Year: 1868

We perused an article in one of our
exchanges the other day, under the
above caption, in which the writer Ia
mented the inevitable decree that sets
up the milestones of the years behind,
and brings us nearer to the silent close
| of our journey. To US the thought sug-
gested a different train of reflections.
We do not feel that it is sad thing to
grow old.


As we 90 forward and meet the years,
each is messenger that tells us a pleas
ant story of the land to which we have
taken up our pilgrimage, and though
we may not lay hands upon them and
detain them, yet they imbue us with
happy thoughts and pleasant memories,
that elothe each coming messenger IN
halo-like garment of smiles and beatty.
The Journey of life is but short, but 1t
is long enough to teach the idleness and
ittleness of things earthly, and that our
earthly tabernacle is far roo narrow to
hold in thrall that invisible fire of i'm
mortality that pulses through eur being,
or even permit it to shine forth IN that
brilliancy that it so much longs for.


Life is beautiful, but it is only beautiful
as panorama that moves on to the
great and final climax, when the cur
tains are drawn, and the marvellous
beauty of the universe opens with Its
endless vistas Of glory upon our en-
larged sight and the dreams of the past
are paled from view in the blaze of the
never ending Present. The toy, the
sword and the toy make mp the sum OF
our existence, for the old and the young
are nearest Heaven. Prattling child
hood and silEer age walk hand in hand |,
aud laugh at the gamboling lambs and
make pretty speeches to the birds and
butterflies, for the vial of time is but a
mist to the right and to the left of them,
and Love and Innocence stande like
cherubs by the cradle and the grave.


1t is only when we are among the
tropical clouds of the Middle Passage of
life that we utterly forget the emblem
of innocence and turn the edge of the
sword against the unwarring armies of
Beauty. And this we do out of very
blindness, for when we pass the noun
tain summit and go down tie gentle
plain toward the gold amethyst pillars
of the sunset, we cast the sword behind
us and reach forth for 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, like confidence of the
aged speak to every heart, not dead to
every human emotion, with a wonder
ful power and pathos. We do not envy
the feelings of that person who can say
sighting word to or of the aged of
every condition in life and whose strong
hand is not hold out TO them at every
rough corner and every narrow crossing
Not many days since we saw bright
and beautiful girl, having almost the
form and semblance of an angel, rudely
jestle poor, decrepit old dame
on the sidewalk, and tell her in
tones Of petulance to keep ont
of her way. That girls bright
eyes will yet be dim and lustreless, and
her fair round shoulders bent with the
weight of years and the burdens of life,
and if her lifes sunset is cold and OBJ
scured with clouds, it will be because
she herself, in the bloom of youth, pois-
Oned the chalicc witt suicidal hand.
OF all to be loved and cherished, and
kindly cared for, the aged are first de-
serving, for they have borne the burdens,
and their patient old eyes are only wait
ing to see the gates lifted up, when they
will be closed in an ecstacy of love. We
grow old, but only that we may Teha
bilitate ourselves with the garments Of
an endless youth.