like to come in contact
with people when they seem SO sharp
and irritable as though they were
dressed in sandpaper or in a Mexican
cactus. We prefer those whose ways
are so gentle and winsome that to
touch them is to touch plush.
carry in my memory the portraits
Of two dear old people-One as the
type of the bitterness, the other as
a type of the sweetness of old age.
One, by nature, was harsh, eXacting,
selfish, severe She carried in her
mouth a vigorous tongue. Her touch
was like a dagger. When she en-
tered a room she turned the tropics
to the poles. She insulted callers
at her home. She eve paused to
consider the feelings of others. She
lived in this way until she had no
friends, and was utterly alone. She
could have lamented with Macbeth:
My way of life
Is fallen into the sere. the yellow leaf,
And that which should accompany old age
AS honor, love, obedience, troops Of friends
1 must not look to have; but in their stead
Curses. xot loud but deep, mouth-honor. breath.
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but daer
not"
But she had no one to blame but
herself. If we desire friends, we must
be friendly. We cannot go through
this world swinging a club and then
expect people to love us.
The other vas a spiritual queen
silent as to words, but powerful in
the exaltation of the sentiment of
love. She was as mellow as any rip
ened peach, and beautiful as any au-
tumn leaf. Her passing in and out,