Part 13

“Thou!” exclaimed the tired pilgrim, in tones of joyful surprise; “why thou art an angel!” “Yes, I am an angel,” he replied; “and none but I can lead thee to thy loved ones. Thy Heavenly Father has sent me to take thee home.” Gratefully the weary one sank into the arms of the giant he had so much dreaded. “All things are ordered in love,” he said. “Thy touch is friendly, and thy voice like music.”

They passed a narrow bridge over a dark river. On the other side was a flowery arch, bearing the motto, “The Gate of Life.” Within it stood Mary and her cherub-boy, shining in transfigured light. The child stretched out his hands for an embrace, and Mary’s welcoming smile was more beautiful than it had ever been in the happy old time of roses and rainbows. “This is only one more of the magical transformations, my beloved,” she said. “It is as I told thee. The beautiful, mysterious road leads to something far more beautiful than itself. Come and see!” With tender joy he kissed her and the angel child. There was a sound of harps and voices above him, singing, “The shadow has departed!” And a cheerful response came from well-remembered voices he had left behind him on the road: “We are coming! We are coming!” Through all the chambers of his soul went ringing the triumphant chorus, “The shadow has departed!” with the cheerful response, “We are coming! We are coming!”

THE HAPPIEST TIME.

BY ELIZA COOK.

An old man sat in his chimney-seat, As the morning sunbeam crept to his feet; And he watched the Spring light as it came With wider ray on his window frame. He looked right on to the Eastern sky, But his breath grew long in a trembling sigh, And those who heard it wondered much What Spirit hand made him feel its touch.

For the old man was not one of the fair And sensitive plants in earth’s parterre; His heart was among the senseless things, That rarely are fanned by the honey-bee’s wings; It bore no film of delicate pride, No dew of emotion gathered inside; O, that old man’s heart was of hardy kind, That seemeth to heed not the sun or the wind.

He had lived in the world as millions live, Ever more ready to take than give; He had worked and wedded, and murmured and blamed, And just paid to the fraction what honesty claimed; He had driven his bargains and counted his gold, Till upwards of threescore years were told; And his keen blue eye held nothing to show That feeling had ever been busy below.

The old man sighed again, and hid His keen blue eye beneath its lid; And his wrinkled forehead, bending down, Was knitting itself in a painful frown. “I’ve been looking back,” the old man said, “On every spot where my path has laid, Over every year my brain can trace, To find the happiest time and place.”

“And where and when,” cried one by his side, “Have you found the brightest wave in your tide? Come tell me freely, and let me learn, How the spark was struck that yet can burn. Was it when you stood in stalwart strength, With the blood of youth, and felt that at length Your stout right arm could win its bread?” The old man quietly shook his head.

“Then it must have been when love had come, With a faithful bride to glad your home; Or when the first-born cooed and smiled, And your bosom cradled its own sweet child; Or was it when that first-born joy, Grew up to your hope,--a brave, strong boy,-- And promised to fill the world in your stead?” The old man quietly shook his head.

“Say, was it then when fortune brought The round sum you had frugally sought? Was the year the happiest that beheld The vision of poverty all dispelled? Or was it when you still had more, And found you could boast a goodly store With labor finished and plenty spread?” The old man quietly shook his head.

“Ah, no! ah, no! it was longer ago,” The old man muttered,--sadly and low! “It was when I took my lonely way To the lonely woods in the month of May. When the Spring light fell as it falleth now, With the bloom on the sod and the leaf on the bough; When I tossed up my cap at the nest in the tree; O, that was the happiest time for me.

“When I used to leap and laugh and shout, Though I never knew what my joy was about; And something seemed to warm my breast, As I sat on a mossy bank to rest. That was the time; when I used to roll On the blue-bells that covered the upland knoll, And I never could tell why the thought should be, But I fancied the flowers talked to me.

“Well I remember climbing to reach A squirrel brood rocked on the top of a beech; Well I remember the lilies so sweet, That I toiled with back to the city street; Yes, that was the time,--the happiest time,-- When I went to the woods in their May-day prime.” And the old man breathed with a longer sigh, And the lid fell closer over his eye.

O, who would have thought this hard old man Had room in his heart for such rainbow span? Who would have deemed that wild copse flowers Were tenderly haunting his latest hours? But what did the old man’s spirit tell, In confessing it loved the woods so well? What do we learn from the old man’s sigh, But that Nature and Poetry cannot die?

ODE OF ANACREON.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.

The women tell me, every day, That all my bloom has passed away. “Behold!” the lively lasses cry, “Behold this mirror with a sigh! Old wintry Time has shed his snows, And bald and bare your forehead shows.” I will not either think or care Whether old Time has thinned my hair; But this I know and this I feel, As years advancing on me steal, And ever bring the end more near, The joys of life become more dear; And had I but one hour to live, That hour to cheerfulness I’d give.

CICERO’S ESSAY ON OLD AGE.

The following extracts are from a discourse “De Senectute,” by Cicero, the world-renowned Roman orator, who was born one hundred and six years before Christ. He is one among many pleasant proofs that God never leaves himself without a witness in the hearts of men, in any age or country. Cicero says: “I have represented these reflections as delivered by the venerable Cato; but in delivering his sentiments, I desire to be understood as fully declaring my own.”

Those who have no internal resources of happiness will find themselves uneasy in every stage of human life; but to him who is accustomed to derive happiness from within himself, no state will appear as a real evil into which he is conducted by the common and regular course of Nature; and this is peculiarly the case with respect to old age. I follow Nature, as the surest guide, and resign myself with implicit obedience to her sacred ordinances. After having wisely distributed peculiar and proper enjoyments to all the preceding periods of life, it cannot be supposed that she would neglect the last, and leave it destitute of suitable advantages. After a certain point of maturity is attained, marks of decay must necessarily appear; but to this unavoidable condition of his present being every wise and good man will submit with contented and cheerful acquiescence.

Nothing can be more void of foundation than the assertion that old age necessarily disqualifies a man for taking part in the great affairs of the world. If an old man cannot perform in business a part which requires the bodily strength and energy of more vigorous years, he can act in a nobler and more important character. Momentous affairs of state are not conducted by corporeal strength and activity; they require cool deliberation, prudent counsel, and authoritative influence; qualifications which are strengthened and improved by increase of years. Few among mankind arrive at old age; and this suggests a reason why the affairs of the world are not better conducted; for age brings experience, discretion, and judgment, without which no well-formed government could have been established, or can be maintained. Appius Claudius was not only old but blind, when he remonstrated in the Senate, with so much force and spirit, against concluding a peace with Pyrrhus. The celebrated General Quintus Maximus led our troops to battle in his old age, with as much spirit as if he had been in the prime and vigor of life. It was by his advice and eloquence, when he was extremely old, that the Cincian law concerning donatives was enacted. And it was not merely in the conspicuous paths of the world that this excellent man was truly great. He appeared still greater in the private and domestic scenes of life. There was a dignity in his deportment, tempered with singular politeness and affability; and time wrought no alteration in his amiable qualities. How pleasing and instructive was his conversation! How profound his knowledge of antiquity and the laws! His memory was so retentive, that there was no event of any note, connected with our public affairs, with which he was not well acquainted. I eagerly embraced every opportunity to enjoy his society, feeling that after his death I should never again meet with so wise and improving a companion.

But it is not necessary to be a hero or a statesman, in order to lead an easy and agreeable old age. That season of life may prove equally serene and pleasant to him who has passed his days in the retired paths of learning. It is urged that old age impairs the memory. It may have that effect on those in whom memory was originally infirm, or who have not preserved its native vigor by exercising it properly. But the faculties of the mind will preserve their power in old age, unless they are suffered to become languid for want of due cultivation. Caius Gallus employed himself to the very last moments of his long life in measuring the distances of the heavenly orbs, and determining the dimensions of this our earth. How often has the sun risen on his astronomical calculations! How frequently has night overtaken him in the same elevated studies! With what delight did he amuse himself in predicting to us, long before they happened, the several lunar and solar eclipses! Other ingenious applications of the mind there are, though of a lighter nature, which may greatly contribute to enliven and amuse the decline of life. Thus Nœvius, in composing his poem on the Carthaginian war, and Plautus in writing his two last comedies, filled up the leisure of their latter days with wonderful complacency and satisfaction. I can affirm the same of our dramatic poet Livius, whom I remember to have seen in his old age; and let me not forget Marcus Cethegus, justly styled the soul of eloquence, whom I likewise saw in his old age exercising even his oratorical talents with uncommon force and vivacity. All these old men I saw pursuing their respective studies with the utmost ardor and alacrity. Solon, in one of his poems, written when he was advanced in years, glories that he learned something every day he lived. Plato occupied himself with philosophical studies, till they were interrupted by death at eighty-one years of age. Isocrates composed his famous discourse when he was ninety-four years old, and he lived five years afterward. Sophocles continued to write tragedies when he was extremely old. Gray hair proved no obstacle to the philosophic pursuits of Pythagoras, Zeno, Cleanthes, or the venerable Diogenes. These eminent persons persevered in their studies with undiminished earnestness to the last moment of their extended lives. Leontinus Gorgias, who lived to be one hundred and seven years old, pursued his studies with unremitting assiduity to the last. When asked if he did not wish to rid himself of the burden of such prolonged years, he replied, “I find no reason to complain of old age.”

The statement that age impairs our strength is not without foundation. But, after all, imbecility of body is more frequently caused by youthful irregularities than by the natural and unavoidable consequences of long life. By temperance and exercise, a man may secure to his old age no inconsiderable degree of his former spirit and activity. The venerable Lucius Metellus preserved such a florid old age to his last moments, as to have no reason to lament the depredations of time. If it must be acknowledged that time inevitably undermines physical strength, it is equally true that great bodily vigor is not required in the decline of life. A moderate degree of force is sufficient for all rational purposes. I no more regret the absence of youthful vigor, than when young I lamented because I was not endowed with the strength of a bull or an elephant. Old age has, at least, sufficient strength remaining to train the rising generation, and instruct them in the duties to which they may hereafter be called; and certainly there cannot be a more important or a more honorable occupation. There is satisfaction in communicating every kind of useful knowledge; and it must render a man happy to employ the faculties of his mind to so noble and beneficial a purpose, how much soever time may have impaired his bodily powers. Men of good sense, in the evening of life, are generally fond of associating with the younger part of the world, and, when they discover amiable qualities in them, they find it an alleviation of their infirmities to gain their affection and esteem; and well-inclined young men think themselves equally happy to be guided into the paths of knowledge and virtue by the instructions of experienced elders. I love to see the fire of youth somewhat tempered by the sobriety of age, and it is also pleasant to see the gravity of age enlivened by the vivacity of youth. Whoever combines these two qualities in his character will never exhibit traces of senility in his mind, though his body may bear the marks of years.

As for the natural and necessary inconveniences attendant upon length of years, we ought to counteract their progress by constant and resolute opposition. The infirmities of age should be resisted like the approaches of disease. To this end we should use regular and moderate exercise, and merely eat and drink as much as is necessary to repair our strength, without oppressing the organs of digestion. And the intellectual faculties, as well as the physical, should be carefully assisted. Mind and body thrive equally by suitable exercise of their powers; with this difference, however, that bodily exertion ends in fatigue, whereas the mind is never wearied by its activity.

Another charge against old age is that it deprives us of sensual gratifications. Happy effect, indeed, to be delivered from those snares which allure youth into some of the worst vices! “Reason,” said Archytas, “is the noblest gift which God or Nature has bestowed on men. Now nothing is so great an enemy to that divine endowment as the pleasures of sense; for neither temperance, nor any of the more exalted virtues, can find a place in that breast which is under the dominion of voluptuous passions. Imagine to yourself a man in the actual enjoyment of the highest gratifications mere animal nature is capable of receiving; there can be no doubt that during his continuance in that state it would be utterly impossible for him to exert any one power of his rational faculties.” The inference I draw from this is, that if the principles of reason and virtue have not proved sufficient to inspire us with proper contempt for mere sensual pleasures, we have cause to feel grateful to old age for at least weaning us from appetites it would ill become us to gratify; for voluptuous passions are utter enemies to all the nobler faculties of the soul; they hold no communion with the manly virtues; and they cast a mist before the eye of reason. The little relish which old age leaves us for enjoyments merely sensual, instead of being a disparagement to that period of life, considerably enhances its value. If age renders us incapable of taking an equal share in the flowing cups and luxurious dishes of wealthy tables, it thereby secures us from painful indigestion, restless nights, and disordered reason.

But though his years will guard an old man from excess, they by no means exclude him from enjoying convivial gratifications in a moderate degree. I always took singular satisfaction in the anniversaries of those little societies called Confraternities. But the gratification I received from their entertainments arose much less from the pleasures of the palate than from the opportunities they afforded for enjoying the company and conversation of friends. I derive so much pleasure from hours devoted to cheerful discourse, that I love to prolong my meals, not only when the company is composed of men of my own years, few of whom indeed are now remaining, but also when it chiefly consists of young persons. And I acknowledge my obligations to old age for having increased my passion for the pleasures of conversation, while it has abated it for those which depend solely on the palate; though I do not find myself disqualified for that species of gratification, also.

The advantages of age are inestimable, if we consider it as delivering us from the tyranny of lust and ambition, from angry and contentious passions, from inordinate and irrational desires; in a word, as teaching us to retire within ourselves, and look for happiness in our own souls. If to these moral benefits, which naturally result from length of days, be added the sweet food of the mind, gathered in the fields of science, I know of no season of life that is passed more agreeably than the learned leisure of a virtuous old age. Can the luxuries of the table, or the amusements of the theatre, supply their votaries with enjoyments worthy to be compared with the calm delights of intellectual employments? And, in minds rightly formed and properly cultivated, these exalted delights never fail to improve and gather strength with years.