Year: 1868

We perused an article in one Of our ex-
changes, the other day, under the above
caption, IN which the writer lamented the
inevitable decree that sets up the mile
stones of the years behind, and brings us
nearer to the silent close Of our journey
To US the thought suggests different
train Of reflections. we do not feel that
it is sad thing to grow old.


AS we 60 forward and meet the years,
each as a messenger that tells Us pleasant
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 clothe each
coming messenger in halo-like garments
Of smiles and beauty. The Journey Of
life is but short, but it is long enough to
teach. us the idleness and littleness Of
things earthly, and that or earthly taber-
nacle is far too narrow to hold in thrall
that invisible fire Of Immortality that
pulses through our being, or even per-
NIT it to shine forth in that brillianey
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 curtains Of
eternity are drown, and the marvellous
beauty Of the universe opens with its


endless Vistas Of glory upon our enlarged
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
making up the sum Of our existence, for
the old and young arc nearest heaven. Pratt
Ting childhood and silver age walk hand
in hand, and laugh at the gambolling
lambs, and make pretty speeches to the
bright birds and butterflies, tor the veil
Of Time is but a mist to the right and to
the left Of them, and love and Innocence
stand like eherubs 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 emblems of
innocence and turn the edge of the sword
against the unWarring armies Of Beauty.
And this we dc out Of very blindness, for
when we pass the mountain summit and
90 down the gentle plain toward the gold
and amethyst pillars Of the sunset, we
cast the sword behind Us and reach forth
for the flowers that wave aud beckon US
onward.


There is nothing more touching and
beautiful than age. The bent form, the
feeble, tottering step, the dimmcd eye and
the childlike confidence Of the aged speak
to every heart, not dead to every human
emotion, with wonderful power and
pathos. We do not envy the feelings of
that person who can say a sighting word
to or Of the aged of every condition in
life, and whose strong hand is not held
out to them at every rough corner and
every narrow crossing. Not many days
since we saw a bright and beautiful girl,
having almost the form and semblance Of
an angel, rudely joStle poor, decrepid
old dame on the sidewalk, and tell her in
tones of petulance to keep out of her way.
That girls bright eyes will yet be dim
and lusterless, and her fair round shoulders
bent with the weight Of years and the
burdens Of life, and if her life's sunset is
cold and obsctred with clouds, it will be
because she herself, in the bloom of
youth, poisoned the chalice with suicidal
hand. Of all to be loved and cherished,
and kindly cared for, the aged are the first
deserving, for they have borne their share
Of the burdens, and their patient old eyes
are only waiting to see the gates lifted up,
when they will be closed in an ecstacy Of
love. We grow old, but only that we may
rehabilitate ourselves with the garments
Of an endless youth Cincinnati Enquirer.