Year: 1877

Growing old gracefully is an art IN
which few study to acquire perfection,
and yet how beautiful is age with the
grace and tenderness that properly be-
long to the autumn and winter of life.
There is poetry that should linger
about, and crown it with respect, rever-
ence and admiration. The later days
should be set to quick, pleasant music,
and only soft, sweet notes should ripple
from the heart, where it is yet spring
time with al its cherished associations.


Old people deserve sunny niche In
the household, their loving faces should
be framed in the memory, dearer and
clearer than the gems that come from
the artists brush that call for our adj
miration. Their deeds of mercy and
loving kindness, of patience and endu-
rance through trials, of thoughtfulness
for others, and sympathy in the hour of
need, should be printed on the heart in
characters that will never grow illegible.
If their hearts have been full Of kind
humanity and sweet friendlincss and
generous acts, then the coming night
should be gemmed with the stars of
affection and devotion Would they
drift back with the tide, we often askY
Perhaps, if they could only redeem the
errors of youth, could only stem the
breakers more courageously and nobly,
and make of life a richer poem. If their
iives all the way through have been set
to the music of high thoughts, noble
aspirations and brave deeds, then the
blossoms of admiration and honor
should be laid daily at their feet, by
kindly hands.


To the old, the rush of early men,
ories comes back like the lost notes of q
song they once loved. They delight to
live over the past; for them the meadow
daisies grow again, the yellow dande-
lions are plucked with fearless fingers,
the running brook murmurs no music
sweeter than that -they once knew in
their hearts, and the fragrant clover
blossom breathes only the perfume of a
vanished June. They carry always the
poetry and sweetness Of remembrance.


About those who grow old gracefully,
there fingers forever the freshness and
tenderness of youth. The silver hair
wears ''times' gathered SHOWS" The
foolish, baflled hopes of mere worldly
ambition, fade away before the infinite
longing for things higher and holier
and to those upon whom they depend.
there comes verses which never can be
written, of sympathy with sorrow,
resignation in afiliction. cheerfulness i'm
disappointment, and the sweet faith
that helped TO overcome all obstacles.
and wonder why they cling so closely to
little keepsakes and treasures of the
past. they may lie but links on the
chain Of time, that carry them back to
a more golden dawn.


Old age is full of study. 1t has battled
with life so long, and grown weary so
often over its broken ambitions, its re-
pested failures, its vain hopes. They
often forget the world once held for
them so many aspirations, as they drift
silently toward that unknown shore, the
rapture Of 'that strange beautiful song"
Of youth seems only dim reality, half
forgotten.


The sunset hours Of old age, are filed
with CLEANS of fading pictures, tinted
with roseate clouds or shadowed with
tears but if it be season OF content
ment, restful and cheerful, it always
wears gracious coloring, the dew of
its sweet influence rests upon our hearts
and we insensibly yield admiration,
reverence, and love To the unconscious
charm Of peace, reLose and serenity that
crowns beautiful, graceful old age, and
gives it q poetry grand and tender and
sweet.