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 B8SB LIBRARY
 
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 I
 
 MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY 
 
 " Ah ! wherefore sigh for what is gone ? 
 
 Or deem the future all a night? 
 From darkness through the rosy dawn, 
 
 The stars go singing into light: 
 And to the pilgrim lone and gray, 
 
 One thought shall come to cheer his breast, 
 The evening sun but fades away 
 
 To find new morning in the west." 
 
 T. B. BEAD. 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 
 
 J. P. JEWETT & CO., 117 WASHINGTON STREET, 
 
 M.DCCC.LIV.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 
 FRANCIS T. RUSSELL, 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 
 
 PRINTED BY CASE, TIFFANY AND CO., HARTFORD, CT.
 
 A.OE. 
 
 IT is not considered polite to ask people their 
 age, after the bloom of youth has departed. I 
 would not willingly violate the rules of decorum, 
 or tempt any one to hide the foot-prints of Time 
 as the Indian warrior covers his track with leaves. 
 So, making no invidious inquiry, let me simply 
 whisper in the ear of those who have achieved 
 more than half life's journey, that this book is for 
 them. It is their own exclusive property. It is 
 devoted heart and hand to their interests. Who 
 ever is found reading it, may be suspected to have 
 attained the same ripe age. 
 
 It is, therefore, a kind of confidential matter 
 between me and my compeers we, whose faces 
 are toward the setting sun. To all such, I offer 
 the right hand of fellowship. There are sympa-
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 thies between us. We are in the same category 
 a joint stock concern that admits no young part 
 ners. Every camp has its watchword. Every 
 state its history. Every profession its policy. 
 And have not we ours ? Aye, and our rights too ? 
 And shall we not stand for them ? Come, let us 
 see. L. H. S. 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., 
 Sept. 1st, 1854.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE, 3 
 
 THE A. M's AND THE P. M's, 9 
 
 OLD, 19 
 
 REPORTERS, 31 
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE, 39 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF AGE, 52 
 
 AIR, 67 
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES, 84 
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS, ' . 101 
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 115 
 
 PRIVILEGES OF AGE, 130 
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY, 145 
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS, 172 
 
 ABOUT MONEY, 195 
 
 THE AMENITIES, 213 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF WINTER, 223 
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE, . . 229
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 C|e &. ft.'s aitir % f . 
 
 " AH ! what concerns it him whose way 
 
 Lies upward to the immortal dead, 
 That a few hairs are turning gray ? 
 
 Or one more year of life hath fled ? 
 Swift years ! still teach us how to bear, 
 
 To feel, to act, with strength and skill, 
 To reason wisely, nobly dare, 
 
 Then speed your courses as ye will. 
 When life's meridian toils are done, 
 
 How calm, how rich the twilight glow, 
 The morning twilight of a sun 
 
 That shines not here, on things below." 
 
 PROFESSOR NORTON. 
 
 THE equinoctial of human life, though 
 vaguely denned, is not an imaginary line. 
 Arithmetically speaking, thirty-five, as predi 
 cated on the allotted span of seventy years, 
 
 is the true zenith. Yet life's latitude can not 
 2
 
 10 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 always be computed with such exactness. 
 Of Cuvier, it was said at sixty, that he was 
 but in the climax of his scientific powers ; and 
 Klopstock, at eighty, bore the epithet of " the 
 youth forever." 
 
 These instances are, indeed, but exceptions, 
 and it will be, doubtless, admitted that the 
 meridian of life is fully passed at fifty. It 
 would be an exceedingly liberal construction 
 to extend to sixty, the dividing line between 
 the ante and the post meridian people. 
 Though the boundary may slightly vary, yet 
 the characteristics and possessions of those 
 on each side of this debateable ground are 
 sufficiently distinct. 
 
 With the A. M.'s, are the beauty and the 
 vigor, and the ambition of this present w r orld. 
 Of these distinctions they are aware and 
 tenacious. 
 
 Yet, the P. M.'s are not utterly cyphers. 
 This, I trust, in due time to show. If with 
 them, there is a less inflated hope, there 
 should be a more rational happiness; for they
 
 THE A. M.'S AND THK P. M.'s. 11 
 
 have winnowed the chaff from the wheat, 
 and tested both w r hat is worth pursuing, and 
 worth possessing. 
 
 Is there any antagonism between these 
 parties? Is one disposed to monopolize, and 
 the other to consider itself depreciated ? 
 Does one complain that 
 
 " Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage ? " 
 
 and the other morosely withdraw from the 
 battle of life, and its reciprocities ? We will 
 not admit any just ground for such estrange 
 ment. Rather are they differing tenses of 
 the same verb, the verb "to love" whose 
 root is in the blessed principle that binds the 
 universe together. Children are they of the 
 morning and of the evening, living on the 
 bounty of one common Father, and lighted 
 by the beams of the same rising and setting 
 sun, to His home in Heaven. 
 
 The duties that devolve on the P. M.'s are 
 not often as clearly evident, or as strongly 
 enforced as those which appertain to their 
 predecessors. One, comprise the planting.
 
 12 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the other the ripening process. In agricul 
 ture, the necessity of preparing the soil, and 
 sowing right seed, is apparent and imperative. 
 The requisitions to remove weeds, and destroy 
 noxious insects, are equally obvious. But 
 when the objects of culture approach their 
 final maturity, vigilance declines. Still, the 
 careful gardener will give the perfecting peach 
 the shelter of a wall, or the clustering grape 
 a prop, that it may better meet the sunbeam. 
 The laborer knows that the golden sheaf 
 needs the vertic sun, and the boy seeks not 
 his nuts in the forest, till the frost opens their 
 sheath. 
 
 So, in this our mortal life, though the toils 
 that fit for action, are more obvious and press 
 ing, yet the responsibilities of its period of 
 repose, should be often and distinctly contem 
 plated. For that richest fruit of the Creator, 
 the soul of man, that which survives, when 
 all other works of creation perish, goes on 
 ripening and ripening as long as it hangs in 
 this garden of time, and needs both earthly
 
 THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'s. 13 
 
 and divine aid to bring it happily to the eter 
 nal garner. 
 
 It has been said that the ethics of age have 
 been less elaborately stated than those of 
 youth or maturity. Still, the most perfect 
 philosophy, the most sublime precepts, must 
 fail, without the example of a good life. The 
 morality of Socrates and Seneca, was beauti 
 ful, but their times furnished no illustrations. 
 The code of Confucius was fine, but lacked 
 vitality. How much more impressive is the 
 theory of Addison, he who was enabled to say 
 at last, " Come, see in what peace a Christian 
 can die." 
 
 " I know of but one way of fortifying the mind against 
 gloomy presages and terrors, and that is, by securing the 
 friendship of that Being who disposes of all events, and 
 governs futurity. He sees at one view, the whole thread 
 of my existence, not only that part of it which I have 
 already passed through, but that which runs forward into 
 the depths of eternity. When I lie down to sleep, I 
 recommend myself to His care ; when I awake I give my 
 self up to His direction. Amidst all the evils that threat 
 en me, I will look up to Him for help, and question not 
 2*
 
 14 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 but He will avert them, or turn them to my advantage. 
 Though I know neither the time, nor the manner of the 
 death that I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it, 
 because I am sure that He knows them both, and that He 
 will not fail to support and comfort me under them." 
 
 A serenity thus founded and sustained, pro 
 motes the ripening of the soul's best fruits. 
 Earthly perturbations check their full devel 
 opment, and may cause them to fall before 
 their time. To pass through God's world, 
 unreconciled, or in hostility to Him, is fearful 
 arrogance. To estrange from His service the 
 powers that He has given, or the affections 
 that He claims, is treason heightened by in 
 gratitude. 
 
 If this has been the case with any of us, let 
 us lay aside the weapons of our warfare. 
 When we first entered this pilgrimage, many 
 paths allured us, each bright with flowers, 
 and birds of hope. Some we followed, till the 
 flowers faded, and the song ceased. Others 
 we entered, and hastily retraced, finding only 
 thorns and pitfalls. Now, approaching the
 
 THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'s. 15 
 
 close of our probation, a single road strongly 
 solicits us, one prominent object concentrates 
 our desires, a happy entrance into the "house 
 not made with hands ! " 
 
 All along the way there is happiness for 
 those whose hearts are in unison with the 
 Divine will. With a prayer of penitence for 
 the erring past, with a hymn of faith for the 
 joyous future, they pass onward, their Christian 
 graces ripening day by day, under the "clear 
 shining of the Sun of Righteousness." Thus 
 may it be with us, until the last, bright drop 
 of this brief existence shall be exhaled. 
 
 Those who have completed half a century, 
 if not literally numbered among the aged, 
 have yet reached a period of great gravity 
 and importance. They should have gained 
 an ascent which discloses much of earth's 
 vanity. They have past life's meridian, and 
 journey henceforth toward the gates of the 
 west. Those who like tutelary spirits pre 
 sided over their earliest years, and rejoiced 
 in their blossoming promise, have long since
 
 16 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ceased their ministrations, or departed to their 
 reward. For the responsibilities that remain, 
 they must gird themselves, and help to gird 
 others. To a future generation they should 
 pay the debt which they have incurred from 
 the past. 
 
 Time has also to them, a heightened and 
 an increasing value. For should they reach 
 threescore and ten, which it is computed that 
 only five in one hundred of our race attain, or 
 even far surmount the prescribed date of man, 
 every year is said to gather fleetness as it ap 
 proaches its goal. The rapidity of the tide 
 of time has been well depicted by one of 
 our own eloquent lecturers, the Rev. Henry 
 Giles. 
 
 "There is no Gibeon in life, upon which we can rest 
 for a moment, the morning or the noontide ; there is no 
 Ajalon in our age, whereon we can force the moonlight to 
 repose beyond its appointed hour. We cannot rekindle 
 the morning beams of childhood ; we cannot recall the 
 noontide glory of youth ; we cannot bring back the perfect 
 day of maturity ; we cannot fix the evening rays of age, in 
 the shadowy horizon ; but we can cherish that goodness
 
 THE A. M.'s AND THE P. M.'s. 17 
 
 which is the sweetness of childhood, the joy of youth, the 
 strength of maturity, the honor of old age, and the bliss 
 of saints." 
 
 The aids of philosophy to promote the com 
 fort and dignity of advancing age have been 
 often given, in the form of beautiful rules, or 
 striking aphorisms. Yet these will be found 
 frail, or rootless, unless the soul is at peace 
 with itself and with its Maker. 
 
 It may be, that God's gift of life in its more 
 protracted periods, is by certain classes of 
 observers, undervalued, or vilified. Should 
 it be our lot to reach any of those periods, 
 may we do justice to the Giver's goodness. 
 May we so co-operate with all heavenly 
 influences, so conform our conduct to the 
 precepts of the Gospel, so trust in our Re 
 deemer, that 
 
 " What is dark 
 
 In us, He may illumine ; what is weak, 
 Raise and support." 
 
 Thus, striving to prove that age, though 
 deemed so unlovely, can be happy and holy,
 
 18 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 may we find the last note of its hymn sweet 
 ly harmonizing with the angels' welcome, 
 " Come up hither ! "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "-My Mariners ! 
 
 Souls that have toil'd and wrought and felt with me, 
 That ever with a simple welcome took 
 The thunder or the sunshine, and oppos'd 
 Free hearts, free foreheads, you and I are old : 
 Yet age hath still his honor and his joy." 
 
 TENSTYSOX. 
 
 OLD! Can you remember how you felt, 
 when that adjective was first coupled with 
 your name ? Perhaps your milliner in fitting 
 a new hat, chanced to remark, that was a 
 "becoming fashion for an old lady ; " or some 
 coachman, by way of recommending his car 
 riage, might have added, it was remarkably 
 easy for an " old gentleman to get in and out 
 of." 
 
 Old, indeed! How officious and rude, these
 
 20 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 common people are ! Whereupon, you have 
 consulted your mirror, and been still more 
 indignant at their stupidity. 
 
 But you may have been more gently helped 
 along to this conclusion, by the circumstance 
 of paternity. Old Mr. and Mrs. set in oppo 
 sition with young Mr. and Mrs., lose much of 
 their discordance, and become familiar house 
 hold words. The satisfaction of hearing your 
 eldest darling thus distinguished, has softened 
 the bitterness of your own unflattering cog 
 nomen. Possibly, you have been moved 
 magnanimously to exclaim, with the senten 
 tious Ossian, "Let the name of Morni be for 
 gotten among the people, if they will only 
 say, behold the father of Gaul." 
 
 Still, it is hard to have a quietus suddenly 
 put upon long-cherished hopes and vanities. 
 "The baby shall not be named after me," 
 said a young parent of his first-born, " for it 
 wilf be old John and young John, while I am 
 yet in my prime." " I wish my son had not 
 taken it into his head to marry so early," said
 
 OLD. 21 
 
 a lady in a remarkably fine state of preserva 
 tion; "for now, I suppose, it must be old 
 Madam, and young Madam." The unmar 
 ried, whose recollections can bisect a century, 
 are prone to be annoyed at the disposition to 
 pry into dates, and are sure that no well-bred 
 person w r ould be guilty of such absurd curi 
 osity. 
 
 Yet, to cover the tracks of time, and put 
 family records out of the way, are of little 
 avail. There will be here and there, a mem 
 ory stubbornly tenacious of chronological mat 
 ters, and whoever labors to conceal his proper 
 date, will usually find some Argus to watch 
 over and reveal it. 
 
 But, after all ! what is there so frightful in 
 this little Saxon word old ? This collocation 
 of three innocent letters, why do they thrill 
 the hearts of so many fair women and brave 
 men, with terror and aversion ? 
 
 Is everything that is old deteriorated ? 
 What do you think of old wine ? We can 
 not, indeed, say quite as much about that, in
 
 22 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 these temperance times, as Anacreon did. 
 But I've always understood, when physicians 
 recommended its tonic or restorative powers 
 in medicine, it was the old, and not the new. 
 Ask the epicure to partake of new cheese. 
 Saith he not, "No: the old is better." Does 
 any one question the correctness of his taste ? 
 What do you say of an old friend, that best 
 cordial of life ? Blessings on his smile, and 
 on the hearty grasp of his hand. What if he 
 does come, leaning on his staff? There is no 
 winter in his heart. He was brought up in 
 times when friendship was more than a name. 
 
 " The vine produces more grapes when it 
 is young," says Bacon, " but better grapes for 
 wine, when it is old, because its juices are 
 more perfectly concocted." Very true, no 
 doubt. A wise man, was my Lord Bacon. 
 We see everything is not worse for being 
 old. 
 
 Is it worth while to be so much shocked at 
 the circumstance of becoming old ? Is it a 
 mark of excommunication from our race?
 
 OLD. 23 
 
 On the contrary, we have a chance of finding 
 some very good company. 
 
 So then, we to whom thrice twenty years, 
 each with its four full seasons, fairly counted 
 out, pressed together, and running over, have 
 been given, will no longer resist the epithet, 
 old. " To this complexion we have come at 
 last." We will not be ashamed of it. It is 
 better to be old, than to be wicked. 
 
 Let us draw nearer together. I hold that 
 we are not a despisable body. Similarity of 
 position, gives community of interest. Have 
 we not something to say, that others need not 
 hear ? We'll say it in this book. 
 
 And first, I would whisper a proposition, 
 that we depend not too much on sympathy 
 from the young. Those who earnestly de 
 mand that commodity, having outlived their 
 early associates, will stand a chance of being 
 numbered among the repiners of old, "sitting 
 in the market-place, and calling unto their 
 fellows, we have piped unto you, and ye have
 
 24 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 not danced, we have mourned unto you and 
 ye have not lamented." 
 
 Secondly, let us search after bright things, 
 in the world, and among its people. "Every 
 year of my life," says Cecil, " I grow more 
 convinced that it is wisest and best to fix our 
 attention on the beautiful and the good, and 
 dwell as little as possible on the dark and the 
 base." 
 
 Yet it is said that the past-meridians are 
 prone to be querulous, dissatisfied, and to 
 multiply complaints. I think I have heard a 
 few of these. Supposing we should listen to 
 and examine them. 
 
 " The world is not what it used to be." No. 
 It is in a state of palpable progress. It has 
 thrown off its seven-mile boots, and travels 
 by steam. We plod after it in our antique, 
 lumbering stage-coaches, and can scarcely 
 keep in sight the smoke of its engine. We 
 can not overtake it, and it will not stay for 
 us. The world is in a different phase of
 
 OLD. 25 
 
 action. It pleads guilty to this accusation. 
 What next ? 
 
 " We do not receive the respect that was once 
 paid to age." Perhaps we expect too much. 
 Is not something due from us ? We think 
 the young neglect us. Do we not owe some 
 thing to the young ourselves ? Those who 
 linger at a banquet after others are gone, 
 should take especial pains to make themselves 
 agreeable. If we find less courtesy than we 
 wish, let us show more. It becomes us to 
 be very meek and patient, to make amends 
 for our long entertainment at life's board. 
 " I had a beautiful dream," said a bright boy. 
 " I thought we children were all in heaven, 
 and so happy. By and by, grandfather came 
 in frowning, and said as he always does, 
 ' Can't these children stop their noise ? ' So, 
 we all ran away." 
 
 "People are tired of us." It may be so. 
 The guest who tarries late, is sometimes 
 counted intrusive or burdensome. Toward 
 
 those who have long retained coveted honors 
 3*
 
 26 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 or emoluments, there is a natural impatience 
 for reversion. "That old lawyer has stood 
 first at the bar, long enough," says the 
 younger aspirant. " That old physician gets 
 all the practice ; we young doctors may 
 starve." "That old author has been the 
 favorite of the public an unreasonable time ; 
 the rest of us want a fair chance." The 
 monopoly of wealth is equally hazardous, 
 though expectant heirs may be less frank in 
 their expression of impatience. The resig 
 nation at the departure of the aged and 
 distinguished, can be readily understood. 
 Allusions to the majority of the early summon 
 ed, may be sometimes significant. "Those 
 w T hom the gods love, die young," said a 
 pagan. In an age when all slow movements 
 are unpopular, speed in departure may possi 
 bly be counted among the graces; and in a 
 republic, a desire for the equalization of hon 
 ors, is neither peculiar nor reprehensible. 
 
 " We are not in good health." Very likely. 
 It would- be remarkable if we were. We
 
 OLD. 27 
 
 could not expect to wear the world's harness 
 so many years, up hill, and down hill, with 
 out some chafing. It would be a wonder if 
 none of our senses were enfeebled. They 
 have served us for a long time. Let us be 
 thankful for the period in which we have 
 seen clearly, heard quickly, and moved nim 
 bly. Many mysterious springs, and intricate 
 chords, and delicate humors, have been kept 
 in order to this end. We will praise the 
 Architect of such wonderful mechanism, that 
 it has so well served us, and that He has seen 
 fit so long to keep the " pitcher from being 
 broken at the fountain, or the wheel at the 
 cistern." 
 
 " Our early friends have departed." Ah ! 
 there is sadness in that sound. But on this 
 tenure we commenced our earthly journey. 
 They were to go from us, or we from them. 
 We linger in the deserted hall, and ought 
 not to marvel that its flowers droop, and its 
 lamps wane, or are extinguished. Yet our 
 blessed ones, lost for a time on earth, are
 
 28 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 they not to be found in heaven? Only a 
 little in advance of us, have they forded the 
 dark river. See we not their white gar 
 ments glitter from the opposing bank? Does 
 not their smile inspire us with courage our 
 selves to launch away ? We go not to a 
 stranger's land. Is not that glorious clime 
 of our hope endeared by the thought that so 
 many of those whom we best loved here, 
 await us there ? that the hands which we 
 here pressed so fondly, shall renew the love- 
 ties, which death for a moment sundered? 
 that those voices which have never ceased to 
 linger in our hearts as a treasured melody, 
 shall be the first to welcome us to the society 
 of an "innumerable company of angels, and 
 to the spirits of the just made perfect?" 
 
 Whoever persists in complaining of this 
 mortal life, virtually admits that he desires 
 another. Are we ready for an untried exist 
 ence ? ready at a moment's warning to launch 
 away, and return no more ? ready for its 
 atmosphere and service of love ?
 
 OLD. 29 
 
 If any preparation for this change of clime 
 is incomplete, let us address ourselves fer 
 vently to the work, without loss of time or 
 energy in murmuring. We might, indeed, 
 in our loneliness and morbidness, multiply 
 complaints without end. The habit would 
 grow with indulgence, till every breath be 
 came a claim for sympathy, or an objurgation 
 if it were withheld. 
 
 But cui bono ? Have not others infirmities 
 and troubles, as well as ourselves? Why 
 add to their load ? Would it not be better 
 to take a part of theirs? "Bear ye one 
 another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of 
 Christ." It hath been well said that " mur 
 muring is a black garment, and becometh 
 none so ill as saints." 
 
 Oh friends ! let us not lose our interest 
 in life's blessings, because we have so long 
 enjoyed our share of them. Rather, as an 
 eloquent writer of our own has said, will we 
 "arise, and throw open a window in our 
 hearts, and let in the tone of the bird, and
 
 30 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the breath of the violet." We will not per 
 mit that bright heart-window to be sealed, 
 nor the hand, through our own inertness, to 
 become paralyzed, while genial nature still 
 spreads her charms around us, and invites us 
 to rejoice in them, and in the God who gave 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Gather earth's glory and bloom within, 
 
 That the soul may be brighter when youth is past.'' 
 
 MKS. OSGOOD. 
 
 " THE senses," says Lord Bacon, " are re 
 porters to the mind." No wonder that they 
 should get wearied with taking evidence, 
 when the case is before the court, some three 
 or fourscore years. It is only surprising that 
 their declension should not be expected. 
 
 Various expedients have the ingenuity of 
 man devised, to strengthen their weakness, 
 or supply their loss. The spectacle-maker 
 furnishes eyes, and the dentist, teeth. The 
 worshipful fraternity of wig-fanciers, cover 
 bald temples with hair, to any desired pat 
 tern or hue. The crutch-vender, and the
 
 32 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 cork- worker, do their best to aid diseased 
 locomotion. The tiny, curving trumpet* 
 promises to stir the dull tympanum. 
 
 Yet, can any human power revivify the 
 defunct ear ? If sound hath died in its mys 
 terious temple, is there a resurrection, a 
 second life ? Among the senses, that of 
 hearing is prone to be the most frequently 
 impaired, and when lost, to awaken the 
 least sympathy. The hand is involuntarily 
 stretched to lead the blind, or to give a seat 
 to the lame. But at the approach of the 
 deaf, there is a flight, or with those who 
 remain, a sense of labor. No long conver 
 sations can be anticipated, save with the 
 long-suffering. Deafness, more than other 
 infirmities, repels intercourse, and cuts the 
 links that bind man to society. 
 
 Has our ear grown weary ? It has heard 
 many discords in its day, without a doubt. 
 The nerves, its ambassadors, may need re 
 pose. It is true that we are thus prevented 
 from rendering ourselves agreeable in society.
 
 REPORTERS. 33 
 
 But, perhaps, when we were there, we did 
 not do or receive any great amount of good. 
 Possibly, our oral contributions to knowledge 
 may not be much missed, and meditation 
 may be as serviceable to us as the taking in 
 of new supplies. It may be our true wisdom 
 to withdraw from the traffic of words, and 
 cultivate a more thorough acquaintance with 
 our own hearts, and our hearts' true friends, 
 the angels. Perchance, we have lingered 
 long enough among earth's broken tones, and 
 are called to reserve our listening powers for 
 the melodies of heaven. 
 
 The eye, that keeps so fresh our blessed 
 communion with nature, has that become 
 dim ? Are those who " look out at the win 
 dows, darkened?" Must the world of books 
 be in a great measure closed to us, or perhaps, 
 the dear faces of friends shrouded? Then, 
 the soul's pictures gather clearness, and mem 
 ory walks in halls where is perpetual light. 
 Thought concentrates itself, and makes its 
 work more perfect. Should we have had the
 
 34 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Iliad of Homer, or the greater poems of Mil 
 ton, or the histories of Prescott, if the outer 
 eye had not been " quench'd by drop serene," 
 and the flashing of the world's torches and 
 flambeaux shut out from the mind's sanc 
 tuary ? Hear the brave, blind old poet, 
 
 " So much the rather, thou Celestial Light, 
 Shine inward, and the soul thro' all her powers 
 Irradiate." 
 
 Good and faithful servants have the report 
 ing senses been to us. Year after year have 
 they spread for us the charms of nature, and 
 brought us the music of the living world, 
 and the odor of the rose, and the thrill of 
 the love-kiss, and the pleasure drawn from 
 the essences of earth's fruits, and from that 
 inferior creation which was yielded to man's 
 dominion, that the nutriment of their life 
 might sustain his own. If any of these sen 
 tinels at length slumber at their post, if they 
 falter or decay, we will not view it as an 
 infliction, or an affliction, but rather as a 
 tranquillizing pause of preparation for a state
 
 REPORTERS. 35 
 
 where they are no longer needed. While 
 we rejoice that they have for many years 
 been continued to us, we will not forget to 
 be thankful that we have ourselves also been 
 spared for further improvement. 
 
 How many dangers have been overruled 
 that we might be sheltered. What hosts of 
 enemies have been trodden down that we 
 might live. In how many nameless forms 
 does death beset helpless infancy. From the 
 cradle what an unending procession to the 
 grave. The little hand falls powerless, the 
 eye just learning to love the light, retires 
 within its sealed fringes, the tongue that 
 began to lisp the mother's name is mute, and 
 she, with a sorrow that words have never 
 told, is a weeper over a small, green mound, 
 or starting at midnight, stretches her empty 
 arms in vain. Yet from the foes that beset 
 waking life, we have been saved. 
 
 The child at school, having surmounted 
 the perils of earlier years, is considered com 
 paratively safe. Who says there is safety at
 
 36 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 any age, if he has heard the funeral prayer 
 by the pale clay so late full of vigor, and seen 
 the school-mates move a mournful train, to 
 the cold bed of the loved sharer in their 
 studies and their sports. 
 
 Youth is forth, like the morning-sun upon 
 the green hill-tops. Its cheek is bloom; its 
 step, grace; its voice, melody. No care hath 
 touched it, and kneeling love worships it as 
 an idol. Rose there a voice upon the sad 
 dened air, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust!" 
 All is over. Perchance, it was our bosom's 
 friend. Yet we lived, and passed onward. 
 
 The father and mother are the centre of a 
 happy circle. All their powers are in requi 
 sition to protect, to guide, to foster the chil 
 dren whom God hath given them. They 
 seem essential to their welfare, not only for 
 the " life that now is, but for that which is to 
 come." Their place is empty. Their voice 
 is silent. To the home of their love they 
 return no more, and the orphans go about 
 the streets.
 
 REPORTERS. 37 
 
 But have we been permitted to see our 
 nursery-plants grow up, and cast a fair shad 
 ow ? Have we taken a blossom from their 
 stem, a baby grandchild upon our knee, and 
 felt its velvet fingers moving lovingly amid 
 our silver hairs, and new life entering into 
 our veins from its quickly beating heart, or 
 merry laughter? And was not this new 
 affection as fond as that of young paternity, 
 as warm with fresh hope, and perchance even 
 more pleasant, in being freed from an anxious 
 burden of accountability ? 
 
 Why should we ever forget to be thankful ? 
 Does the soldier, standing at his own quiet 
 door, having left most of his comrades stark 
 and stiffen fields of warfare, feel no gratitude ? 
 Does the sailor, whose companions sank with 
 the wrecked ship, view with indifference the 
 life-boat that rescued him from the whelming 
 wave ? 
 
 Behold, from the battle and the storm, we 
 have been saved. Wherefore we are thus 
 
 distinguished, it is not for us to say. Yet a 
 
 4*
 
 38 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 weight of obligation rests on us, to render, in 
 some proportion, according to the benefits we 
 have received, and the risks from which we 
 have been shielded. 
 
 Are we not in life's school, the highest class? 
 the longest under training ? and probably the 
 first to be dismissed? How can we best 
 prove that our tuition has not been in vain, 
 that He who hath granted us such a protract 
 ed term of fatherly discipline, will not pro 
 nounce us idle scholars, or profitless stewards 
 of his abounding mercy ? So faithfully served 
 by His reporters, we should surely be able to 
 present a good report at last. 
 
 Sometimes, in seasons of earnest supplica 
 tion, we may have felt as if we could adopt 
 the appeal of the endangered debtor, "Have 
 patience with me, and I will pay thee all." 
 
 The Master hath had patience with us. 
 How have we performed our part of the 
 contract ?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 of 
 
 " The old man sate in his elbow-chair, 
 
 His locks were thin and gray ; 
 Memory, that early friend, was there, 
 
 And he in querulous tones did say, 
 ' Hast thou not lost, with careless key, 
 
 Something that I entrusted to thee ?' 
 Her tardy answer was sad and low, 
 
 " I fear, I fear that it may be so.'" 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, in all ages of the civilized 
 world, has been prized and coveted. The 
 cloistered monk made it of old, a substitute 
 for life's warm charities, and the philosopher 
 of modern times finds in it a more permanent 
 distinction than rank or wealth can bestow. 
 The pleasures of original thought, of deep 
 research, of high converse with nature or 
 with art, are a rich reward for the perse ver-
 
 40 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ance they require. For them, both contem 
 plative and ambitious men have been content 
 
 " To scorn delights and live laborious days." 
 
 To the mind thus elevated, the joys of 
 heaven are enhanced by the thought that 
 there its aspirations will be freed from the 
 barriers and obstacles that fettered them here 
 below. A fair, young creature, to whom 
 death had dealt the final stroke, pointed 
 upward in ecstatic hope, and said with her 
 ebbing breath, 
 
 " There, boundless floods of knowledge roll, 
 And pour, and pour upon the soul." 
 
 To retain, as well as to amass this precious 
 treasure, is a point of immense importance. 
 The " custodia," or military guard of the an 
 cient Romans, led chained to his left hand, 
 the prisoner or captive committed to his 
 charge. Of memory, w^e are w r ont to expect 
 similar vigilance. The tendency of advanced 
 age, is to impair its custody. Whether this 
 tendency is inevitable, or to be resisted, is an 
 inquiry of serious import.
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 41 
 
 The venerable President Quincy, whose 
 retentive powers, and mental elasticity, sur 
 mount the pressure of time, thus pleasantly 
 alludes to this subject, in a speech on a pub 
 lic occasion in Boston, when he had num 
 bered seventy years : 
 
 " To an old man, Memory is wont to be an 
 arrant jilt, and is no way delicate in letting 
 him know, that like the rest of her sex, she 
 gives young men the preference." 
 
 The fidelity of Memory, is doubtless more 
 entire, for trusts committed to her in early 
 life. She had then, fewer objects to divide 
 her attention, and more room in her casket 
 to arrange her accumulating stores. She 
 attaches the highest value to what was 
 gained with toil, so that the axioms and 
 precepts which were deepened by education, 
 seldom escape her. 
 
 There are some who propose the use of 
 written memoranda, as an expedient for 
 mental retention. Yet they serve rather to 
 nourish the sloth of Memory, than to gird her
 
 42 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 for healthful action. Is it necessary that she 
 should fail with vears, unless the action of 
 
 / 
 
 disease impairs some of those organs through 
 whose agency she has been accustomed to 
 receive impressions ? 
 
 The women of our aborigines were the 
 keepers of the archives and legendary lore of 
 their tribes. In extreme age, their powers 
 of recollection have been observed to be per 
 manent and vivid. I saw one of the Mohegan 
 nation, who had numbered one hundred and 
 seventeen years. The skin upon her face 
 and hands was rigid and mottled as the bark 
 of a tree, and from her eyes light had long 
 departed. Yet within, the lamp of memory 
 clearly burned. She spoke of the state of 
 her people, in the far-off days of her child 
 hood, of the terror they felt at the powerful 
 and savage Mohawks, of the lineaments of 
 different chieftains who had borne sway, and 
 of the spreading strength of the whites, who 
 like a great oak-tree overshadowed them. 
 She graphically narrated many circumstances
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 43 
 
 of the visit of her brother, the Rev. Samson 
 Occum, to England, of the kindness that was 
 shown him there by the great and good, the 
 presents that were made him, and spoke 
 especially of the books that he so proudly 
 brought back to his native shores. 
 
 I had also a valued friend, who reached 
 the age of one hundred and one, whose 
 memory was not confined to the impressions 
 of early years, but took sympathetic cogni 
 zance of passing events. An amiable temper 
 kept awake his interest in all around, and 
 prevented the hermetical sealing of what 
 only concerned his own early and imme 
 diate sphere. 
 
 That infirmity of the retentive faculties is 
 inseparable from advanced age, seems the 
 general opinion. I would ask, if it is a con 
 dition of mind, exclusively confined to the 
 old ? I think I have known the blooming 
 and the vigorous to forget many things. The 
 young girl may forget to learn her lessons, 
 and the graduate of college, the lessons that
 
 44 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 he has learned. The philosopher has been 
 known to forget his own theories, and the 
 eloquent statesman to pay his debts. It is 
 not the exclusive province of grey hairs to 
 forget attainments, resolutions or promises. 
 There was a gentleman who had the reputa 
 tion of forgetting the precise hour that had 
 been appointed for his marriage, and was 
 found prolonging a walk, when the bridal 
 party had assembled. Whether this was real 
 forgetfulness, or affectation, I was not given 
 distinctly to understand. But at any rate, 
 he had not lost his memory through age. 
 
 Consider what untiring efforts are made, 
 to strengthen the retentive powers of the 
 young. Stated lessons through their whole 
 scholastic period, daily recitation and repeti 
 tion, conversation with teachers and fellow- 
 pupils, deepening, riveting, incorporating 
 knowledge with the very structure of the 
 mind. Memory is thus made a prompt, 
 active servant. She is strong through exer 
 cise. She has no time to idle away. She
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 45 
 
 is busy, tinging dreams, even when the body 
 sleeps. 
 
 But we, who have been warned of her dis 
 position to become a deserter, take few pre 
 cautions to detain her. Perhaps we feed her 
 on the old, mouldy corn, and neglect to give 
 her a taste of the new harvest. Cognizance 
 of passing things, as well as of recorded 
 events, is essential to her healthful condition. 
 
 I had a friend, God bless every memorial 
 and mention of him, who to the verge of 
 eighty, labored to preserve a naturally strong 
 memory, not only by interest in the concerns 
 of others, but by learning daily, by heart, 
 something from books. Can we not form the 
 habit of acquiring verbatim, every day, a few 
 lines of poetry, or a single verse from the 
 Bible ? 
 
 Can't we remember ? I suspect the failure 
 to be that of sufficient repetition. No one is 
 interested to hear us. The child, whose first, 
 faltering intonations, we fostered with paren 
 tal pride, is immersed in the cares of life, and
 
 46 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 cannot regard our fragmentary gleanings. 
 We need not expect our children, or grand 
 children, to listen to our mental gatherings, 
 as we have done to theirs. Friends and vis 
 itants, we would not wish to annoy, and thus 
 the privilege of repetition, on which memory 
 so much depends, is forfeited. 
 
 An aged gentleman, who w T as not willing 
 to lose the advantage of thus deepening the 
 traces of a course of history he was pursuing, 
 devised an ingenious expedient. A promis 
 ing youth, the expenses of whose education 
 he was kindly defraying, came daily at a 
 regular time, to read to him. He employed 
 a portion of this interval, in a condensed 
 statement of what he had perused in solitude, 
 and was surprised to find how tenaciously it 
 afterward adhered to remembrance. Thus 
 the pupil unconsciously became a teacher, 
 and the benefactor shared in his own gifts. 
 
 Why would it not be well for neighbors 
 who are advanced in years, to meet at allotted 
 periods, and converse critically of the authors
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 47 
 
 they are reading, and repeat what they have 
 considered worthy to be committed to mem 
 ory ? If it should seem too much like a 
 school, is there any objection to that ? Why 
 might there not be schools for the aged, as 
 well as schools of the prophets ? Life is a 
 school. " I shall be thankful to die, learning 
 something," said a wise man. 
 
 The truth is, that Memory requires more 
 culture, than the aged are inclined to give 
 her. They take it for granted that she must 
 decay, and antedate the time. They release 
 her from service among the living present, 
 and force her to look only backward, until 
 the sinews of her neck are stiffened. One 
 remedy for deepening what we do not wish 
 to forget, is to teach it to others. An auditory 
 of little ones will usually hang around the old 
 person who tells them stories. Grave truths, 
 and sacred precepts, may be thus enwrapped 
 in " sugary narrative," with a salutary and 
 lasting influence. One aged person who had 
 been in the habit of briefly writing in a jour-
 
 V 
 48 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 nal, from early life, found it profitable in his 
 nightly self-examination, to trace back the 
 same day through many years, recalling the 
 dealings of divine providence with himself 
 and others, and selecting some subject for the 
 little descriptive entertainment his grand 
 children expected from him every morning. 
 
 It has been already admitted that passing 
 events are more difficult to be retained by the 
 aged than those which were coeval with 
 their prime. Is not the antidote, to mingle as 
 much interest and affection as possible with 
 the moving drama of life, and its actors 1 to 
 entwine around each new generation, the ten 
 drils of sympathy, not forgetting to " rejoice 
 with them who do rejoice ? " Thus shall 
 Memory, fed by kindly sympathies, like the 
 Roman captive, nourished at his daughter's 
 breast, endure and flourish. 
 
 " Ah ! when shall all men's good 
 Be each man's care ? and universal love 
 Strike like a shaft of light, across the land ?" 
 
 Should it be felt, or feared, that in spite of 
 every precaution, Memory indeed grows in-
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 49 
 
 ert to intellectual gatherings, or to the routine 
 of daily events, that she records not as for 
 merly the dates of history, or the names of 
 men, let the heart breathe upon her. That 
 is Ithuriel's spear. Though her key may 
 have been so long used, that some of its 
 wards are worn, Love's hand can turn it. 
 
 Heart-memories are the most indelible. A 
 woman of more than fourscore, in whom sick 
 ness had prostrated both physical and mental 
 energies, failed to state correctly, even the 
 number of her children. A friend endeavored 
 to restore the imagery of active years, but in 
 vain. At length, the circumstance of her 
 father's leaving home to take a soldier's part 
 in the war of our Revolution, was accidentally 
 mentioned. It had called forth the deep 
 anxieties of an affectionate family, when she 
 was yet a young child. The fountain of the 
 heart heaved, light came to her eye, and a 
 tear glittered there, as she murmured, 
 
 " I remember, yes, I remember his kiss 
 
 5*
 
 50 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 when he turned away from the door. It is 
 warm on my cheek, now." 
 
 If Memory is weary, it is safe to sustain her 
 on the arm of that blessed charity which em 
 braces all mankind. The religion whose seat 
 is in the affections, survives when polemic 
 fervor and theological subtleties fade in obliv 
 ion. The instance of the aged clergyman, 
 who forgot his boyhood's friend, the favorite 
 son under whose roof he dwelt, and the dar 
 ling babe who was daily brought to nestle in 
 his bosom, yet remembered the name of his 
 " dear Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ," is well 
 known, but always worthy of being repeated. 
 
 If holy love thus keeps alive the memory, 
 like living waters at its root, when its green 
 leaves are crisp with frost, let us labor to 
 strengthen that love toward God, and likewise 
 toward this fleeting world, precious because it 
 is His world, and His hand has placed us as 
 pilgrims in it. Yet should we feel within 
 ourselves, that Memory has become vacilla 
 ting or infirm, we will be in no haste to pro-
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 51 
 
 claim it on the house-tops. There are enough 
 who are ready and swift to publish the de 
 clension, if we admit it ourselves. Rather 
 should we struggle to keep hold of the hand 
 of that old and tried friend, as long as possi 
 ble. We will not expose her weakness, nor 
 say that she has deserted us, while we can 
 touch the hem of her garment. We will not 
 see her go forth like Hagar, from Abraham's 
 tent, without putting on her shoulder the 
 water-bottle that she may refresh herself in 
 the wilderness. Though she return no more 
 to the oaks of Mamre, yet if we are at last so 
 blessed as to meet the angels who visited 
 there, she will be with them; for she is never 
 to die.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 of 
 
 " The principle of beauty hath no age, 
 It looketh forth, even though the eye be dim, 
 The forehead frost-crown'd, yea, it looketh forth 
 Like holy star, on all whom God hath made." 
 
 THE beauty of age ! Does any one call me 
 ironical, or point the finger at me in derision ? 
 Verily, I am speaking in good faith. 
 
 Yet am I not ignorant of what Time takes 
 away. I know that he is prone to steal from 
 the eye its lustre, and from the Parian brow 
 its smoothness. The round cheek falls away 
 at his ploughshare, and the dimples disappear. 
 The hair no longer abundant, leaves the bald 
 crown, or withered temples unshielded. Its 
 hues of chesnut, or auburn, or raven black, 
 vanish, and the complexion, no longer relieved 
 by their rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or
 
 BEAUTYOFAGE. 53 
 
 lily, and settles into the trying companionship 
 of iron grey or white. The erect form yields 
 its dignity. The vertebral column bends, 
 and the limbs resign their elasticity. Happy 
 are they, who are compelled to call in no aid 
 from crutch, or staff, to sustain their footsteps. 
 The beautiful hand loses its plumpness, and 
 bones and sinews and jagged veins become 
 protuberant. Even the ear sometimes forfeits 
 its delicate symmetry, and grows elephantine. 
 The voice is prone to forget its harmony, or 
 unmodified by its dental allies, "pipes and 
 whistles in its sound." 
 
 All these deteriorations, and more than 
 these, I admit, yet boldly sustain my argu 
 ment, the beauty of age. 
 
 Where is it ? In what does it consist ? 
 Its dwelling is in the soul, and it makes itself 
 visible by radiations that reach the soul; by 
 the smile of benevolence, by limitless good 
 will, by a saintly serenity, by the light of 
 heaven, shining upon the head that is so 
 near it.
 
 54 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 The smile of Washington, which had always 
 possessed a peculiar charm, gathered force 
 and sweetness from the snows of time. One 
 who was accustomed to meet him in the fam 
 ily, says, " Whenever he gave me one of these 
 smiles 3 1 always felt the tears swelling under 
 my eye-lids." 
 
 What an affecting sketch of the tranquil 
 beauty of age on which death hath set its 
 seal, is given in a letter from Pope, to an 
 artist whom he desires to preserve the like 
 ness of the mother whose declining years 
 were soothed by his filial love and duty. 
 
 "My poor old mother is dead. I thank 
 God that her death was as easy as her life 
 has been innocent ; and as it cost her not a 
 groan, or even a sigh, there is still upon 
 her countenance such an expression of tran 
 quillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is 
 amiable to behold. It would afford the finest 
 image of a saint expired, that painter ever 
 drew ; and it would be the greatest obliga 
 tion which that art could bestow on a friend,
 
 BEAUTYOFAGE. 55 
 
 if you could come and sketch it for me. I 
 hope to see you soon, ere this winter-flower 
 shall have faded. I will defer the interment 
 until to-morrow night. I know you love "me, 
 or I could not have written this, or indeed, at 
 such a time, have written at all. Adieu. 
 May you die as happy." 
 
 At his villa of Twickenham, bought with 
 the first fruits of his translation of Homer's 
 Iliad, the poet sheltered and solaced this 
 venerable mother. From her honored seat 
 at his fireside, her tender, simple message 
 cheered him amid his toils. "I send you my 
 daily prayers, and I bless you, my deare." 
 More touching and admirable was the inter 
 change of these hallowed sensibilities, than 
 all the melody of his verse. 
 
 Of the intrinsic beauty of age, I have been 
 so happy as to see some distinguished speci 
 mens. My infant eyes opened upon one. 
 My earliest perceptions of the beautiful and 
 holy, were entwined with silver hairs, and I 
 bless God, that the fourteen first years of life,
 
 56 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 dwelt under their serene shadow. A fair 
 countenance, a clear, blue eye, and a voice 
 of music, return to me as I recall the image 
 of that venerated lady, over whom more 
 than threescore and ten years had passed, 
 ere I saw the light. Her tall, graceful form, 
 moving with elastic step through the parterres, 
 whose numerous flowers she superintended, 
 and her brow raised in calm meditation, from 
 the sacred volume she was reading, were to 
 me beautiful. Many sought to take counsel 
 of her, both for the things of this life and the 
 next, and her words were so uttered as to 
 make them happier as well as wiser. The 
 sorrowful came to be enlightened by the sun 
 beam that dwelt in her spirit, and the chil 
 dren of want for bread and a garment ; for 
 her wealth was the Lord's, and when she 
 cast it into His treasury, it was with a smile, 
 as if she was herself the receiver. The 
 beauty of the soul was hers, that waxeth not 
 old. Love was in her heart to all whom God 
 had made, a love not ending in blind indul-
 
 BEAUTY OF AGE. 57 
 
 gence, but seeking to elevate them in the 
 scale of existence. Thus it was until eighty- 
 eight years had passed over her ; and when 
 she entered the exalted society for which she 
 had been fitted here, tears flowed widely and 
 freely, as for one in their prime. At her 
 grave, I learned my first lesson of a bursting 
 grief that has never been forgotten. Let 
 none say that the aged die unloved, or un- 
 mourned by the young. It is not so. 
 
 Another, I knew, without munificent en 
 dowment of mind, person, or position. Yet 
 had he to the last, a beauty that love followed, 
 the beauty of kind regard to all creatures, and 
 of a perfect temperament that never yielded 
 to anger. Hence, the wheels of life ran on 
 without chafing, and in his eighty-eighth year, 
 his step was as elastic as at twenty, the florid 
 hue of his cheek unchanged, and his bright, 
 brown hair, without a thread of silver. He 
 loved the plants and flowers, and knew how 
 scientifically to promote their welfare, and to 
 enrich the dark, brown mould, with golden
 
 58 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 fruits, and fair vine-clusters. By these sweet 
 recreations, life was made sweeter, and re 
 newed its pleasures, like the fresh spring- 
 buds, and the bird that returns again to its 
 nest after the winter. Sorrows he had tasted, 
 but they left no cloud, only a deeper tender 
 ness for all who mourned. His religion had 
 no mixture of coldness toward those who dif 
 fered from him, no exclusiveness, no bigotry. 
 The frailties of those around, he regarded 
 with gentleness, or with pity. He blamed 
 not, upbraided not. On his loving soul, there 
 was no slander-spot. His life was like one 
 long smile, closing with a music-strain. And 
 on it was written as a fair motto, " the man 
 without an enemy " 
 
 From the sacred pictures of the departed 
 that hang in the soul's temple, I would fain 
 select another. It is of a friend, who in early 
 years, suffered from feebleness of constitution, 
 yet by care and temperance, so renovated his 
 health, that age was to him better, and more 
 vigorous than youth. A strong perception of
 
 BEAUTYOFAGE. 59 
 
 the beautiful, both in nature and art, lighted 
 up his mind with a perpetual sunbeam. His 
 fine taste went hand in hand with a perfect 
 philanthropy, so that what he admired, he 
 patronized, and what he patronized, he 
 spread abroad, that others might share his 
 enjoyment. The gates of his spacious rural 
 villa, were thrown open as a pleasure-ground 
 for all the people, and with the treasures 
 of literature and the arts, he enriched the 
 noble public institute that he founded. 
 "The holy truth walked ever by his side;" 
 while independence of thought and action, 
 with regard to men, was mingled with the 
 deepest humility and reverence toward God. 
 To draw merit from obscurity, to sustain 
 honest industry, to encourage humble virtue, 
 to stimulate the young to higher effort, and 
 silently to relieve the suffering poor, were his 
 pleasures. And with these pleasures would 
 sometimes steal over his brow an expression 
 denied to what the world calls beauty, "the 
 set of features, and complexion, the tincture
 
 60 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of the skin, that she admires." It was the 
 beauty of the soul, looking forth in the life 
 of one, who faithfully and without ostenta 
 tion, held his large fortune in stewardship 
 for God and for man. 
 
 By his side was a being of an angelic spirit, 
 who strengthened all his high resolves, and 
 tenderly divided his sorrows and his joys. 
 Methinks I see her, as if she now sate beside 
 me ; her delicate, upright, symmetrical form, 
 the grace of her movements, the magic of her 
 smile, the courteous manners, that charmed 
 even the unrefined, the tasteful adaptation of 
 costume to position, and the perfect judgment 
 that led her to choose 
 
 "Best means for wisest ends, and speak right words 
 At fitting times." 
 
 She was said to have been exceedingly 
 beautiful in youth, but the portraits of that 
 period bore no resemblance to her counte 
 nance in advanced years, so much had Time 
 changed its structure. Yet she held a talis 
 man over w r hich he had no power, a good-
 
 BEAUTYOFAGE. 61 
 
 ness, disrobed of self, enchanting all that 
 came within its sphere, and a trusting piety 
 that knew no cloud. 
 
 Thus she, and the companion of her days, 
 made their childless home attractive to every 
 visitant, until the verge of fourscore, when 
 they entered a mansion not made with hands. 
 She w T as first summoned, and through a lin 
 gering decline, sought strength from above, 
 to adhere as far as possible to her habits of 
 usefulness, and that gentle self-renunciation, 
 which in promoting the good of others, forgot 
 its own sufferings. As her step grew feeble, 
 her brow became more sweetly serene, and 
 daily she took her seat at the table, and the 
 fireside, that she might cheer him by her 
 presence, whose life of life was in her. 
 
 The last night that she was with us below, 
 she spent as usual, some time in her oratory, 
 ere retiring to her chamber for repose. What 
 the angels said to her, in that sacred seclu 
 sion, or what she said to her God, we know 
 
 6*
 
 62 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 not ; but at the midnight hour they came, to 
 bear her to Him. And she was ready. 
 
 It was not for us to hear their whisper, 
 " Sister spirit, come away ! " but we saw that 
 they left on the untroubled brow, a smile as 
 calm, as holy as their own. And we gave 
 glory to God, through our tears, for her 
 blessed example, who had departed this life 
 in His faith and fear. 
 
 Countless instances might be adduced of 
 the subdued and saintly lustre that marks 
 the sunset of well-spent life. And it would 
 be pleasant to me thus to enlarge, for it has 
 been my privilege often to be near, and 
 always to admire the " hoary head found in 
 the way of righteousness"." 
 
 I must indulge myself and my readers 
 with one more example. It is a description 
 from the graceful pen of N. P. Willis, of his 
 own beautiful rural life on the banks of the 
 Hudson. 
 
 " Our venerable neighbor, of eighty years of age, who with 
 his white locks, and face beaming with the benignity of a
 
 BEAUTY OF AGE. 
 
 63 
 
 summer's evening, came back at the first softening of the 
 season. He goes to the city this beloved neighbor of 
 ours when the roads become impassable for his tremulous 
 feet ; but he gains health, (as he was saying with his usual 
 truthful wisdom to-day,) not alone from the sidewalks and 
 other opportunities of exercise. In the mental ' change of 
 air' he finds an invigorating tonic, (one, by the way, which 
 I am glad of this bright example to assist in recommending 
 to the dispirited invalid, for there is more medicine in it 
 than would be believed, without trial,) and he inhales it in 
 the larger field that he finds for the instructive benevo 
 lence which forms his occupation in the country. He 
 passes his time in the city in visiting schools, hospitals, 
 prisons every place where human love and wisdom would 
 look in together. He speaks fluently. His voice is singu 
 larly sweet and winning ; and, with his genial and beau 
 tiful expression of countenance, his fine features, and the 
 venerable dignity of his bent form in its Quaker garb, he 
 is listened to with exceeding interest. Children particu 
 larly, delight to hang on his words. One great charm, 
 perhaps, is his singular retention of creativeness of mind 
 though so old, still continuing to talk as he newly thinks, 
 not as he remembers. The circumstances of the moment, 
 therefore, suffice for a theme, or for the attractive woof 
 on which to broider instruction, and he does it with a 
 mingled playfulness and earnestness which form a most
 
 64 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 attractive as well as valuable lesson. Can any price be 
 put on such an old man, as the belonging of a neighbor 
 hood? Can landscape gardening invent anything more 
 beautiful than such a form daily seen coming through an 
 avenue of trees, his white locks waving in the wind, and 
 the children running out to meet him with delight ? 
 
 Friend S strolls to Idlewild, on any sunny day, 
 
 and joins us at any meal, or lies down to sleep or rest on 
 a sofa in the library and can painting or statuary give 
 us any semblance, more hallowing to the look and char 
 acter of a home, more cheering and dignifying to its at 
 mosphere and society? Among the Arts among the 
 refinements of taste in the culture of Beauty, in Amer 
 ica let us give Old Age its preeminence ! The best 
 arm-chair by the fireside, the privileged room with its 
 warmest curtains and freshest flowers, the preference and 
 first place in all groups and scenes in which Age can 
 mingle such is the proper frame and setting for this 
 priceless picture in a home. With less slavery to business, 
 and better knowledge and care of health, we shall have 
 more Old Age in our country in other words, for our 
 homes, there will be more of the most crowning beauty." 
 
 Youth hath its beauty, tress and smile, 
 
 And cheek of glowing ray ; 
 They charm the admiring eye awhile, 
 
 Then fade, and fleet away ;
 
 BEAUTYOFAGE. 65 
 
 But Age, with heaven-taught wisdom crown'd, 
 
 That waits its Father's will, 
 And walks in love with all around, 
 
 Hath higher beauty still. 
 
 Are not the changes in man's life, like 
 those of the day and the seasons, beautiful ? 
 Morn is fair, but we would not always have it 
 morning. Noon is brilliant, but the wearied 
 senses crave repose, as from the long excite 
 ment of an Arctic summer. Evening, with 
 her placid moon through the chequering 
 branches, disguises every blemish, bathes the 
 simplest architecture in a flood of silver light, 
 and makes the vine-clad cottage, and the an 
 tique column, alike beautiful. 
 
 Even though it should chance to be winter, 
 yet shrink not to come forth, with a heart to 
 admire and love ; for through the bare trees, 
 the silver queen of heaven looks down more 
 clearly, and the untrodden snow-hills rejoice 
 in her beam, and amid the pure, blue ether, 
 the stars multiply, each giving secret sweet- 
 voiced welcome to the soul that is soon to 
 rise above their spheres.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " And now, behold, your tender nurse, the air, 
 And common neighbor, that with order due 
 
 Whene'er you breathe, doth in accordance move 
 Now in, now out, in time and measure true ; 
 
 And when you speak, so well the art she loves 
 That doubling oft, she doth herself renew ; 
 
 For all the words that from your lips repair 
 
 Are but the countless tricks and turnings of the air." 
 
 SIR JOHN DA VIES. 
 
 THE friendship of the elements for man is 
 beautiful. To inspire his frail fabric with 
 vitality, to warm, to refresh, and finally to 
 cover it when it sleeps the dreamless sleep, 
 are their kind and perpetual services. Each 
 of these "ministering particles," have in their 
 turn, won eloquent praise. 
 
 Zoroaster and his followers deified the
 
 AIR. 67 
 
 subtle Fire, in which they recognized the 
 great vivifying principle of the universe. 
 Pliny, and other ancient philosophers, ap 
 plauded the pervading love of the Earth for 
 her offspring, which like a watchful mother, 
 fed and clothed the creature of the dust, and 
 lulled his latest sorrow in her bosom. Water, 
 has been the favorite of the moderns, who 
 have discovered in it new affinities with 
 health, and almost uncontrollable agencies 
 in the realm of nature. Our own simple 
 remarks will be confined to the remaining 
 element of Air, w r hich the quaint poet at their 
 head, made some two hundred and fifty years 
 since, a chosen theme for his verse. 
 
 It may not, indeed, be subjugated by man 
 to such varieties of servitude as some of its 
 compeers, yet he can scarcely exist a moment 
 without its permission. The earth, he bur 
 dens with palaces and pyramids, the pent 
 fires do his bidding, and his -ships rule the 
 mountain- wave. But he inflates a balloon, 
 and the storm-cloud overturns it, and per-
 
 68 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 haps, takes the life of the headlong aeronaut. 
 In his reverie, he builds a castle on the air, 
 and where is it 1 
 
 Yet this imperious and impervious element, 
 the master of his life, how varied and earnest 
 are its ministrations for his welfare. If he 
 will systematically combine it with active 
 exercise, it gives him strength and vigor. Of 
 this, the advanced in years, seldom are suffi 
 ciently aware. They suffer lassitude to steal 
 over them, till like the sleeper among Alpine 
 snows, they arise no more. A daily walk or 
 drive in the open air, preserves energy, and 
 quickens the tide of sympathy for the living 
 world. 
 
 The mother country gives us, in this respect, 
 good examples, if we would but heed them. 
 Her young infants are sent forth in the fresh 
 morning air. Her little ones gambol in 
 the lawns and parks. Her ladies are great 
 pedestrians, fearless of rain or cold. Her 
 gentlemen, however burdened with impor 
 tant concerns, always find time for muscular
 
 AIR. 69 
 
 action. Even those who have reached a 
 patriarchal age, often persevere in equestrian 
 exercise, that elegant form of recreation, 
 which more than any other, keeps alive the 
 consciousness of manly power and dignity. 
 
 I have seen in my own country, some 
 striking instances of the protracted power 
 and enjoyment of this invigorating exercise. 
 Among childhood's unfading sketches of my 
 native place, is the figure of a beautiful old 
 man of eighty-four; Dr. Joshua Lathrop, of 
 Norwich, Conn., who, until the brief illness 
 that preceded dissolution, took daily eques 
 trian excursions, withheld only by very in 
 clement weather. Methinks, I clearly see 
 him now, his small, well-knit, perfectly up 
 right form, mounted upon his noble, lustrous 
 black horse, readily urged to an easy canter, 
 his servant a little in the rear. I see the 
 large, fair, white wig, with its depth of curls, 
 the smartly cocked hat, the rich buckles at 
 knee and shoe, and the nicely plaited ruffles, 
 over hand and bosom, that in those days
 
 70 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 designated the gentleman of the old school. 
 Repeated rides in that varied and romantic 
 region, were so full of suggestive thought to 
 his religious mind, that he was led to con 
 struct a good little book, in dialogue form, on 
 the works of nature, and nature's God, enti 
 tled, "The Father and Son," which we 
 younglings received with great gratitude 
 from its kind-hearted author; juvenile works 
 not being then so numerous as to be slightly 
 prized. His quick, elastic step in walking, 
 his agility in mounting and dismounting his 
 steed, as well as his calm, happy tempera 
 ture, were remarkable, and a model for 
 younger men. 
 
 But it is not necessary thus to turn to the 
 far-off past, for examples of perseverance and 
 grace, in this exhilarating exercise. Only 
 a few months since, I saw the venerable 
 Colonel White, of Danbury, Conn., then in 
 his eighty-third year, on horseback, at the 
 imposing ceremonies connected with the pub 
 lic erection of a monument to the memory of
 
 AIR. 71 
 
 General David Wooster, the revolutionary 
 patriot and martyr. Amid thousands that 
 thronged the streets, he was observed passing 
 and re-passing, at an early hour, to the lofty 
 Cemetery Hill, engaged in some preliminary 
 arrangements for the splendid masonic rites 
 that were to mark the burial of the fallen 
 brave. As the long procession moved on, 
 with civic and military pageantry, his spirited 
 animal took fright at the unfurling of a banner, 
 when the octogenarian rider (to whom he was 
 a stranger, having given up his own horses 
 for the services of the day) managed and 
 controlled him with a serene self-possession 
 and perfect skill, which few men in the 
 prime of their strength could have surpassed 
 or equalled. 
 
 To those who have not habituated them 
 selves to equestrian exercise, a daily walk in 
 the open air, not so far extended as to involve 
 weariness or fatigue, is salutary even in ex 
 treme old age. To connect these excursions 
 with a definite object, either the cherishing
 
 72 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of friendly intercourse, the sight of an 
 interesting prospect, edifice or institution, 
 or the dispensing some comfort to the abode 
 of poverty, adds decidedly to their happy 
 physical influence. 
 
 Of Isaac T. Hopper, the benevolent Quaker, 
 who till his eighty-first year, continued his 
 daily researches through the streets of New 
 York, on errands of mercy, with such pro 
 verbial activity, it was said, "he would 
 scarcely allow the drivers to stop for him, at 
 ascending or descending from their vehicles. 
 Few ever passed him without asking who lie 
 was ; for not only did his primitive dress, 
 broad-brimmed hat, and antique shoe-buckles, 
 attract attention, but the beauty and benevo 
 lence of his face, were sure to fix the eye of 
 ordinary discernment. He was a living tem 
 perance lecture, and those who desire to 
 preserve good looks, need not ask a more 
 infallible recipe than that sweet temper and 
 active, overflowing benevolence which made 
 his countenance so pleasing to all."
 
 AIR. 73 
 
 Peregrine White, the first-born Saxon in 
 New England, the lone baby of Cape Cod, 
 who opened his eyes ere the tossing May 
 flower touched Plymouth Rock, trod with 
 firm step, until his death at eighty-four, the 
 sands of Marshfield, taking with unshrinking 
 breast, deep draughts of the bleak sea-air. 
 His eldest daughter, Sarah, the wife of Mr. 
 Thomas Young, of Scituate, Mass., inherited 
 his hardihood, and love of the open air, and 
 retained an unusual degree of health and 
 mental activity, till the advanced age of 
 ninety-two. Peregrine White, over whose 
 honored remains, a monument is soon to be 
 raised, served the colony with fidelity, both 
 in civil and military offices. " He continued," 
 say the ancient records, " vigorous and of a 
 comely aspect to the last," battling the sharp 
 breezes of a rock-bound shore, while monarch 
 after monarch, reared in the luxury of palaces, 
 fell from the throne of the parent realm. 
 
 King James, the pedant, found a tomb, 
 King Charles at Whitehall bled;
 
 74 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Stout Cromwell held a twelve years' rule, 
 
 And slumber'd with the dead ; 
 The second Charles, with gibe and jest, 
 
 His royal realm survey'd ; 
 The second James in panic haste, 
 
 Fled from the wreck he made ; 
 William and Mary, hand in hand, 
 
 Their sceptre's sway sustain'd ; 
 Queen Anne, the last of Stuart's line, 
 
 In pomp and splendor reign'd : 
 Seven sovereigns, from old Albion's throne, 
 
 Stern Death, the spoiler, swept, 
 While still his course erect and firm, 
 
 New England's patriarch kept. 
 
 Frequent open communion with the at 
 mospheric air, if not an absolute necessity of 
 our being, seems an essential condition of 
 vigorous health. The pursuits that promote 
 that intercourse, such as horticultural, or 
 floricultural, it is therefore desirable to cul 
 tivate. 
 
 Once on inquiring for an aged man at his 
 door, a bright-eyed boy said, 
 
 "My grandfather has gone out on his 
 morning-walk. I love to have him go, be-
 
 AIR. 
 
 75 
 
 cause he always comes back pleasant and 
 happy." 
 
 The child had gotten the true philosophy 
 of the case. We met the silver-haired friend 
 returning with a freshened cheek, and a smile 
 as if he rejoiced in the sweet air, and in Him 
 who gave it. A kind word had he ever for 
 all, and so he said cheerfully, 
 
 " I have just set up a banner, to wave in 
 the breeze, when I am dead." 
 
 It seems he had been transplanting a shade- 
 tree, of a species often destined to attain con 
 siderable size. 
 
 "The soil was not congenial," he added, 
 " so I had it removed for an area of three or 
 four feet, and stepped into the pit myself, to 
 place the roots and delicate fibres at ease in 
 their new bed. I sprinkled at first, the pul 
 verized earth and rich compost over them, 
 while my man added water gradually, tread 
 ing down the surface firmly, as much as to 
 say to the new comer, 'keep at home,' and 
 finishing with a cavity around the trunk, as
 
 76 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 a casket to hold such pearl- drops as the 
 clouds may see fit to give." 
 
 Perceiving that his practical remarks were 
 listened to with interest, he kindly pro 
 ceeded, 
 
 "I caused the body and principal boughs 
 to be bathed in soap-suds, and rubbed with 
 a coarse cloth, to refresh it hydropathically 
 after the trial of leaving its old home, and 
 before the high winds of winter come, shall 
 have stones laid around to keep the roots 
 from being shaken and troubled. My wife 
 takes an interest in these things. I love to 
 have her hold the tree in its place, when I 
 transplant it. I fancy it is more likely to 
 grow, and get a blessing, if her hand has 
 been on it. We planted a tree at the birth 
 of all our children. Perhaps, we shall set 
 out a grove, before we die." 
 
 The animated countenance of the aged 
 speaker, reminded me of the enthusiasm with 
 which Sir Walter Scott used to expatiate on 
 the " exquisite pleasures of planting." The
 
 AIR. 77 
 
 greater part of the noble trees at Barley- 
 Wood, were placed there by the hand of the 
 venerable Mrs. Hannah More, and a cabinet- 
 table, which she prized, and often pointed 
 out to the attention of visitants, was inlaid 
 with small diamond-shaped pieces of wood, 
 from different trees of her own rearing. 
 Those who in early life rejoiced in the cul 
 ture of flowers, their own emblem of hope 
 and beauty, might with propriety in later 
 years, transfer this care to the nurture of 
 fruit and shade trees, those types of bounty 
 and beneficence ; acceptable parting gifts to 
 mankind, as well as to the birds of the air, 
 who make their nests " and sing among the 
 branches." 
 
 To those whose infirmities preclude the 
 pleasure of active exercise out of doors, there 
 still remain restricted forms of fellowship with 
 the renovating air, which it is important to se 
 cure. The invalid lady who perseveres as far 
 as possible in her daily ride, notwithstanding 
 lassitude or debility tempts to the indulgence
 
 78 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of repose, does not lose her reward. The 
 blessed element, thus solicited, sustains the 
 worn frame, and swejeps away many of the 
 morbid fancies and groundless fears that dis 
 ease engenders. 
 
 A lady, who was not able to bear the 
 fatigue of systematic riding, told me she had 
 maintained some degree of vigor, and perhaps, 
 resisted pulmonary tendencies, by a brief yet 
 systematic intercourse with the morning air, 
 for a short time through her window. Open 
 ing it, and wrapping herself in a shawl, if the 
 current proved too fresh, she inhaled deep 
 draughts, holding her breath until the minute 
 vessels of the lungs were saturated with air, 
 and then casting it off, by throwing out the 
 arms to expand the chest. 
 
 Mrs. Emma Willard, of Troy, in that re 
 markable treatise of hers, "On the motive 
 powers that produce the circulation of the 
 blood," thus describes a course by which 
 she has been enabled long to persist in the 
 preparation of those learned and elaborate
 
 AIR. 
 
 79 
 
 works which have given her so high a rank 
 among American writers. After speaking of 
 her care to preserve an equal and moderate 
 degree of warmth, during the cold seasons, 
 she says, 
 
 " In the morning, I usually exercised about an hour, in 
 accordance with some housekeeping habits. During the 
 day, I took exercise once in two hours.. Letting down the 
 upper sash, and facing the current of fresh air, I began 
 moderately, increasing my exercise until it became for a 
 few moments violent, stepping backward and forward to 
 keep my face to the window, and moving my arms in a 
 manner to expand the chest. Then, as the quick, deep 
 breathing came on, and the inspirations of air were as 
 refreshing as water from a cool spring in summer, I 
 checked my exercise to give full play to the respiratory 
 organs, and when I had breathed the pure air till I was 
 satisfied, closed the window, sat down and wrapped my 
 cloak around me, to make for a few minutes longer, breath 
 ing my chief employ. The additional garment kept the 
 heightened temperature which exercise had given, from 
 passing off by evaporation, and I sat down to my writing, 
 with fresh blood in my brain and hand, and with a warmth 
 far more genial than that of a furnace heat. After dinner, 
 I ' slept awhile,' and then employed myself in reading ; 
 and after tea, completed the old rhyme by 'walking a
 
 80 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 mile.' In the evening, I thus found myself as vigorous 
 for writing as in the morning, and often wrote several 
 hours before retiring." 
 
 As the result of this system, she states, 
 that at the end of three years and a half, 
 during which, especially in the winter, she 
 labored from twelve to fourteen hours a day, 
 in study and writing, she had better health 
 than at the commencement of these severe 
 toils. This philosophical and Christian care 
 of her physical welfare, has doubtless been 
 repaid in the uncommon preservation of 
 those energies, which from early youth were 
 developed in the noble profession of a teacher 
 and pioneer in the field of education. More 
 than five thousand of her own sex, have been 
 under her instruction, and in every State of 
 our Union, they lovingly remember her. It 
 is a source of satisfaction to her friends, that 
 now, in her sixty-eighth year, she should be 
 making her second tour in Europe, with a 
 bright spirit, and much of the lingering come 
 liness of her early prime, cheered also by that
 
 AIR 81 
 
 appreciation in foreign lands, which she has 
 so well merited in her own. 
 
 Air, whose free, loving embrace, greeteth 
 every one who cometh into the world, should 
 be gratefully welcomed until they go out of 
 it. Painful contrast has taught its value to 
 the pining sufferer in the fever- wards of some 
 crowded hospital, and to the pale prisoner in 
 his grated cell. The captives in the hideous 
 " donjon-keeps'" of the feudal times, or the 
 wretched victims in the Black Hole at 
 Calcutta, terribly tested the worth of that 
 gift to which we are too often culpably 
 indifferent. 
 
 I hope to be excused for any minute or 
 common-place detail, which may have occur 
 red in this chapter, and for having written 
 con amore of what has seemed to me an im 
 portant adjunct, if not an essential element 
 of that priceless possession, "mens sane, in 
 corpore sa?ia." 
 
 But this subtle element of air, so powerful 
 over our physical and mental organization,
 
 82 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 hath it aught to do with moral structure, or 
 spiritual welfare ? Modified by eloquence, 
 it rules the multitude of minds; swelling 
 into music, it stirs up passionate admiration; 
 wrought into words of compassion, it heals 
 the broken in heart; breathing from the soul 
 of piety, it quickens the soul of others, as by 
 the spirit of the Lord. 
 
 Whom see we on yonder couch ? One, 
 whose work on earth is finished. Air is 
 about to forsake him. The lungs collapse. 
 He is lifeless. 
 
 Hath he then taken final leave of the air ? 
 No. In the form of words here uttered, of 
 deeds that sprang from those words, it shall 
 confront him at the judgment. Of words 
 which he hath spoken, air shaped into 
 sound; of deeds which he hath done, air 
 shaped into action ; must he give account. 
 
 Let us therefore, dear friends, as long as 
 we are dwellers in the body, beware how we 
 use this wondrous element of air, lest that on
 
 AIR. 83 
 
 which we have never laid our hand, should 
 fearfully confound us, when the " books are 
 opened, and the dead, small and great, stand 
 before God."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " This is the place. Stand still, my steed, 
 
 Let me review the scene, 
 And summon from the shadowy Past, 
 
 The things that once have been : 
 For Past and Present here unite, 
 
 Beneath Time's flowing tide, 
 Like footprints hidden by a brook, 
 
 But seen on either side." 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 GERMANY, where the domestic anniversa 
 ries are the most pleasantly cherished, is dis 
 tinguished by a healthful growth of domestic 
 happiness. The return of the marriage-day, 
 of the births of children, grandchildren, and 
 especially of the silver-haired grandparents, 
 are seasons of fond and fervent congratula 
 tion.
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 85 
 
 III that country, the Golden Bridal, as it is 
 called, or the fiftieth anniversary of the mar 
 riage-day, is marked by ceremonies peculiarly 
 striking and national. Preparations for a do 
 mestic festival are made, and the rooms richly 
 adorned with flowers. The venerable pair, 
 arrayed in their best garments, and sur 
 rounded by their children and near relatives, 
 receive visitors and congratulations as if about 
 to begin life anew. This sentiment pervades 
 in some measure the whole entertainment. 
 Wedding gifts are brought, and mingled with 
 them are notes of love and good wishes, 
 bursting forth, as the German heart is wont 
 to do, into strains of poetry. 
 
 A recent traveler, Mr. R. S. Willis, has thus 
 graphically described a scene of this nature, 
 which he was permitted to witness. 
 
 " The venerably youthful pair sate side by side, in two 
 great arm-chairs, the very picture of mellow and serene 
 old age. Those capacious chairs were also among the 
 gifts, having been exquisitely embroidered by fair hands. 
 Suspended above them, hung their portraits, taken indeed, 
 8*
 
 86 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 at a much earlier period, but which seemed not half so 
 beautiful in their youthful lineaments, as the venerable 
 heads which now, in the calm Indian summer of life, rose 
 beneath them. From two large vases below, on either 
 side of the portraits, sprang two vigorous shoots of living 
 ivy, ascending and enwreathing them, and forming a kind 
 of triumphal arch over the couple beneath, whose accom 
 plishment of fifty years of such unclouded, exemplary 
 married life, might well be regarded as a triumph, and as 
 such be celebrated." 
 
 Then follows an enumeration of the pres 
 ents, many of which were costly, for the 
 aged bridegroom having been a composer 
 and teacher of music, had instructed some 
 pupils of wealth and rank, who vied with 
 each other on this occasion, in testifying their 
 affectionate regard. A wreath of laurel was 
 thrown over the snowy locks of the patriarch, 
 and one of myrtle placed on the head of his 
 companion, by a fair young girl of the Rhine, 
 an affianced bride, who in her kiss besought 
 the blessing of one who had so long beautified 
 that " holy estate " upon which she, as a 
 novice, was about to enter.
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 87 
 
 After the dinner, where two long tables 
 were filled by the descendants and guests, a 
 deputation of the musical pupils assembled 
 in an adjoining apartment, to cheer, by the 
 melody of voice and instrument, the heart of 
 their old master, and his friends. 
 
 " No sooner," continues the narrator, " had he recogni 
 zed the performers, and the tones of his own, early devo 
 tional music, than lifting the little velvet cap which always 
 covered his head, his silver locks floating out, and raising 
 his glistening eyes to God, to whom these solemn strains 
 were addressed, he seemed for a moment overcome with 
 gratitude to Him." 
 
 In our own land, these sacred household 
 eras are sometimes regarded, though with less 
 of romantic accompaniment. An instance of 
 the quiet observance of the sixtieth anniver 
 sary, I have heard described, a rare occur 
 rence in this world of mortality. The age of 
 both the parties exceeded fourscore, yet their 
 forms were unbowed ; there was even a lin 
 gering of early comeliness, and that smile of 
 the spirit which gathers depth and meaning
 
 88 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 from long knowledge of this life, and firm 
 hope of a better. They had entered in the 
 bloom of youth, the conjugal relation, and 
 "commended it in the sight of all men," 
 by an example of stedfast affection, and 
 amiable virtues. The children of three gen 
 erations surrounded them with affectionate 
 reverence, and in the arms of one bright-eyed 
 young mother, was the germ of a fourth, a 
 rose-bud within a rose. Among the antique 
 things which were preserved and exhibited, 
 were the small salver with which they com 
 menced house-keeping, and the very same 
 little cups of transparent china, in which 
 the young wife, threescore years before, had 
 poured tea at her first hospitalities. Warm 
 words of greeting cheered this festival, and 
 a fair table of refreshments, while another 
 was spread with love-tokens, and gifts of 
 friendship. Among them was a simple 
 offering, yet of singular significance ; a small 
 parallelogram of the purest white marble, 
 wrought into a double watch-case, and sur-
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 89 
 
 mounted in the centre, by a cross of the 
 same material. In the cavities, lined with 
 crimson velvet, reposed the two watches 
 of the aged pair, the golden links of their 
 chains intertwined and enwreathing the cross. 
 There were the monitors and measurers of 
 time, long used, but soon to be needed no 
 more, and the symbols of their own undying 
 love, clasping the prop that could never fail 
 or forsake it. 
 
 Heartfelt cheerfulness marked this occa 
 sion, yet nothing that could war with the 
 prayer and hymn which begun and closed it, 
 for so many of the descendants shared in the 
 piety of their honored ancestors, that such 
 worship was in unison with their aspirations 
 and joys. Sixty years to have walked hand 
 in hand, helpful and loving, on their appointed 
 way over mountain and flood, and through 
 gardens wherein were sepulchres, lending the 
 shoulder to each other's burdens, and keeping 
 God's sunbeam bright in the soul; to have 
 impressed the precepts of a Redeemer on the
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 young creatures who came into life under the 
 shadow of their tree of love, and to become 
 themselves more and more conformed to 
 "the example of His great humility," is a 
 victory not only to be admired on earth, but 
 approved in Heaven. 
 
 A pleasant custom is it to remember the 
 birth-days of our coevals, and of those older 
 than ourselves. A few words of congratula 
 tion, a few cheering wishes for the future, 
 convincing them that they are neither forgot 
 ten nor disregarded, will be of more real 
 value than costly gifts. Affectionate referen 
 ces to the path in which they have walked, 
 and the home toward which they draw near, 
 aid in giving strength for their remaining 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 It is true, that to prolonged years, funeral 
 anniversaries multiply. Many of our way- 
 marks are tombstones. We may render 
 there, the offering of a strewn flower, and a 
 faithful tear. Yet the tribute should be in 
 silence, between God and our own soul, for
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 91 
 
 we need not sadden the living with the 
 ghosts of our buried joys. 
 
 Still, these " oaks of weeping," may yield 
 a salutary influence. The poet has well said, 
 that he best " mourns the dead who lives as 
 they desire." The return, both of their na 
 tivity and departure may be made serviceable 
 to the living, if we then give new vigor to 
 their example, continue their good works, or 
 complete their unfinished characters. I had 
 a friend who consecrated the birth-day of the 
 loved ones who had gone before, by some 
 labor in their favorite field of benevolence, or 
 in that sphere of charitable effort, which he 
 knew they would have approved had it been 
 presented to them. The heart of some sad 
 orphan, or of some lonely widow, was made 
 glad, some cell of sickness entered, as by an 
 angel of mercy, the page of knowledge spread 
 for ignorance, and salvation on mission-wings 
 sent to those w r ho sate in the shadow of 
 death. 
 
 Was not the melody of such gratitude
 
 92 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 heard in heaven 1 Was it not a memorial 
 meet for glorified spirits ? Touched it not 
 their pure brows with a new smile, that their 
 entrance into high Heaven's bliss, should 
 have annual record of praise and thanksgiving 
 on earth? 
 
 " Again returns the day," says the mourn 
 ful mother to her heart, " in which my darling 
 child, the light of my eyes, went down into 
 silence. The very hour draws nigh, when 
 for the last time his eyes beheld and blessed 
 me, and his hand would fain have once more 
 clasped mine. Ah ! how faint was its tremb 
 ling pressure ; its chill entered into my soul. 
 
 " Many charities did he love ; for his sake 
 will I cherish them. He felt for the toil- 
 worn sailors, 'mounting up to the heavens, 
 going down again to the depths, their souls 
 melted because of trouble.' I will send a 
 donation to the good men who have combined 
 to shelter them, and teach them the way to 
 Heaven. 
 
 "He pitied those from whose dim eyes the
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 93 
 
 beautiful things of creation were shut out. 
 The poor blind shall be made glad through 
 him, this day. 
 
 " How his eye kindled with varying emo 
 tion, as he read in his young boyhood of the 
 mutiny in the ship Bounty, of the open boat 
 in which Bligh and his fellow-sufferers doled 
 out the bullet's weight of bread, and the few 
 water-drops so long, and of the Crusoe set 
 tlement on Pitcairn's island, from w^hence as 
 good may spring out of evil, now rises the 
 Sabbath worship of a little Christian commu 
 nity. A token of his remembrance shall go 
 forth to that lone oasis of the Pacific. 
 
 " How he loved little children. When he 
 was himself a child, he w^shed^to give every 
 destitute one, food and a garment, and a book. 
 The orphan institution shall be reminded 
 through my gifts, of his birth-day. And if my 
 heart should single out any onejfrom that 
 number, to provide for, to watch over, and to 
 guide on life's future way with maternal coun 
 sels, I know It would be pleasing to the
 
 94 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 departed, for in such things he ever took de 
 light. 
 
 " He revered the old and gray-headed? 
 however poor and despised. I will seek 
 them out this day, in their desolate abodes, 
 and put into their withered hands, his alms, 
 and speak such kind words, as shall bring joy 
 like a sunbeam, over their furrowed brows. 
 And when they would fain express their grat 
 itude, I will say, ' Thank not me ! I have 
 done it for his sake I for his sake.' ' 
 
 So, the mother was comforted for her son, 
 and found that solace from his birth-day in 
 heaven, which it had never given her while 
 he dwelt in tents of clay. 
 
 But for us, who having passed far on our 
 journey, and lost many friends, are tempted 
 to linger long among the graves, it is pecu 
 liarly desirable, that cheering anniversaries 
 should have free scope, and predominate. 
 We had rather shed a sunbeam than a mid 
 night chill. Let us render the birth of every 
 new year, and each return of the season of
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 95 
 
 our dear Redeemer's nativity, a time of joy 
 to every heart within the sphere of our influ 
 ence, not overlooking the lowliest servant, or 
 the humblest child. It is better to be harm 
 less finger-posts, pointing to paths of innocent 
 happiness, than flaming swords to fright away 
 the traveler from Eden. 
 
 Pleasant mirth, and amusing recollections 
 of earlier days, are medicinal to the old, and 
 not uninteresting to younger auditors. Per 
 haps the following original Valentine, which 
 has never before been published, may serve 
 to illustrate the sprightliness of mind that 
 sometimes lingers amid declining years. 
 
 "'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 
 
 Our life's allotted span, 
 Since first in youthful, happy days, 
 
 Our friendship true began. 
 'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 
 
 Since as a joyous child, 
 I played with you on Stratford Green, 
 
 In many a frolic wild. 
 
 As I look back upon those years, 
 
 Threescore and ten and five, 
 Of all the mates we numbered then, 
 
 But we two are alive.
 
 96 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 We two, of all that happy band, 
 Of sportive girls and boys, 
 
 Who wept together childish griefs, 
 Or smiled o'er childish joys. 
 
 And we're far down the vale of years, 
 
 And time is fleeting fast, 
 Yet I would be a child once more, 
 
 And live again the past 
 Years seventy-five ! how thrills my heart, 
 
 As memory bears me back, 
 To tread again with buoyant steps, 
 
 My girlhood's sunny track. 
 
 But in life's retrospect I see, 
 
 Full many a saddened scene, 
 For life has not been all a play, 
 
 On dear old Stratford Green. 
 We've drank, dear friend, its mingled cup, 
 
 Of sorrow and of joy. 
 Since I was but a sportive girl, 
 
 You a free-hearted boy. 
 
 We both were blest with many friends, 
 
 How few are left alive ! 
 The dearly loved have passed away, 
 
 And yet we still survive. 
 We still survive, and it may be 
 
 A year, perhaps a day, 
 When like the loved ones gone before, 
 
 We too, shall pass away.
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 97 
 
 God grant, that in life's parting hour, ^ 
 
 Our toils and labors done, 
 We may go gently to our rest, 
 
 As sinks yon setting sun. 
 When we were young, were stirring times, 
 
 The age of iron men, 
 Who rung the trumpet's warlike shout, 
 
 From every hill and glen ; 
 
 Who stood for country and for home, 
 
 For liberty and life ; 
 ' God and the right,' their battle-cry, 
 
 They conquered in the strife. 
 'Tis true, we were but children then, 
 
 But we remember well, 
 How many a heart was desolate, 
 
 How many a patriot fell. 
 
 For oft, the parent on his knee, 
 
 Would seat his lisping child, 
 And tell strange tales of battle scenes, 
 
 And legends stern and wild; 
 And oft our childish cheeks were blanch'd, 
 
 And childish tears would flow, 
 As wonderingly we listened then, 
 
 To deeds of blood and wo. 
 
 But joy best suits the youthful heart, 
 
 Its pulse is light and free, 
 And so, as it has ever been, 
 
 It was, with you and me. 
 
 9*
 
 98 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 / 
 
 And still your boyhood's sports went on 
 My girlhood's laughter rung, 
 
 For in those days of sternest deeds, 
 Both you and I were young. 
 
 Do you remember, dear old friend, 
 
 The simple village school, 
 Where Mr. Ayres taught little folks, 
 
 To read and write by rule ? 
 Children were timid, teachers stern, 
 
 In those our youthful days, 
 When, copy-book in hand, we went, 
 
 Trembling, to seek his praise. 
 
 And when you won the wished-for boon, 
 
 And I stood sadly by, 
 You often caused a ray of hope, 
 
 To light my downcast eye. 
 No matter what the teacher said, 
 
 Fresh from your generous breast, 
 Came to my ear the flattering words, 
 
 That mine was always best 
 
 Do you remember that I sent 
 
 You then, a Valentine ? 
 Fine sentiment perhaps it lacked, 
 
 But love breathed in each line. 
 It seems but yesterday, these five 
 
 And seventy years ago, 
 You then had owned no other belle, 
 
 And I no other beau.
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 99 
 
 I in return, a ribbon got, 
 
 Bright with true love's own hue, 
 And much it pleased my girlish taste, 
 
 For 'twas the bonniest blue. 
 But childhood quickly passed away, 
 
 And hearts were lost and won, 
 And you soon owned another love, 
 
 And I, another John. 
 
 With him, I journeyed many a year, 
 
 Happy and blest were we, 
 He lived to see his bairnies' bairns, 
 
 Prattling upon his knee. 
 We climbed ' thegither up the hill,' 
 
 But down alone I go, 
 And soon, ' thegither at its foot,' 
 
 With him I'll lay me low. 
 
 Yet not alone, for loving hearts, 
 
 Are left in children dear, 
 Who in my downward path of life, 
 
 Smooth each declining year. 
 And oft, to glad my aged eye, 
 
 My children's children come, 
 And merry laughter rings again, 
 
 In my old happy home. 
 
 For you, sole mate of earliest days, 
 
 I've cast a backward eye, 
 Along the changing track of time, 
 
 As swift it hurried by.
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 And forward may we dare to look ? 
 
 Another opening year 
 Hath dawned upon us, and its close, 
 
 May scarcely find us here. 
 
 One may be taken, one be left, 
 
 It may be I, or you, 
 Still, while we live, dear early friend, 
 
 Shall live our friendship true. 
 My years now number eighty-eight, 
 
 And yours are eighty-nine, 
 Yet once more, as in days of yore, 
 
 Accept my Valentine."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 fatriotir 
 
 " The brave, great spirits -who -went down like suns, 
 And left upon the mountain-tops of death, 
 A light that made them lovely." 
 
 A. SMITH. 
 
 WHAT chronology is to history, are dates 
 to the memories of actual life. They give 
 adhesiveness and force, to impressions that 
 might else be desultory, an'd perishable. 
 
 What mathematics are to the mind, they 
 may also be to the heart, adding stability 
 and power to its better sentiments and affec 
 tions. Sweet and salutary is it, to review 
 the varied events of God's providence, with 
 regard to ourselves or others, on the return 
 of their respective anniversaries. By thus 
 deepening the imagery, and refreshing the
 
 102 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 colors on our moving diorama, we may renew 
 a grateful sense of His goodness, perhaps 
 make more permanent the benefits of His 
 discipline. 
 
 National anniversaries give fervor to the 
 patriotism of a people. I have seen the 
 whole heart of England stirred up on the 
 fifth of November, from the white-robed 
 priest, and the chanting choir in the cathe 
 drals, to the merry urchins let loose from 
 school, who scarcely knew whether to de 
 nounce or laud the " Gunpowder plot," that 
 had given them a holiday. Yet a truer fel 
 lowship and stronger nationality sprang from 
 this general sympathy of gratulation. 
 
 The birth of our own country, so peculiar 
 in itself, and so fraught with blessings to her 
 children, should be warmly and reverently 
 regarded. That event might be so embalmed 
 and brought forward year by year, as to per 
 petuate the blessings which first flowed 
 from it. 
 
 The fourth of July, 1776, is a date that
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 103 
 
 every American remembers, from the snows 
 of Wisconsin, to the Floridian orange -groves, 
 from the sounding shores of the Atlantic, to 
 the new found clime of gold. A wanderer 
 perchance, on Chimborazo, or in the Eternal 
 City, or among the tropic isles, or daring, with 
 frost-bound sails, the ices of the Arctic zone, 
 he bares his head at his country's birth-day, 
 and his heart quickens with their proud joy, 
 who of old exclaimed, "I am a Roman citi. 
 zen" So may it ever be, while God shall 
 hold in his protecting hand, our hallowed 
 Union. 
 
 An aged friend, whose birth was on the con 
 secrated fourth of July, 1776, never failed till 
 the close of life to rejoice in that circumstance, 
 as a heritage of glory. That this anniversary 
 should have been marked by the transition 
 to another world, of two of the venerable 
 signers of our Declaration of Independence, 
 each having been dignified by the highest 
 office in our country's power to bestow, adds 
 almost a mysterious sacredness to its historic 
 interest.
 
 104 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 John Adams, whose far-reaching mind saw 
 the incipient rights of his native land, when 
 in the chrysalis of her colonial state, she un 
 derstood them not, who with boldness and 
 enthusiasm, unfolded and demanded them, 
 to whom, next to Washington, she first 
 accorded the honor of her chief magistracy, 
 lay at the age of ninety, on his dying couch, 
 at his fair, paternal estate in Quincy, (Mass.,) 
 where he first drew breath, surrounded by 
 objects of his fondest love. 
 
 It was a holy sight 
 To look upon that venerable man, 
 Remembering all his honors, all his toils, 
 And knowing that his earth-receding grasp, 
 Was on the anchor of eternal life. 
 
 It was on the fourth of July, 1826. Rais 
 ing his head from the pillow, the last bright 
 ness gathering in his eye, he said, " It is the 
 glorious Fourth. God bless it. God bless 
 you all. This is a great and glorious day." 
 
 And so, he resigned his spirit. 
 
 On the same day, Thomas Jefferson, his 
 friend and compeer in toils and counsels for
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 105 
 
 a nation's liberty, the third President of these 
 United States, at his Virginian home of Mon- 
 ticello, which he had beautified by taste and 
 hospitality, received, while still lightly bear 
 ing the burden of eighty-three years, that 
 guest who cometh but once to the children 
 of men. It was his fearless pen, rich in 
 varied literature, that drafted our Declaration 
 of Independence : 
 
 Forth from his pen of might, 
 Burst that immortal scroll, 
 Which gave a living soul, 
 
 To shapeless clay ; 
 It said " Let there be light," 
 And the old startled realms beheld a new-born day. 
 
 John Adams, among his latest words, had 
 said, " Jefferson survives." Yet almost at the 
 same hour of the day that completed the 
 fiftieth year of that nation's life, the beating 
 of whose infant pulse they had counted and 
 registered, both those great men expired. 
 As Solon shrouded his head and departed, 
 that the mystery of his absence might add 
 10
 
 106 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 efficacy to the laws he had established for 
 Athens, they gave to their country's first 
 jubilee, that last solemn seal which death 
 sets on love and patriotism. 
 
 The twenty-second of February, the birth 
 day of Washington, should be regarded with 
 demonstrations of national enthusiasm and 
 gratitude. Especially should they who stand 
 most in proximity to those tempestuous times 
 which his wisdom helped to change into the 
 broad sunlight of freedom, speak of the vir 
 tues of that king of men, to those who are in 
 the forming period of life. Not as a warrior, 
 would w r e chiefly commend him; that was a 
 prominent exigence to which he was called 
 by Heaven, and in which he conducted nobly, 
 but we press on the imitation of those who 
 are to come after us, his disinterested patriot 
 ism, his patience in adversity, his unswerving 
 truth, his wisdom in the greatest matters, his 
 just attention to the smallest, the punctuality 
 of his dealings with all men, the godlike dig 
 nity, the serene, unostentatious piety, which
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 107 
 
 made a more perfect balance of character 
 than has appertained to any hero in any age. 
 
 Another approach to a remarkable coinci 
 dence of dates, is the death of the venerable 
 John Quincy Adams, just on the completion 
 of half a century from that of the " Pater 
 Patrise," and also within a single day of the 
 anniversary of his birth. He was himself the 
 sixth President of the United States, and the 
 only son of the second who had sustained 
 that honor. Though he had reached the age 
 of eighty-four, he still kept his seat among 
 the representatives of our nation, at Wash 
 ington, watching with keen eye and unim 
 paired intellect, whatever concerned her 
 vitality or renown. It was on the morning 
 of February 21st, 1848, that he appeared in 
 the lofty halls of Congress, with his usual 
 vigor, and gave in a clear, emphatic voice, 
 his vote on the opening question. 
 
 Suddenly there was a cry, " Mr. Adams is 
 dying!" Throngs rushed to the side of that 
 "old man eloquent," and bore him fainting
 
 108 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 to a sofa in an inner apartment. Partially 
 recovering from insensibility, he said slowly, 
 " This is the end of earth." 
 
 Then, he added an assurance of his calm 
 ness and preparation, and relapsed into silent 
 repose, until the evening of the twenty-third, 
 when the country whom he had so long 
 served, mourned at the tidings that he was 
 no more. 
 
 Thus fell nobly at his post, and in the man 
 ner that his patriot heart might have chosen, 
 this man of stainless integrity, of universal 
 acquirements, of diplomatic training from 
 early boyhood, and one of the few in whom 
 precocity of talent continues to advance 
 through the w 7 hole of life, and to ripen amid 
 the snows of age. 
 
 But not in the splendor of the fame of 
 statesmen or chieftains, would we lose the 
 memory of others, who, in humbler stations, 
 gathered firmly around the endangered cra 
 dle of our common country. Some of these 
 were our own sires. By the hearth-stone, 
 they have told our listening infancy, of toils
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 109 
 
 and privations, bravely and cheerfully borne. 
 It becomes us to impress them on our chil 
 dren, who amid the luxurious indulgences of 
 a great and prosperous land, can scarcely 
 imagine the hardships and dangers by which 
 its freedom was wrought out. 
 
 Standing as we do, literally as well as 
 politically, on the "isthmus of a middle 
 state," it seems incumbent on us to deliver 
 unimpaired to a future age, such records as 
 the Past may have entrusted to our care. 
 The liberty which was enkindled upon our 
 own altars, amid blast and tempest, should 
 be guarded as a vestal flame. The voice of 
 the actors in those " times that tried men's 
 souls," speaks through us. Let us strive that 
 it may enkindle pure love in some young 
 heart, to that native land, which, though it 
 has indeed gained a proud seat among the 
 nations, has still the same need of protection 
 from their virtues, that it once had from their 
 fathers' swords. 
 
 The patriotism which we would fain cher- 
 10*
 
 110 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ish, by keeping in life and freshness the 
 events of our earlier history, struck deep and 
 true root in the hearts of the softer sex, amid 
 the storms of revolution. The privations 
 which they contentedly and bravely endured, 
 should not be forgotten. In many a lowly 
 home, from whence the father was long sun 
 dered by a soldier's destiny, Woman stifled 
 the sigh of her own hardships, that she might 
 by her firmness, breathe new strength into 
 her husband's heart, and be 
 
 " An undergoing spirit, to bear up 
 Against whate'er ensued." 
 
 How often, during the long war, did the 
 mother labor to perform to her little ones, 
 both the father's duties, and her own, having 
 no refuge in her desolate estate, and unresting 
 anxiety, save the Hearer of Prayer. 
 
 I have often reflected on a simple narration, 
 which a good and hoary-headed man, who 
 had passed the bounds of fourscore, once 
 gave me.
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. Ill 
 
 "My father was in the army, during the whole eight 
 years of the Eevolutionary "War, at first as a common 
 soldier, afterward as an officer. My mother had the sole 
 charge of us, four little ones. Our house was a poor one, 
 and far from neighbors. I have a keen remembrance of 
 the terrible cold of some of those winters. The snow lay 
 so deep and long, that it was difficult to cut or draw fuel 
 from the woods, or to get our corn to mill, when we had 
 any. My mother was the possessor of a coffee-mill. In 
 that, she ground wheat, and made coarse bread, which we 
 ate and were thankful. It was not always, that we could 
 be allowed as much even of this, as our keen appetites 
 craved. Many is the time that we have gone to bed with 
 only a drink of water for our supper, in which a little 
 molasses had been mingled. We patiently received it, for 
 we knew our mother did as well for us as she could, and 
 hoped to have something better in the morning. She was 
 never heard to repine, and young as we were, we tried to 
 make her lovely spirit and heavenly trust, our example. 
 "When my father was permitted to come home, his stay 
 was short, and he had not much to leave us, for the pay 
 of those who achieved our liberties, was slight, and irreg 
 ularly rendered. Yet when he went, my mother ever 
 bade him farewell with a cheerful face, and not to be anx 
 ious about his children, for she would watch over them 
 night and day, and God would take care of the families of 
 those who went forth to defend the righteous cause of their
 
 112 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 country. Sometimes we wondered that she did not men 
 tion the cold weather, or our short meals, or her hard 
 work, that we little ones might be clothed and fed and 
 taught. But she would not weaken his hands, or sadden 
 his heart, for she said a soldier's lot was harder than all. 
 We saw that she never complained, but always kept in her 
 heart, a sweet hope, like a well of living water. Every 
 night ere we slept, and every morning when we arose, we 
 lifted our little hands for God's blessing on our absent 
 father, and our endangered country." 
 
 The principal events in the history of our 
 native land, arranged according to their dates, 
 would be profitable to us, both as a review, 
 and an exercise of memory. Thus might we 
 with more variety and freshness, impart to 
 the young, that which they could not so well 
 gather from books, details of the self-sacrifice, 
 the courage and the piety which God recom 
 pensed with the life and liberty of a nation. 
 Thus, might we perchance, lift a banner, slight, 
 yet not powerless, against venality and luxury 
 and ambition, those banes of a republic, which 
 pollute the pure sources of patriot health. 
 
 The diligent formation, and regular refer-
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 113 
 
 ence to a daily list of dates founded on uni 
 versal history, is a salutary habit. Every day 
 in the year, has, doubtless, more than one 
 feature of distinction, "if men would carefully 
 distil it out." Though not an historic fact of 
 importance, it would probably bear the record 
 of the birth or death of some individual whose 
 biography it would be pleasant to review, or 
 impress on others. For if an ancient writer 
 has truly said, that "the moral beauty on 
 which we fix our eyes, presses its own form 
 upon our hearts, making them fair and lovely 
 with the qualities that they behold," the 
 lives of the great and good must be profit 
 able to hold before the contemplation of 
 plastic youth. 
 
 Hints derived from our daily list of anniver 
 saries, with some tact in avoiding prolixity, 
 might be rendered valuable to the young 
 who surround us. Let us hazard any asper 
 sion of pedantry that might chance to flow 
 from it. Ridicule of that sort, should be 
 pointless to us. If through adduced illustra-
 
 114 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tion or example, we may be made the medi 
 um of implanting some great truth or holy 
 precept, which shall bear fruit for our coun 
 try after we are dead, let us neither shrink 
 or loiter ; for the time is short.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 If a diamond was ours, at the opening of day, 
 Because it is eve, shall we cast it away ? 
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS for old people! Yes. 
 And why not ? It would seem as if the 
 world thought they had no right to them. 
 Whereas, having been obliged to part with 
 many personal attractions, there is the more 
 need that they should take pains to make 
 themselves agreeable. 
 
 Every other period of life has its peculiar 
 prospect of improvement, and its prescribed 
 modes of promoting it. What care is ex 
 pended to teach childhood the theory of 
 language. Through ignorance, grammatical 
 error, and solecism, it steadily advances,
 
 116 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 nothing daunted, or discouraged. What 
 efforts are put forth to induce the young to 
 make the most of any attainment they may 
 possess, and strenuously to acquire those in 
 which they are deficient. And this is right. 
 Maturity has its beautiful occupations, its hal 
 lowed responsibilities, and an array of resist 
 less motives to excel in each. 
 
 Nothing seems expected of the aged but to 
 put themselves decently away into some dark 
 corner, and complete the climax of the great 
 poet, " second childishness, and mere obliv 
 ion." Let's see about that. Why not adopt 
 the suggestion of another poet, to " live while 
 we live ? " 
 
 In looking about us for some relief, or loop 
 hole through which to escape, forgive me, if 
 I hint what at first view might seem trifling, 
 the preservation of a cheerful countenance, 
 and a neat, becoming costume. Inattention 
 to these points is prone to mark those who 
 feel themselves of little consequence in soci 
 ety, and the effect is to render them still
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 
 
 more disregarded. " A merry countenance," 
 said Jeremy Taylor, " is one of those good 
 things which no enemy or persecutor can 
 take away from me." 
 
 On the subject of apparel, whose import 
 ance, ladies may, at least, be ready to admit, 
 Madam Hancock, the dignified consort of the 
 President of our First Congress, used to say, 
 " I can never forgive any person in good soci 
 ety for not being well dressed, or for thinking 
 of themselves after they are dressed." To a 
 very advanced age, she was herself, a fine 
 illustration of her theory. 
 
 The stimulant of example, also, as well as 
 of precept, is strenuously brought to bear 
 upon the young, in their different departments 
 of study and accomplishment. For instance, 
 in the science of music, requiring the daily, 
 laborious practice of years, emulation is con 
 tinually exerted. More than one fair aspirant 
 has cheered her long session at the piano, by 
 recalling what was said of the captivating 
 
 Ann Boleyn, that " when she composed her 
 11
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 hands to play, and her voice to sing, it was 
 joined with such sweetness of countenance 
 that three harmonies concurred." 
 
 What a striking picture ! Though waning 
 years may preclude from this combination 
 of three harmonies, yet be it known to all 
 whom it may concern, that there have been 
 old people who retained, and even made 
 progress in what the world styles accomplish 
 ments. I have had the honor of being ac 
 quainted with ladies, who after the age of 
 eighty, excelled in the various uses of the 
 needle, executing embroidery by the evening 
 lamp, and sitting so erect, that younger per 
 sons, more addicted to languid positions, 
 asserted that " it made their shoulders ache 
 to look at them." I am in possession of 
 various articles, both useful and ornamental, 
 wrought by the hands of such venerable 
 friends, and doubly precious for their sakes. 
 
 The widow of our great statesman, Alex 
 ander Hamilton, to many other feminine ac 
 complishments, continued to a great age, the
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
 
 119 
 
 exquisite uses of the needle, and still, (I be 
 lieve,) at ninety-eight, is remarked for the 
 ease and courtesy with which she receives 
 and entertains her guests. 
 
 Mrs. Madison was distinguished, not only 
 while in the presidential mansion, where she 
 won the heart of every visitant, but through 
 out a long life, by one of the most kindly and 
 queenly natures that ever belonged to woman. 
 So fully developed and unchangeably sus 
 tained were her social powers, and brilliance 
 of conversation, that after the age of eighty, 
 I have often seen her in the elegant assem 
 blages at the court of our nation, address to 
 every person some appropriate remark, or 
 touch some train of familiar thought, that 
 would make the embarrassed at ease, or the 
 happy, happier. She was unwilling, even for 
 hours, to indulge in the repose of a seat, lest 
 some one should escape her notice, whom she 
 might cheer, or gratify. Especially, when 
 children were present, she never forgot, or 
 overlooked the youngest, but with admirable
 
 120 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tact had something to say, which they might 
 take with them as a pleasant memory for 
 future years. 
 
 In the high and rare attainment of elegant 
 reading, I have never known any lady so con 
 spicuous to advanced age, as the mother of the 
 late Bishop Wainwright. Her distinct articu 
 lation, and perfect emphasis, made listening a 
 pleasure, and drew out the full beauty of the 
 thought which they rendered vocal. To her 
 also belongs the high praise of having formed, 
 in early boyhood, the habits and style of elocu 
 tion, of her distinguished and lamented son. 
 
 Many precious pictures have I, in that niche 
 of memory's gallery, where the hoar-frost 
 sparkles. One of these, I must indulge my 
 self in transferring. It is entwined with the 
 scenery of my own native place. I see again, 
 a tall, dignified lady, whose elastic step, age 
 failed to chain. High intellect was hers, the 
 stronger for being self-taught, and a place 
 among the aristocracy, that she might the 
 more plainly show the beauty of gentle man-
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
 
 ners arid a lowly heart. In the varieties of 
 conversation, which, without pedantry or dis 
 play, unveil extensive learning and suggestive 
 thought, I have never known any of my own 
 sex, her superior; I was about to have said, 
 her equal. Fabrics of use and of taste, she 
 wrought and ornamented, and with her deli 
 cate scissors, imitated the beauties and won 
 ders of the animal and floral world . Children, 
 she especially charmed by these efforts of 
 her skill, as well as by her great descriptive 
 powers, ever keeping in view their instruction 
 as well as pleasure. Clustering around, they 
 listened, holding their breath, lest they should 
 lose a word. She also delighted them' with 
 the sweetness of her ancient and sacred songs, 
 for to the verge of fourscore and ten, her mu 
 sical powers remained, a source of wondering 
 gratification to all around. Even now, those 
 swan-like melodies that enchanted my earli 
 est years, revisit me, rich, clear, and softened 
 by the lapse of years, as if borne over un 
 troubled waters. 
 11*
 
 122 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 The time would fail me to tell of her ex 
 cellent knowledge in all that appertained to 
 the domestic sphere; as it also would to 
 mention other ladies in my own New Eng 
 land, who in the delicate elements of that 
 great feminine attainment, good housekeep 
 ing, yielded neither energy or skill to the 
 frosts of seventy years, but dexterously con 
 tinued to touch every clock-work spring, on 
 which the order and comfort of a blessed 
 home depend. 
 
 I would venture to number among accom 
 plishments, though the classification may be 
 deemed rather antiquated, those simpler forms 
 of feminine industry which promote comfort 
 and respectability. A lady of eighty-four, in 
 one of the smaller towns of Connecticut, took 
 great pleasure in these unostentatious em 
 ployments. During one year, she completed, 
 at intervals of time, with her quiet knitting 
 needles, forty-eight pairs of stockings, beside 
 constructing from fragments of calico, two 
 large bed-quilts, one of them containing more
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 123 
 
 \ 
 
 than three thousand pieces, symmetrically 
 arranged. The fabrics were principally for 
 the accommodation and relief of needy per 
 sons ; so, that with the peaceful consciousness 
 of time industriously improved, was blent the 
 higher satisfaction of benevolence : a wise 
 exchange for the lassitude and morbid sense 
 of uselessness which is sometimes suffered to 
 steal like a canker over declining years. 
 
 It would be quite impossible here to enu 
 merate, those of the other sex whom it has 
 been my privilege to know, who in their 
 various departments and professions, derived 
 added dignity from age ; merchants, whose 
 mental acuteness time seemed to have re 
 fined; physicians, whose large experience 
 gave such confidence to the sick as to prove 
 an element of healing; jurists, whose time- 
 tried judgments were as beaten gold; divines, 
 whose silver locks were a talisman to the 
 hearts of their hearers; statesmen, whose 
 eloquence was never more fervid or vigorous 
 than when their sun went down.
 
 124 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 A gentleman, whose period of collegiate 
 education had been cut short by the absorb 
 ing toils of a life at sea, having found in 
 advanced years a haven of repose, resumed 
 with zeal, the perusal of the classics, remark 
 ing, that after fourscore he had been led deci 
 dedly to prefer them to his native tongue, 
 which was " so easy as not to keep the mind 
 awake." I have often found him deeply en 
 gaged over the pages of Cicero, or Homer, in 
 the original, his eye brightening at every gem 
 of genius, and his florid complexion pure with 
 temperance, reminding one of Miss Mitford's 
 description of the beauty of her own venera 
 ble father. 
 
 A genius for the fine arts, we sometimes 
 see evolved, at a late period of life. This has 
 been the case with the adopted son of Wash 
 ington, George W. P. Custis, Esq., who since 
 the age of seventy, has executed a series of 
 large historical paintings, representing prom 
 inent scenes in our Revolution, and present 
 ing, in various attitudes, the Pater Patrice,
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 125 
 
 with the warmth of a filial pencil. This fine, 
 self-taught accomplishment, is associated with 
 one of earlier acquisition, that of music ; and 
 the stirring melodies of other times, which 
 occasionally echo through the lofty halls of 
 Arlington, from the violin of their master, be 
 tray no indication that the frosts of fourscore 
 have already settled upon his temples. 
 
 The efforts that sustain social intercourse, 
 and the attractions that adorn it, are in our 
 Republic, too soon laid aside. Of these, the 
 gray-haired seem in haste to absolve them 
 selves, as of a burden, or a sin. In France, 
 they are kept in constant and prosperous ex 
 ercise. The idea of being superannuated, 
 seems not there to have entered the mind 
 of the people. The aged are received in 
 mixed society, as marked favorites, and bear 
 their part with an inextinguishable naivete. 
 Many instances of this, I beheld, with admir 
 ing wonder. One evening, in particular, I 
 recollect being interested in watching Isabey, 
 the celebrated miniature painter, of Paris,
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 who, with hair like the driven snow, glided 
 through the mazes of the dance, at a state 
 ball given by the elegant Marchioness Lava- 
 lete, the agility of his movements not at all 
 impaired by more than eighty years, nor the 
 graceful courtesy with which he delighted 
 to introduce and bring into notice, his fair, 
 young wife, while frequent allusions to their 
 home, proved how affectionately their hearts 
 turned thither amid all the gaieties of fashion. 
 
 Yet it is not in mercurial France alone, 
 that men "frisk beneath the burden of four 
 score." The philosophic Socrates, though 
 not, indeed, at quite so ripe an age, used to 
 dance, and play upon the lyre ; one, to pre 
 serve his physical vigor, and the other to tune 
 and elevate his mind with cheerfulness. 
 
 Macklin, after he had numbered a full cen 
 tury, appeared on the stage, and in the char 
 acter of the Jew Shylock, held his audience 
 in absorbed attention. He also successfully 
 occupied himself in revising and remodelling 
 his own dramatic compositions.
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
 
 It will be said that these instances are ex 
 ceptions, rather than examples that we may 
 hope to reach. Of some, this is true ; but 
 from others we derive encouragement and 
 hope. If at the age of eighty, Cato thought 
 proper to go to school to learn Greek, why 
 should we not consider ourselves scholars, as 
 long as aught remains to be learned ? Yes, 
 life is ever a school, both in its discipline and 
 its aspirations. Let us take our places in that 
 class, who both learn and teach. We will 
 speak of the manifold goodness of God, which 
 we have so long tested, and strike that key- 
 tone of praise, whose melody will be perfected 
 in Heaven : 
 
 " Yet oh ! eternity's too short, 
 To utter all His praise." 
 
 Among the highest accomplishments of 
 age, are its dispositions. It should daily cul 
 tivate the spirit to admire what is beautiful, 
 to love what is good, and to be lenient to the 
 faults of that infirm nature of which all are
 
 128 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 partakers. As sensual pleasures lose their 
 hold, the character should become more sub 
 limated. While we would avoid that fixed 
 ness which repels new impressions, and resists 
 improvements as innovations, let us seek the 
 accomplishment of an active, unslumbering 
 benevolence. 
 
 Dear friends, whom I love better for the 
 linked sympathies of many years, do some 
 thing to be remembered when you are 
 gone. Let your words, either spoken or 
 written, bring forth fruit when you are dead. 
 Endow a school. Open a fountain. Plant a 
 tree. Put a good book in a cottage, or a 
 public library. It was a beautiful reply of a 
 white-haired man, to the question why he 
 should trouble himself to be setting out a 
 pear-tree, who could scarcely hope to taste 
 its fruits, "Have I all my life long, eaten from 
 trees that the dead have planted, and shall 
 not the living eat of mine ? " 
 
 Let us hold to the spirit of progress, and 
 the capabilities of improvement of this im-
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 129 
 
 mortal nature, as long as it sojourns in the 
 flesh. "There is no reason," said a clear- 
 minded philosopher, "why we should not 
 make advances, as long as we are in a state 
 of probation." 
 
 If our pilgrimage is almost finished, does 
 that create a need to forfeit our admira 
 tion, or relax our pursuit of " whatsoever is 
 fair, lovely, or of good report ? " " Excel 
 sior," may as well be our motto, at the close, 
 as at the commencement of life's journey. 
 
 If we are indeed, so near the Better Land, 
 as to catch the whispers of its camp, hear we 
 not, in a great voice, as of many harpers, the 
 inspiring strain, " Forgetting the things that 
 are behind, reach forth unto those that are 
 before ! " and is there not in our own hearts, 
 an answering chant, as of antiphonal music, 
 "Not as though we had attained, or were 
 already perfect. But we follow after." 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 riiriUps 0f 
 
 *' Say ye, who through the round of eighty years 
 Have prov'd life's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
 Say, is there not enough to meekness given, 
 Of light from reason's lamp, and light from Heaven, 
 To teach us where to follow, what to shun, 
 Or bow the head, and say, God's righteous will be done ? " 
 
 MRS. BARBAULD. 
 
 THE motto here selected, was composed by 
 the venerable author, after she had passed the 
 bounds of fourscore. In her well-regulated 
 mind there was no disposition to disparage the 
 comforts that linger around the later stages 
 of human life. Why should this ever be the 
 case ? Many of its enjoyments have, indeed, 
 run their course; their lease having expired 
 by limitation of time. Yet others remain,
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 131 
 
 the birth-right of advanced years, which it is 
 both unjust and unwise, not to appreciate. 
 
 We have spoken of the privileges of age. 
 Has it in reality, any inherent honors, emol 
 uments, or immunities, to justify such an 
 assumption ? 
 
 Originally, it was in possession of a charter, 
 sanctioned by divine authority, demanding 
 reverence for the hoary head, and for the 
 counsel of those to whom years had given 
 wisdom. Modern times have modified this 
 distinction. Our own republic has been pro 
 nounced by observant foreigners, deficient in 
 the sentiment of respect. Still, among well- 
 trained and noble natures, there will be ever 
 a disposition to honor those who have long 
 and well borne the burdens of time, and a 
 veneration for the " hoary head, if found in 
 the way of righteousness." 
 
 Should we inquire if age has any emolu 
 ment, we are reminded of the wealth of 
 experience. Are not the whole beautiful, 
 ever-moving world of the young, in poverty
 
 132 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 for the want of it ? searching, trying, tasting, 
 snatching at garlands and grasping thorns, 
 chasing meteors, embarking on fathomless 
 tides, and in danger of being swallowed up 
 by quicksands 1 The aged, through toil and 
 hazard, through the misery of mistake, or the 
 pains of penitence, have won it. Safe in their 
 casket, are gems polished by long attrition, 
 and gold-dust, well-washed, perchance, in 
 fountains of tears. 
 
 "Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, for it bears a laden 
 
 breast, 
 Still, with sage experience, moving toward the brightness of the 
 
 west" 
 
 Has age any immunities ? Its sources of 
 revenue seem to be negative rather than pos 
 itive. It has probably dissolved partnership 
 with personal vanity. And was not that a 
 losing concern ? There remains no conscious 
 ness of beauty, no feverish hope of admiration, 
 no undue excitement of competition, no be 
 wilderment from flattery, to put out of sight 
 higher purposes, or exclude more rational
 
 THE PRIVILEGES =[OF AGE. 133 
 
 pleasures. The consequent gain, both of 
 leisure and quiet, must be great. Has it not 
 also a respite from the toils of money-getting, 
 from that science of accumulation which is 
 but practical slavery? It is surely time. 
 Having borne the yoke for many years, rising 
 early, and late taking rest, and eating the 
 bread of carefulness, it would be desirable to 
 taste the sweets of such enfranchisement, 
 while yet " the lamp holds out to burn." 
 
 In age, is not the over-mastering force of 
 the passions broken ? Is it as irascible at 
 opposition as when the current of life rushed 
 fiercely on, battling all obstacles with the 
 impetuosity of a cataract ? Is it still led in 
 blind and deep captivity as of yore, by 
 
 "Love, Hope and Joy, fair Pleasure's syren train, 
 Hate, Fear and Grief, the family of Pain ? " 
 
 If a more serene and self-sustained philoso 
 phy is a natural concomitant of age, is it not a 
 privilege for which to give thanks ? 
 
 Yet not in exemptions alone, do the advan- 
 12*
 
 134 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tages of the aged consist. Have they not 
 more aid, and stronger promptings to disinter 
 estedness, than in the earlier stages of their 
 journey ? The young acquire accomplish 
 ments, that they may be distinguished, or 
 admired; the old strive to continue agree 
 able, that they may please or edify others. 
 The man of mature years toils to achieve 
 wealth, as a means of influence ; the study of 
 the old is, or should be, how to dispense it. 
 Their business is to shower back upon the 
 earth, the gifts she has bestowed, having no 
 further expectation from her, save of a couch 
 in her bosom. Since those who have the 
 slightest admixture of self, escape countless 
 discomforts by which others are annoyed, the 
 aged are assisted by their condition, to find 
 that happiness which is more independent of 
 " things that perish in the using." 
 
 " That which they are, they are, 
 Made weak by time, perchance, but strong in will, 
 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." 
 
 If to compensate for the visible losses of
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 135 
 
 time, there are correspondent gains, less obvi 
 ous, but still secure, it concerns all to under 
 stand their amount, that they may be able to 
 balance the books, ere the Master calleth for 
 an account of their stewardship. An ancient 
 writer has well remarked, that Nature, after 
 having wisely distributed to all the preceding 
 portions of life, their peculiar and proper en 
 joyments, can scarcely be supposed to have 
 neglected, like an indolent poet, the last act 
 of the human drama, and left it destitute of 
 suitable advantages. 
 
 The God of nature has decreed to every 
 season of life, its inherent happiness, and 
 fitness for the end it was intended to serve. 
 In spring, fair blossoms glow even among the 
 grass-blades, and in summer, the fruit-laden 
 boughs are clothed with beauty. Vigorous 
 autumn comes with his reaping-hook, and 
 peaceful age awaiteth the Lord of the harvest. 
 Not unmindful of its privileges, or reluctant to 
 restore the mysterious gift of life, should it 
 watch for His coming.
 
 136 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Age should clothe itself with love, to resist 
 the loneliness of its lot. Yet it sometimes 
 cherishes a morbid and mistaken conscious 
 ness that it no longer retains the power of con 
 ciliating affection. It has been beautifully said 
 that " the heart is as warm after life's day's- 
 work is over, as when it began ; after the har 
 ness of manhood is cast off, as before it was put 
 on. The love generally felt for genial and 
 kindly old persons, with their unselfish sym 
 pathies, their tried judgment, and their half- 
 mournful tenderness toward those they are 
 soon to leave, has not been enough remem 
 bered in poetry. Their calm, reliable affec 
 tion, is like the Indian summer of friendship." 
 
 The aged, especially those whose conquest 
 of self is imperfect, are prone to under-rate 
 the advantages that remain. Their minds 
 linger among depressing subjects, repining 
 for what "time's effacing fingers" will never 
 restore. Far better would it be to muse on 
 their privileges, to recount them, and to re 
 joice in them. Many instances have I wit-
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 137 
 
 nessed, both of this spirit, and the want of it, 
 which left enduring impressions. 
 
 I well remember an ancient dwelling, shel 
 tered by lofty, umbrageous trees, and with 
 all the appendages of rural comfort. A fair 
 prospect of hill and dale, and broad river, and 
 distant spire, cheered the vine-covered piaz 
 zas, through whose loop-holes, with the sub 
 dued cry of the steam-borne cars, the world's 
 great Babel made a dash at the picture with 
 out coming too near. Traits of agricultural 
 life, divested of its rude and sordid toils, 
 were pleasantly visible. A smooth-coated, 
 and symmetrical cow, ruminated over her 
 clover-meal. A faithful horse, submissive to 
 the gentlest rein, protruded his honest face 
 through the barn window. A few brooding 
 mothers, were busied with the nurture of 
 their chickens, while the proud father of the 
 flock, told with a clarion-voice, his happiness- 
 There were trees, whose summer fruits were 
 richly swelling, and bushes of ripening ber 
 ries, and gardens of choice vegetables. Those
 
 138 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 who from the hot and dusty city, came to 
 breathe the pure air of this sylvan retreat, 
 took note of these "creature-comforts," and 
 thought they added beauty to the landscape. 
 
 Within the abode, fair pictures and books 
 of no mean literature adorned the parlors ; in 
 the carpeted kitchen, ticked the stately old 
 family-clock, while the bright dishes stood in 
 orderly array upon the speckless shelves. 
 Visitants could not but admire that union 
 of taste and education, which makes rural 
 life beautiful. It might seem almost as an 
 Elysium, where care would delight to repose, 
 or philosophy to pursue her researches with 
 out interruption. But to any such remark, 
 the excellent owner was wont mournfully to 
 reply, 
 
 " Here are only two old people together. 
 Our children are married and gone. Some 
 of them are dead. We cannot be expected 
 to have much enjoyment." 
 
 Oh, dear friends, but it is expected that 
 you should. Your very statement of the
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 139 
 
 premises, is an admission of peculiar sources 
 of comfort. 
 
 " Two old people together" Whose sympa 
 thies can be so perfect ? And is not sympa 
 thy a source of happiness ? Side by side ye 
 have walked, through joys and sorrows. 
 You have tried the refiner's fire, that fuses 
 hearts into one. You have stood by the 
 grave's brink, when it swallowed up your 
 idols, and the iron that entered into your 
 souls formed a living link, that time might 
 never destroy. Under the cloud, and through 
 the sea, you have walked hand in hand, heart 
 to heart. What subjects of communion must 
 you have, with which no other human being 
 could intermeddle. 
 
 " Two old people" Would your experience 
 be so rich and profound, if you were not old ? 
 or your congeniality so entire, if one was old, 
 and the other young ? What a blessing that 
 you can say, there are two of us. Can you 
 realize the loneliness of soul that must gather 
 around the words, "left alone!" How many
 
 140 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of memory's cherished pictures must then be 
 viewed through blinding tears ? how feelingly 
 the expression of the poet adopted, " 'tis the 
 survivor dies ? " 
 
 " Our children are married and gone" 
 Would you have it otherwise ? Was it not 
 fitting for them to comply with the institution 
 of their Creator ? Is it not better than if they 
 were all at home, without congenial employ 
 ment, pining with disappointed hope, or in 
 solitude of the heart ? Married and gone ! 
 To implant in other homes, the virtues they 
 have learned from you. Perchance, in newer 
 settlements to diffuse the energy of right 
 habits, and the high influence of pure princi 
 ples. Gone! to learn the luxury of life's most 
 intense affections, and wisely to train their 
 own young blossoms, for time and for eternity. 
 Praise God that it is so. 
 
 " Some are dead" They have gone a little 
 before. They have shown you the way 
 through that gate where all the living must 
 pass. Will not their voice of welcome be
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 141 
 
 sweet in the skies ? Dream ye not sometimes 
 that ye hear the echo of their harp-strings ? 
 Is not your eternal home brought nearer, and 
 made dearer by them ? Praise God. 
 
 I once knew an aged couple, who for more 
 than sixty years had dwelt in one home, and 
 with one heart. Wealth was not theirs, nor 
 the appliances of luxury, yet the plain house 
 in which they had so long lived, was their 
 own. Humble in every appointment, that 
 they might keep free from debt, they were 
 respected by people in the highest positions, 
 for it was felt that they set a right example 
 in all things. Every little gift, or token of 
 remembrance from friends, and all who 
 knew them were friends, awakened the 
 fresh warmth of gratitude. Though their 
 portion of this world's goods was small, benev 
 olence being inherent in their nature, found 
 frequent expression. Always they had by 
 them, some book of slight expense, but of 
 intrinsic value, to be given as a guide to the 
 
 young, the ignorant, or the tempted. Cor- 
 13
 
 142 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 dials also, and simple medicines for debility, 
 or incipient disease, they distributed to the 
 poor, for they were skillful in extracting the 
 spirit of health from herbs, and a part of the 
 garden cultivated by their own hands, was a 
 dispensary. Kind, loving words had they for 
 all, the fullness of their heart's content, brim 
 ming over in bright drops, to refresh those 
 around. 
 
 That venerable old man, and vigorous, his 
 temples slightly silvered, when more than 
 fourscore years had visited them, how freely 
 flowed forth the melody of his leading voice, 
 amid the sacred strains of public worship. 
 His favorite tunes of Mear and Old Hundred, 
 wedded to these simply sublime words, 
 
 " While shepherds watched their flocks by night," 
 
 and 
 
 " Praise God, from whom all blessings flow," 
 
 seem even now to fall sweetly, as they did 
 upon my childish ear. These, and similar 
 ancient harmonies, mingled with the devout
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 143 
 
 prayers that morning and evening, hallowed 
 his home and its comforts; she, the loved 
 partner of his days, being often, sole auditor. 
 Thus, in one censer, rose the praise, which 
 every day seemed to deepen. God's good 
 ness palled not on their spirits, because it had 
 been long continued. They rejoiced that it 
 was "new every morning, and fresh every 
 moment." 
 
 By the clear, wood-fire in winter, sate the 
 aged wife, with serene brow, skillfully busy 
 in preparation or repair of garments, as per 
 fect neatness and economy dictated; while 
 by the evening lamp, her bright knitting- 
 needles moved with quickened zeal, as she 
 remembered the poor child, or wasted inva 
 lid, in some cold apartment, for which they 
 were to furnish a substantial covering. 
 
 In the later years of life, their childless 
 abode was cheered by the presence of a 
 young orphan relative. She grew under 
 their shadow with great delight, conforming 
 her pliant heart to their wishes, and to the
 
 144 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 pattern of their godly simplicity. When 
 they were seated together, she read to them 
 such books as they chose, and treasured their 
 Christian counsel. Her voice in the morning, 
 was to them as the carol of the lark, and they 
 seemed to live again a new life in her young 
 life. She was to them " like the rose of Sharon 
 and the lily of the valley." 
 
 Love for the sweet helplessness of unfolding 
 years, seemed to increase with their own 
 advancing age. Little children, who know 
 by instinct where love is, would draw near 
 them, and stand lamb-like at their side. 
 Thus they passed on, until more than ninety 
 years had been numbered to them. They 
 were not weary of themselves, or of each 
 other, or of this beautiful world. Neither 
 was Time w r eary of bringing them, letter by 
 letter, the full alphabet of a serene happiness, 
 and when extreme age added the Omega, 
 they were well-educated to begin the bliss 
 of Eternity.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Their age was like a second winter, 
 Frosty, but kindly." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 AN opinion has been expressed that literary 
 labors, or habitual excursions into the regions 
 of imagination, are adverse to the continuance 
 of health, or even the integrity of intellect. 
 Grave charges, truly ! and examples to the 
 contrary, may be easily adduced. 
 
 Premature death, and mental declension, 
 are confined to no profession or condition of 
 life. Too early, or undue stress laid on the 
 organs of the brain, is doubtless fraught with 
 disastrous consequences. Still, their con 
 stant, and even severe exercise, may comport 
 
 both with physical welfare and longevity. 
 13*
 
 146 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 It is indeed, true, that Swift "expired a 
 driveller and a show," but not until he had 
 passed seven years beyond the span allotted 
 to human life ; and the amiable author of the 
 "Task," closed his pilgrimage in a rayless 
 cloud, at sixty-six; and Walter Scott sank 
 at sixty-one, under toils too ambitiously pur 
 sued for the safe union of flesh with spirit ; 
 and Southey, whose reckless industry pre 
 cluded needful rest, subsided ere sixty-eight, 
 into syncope and the shadow of darkness; 
 and Henry Kirke White faded at twenty-one, 
 in the fresh blossom of his young renown ; 
 and Byron at thirty-six, rent the fiery armor 
 of genius and of passion, and fled from the 
 conflict of life. 
 
 Yet Goethe, unimpaired by the strong 
 excitements of imagination, saw his eighty- 
 second winter; and the sententious architect 
 of the "Night Thoughts," reached fourscore 
 and four ; and Voltaire, at the same period* 
 was still in love with the vanity of fame ; and 
 Corneille continued to enjoy his laurels till
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 147 
 
 seventy-eight ; and Crabbe, at an equal age, 
 resigned the pen which had sketched with 
 daguerreotype minuteness the passing scene. 
 Joseph Warton, until his seventy-ninth year, 
 made his mental riches and cheerful piety 
 sources of delight to all around him ; Charles 
 Wesley, on the verge of eighty, called his 
 wife to his dying pillow, and with an inex 
 pressible smile, dictated his last metrical 
 effusion; and Klopstock, the bard of the 
 "Messiah," continued until the same period 
 to cheer and delight his friends. Isaac Watts, 
 laid down his consecrated harp at seventy- 
 four ; and our own Trumbull, the author of 
 " McFingal," preserved till eighty-two, the 
 bright, clear intellect, whose strains had 
 animated both the camp and the cottage. 
 The illustrious Metastasio detained the ad 
 miring ear of Italy, until eighty-four; and 
 Milton, at sixty-six, opened his long-eclipsed 
 eyes on " cloudless light serene," leaving to 
 the world the mournful memories of "Lost 
 Paradise," with living strains of heroic and
 
 148 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 sublime counsel. Mason was seventy-two, 
 ere the " holy earth," where his " dead 
 Maria" slumbered, admitted him to share 
 her repose; and the tender Petrarch, and 
 the brave old John Dryden, told out fully 
 their seventy years, and the ingenious La 
 Fontaine, seventy-four ; while Fontenelle, 
 whose powers of sight and hearing extended 
 their ministrations to the unusual term of 
 ninety-six years, lacked only the revolution 
 of a few moons to complete his entire century. 
 Those masters of the Grecian lyre, Anacre- 
 on, the sweet Sophocles, and the fiery-souled 
 Pindar, felt no frost of intellect, but were 
 transplanted as evergreens, in the winter of 
 fourscore ; at the same advanced period, 
 Wordsworth, in our own times, continued 
 to mingle the music of his lay with the mur 
 mur of RydaFs falling water, and Joanna 
 Baillie, to fold around her the robe of tragic 
 power, enjoying until her ninetieth year, the 
 friendship of the good, and the fruits of a fair 
 renown ; Montgomery, the religious poet, so
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 149 
 
 long a cherished guest, amid the romantic 
 scenery of Sheffield, has just departed at the 
 age of eighty-two; and Rogers, who gave us 
 in early life, the "Pleasures of Memory," 
 now, the most venerable poet in Europe, and 
 probably in the world, is cheered at ninety- 
 three, with the love of all who ever came 
 within the sphere of his amiable virtues. 
 
 So much for the poets, who have been ac 
 cused of burning out the wheels of life, in the 
 flames of passion and the vagaries of imagin 
 ation. 
 
 "The solace of song/' says Southey, "cer 
 tainly mitigates the sufferings of the wounded 
 spirit. I have sorrowed deeply, and found 
 comfort in thus easing my mind; though 
 much of what I wrote at such times, I have 
 never let the world see." 
 
 True Poetry has also affinity with the 
 higher harmonies of our being, with religion 
 and its joys. Gathering the beautiful from 
 nature, and soaring into the realm of fancy 
 for what reality withholds, she feeds her
 
 150 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 children on angels' food. She looks to the 
 stars, and hears melodies that are above their 
 courses. 
 
 Of wits and humorists, Cervantes fed on 
 his own mirthful conceptions, to the verge of 
 threescore and ten, and Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montague, until two years beyond it, in 
 dulged her lively and capricious tempera 
 ment ; and Sidney Smith, at seventy-six, 
 retained in a remarkable degree his intel 
 lectual keenness and originality. 
 
 Literary pursuits seem not to have been 
 adverse to the happiness or longevity of 
 females. Mrs. Hoffland and Miss Jane Por 
 ter, reached seventy-four, in dignity and 
 honor; Mrs. Chapone, seventy-five; Mrs. 
 Piozzi, the biographer of Dr. Johnson, eighty- 
 one; Miss Burney, eighty-eight; Mrs. Carter, 
 eighty-nine ; and the venerated Hannah More, 
 died only one year younger, having with in 
 defatigable industry, composed eleven books, 
 after she had numbered her sixtieth birth 
 day. Mrs. Elizabeth Montague, and Mrs-
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 151 
 
 Sherwood, lived to be eighty-one ; and Mrs. 
 Barbauld, to a more advanced age. Of the 
 latter, it was said by Mrs. Mary L. Ware, 
 who visited her in 1823, " Though now 
 eighty-two, she possesses her faculties in full 
 perfection ; her manner is peculiarly gentle, 
 her voice low and sweet, and she speaks of 
 death with such firm hope, that I felt as if I 
 were communing with a spiritual body." 
 
 Didactic and philosophical writers, seem 
 often, in their calm researches, to have found 
 refuge from that strife of thought which em 
 bitters or shortens existence. 
 
 Plato, wove for the men of Attica, his beau 
 tiful and sublime theories, to the age of 
 eighty-one ; and at eighty-five, John Evelyn 
 closed his eyes at his fair estate in Wotton, 
 which he had embellished both as a naturalist 
 and an author, engraving on his marble mon 
 ument, as the result of long experience,, that 
 " all is vanity which is not honest, and that 
 there is no solid wisdom but in real piety." 
 The diligent and acute Bentley, reached four-
 
 152 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 score ; and Walker, seventy-five ; and Dr. 
 Samuel Johnson, " whose name is a host," 
 attained the same age, having with charac 
 teristic energy applied himself to the study of 
 the Dutch language, but a short time before 
 his death. Scaliger and Parkhurst fell only 
 a few months short of threescore and ten ; 
 Ainsworth passed three years beyond it; 
 Dr. Noah Webster, of our own New Eng 
 land, retained unimpaired until eighty-four, 
 his physical and mental health, with the rich 
 store of his varied attainments. Lindley 
 Murray, at more than eighty, continued in 
 the active duties of Christian philanthropy; 
 and the philologist, Mitscherlich, the Nestor 
 of the German schools, and uncle to the 
 famous chemist of that name, died recently 
 at Gottingen, at the age of ninety -three. Sir 
 Isaac Newton, as illustrious for Christian hu 
 mility as for intellectual greatness, laid down 
 his earthly honors at eighty-five ; and Frank 
 lin, who in the words of Mirabeau, " stole the 
 lightning from Heaven, and the sceptre from
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 153 
 
 tyrants," cheered us with the mild radiance 
 of his philanthropy till eighty-four ; and Her- 
 schel rose above the stars, with which he 
 had long communed, at eighty, while his sis 
 ter, whom he had so kindly made the com 
 panion of his celestial intercourse, survived 
 until ninety-seven. Yet it was not our inten 
 tion to gather from the lists of science, its 
 multiplied examples of ripe age and rare fame, 
 but rather devote our prescribed limits to the 
 affinities of literature with longevity. 
 
 The sympathies that spring from commu 
 nity of labor in the field of intellect, are salu 
 tary and graceful. Those minds that are 
 above the petty asperities of rivalship, have 
 often thus enjoyed a friendship of singular 
 depth and fervor. This seems to have been 
 the case with many of the distinguished wri 
 ters of England's Augustan age. Frequent 
 association led to intimacy of plan and pur 
 suit. They criticised each other's works, 
 and in the attrition of kindred spirits, found 
 that as "iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the 
 14
 
 154 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 countenance of a man, his friend." It has 
 been finely said of Pope, that he "reverenced 
 his equals in genius, and that of those friends 
 who surpassed him, he spoke with respect 
 and admiration." Of Gay it was asserted, 
 by one of his literary associates, that " every 
 body loved him." Even the witty and sar 
 castic Swift, shrank to open a letter which 
 he feared might announce the fatal termina 
 tion of a sickness that oppressed this friend. 
 It lay long on his cabinet, unsealed, and was 
 afterward endorsed by him, as communica 
 ting the mournful event of his " dear friend 
 Gay's decease, received December 15th, but 
 not read until five days after, by an impulse 
 foreboding some misfortune." One would 
 scarcely have expected such sentimentality 
 from the fierce-tempered Dean of St. Patrick's; 
 but literary friendship softened him. The 
 intellectual communion of Addison and Steele, 
 cemented an interesting attachment ; and the 
 majestic old Johnson, though with less of 
 mental congeniality for Goldsmith, still, with
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 155 
 
 affectionate regard, excused his eccentricities, 
 praised his talents, and rejoiced in his repu 
 tation. 
 
 This amiable and salubrious element of 
 intellectual intercourse, is by no means con 
 fined to any particular age, or country. In 
 Germany, where native and noble impulse is 
 the least fettered by conventionalism ; in 
 France, where genius and the labors of litera 
 ture, open the gate of distinction more readily 
 than a key of gold ; and in our own free land, 
 where more than in any other, knowledge is 
 the heritage and glory of the people, there are 
 many examples of unity of heart between 
 those, who in different departments, advance 
 the great work of mental progress. 
 
 The Lake Poets, Wordsworth, Southey, 
 and Coleridge, beautifully attested the broth 
 erhood of genius, until the " threefold cord " 
 was sundered at the tomb. 
 
 Much of this affectionate, generous sympa 
 thy between gifted minds, seemed to me to 
 exist in Great Britain, and though I was there
 
 156 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 too late to witness it in those most genial 
 spirits, Sir Walter Scott, and Mrs. Hemans, 
 its sweet revealings were manifested by Maria 
 Edgeworth, and Joanna Baillie, as well as by 
 many younger and distinguished authors, who 
 still live to bless us. 
 
 May I be forgiven if I here add a little 
 episode to please myself? an interview at 
 Hampstead, which Memory cherishes among 
 her pencil-sketches. 
 
 It was a brighter vernal day than often 
 occurs under English skies, when I drove 
 thither from London, to see Joanna Baillie. 
 I found her seated on the sofa, in her pleasant 
 parlor, surrounded by many pictures, herself 
 to me, the most pleasant picture, of dignified 
 and healthful age. On her cheek was some 
 what more of color than usual, for she had just 
 returned from a long walk among her poor 
 pensioners, and the exercise, and the comfort 
 of active benevolence, lent new life and ex 
 pression to her smile. She was not hand 
 some, at least, so the world said ; her high
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 157 
 
 cheek bones bespoke her Scottish extraction, 
 and seventy-six years had absorbed any 
 charm that youth might have bestowed ; yet 
 to my eye she was beautiful. On the same 
 sofa was her sister, Agnes, whom she so 
 intensely loved, and to whom one of her 
 sweetest poetical effusions was addressed. 
 Though several years beyond fourscore, her 
 complexion was singularly fair, her features 
 symmetrical, and her demeanor graceful 
 and attractive. Between them, was seated 
 Rogers, the banker-poet, with locks like the 
 driven snow, having come out several miles 
 from his mansion in St. James' Park, to make 
 them a friendly call. His smooth brow, and 
 fresh flow of conversation, made it difficult to 
 believe that this could be indeed, his eightieth 
 spring. It seems he had been kindly advising 
 the authoress of " Plays of the Passions," to 
 collect her fugitive poems, from their wide 
 spread channels, into the more enduring form 
 of a volume. As she felt disinclined to the 
 
 14*
 
 158 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 labor, he had himself undertaken and accom 
 plished it, and was now discussing the suc 
 cess of the publication, and enjoying the high 
 suffrages of criticism, as if they were his own. 
 While their cheering, joyous tones, so pleas 
 antly blended, and mental communion and 
 service seemed to have given them new 
 youth, or rather to have kept it perennial, I 
 felt that the world could not furnish another 
 such trio, and was grateful for the privilege of 
 beholding it. 
 
 Even now, I imagine that I hear the voice 
 of the venerable poet, whom I still rejoice to 
 number among my living friends, repeating 
 with deliberate intonation and perfect empha 
 sis, his favorite passage from Mrs. Barbauld, 
 w r ho herself resided in the immediate vicinity, 
 at Hampstead. It was written in extreme 
 old age, but with unfaded vigor of intellect. 
 
 " Life ! we've been long together, 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 
 'Tis hard to part where friends are dear, 
 Perhaps 'twill cost both pang and tear :
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 159 
 
 So, steal away, give little warning, 
 Choose thine own time, 
 Say not good night, but in yon happier clime, 
 
 Bid me good morning." 
 
 Among those who have made the highest 
 interests of the soul their study, and by pen 
 and voice striven to promote them, are many 
 instances of healthful adjustment of structure 
 to profession, and the protracted use of those 
 powers which they kept in active exercise. 
 
 Thomas a Kempis, whose writings filled 
 three folio volumes, and whose principal 
 work, " The Imitation of Christ," was com 
 posed at the age of sixty, reached his ninety- 
 second year, not only with an unimpaired 
 mind, but with the perfect use of eye-sight, 
 unaided by spectacles. At the same advanced 
 period was Bishop Wilson removed, whose 
 "Sacra Privata" still breathes like living 
 incense on the heart's altar. Scarcely three 
 years younger was our own Bishop White, 
 the beauty of whose silver locks, and saintly 
 smile, and holy teachings, concur in deepen-
 
 160 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ing the Saviour's precept, that all Christians 
 should love each other. John Wesley was 
 enabled to persevere in his labors, till eighty- 
 eight, having before he reached his seventieth 
 year, published more than thirty octavo vol 
 umes. On his seventy-second birth-day, he 
 writes: 
 
 " I have been considering how it is, that I should feel 
 just the same strength that I did, thirty years ago ; that 
 my sight is even considerably better, and my nerves firmer 
 than they were then ; that I have none of the infirmities 
 of age, and have lost several that I had in my youth. 
 The great cause is the good pleasure of God, who doeth 
 whatever pleaseth Him. The chief means are, first my 
 constant rising at four, for the last fifty years ; second, my 
 generally preaching at five in the morning, one of the most 
 healthful exercises in the world ; and thirdly, my never 
 traveling less, by sea and land, than four thousand miles 
 a year." 
 
 Theodore Beza, lived to be eighty-six, and 
 Hoadley, eighty-five; Lardner was a year 
 younger at his death, and John Newton, four 
 score and two. Warburton closed his learned 
 labors at eighty-one ; and Lowth and Porteus
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 161 
 
 and Simeon, completed their Christian exam 
 ple at seventy-seven ; and Richard Baxter at 
 seventy-six, rose from the " Saint's Rest," 
 which he so touchingly depicted, to that 
 " Certainty of the World of Spirits," which he 
 serenely anticipated. Archbishop Seeker, at 
 seventy-five, taught how saints can die ; and 
 William Jones, of Nayland, and Thomas 
 Scott, the commentator, passed from faithful 
 service to their great reward, at the age of 
 seventy-four; and Bishop Andrews, the mas 
 ter of fifteen languages, who was appointed 
 by James First, one of the principal transla 
 tors of our present version of the Scriptures, 
 continued until seventy-one, his untiring toils 
 and devoted charities. Beveridge closed his 
 pious pilgrimage at seventy ; and George Fox, 
 at sixty-six; and John Foster, the forcible 
 essayist, at seventy-three. 
 
 Connected with the thoughtful and im 
 pressive image of the last-named author, is 
 that of another, seen at about the same period, 
 in his native Scotland, and also a minister of
 
 162 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the Baptist persuasion, William limes, of 
 Edinburgh. He was then at the age of sev 
 enty, in the habit of varying the toils of the 
 pulpit and the study, by a summer excursion 
 on foot, to the Highlands, where, being able 
 to preach in their native tongue, he collected 
 large audiences, who listened to the words of 
 salvation with rivetted attention. From this 
 missionary service, the only recreation that 
 he sought during a year's strenuous labor, he 
 would return with elastic step, a cheering 
 smile, and cheek and lip so florid with health 
 that it was difficult to believe that he had 
 indeed reached so advanced a period. He 
 still lives at the age of eighty -three, and leads 
 a beloved flock in their Sabbath worship. 
 
 The Rev. William Jay, from the age of 
 sixteen, when he began to preach the gospel, 
 was enabled to continue until eighty-six, in 
 that holy service, laboring, writing or speaking 
 for God, and encircled to his last moment with 
 loving hearts and the reverence of mankind. 
 
 A still surviving instance of protracted use-
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 163 
 
 fulness and honor, is that of Dr. Routh, who 
 has sustained the office of President of Mag 
 dalen College, Oxford, for sixty-three years, 
 and entered about two months since, his 
 ninety-ninth year. This learned and vener 
 able man, retains good health, high intellect, 
 and warm, social feelings. In his exercise 
 of hospitality and benevolence, there is no 
 declension; that there is also none in the 
 respect and appreciation of the students over 
 whom he presides, is expressed in the follow 
 ing brief extract from their affectionate tribute 
 on his birth-day, September 20th, 1853. 
 
 "In studious care a century well nigh past, 
 Three generations ROUTH'S fresh powers outlast ; 
 A NESTOR'S snows his reverend temples grace, 
 A NESTOR'S vigor in his mind we trace. 
 Judgment not yet on her tribunal sleeps ; 
 Her faithful record cloudless Memory keeps ; 
 Nor eye nor hand their ministry decline, 
 The letter'd toils or service of the Nine. 
 Yet through his heart the genial current flows, 
 Yet in his breast the warmth of friendship glows : 
 On rites of hospitality intent, 
 Toward Christian courtesy his thoughts are bent ;
 
 164 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 While from his lips, which guile nor flattery know, 
 
 " Prophetic strains " of " old experience " flow. 
 
 A blessing rest upon thy sacred head, 
 
 Time-honor'd remnant of" the mighty dead," 
 
 Through whom Oxonia's sons exulting trace 
 
 Their stainless lineage from a better race. 
 
 Still may thy saintly course their beacon shine, 
 
 Still round their heartstrings thy meek wisdom twine, 
 
 Still be their loyal, loving homage thine ; 
 
 And tardy may the heavenward summons come, 
 
 Which calls thee from thy sojourn to thy home." 
 
 It should here be mentioned that he has 
 just completed a volume, consisting of selec 
 tions from the ancient fathers, with emenda 
 tions and an introduction, intended as the 
 prolongation of an extensive work composed 
 some years since, with the title of " Reliquiae 
 Sacrae." 
 
 The power of fine writing sometimes re 
 mains unimpaired with the septuagenarians, 
 and even to the later evening of life. I think 
 at this moment, of two volumes recently 
 issued from the press, in which Professor 
 Silliman, of Yale College, so long the editor 
 
 of the " American Journal of Science," and 
 
 I
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 165 
 
 now in his seventy-sixth year, has delineated 
 an extensive tour in Europe. Compared with 
 another work of his, published nearly half a 
 century since, and describing a similar excur 
 sion to foreign climes, they yield nothing of 
 grace, brilliance, or vigor, but might seem 
 rather to have the advantage over their 
 predecessor. Their admixture of science, 
 so appropriate to his own profession, with 
 the drapery of narrative, gives them, as it 
 were, bone and muscle, by which to stand 
 erect, and move among the people. Over 
 their author, also, changeful time has had 
 little power. He has just returned, unfa- 
 tigued, from a journey of some four thousand 
 miles, to the Far West, enjoying the varied 
 scenery with as keen a zest as^ever, and add 
 ing to the happiness of the large party with 
 which he traveled; especially entering into 
 the pleasures of the young, with the cheer 
 fulness of an unclouded spirit. 
 
 His fine, manly form is still unbent, his un- 
 
 spectacled eyes daunted by no obscurity of 
 15
 
 166 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 type or chirography, and his urbanity and 
 hospitality in full exercise. Long may they 
 thus continue. 
 
 " The Gospel its own Advocate," a work 
 from the pen of George Griffin, LL. D., of 
 New York, after he had numbered more than 
 threescore and ten, shows the research of a 
 mind disciplined by the severe studies of 
 jurisprudence, accustomed to weigh contend 
 ing claims, to throw words into the crucible 
 and through all their fermentations watch for 
 the witnessings of truth. It embodies the 
 force of a clear intellect, and the conclusions 
 of a long life. The learned author, now in 
 his seventy-seventh year, still endued with 
 vigor of mind and body, might in his hours 
 of literary labor, have readily selected from 
 the wide range of nature, or the familiar 
 archives of history, a theme more accordant 
 with the taste and spirit of the times, but 
 religiously chose in this, as w r ell as in a pre 
 vious work, to devote the gathered lights of his
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 167 
 
 experience to the defence and illustration of 
 that gospel wherein is our hope. 
 
 The Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. Croswell, 
 of Boston, by the venerable Dr. Croswell, of 
 New Haven, Connecticut, an octavo of more 
 than five hundred pages, is undoubtedly the 
 most affecting as well as judicious tribute 
 that a man of genius and piety ever received 
 from a father of almost fourscore years. 
 Girding himself to lay in the grave the 
 beloved one, who, according to the order of 
 nature, should have closed his own dying 
 eyes, instead of sinking under so great a sor 
 row, he rouses himself, and with the same 
 zeal and patience with which in his hoary 
 age he still ministers at the sanctuary, con 
 structs a monument which will endure when 
 brass and marble perish. 
 
 An interesting catalogue might, doubtless, 
 be made of authors, who, after the period of 
 seventy, or even of eighty years, have contin 
 ued to interest and instruct mankind. Han 
 nah More wrote her work on "Praver," at
 
 168 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 seventy-six; and Richard Cumberland, his 
 poem on " Retrospection," at seventy-nine. 
 Dr. Blair, so celebrated for his " Lectures on 
 Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," persevered in 
 his literary labors until very late in life, and 
 was occupied in preparing an additional vol 
 ume of sermons, when death took the pen 
 from his hand, in his eighty-second winter. 
 
 At the same advanced age, Walter Savage 
 Landor, retains the force and elasticity which 
 have always characterized his style, and is at 
 present engaged in editing a work entitled, 
 " Letters of an American." At his pleasant 
 home in Bath, England, he is still in posses 
 sion of health, and of that peculiar wit, which 
 in earlier life, irradiated his " Imaginary Con 
 versations," and gave him rank among men 
 of genius. 
 
 Still, it is not my purpose here, to make a 
 list of those who have continued in age to 
 win reputation by their writings, but simply 
 through a desultory selection of examples, to 
 illustrate a theory sometimes advanced, that
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 169 
 
 the mind may expand and ripen, to the ex 
 treme of human life. The only reason to the 
 contrary, is the disease or decay of those 
 organs through which it receives and conveys 
 impressions. By the foregoing instances, as 
 well as others that might be adduced, it will 
 appear that there is no necessary connection 
 between this declension and their diligent use. 
 Indeed, through the action of the brain, the 
 nervous system may doubtless be so developed 
 as to acquire even a more vigorous tone. 
 
 The fever of literary ambition, the rivalry 
 of authorship, the morbid and insatiable thirst 
 for popularity, are not numbered among the 
 sanitary tendencies, or worthy ends of intel 
 lectual effort. Neither of the abuse of God's 
 great gift of genius to the gratification of sel 
 fish and depraved tastes, have I wished to 
 speak, but rather of its unison with the high 
 est responsibilities, of its open harmony with 
 the perennial flow of the springs of life, and 
 of the long peace with which the Great Task- 
 Master hath sometimes seen fit to crown it. 
 15*
 
 170 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 If the employment of a teacher has been 
 considered favorable to longevity, from the 
 cheering influences of companionship with 
 the young, on the same principle, an in 
 dwelling with fresh and beautiful thoughts, 
 should aid in preserving the youth of the 
 mind. If in suggesting good feelings, and a 
 holy practice to others, there is any develop 
 ment of sympathies, that makes even strangers 
 dear, any solace for joys that are withheld, or 
 have departed, it must be congenial to moral, 
 as well as to mental and physical prosperity. 
 
 Literature, like those fields of benevolence 
 in which all Christians can agree, offers a fair 
 meeting-ground of compromise and of peace. 
 It has room enough and to spare. Its laborers 
 may come and go, as brethren, and not impede 
 each other. They may glean in safety, all 
 day, like the true-hearted Moabitess, and "at 
 night, beat out what they have gathered," 
 while the world, like the expectant Naomi, 
 will bless them. 
 
 We, the people who have past their prime,
 
 LITERARY LONGEVITY. 171 
 
 should rejoice that so many of our own hoary- 
 headed band, have been enabled to leave so 
 many enduring traces on the sands of time. 
 For if the satisfactions of rural life, the trans 
 muting of the unsightly mould into fruits and 
 flowers, are so soothing and salutary, should 
 it not be held desirable to plant in the mental 
 soil, trees whose " leaves are for the healing 
 of the nations ? " If the founders of those 
 time-honored edifices, on which the storms of 
 ages have beaten in vain, are regarded with 
 reverence, is it not a privilege to be permitted 
 to rear in the realm of intellect, columns on 
 whose Corinthian capital, lingers the smile of 
 Heaven as a never-setting sun ?
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Argue not 
 
 Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 
 Of heart or hope ; but still bear up, and steer 
 Right onward. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 How beautiful is the setting sun. Long 
 lines of golden rays tremble along the horizon; 
 crimson and purple like the banner of a king, 
 go floating up the zenith. As a benefactor 
 he retires from the scenes he has blessed, 
 and through the calm twilight men tenderly 
 remember him. 
 
 Thus should a good life draw to its close, 
 fruitful in benefits, and glowing with reflected 
 love, until the evening star hangs out its silver 
 crescent. Thus should its westering sun-
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 
 
 173 
 
 beams be treasured in the grateful hearts 
 which have been cheered by its path of 
 radiance. 
 
 A selfish old age must be of necessity, 
 an unhappy one. It is an indwelling with 
 losses ; lost comeliness, lost vigor, lost pleas 
 ure, lost importance among the bright and 
 swift current of moving things. The hope 
 less search for what is departed, depresses 
 the spirits and prepares them to partake in the 
 declension that marks the body. If whatever 
 brings the mind into bondage must impair 
 its force; the decay of memory, of judgment 
 the adjunct to memory, and of self-respect 
 which in a measure depends on both, is more 
 likely to occur and become palpable among 
 aged persons who think principally and per 
 manently of themselves. It is cause for 
 thankfulness if through the affections, the 
 charities, or the trials of life, they have been 
 taught to lower their own expectations from 
 a world they are soon to leave. Salutary and 
 lovely is God's discipline with those whose
 
 174 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 long pilgrimage is nearly finished ; withdraw 
 ing the props on which they leaned, loosen 
 ing the heartstrings that were too closely or 
 proudly earth-bound, that the Soul, ere she 
 tries her unfettered wing, may " spring up 
 and take strong hold on Him who made her." 
 It is pleasant to recall whatever of brill 
 iance we may have seen gather around the 
 western gate of life, and preserve it as a 
 guiding light for the feet of others. How 
 noble was the bravery with which the poet 
 Dryden battled the storms of fortune, lifting 
 an unquenched spirit like a torch amid rocks 
 and waves. When he might through age 
 have naturally wished to relax the pressure 
 of literary labor, he was stimulated anew by 
 his paternal affections. Just on the verge of 
 his seventieth year he was apprised of the 
 approaching return of his son from Rome, in 
 a feeble state of health; and though he had 
 scarcely completed the task of preparing the 
 second edition of his translation of Virgil for 
 the press, he took no breathing time, but im-
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 175 
 
 mediately contracted to supply a bookseller 
 with ten thousand verses, at sixpence a line, 
 saying pathetically of his invalid child, "I 
 can not spend my life better than in preserv 
 ing his." 
 
 Among the men, who taking in their hand, 
 " their lives, their fortunes and their sacred 
 honor," gave their signature to the Magna 
 Charta of our national freedom, quite a number 
 were appointed to length of days, with unfa- 
 ded renown. The Hon. William Ellery of 
 Newport, who from the memorable era of 
 1776, continued nine years a member of Con 
 gress, afterward took his seat as chief justice 
 of the superior court of Rhode Island. When 
 the age of seventy released him from this 
 office, he accepted that of collector of cus 
 toms for his native city, affectionately serving 
 her to the day of his death, which took place 
 at the age of ninety-three. So social and 
 agreeable was he, notwithstanding his ad 
 vanced age, and such powers of vivid and 
 graphic narration did he continue to possess,
 
 176 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 that the young sought his company for their 
 own pleasure. 
 
 It was on the morning of his death, Febru 
 ary 15th, 1820, that his family physician 
 called, not professionally, but as a friend, to 
 enjoy for half an hour his delightful society. 
 In his usual health, he was seated in his arm- 
 hair, reading Cicero de Officiis. But while 
 the tide of conversation flowed freely and 
 brightly on, the quick eye of the medical 
 man detected a change in his venerated com 
 panion. He was laid upon the bed, but 
 resumed reading the page which was interest 
 ing him when his friend entered. Gently 
 the pulse ceased its motion, and the uncloud 
 ed mind glided from its tenement of clay. 
 Deep humility of spirit was the gift of this 
 extraordinary man, and a firmness in duty, 
 not influenced by human applause or blame. 
 The wheels of life moved more calmly, and 
 perhaps longer, from the serene temperament 
 of his religion, which under every obstacle 
 or misfortune solaced his own soul and that
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 
 
 of others with the sublime precept, "The 
 Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice." 
 
 The sunbeams of usefulness have some 
 times lingered to a late period around the 
 heads of those who had taken part in the 
 pioneer hardships of our new settlements. 
 I think now of one, but recently deceased, at 
 the age of eighty-five Judge Burnett, who 
 was numbered among the founders of Ohio, 
 that state which sprang from its cradle with 
 the vigor of a giant. After the completion 
 of his classical and legal studies, he exchanged 
 his fair ancestral home in New Jersey for a 
 residence in Cincinnati, then in its rudest 
 stages of development, As he climbed the 
 steep river-bank he saw only scattered cabins, 
 a few framed buildings and a log fort, making 
 the frontier of civilized life. Conforming his 
 habits to those of an unrefined community, 
 and claiming but a few physical comforts, he 
 exercised his profession in the courts of Detroit 
 and Vincennes, when traveling was by bridle 
 paths, by blazed trees, fording wild streams 
 16
 
 178 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and camping on the wet ground. Educated 
 in the school of Washington and of Hamilton, 
 who were honored guests in his father's house 
 during the forming period of his life, he nobly 
 dispersed around him the wealth of an upright 
 and polished mind. By persevering industry 
 and moral and religious worth, he won general 
 confidence : and in due time a seat in the 
 senate of the United States, and upon the 
 bench of the supreme court of Ohio, attested 
 the respect of the people. Population spread 
 around him like the pageantry of a dream, 
 and Cincinnati, among whose rudiments his 
 manly hand had wrought, echoed ere his 
 departure to the rushing tread of 130,000 
 inhabitants. His health had been originally 
 feeble, but the endurance of hardship, and 
 what is still more remarkable, the access of 
 years, confirmed it. At more than fourscore 
 he moved through the streets with as erect a 
 form, an eye as intensely bright, and collo 
 quial powers as free and fascinating, as at 
 thirty. When full of knowledge and benev-
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 179 
 
 olence, and with an unimpaired intellect, he 
 passed away, it was felt that not only one of 
 the fathers of a young land had fallen, but 
 that one of the bright and beautiful lights of 
 society had been extinguished. 
 
 Of Daniel Webster, it was affirmed that 
 the clearness of his own great mind continued 
 to increase and to flow forth with even a ful 
 ler radiance at seventy than in his prime. 
 Like the reformer Wycliffe, he was more 
 and more "intent upon being understood, 
 intent upon imparting the conviction or pas 
 sion of his own mind to other minds." With 
 this singleness of purpose, and power of truth, 
 was also mingled a depth of feeling, scarcely 
 indicated by his massive form and majestic 
 deportment. "Yet," said an old man of more 
 than eighty, who had long intimately known 
 him, " he could sympathize w r ith all. Ever 
 had he a kindly word for the child, the youth, 
 and him of hoary hairs. He could not look 
 upon a fair landscape or fields waving with 
 grain, without blessing God for permitting
 
 180 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 him to live in a world so teeming with 
 beauty." Thus, with the radiance of thought 
 and feeling, still glowing in his deep-set eye, 
 
 " How well he fell asleep ! 
 Like some grand river widening toward the sea, 
 Calmly and grandly, silently and deep, 
 Life joined eternity." 
 
 The capacity of the Duke of Wellington 
 as a counsellor in all matters of state, a wise 
 director of his own large estates, and an 
 ornament in society, was as great at eighty- 
 five, as during any previous period. His 
 bodily activity and powers of endurance were 
 also remarkable, though in boyhood his con 
 stitution was pronounced extremely delicate. 
 More than once I have observed with delight 
 his arrival at the House of Lords on some 
 wintry morning, on horseback, when, throw 
 ing his reins to the single servant who attend 
 ed him, he would proceed with vigorous step, 
 and cheek brightened by exposure to the 
 keen air, up those long flights of stairs, which 
 in the old parliament building, w T ere formida 
 ble to younger feet.
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 181 
 
 One evening he was seized while in his 
 place, with sudden illness, like a premonition 
 of paralysis. In leaving the house, he chanced 
 to drop his hat, and realizing with singular 
 clearness of mind that should he stop to 
 regain it, the rush of blood through the brain 
 might be dangerously quickened, passed on 
 without it, holding- his head in its usually very 
 upright position. One of the peers, noticing 
 his departure, anxiously followed and finding 
 he had no carriage in attendance, induced him 
 to accept his own, and return home. For 
 two or three days bulletins were issued from 
 Apsley House, to allay the anxiety of the 
 people, with whom he was an idol. Then 
 again appearing in his accustomed parliament 
 ary seat, he sustained some pending resolu 
 tion with a brief and clear speech, proving that 
 indomitable energy and strength of will which 
 pervaded even the latest period of his exist 
 
 ence. 
 
 England is still happy in the protracted 
 light shed upon her councils, by heads that 
 16*
 
 182 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 wear the silver crown of age. At seventy- 
 six, Lord Brougham speaks much and well ; 
 Lords Lansdowne and Aberdeen at threescore 
 and ten, are eminent ministers of state ; and 
 Lord Lyndhurst, the son of our own artist 
 Copley, is in his eighty-second year, hale and 
 vigorous, able to take an active part in the 
 discussion of the most intricate public affairs, 
 and ranked by good judges among the great 
 est of living orators. 
 
 Born in the same year with Lord Lynd 
 hurst, and in the same fair city of Boston, 
 the Hon. Josiah Quincy still exhibits unbroken 
 powers of mind and body. The pen retains 
 its force that traced in early life the memorial 
 of his illustrious father, and afterward gave 
 to our country, beside other valued works, a 
 history in two volumes of her most ancient 
 seat of learning, Harvard University, over 
 which he had himself presided with honor 
 for more than sixteen years. The fervid 
 eloquence which on the floor of Congress, as 
 well as on so many civic occasions, cast forth
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 183 
 
 its bold metaphors and coruscations of wit, 
 is not yet extinguished. It is probably an 
 unprecedented fact that at the age of more 
 than fourscore, he should have been urged to 
 accept a nomination to the mayoralty of his 
 native city, an office which he had held thirty 
 years before ; leaving at his retirement indeli 
 ble marks of his taste and efficiency in the 
 financial prosperity, the humane institutions, 
 the noble enterprises and elegant structures 
 of this Athens of New England. 
 
 I had the privilege of seeing him the past 
 summer, at his delightful country residence 
 in Quincy, superintending the minute and 
 perfectly balanced policies of his rural domain, 
 and entertaining his guests with that fine 
 blending of hilarity and dignity peculiar to 
 the true gentlemen of the old school. It was 
 a pleasure to look at his erect form, healthful 
 complexion, and what is still more remarkable 
 in our changeful climate, an entire set of 
 w T hite teeth which the art of the dentist had 
 never interpolated. Surrounded by the sweet-
 
 184 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 est filial affections, the man whom Everett 
 had pronounced the " ornament of the forum, 
 the senate and the academy," gracefully 
 exchanged the pursuits of Cicero for those 
 of Cincinnatus. 
 
 Residing at the same time of which I have 
 spoken, on his fair estate at Brookline, in the 
 vicinity of Boston, but since transferred to a 
 higher state of existence, was Col. Thomas 
 H. Perkins, in his ninetieth year. It was a 
 source of exulting pleasure, while abroad, to 
 see him arrive in London, with unalloyed 
 spirits, an energetic and excellent traveler, 
 both by sea and land, though then on the con 
 fines of fourscore. The voyage, from which 
 so many young persons shrink, was to him no 
 obstacle; indeed, he afterward repeated it, 
 enjoying th changeful and boisterous scenery 
 of ocean, as when in his prime. 
 
 His munificence, with its living rays, bright 
 ened until life's sunset. His sympathies for 
 the sightless had been expressed by such 
 'large bounties, among others, the gift of a
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 185 
 
 mansion, valued at forty thousand dollars, that 
 the institute for their instruction was incor 
 porated by the name of the "Perkins Asylum 
 for the Blind." Truly was it said of him by 
 Mr. Stevenson, at an assemblage of the mer 
 chants of Boston, whose profession he had so 
 honorably represented throughout a long life : 
 " Literature, science and art, each received 
 his homage and his sacrifices; but his chosen 
 altar was in the temple of charity. No story 
 of distress fell upon his ear, without making 
 his manly heart throb to the overflow of tears. 
 It was not weakness, but greatness in him. 
 Those tears were the mingled offspring of 
 sorrow and of joy ; sorrow for suffering, and 
 joy that he could do something to alleviate it. 
 
 "' His full heart kept his full hand open.'" 
 
 A touching scene occurred in Fanueil Hall, 
 the year previous to his death. Daniel Web 
 ster, speaking there with fervid eloquence, of 
 the liberal aid that had been rendered to the 
 cause of education, morality, want and woe,
 
 186 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 by the affluence of Boston, alluded personally 
 to the venerable Colonel Perkins, then seated 
 near him on the platform. 
 
 "Will he rise at my request," he exclaimed, 
 " and show his benevolent countenance to the 
 people?" 
 
 He who had been of old distinguished by 
 a lofty form and kingly beauty, stood up in 
 the feebleness of hoary time. Three cheers, 
 into which the heart of grateful thousands 
 were merged, rent the concave. And yet 
 three more followed. 
 
 Then the great orator said with trembling 
 
 lip: ,...,.-,. 
 
 " God bless him ! He is an honor to his 
 city, an honor to his state, an honor to his 
 country. His memory will be perfumed by 
 his benevolent actions, and go down a sweet 
 odor to our children's children." 
 
 Still traversing the streets of Boston, in his 
 eighty-third year, regardless of winter's cold, 
 or summer's heat, may be seen the venerable 
 missionary, the Rev. Charles Cleveland, intent
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 187 
 
 on deeds of mercy. The orphan, so often 
 overlooked in the world's great strife, the 
 suffering widow, the poor emigrant, with his 
 sick stranger-heart, hear, approaching their 
 desolate attic, or dark, damp cellar, a tireless 
 foot, and are cheered by the blessed smile of 
 one who like the aged apostle John, has con 
 centrated all duty in the precept to " love one 
 another." In a school for infants, under the 
 superintendence of his wife, he manifests 
 continual interest, and by affectionate de 
 portment, and kind counsel to all, without 
 distinction of sect, shows the perpetual play 
 of those hallowed sunbeams that repel the 
 depression of age, and herald an unclouded 
 day. 
 
 In the department of editorial labor, whose 
 unresting, keen-eyed research, is rewarded in 
 our age and country, by such immense influ 
 ence over public opinion, there have been in 
 stances of the long and prosperous endurance 
 of the severe tax it imposes, both on mind 
 and body. Among these, the Hon. Theodore
 
 188 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Dwight, was eminently distinguished. A na 
 tive of Massachusetts, he resided the greater 
 part of his life in Connecticut and New York, 
 and conducted in both of the last-named 
 states, different weekly periodicals, for the 
 space of half a century. He also stood a faith 
 ful sentinel at that unslumbering post, the 
 head of a daily newspaper in the city of New 
 York, of extensive circulation. His fine liter 
 ary taste did not confine itself to editorial 
 articles, but in consecutive works, as well as 
 on the floor of Congress, he was appreciated 
 by his countrymen. Age did not dim his 
 intellect, or his remarkable colloquial powers. 
 He continued to write with the same rapidity 
 and acuteness that had marked his early 
 prime, the messenger often taking the pages 
 wet with ink to the waiting press. Well do 
 I remember the radiance of his expressive 
 black eye, when those coruscations of wit 
 kindled, which eighty-two winters had not 
 quelled, or when the smile of earnest friend-
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 189 
 
 ship, or hallowed affection, lighted up a face 
 beautiful to the last. 
 
 We sometimes see in every grade and pro 
 fession, instances of protracted usefulness, 
 mingling with that hopeful, cheerful temper 
 ament, which is supposed to appertain to the 
 earlier periods of life. This is illustrated in 
 the following passages from one of those let 
 ters with which Grant Thorburn, the octoge 
 narian florist, occasionally interests the public, 
 through the medium of our various period 
 icals. 
 
 NEW YORK, February 18, 1854. 
 
 " This day I enter on my eighty-second year ; my health 
 as good, my appetite as good, I relish my food as well, and 
 I sleep as well, as when in my thirtieth year ; and for this, 
 I thank the Giver of all Good. The sceptic may sneer 
 and the fool may laugh, it is but the crackling of thorns 
 under a pot. You may call this egotism, or any ism that 
 you please, but I think that ingratitude is worse than the 
 sin of witchcraft. 'What shall I render to the Lord for 
 all his benefits ? ' 
 
 " For the last sixty years, I have been only one day 
 confined to my dwelling by sickness. Seventeen of these 
 17
 
 190 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 summers were spent in the city, when yellow fever, like a 
 Turkish plague, made our streets desolate, and strong men 
 dropped like grass beneath the scythe of the mower. The 
 doctors of law, physic and divinity, the board of health, 
 the mayor and the ancient men of the city, all affirmed that 
 the fever was contagious. If so, I have a higher Power 
 than Chance to thank for the preservation of myself and 
 family for neither my wife, myself, nor any of my thir 
 teen children, were ever affected by this fatal disease. 
 The exemption was the more remarkable, as I spent much 
 of my time in the chambers of death and at the sick-bed of 
 the dying. 
 
 In the dreadful fever of 1798, from the 15th to the 
 22d of September, I had seven patients. They lay in 
 three different wards near half a mile apart. I traveled 
 day and night, from one house to another, they having 
 none to give them a cup of cold water, myself excepted. 
 Four of them died; three recovered; thousands died 
 alone. 
 
 " I will narrate in eighty minutes my journey of twice 
 forty years through the wilderness of this world. Many, 
 and full of good have been the days of my pilgrimage. 
 "When I left Scotland in April, 1794, 1 was in my twenty- 
 second year. The amount of my education was to read 
 the Bible and write my own name. Previous to this, I 
 had never been twenty miles from the house wherein I
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 191 
 
 was born, and, with regard to men and their manners, I 
 was as ignorant as a babe. 
 
 " The first night I slept on shore in America, was on 
 the 17th of June, in an open garret, with my head within 
 eighteen inches of the shingle roof, my ship's matrass 
 spread on the floor. The night was hot. A thunder 
 storm arose at midnight the rain descended the floods 
 beat on that frail roof, and great was the terror of my 
 heart. The lightning flashed the thunder rolled ; I had 
 never seen or heard the like in Scotland, and I wished 
 myself at hame again. Sleep fled from mine eyes, and 
 slumber from my eyelids. I rose at daybreak head 
 ache, heart-ache and my spirits sunk down to my heels. 
 Being a stranger, I was loth to disturb the family by going 
 forth so early ; to amuse two listless .hours, I opened my 
 case of books to spread them on the floor ; as they had 
 been fourteen weeks in the hold of the vessel, I feared 
 they were mildewed. On the top, lay a small pocket 
 Bible ; it was placed there by the hands of my pious 
 father. I opened the book. ' My son,' met my eye. For 
 a moment, I thought my father spoke. I read to the end 
 of the chapter it was the third of Proverbs. It is near 
 sixty years since that morning, but, at every cross-road, 
 when not knowing whither to turn, to the right hand or 
 the left, on referring to this chapter, I found written, l This 
 is the way, walk ye in it.'
 
 192 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 " Whether I shall see another birth-day, or whether I 
 shall see another Sabbath, it matters not. I know He will 
 keep what I have committed to his charge." 
 
 It would be well if cheering social inter 
 course were more cultivated among those 
 who share in the sympathies of many years. 
 A lady of ninety-three, in one of the villages 
 of Massachusetts, lately entertained at her 
 tea-table, a party of seven friends of both 
 sexes, whose ages ranged from seventy to 
 eighty-six. True satisfaction and a decorous 
 hilarity marked the festival. Much had they 
 to say, for their united experience covered 
 an area of six hundred and fifty years. Rural 
 employments had probably contributed to 
 preserve their health ; for all were dwellers 
 upon their own farms, within the vicinity of 
 a square mile, so that neighborly intimacy 
 gave a zest to their intercourse, and no win 
 ter of age had been allowed to obstruct the 
 avenues of friendship. 
 
 It is desirable that the lambent light of 
 happiness should beam from the countenance
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 193 
 
 and life of those who have long set a good 
 example, thus making virtue attractive, and 
 dispelling the dread which the young feel of 
 becoming old. 
 
 Is not the parting sun beautiful in a wintry 
 landscape ? The pure snow-hillocks wear 
 a faint rose-crown, and the trees glitter in 
 their frost-work drapery, as if for a birth-night. 
 
 Does any one ask how this " house of our 
 pilgrimage " may be illumined, when shadows 
 steal around, and perchance, those that " look 
 out of the windows are darkened ? " Are 
 there not some dwellings which are lighted 
 from above ? We would fain have a sky 
 light that shall not fail us ; one that we can 
 look up to, and be glad. We are not satisfied 
 with a cold lustre in Memory's halls, or with 
 a solitary star-beam. 
 
 Can we not have a fire on the hearth, when 
 winter gathers around us? Yes, we will 
 keep love in our hearts, while they beat, that 
 there may be warmth, as well as radiance. 
 
 Thus, may our day of life draw toward its 
 17*
 
 194 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 close. At "evening-time may it be light." 
 In thy light, O Father of our spirits, may we 
 see light ; that walking in love here below, 
 we may come at last, in thy good time, to that 
 glorious world, where there is no more night, 
 and where the sunbeam of love is eternal.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Ye who hold 
 
 Proud tenantry in earth, and call your lands 
 By your own names, and lock your cofFer'd gold 
 From him who for a bleeding Saviour's sake 
 Doth ask a part, whose shall those treasures be, 
 When like the grass-blade smit by autumn-frost, 
 Ye fall away ? 
 
 IT is a mournful thought that men should 
 become more attached to earthly possessions 
 when about to leave them, or grasp them with 
 so great intensity that the final separation 
 must be forcible and afflictive. 
 
 But is this statement true ? Do such cases 
 often occur ? If so, are there no remedies ? 
 
 As we are creatures of habit, adhesive 
 ness undoubtedly gathers strength from time.
 
 196 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Since what we have been accustomed to do, 
 or to see, becomes unconsciously interwoven 
 with our existence, so what we have been 
 accustomed to have and to hold, may grow 
 closer to our hearts as life recedes, causing 
 those who in youth were merely prudent, to 
 be at last, the victims of avarice. Still, the 
 extreme of this passion is not often witnessed, 
 inasmuch as a miser is a marked creature, 
 held up for observation and comment, both 
 in passing life and in history. 
 
 All the subtle talents of Mazarin, were not 
 able to gild his rapacity, or hide it from the 
 contempt of coming ages. The solemn warn 
 ing of his confessor, that to purchase peace of 
 conscience, he must make restitution of unjust 
 gains, failed to overcome his insatiable habit 
 of hoarding. The frank assurance of his phy 
 sician, that though but just upon the verge of 
 sixty, the revolution of two brief moons, was 
 the utmost limit of his days, embittered with 
 terror both his waking and sleeping moments. 
 Then, his two hundred millions of livres
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 197 
 
 passed before him, in review, each one as dear 
 as ever. To enrich his relatives, the haughty 
 family of Mancini, was probably an excuse 
 made by the wily cardinal, for his unquelled 
 avarice, but the root was in the love of it. 
 Some rare gems, and singularly precious treas 
 ures, were placed in bags beneath his pillow. 
 After struggles of deadly anguish, which in 
 creasing disease induced, he stretched his 
 weak, emaciated hands to feel if they were 
 still there. The fearful Spoiler, drawing 
 every hour more near, he might have apos 
 trophized in the words ascribed to one of 
 England's great and unhappy statesmen. 
 
 "If thou be'est death, I'll give a nation's treasure, 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain." 
 
 Other extreme cases might be cited, but 
 this is not our object. It is rather to recom 
 mend such antidotes as are the most obvious, 
 if we admit that avarice is a disease indige 
 nous to life in its decline. 
 
 The first prescription would be, pay all
 
 198 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 debts. There is religion in it. If we are 
 using, or have the name of possessing any 
 thing for which the owner has not been fully 
 remunerated, let us lose no time in rendering 
 adequate compensation. It is better at all 
 times to do without what we cannot justly 
 afford to purchase, than avail ourselves of what 
 literally belongs to another : and the weight 
 of undischarged obligation, grows heavier as 
 we draw nearer our own final account. It 
 is at all times a clog to the free spirit, a yoke 
 that bows down independence of thought and 
 purpose. " Poverty without debt is inde 
 pendence," says an Arabian proverb. The 
 blessed Founder of our faith, to his command 
 to " render to all their dues," added the force 
 of his own example, in the payment of tribute 
 to the Roman ruler. An old author has 
 quaintly remarked, " Even when Christ bor 
 rowed Peter's boat to preach a sermon out 
 of, he paid him for the same with a great 
 draught of fishes." The wise monarch of 
 Israel attaches the epithet of wickedness to
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 199 
 
 that too common forgetfulness of equity, " bor 
 rowing and paying not again." The spirit of 
 acquisitiveness is a temptation to vice. It 
 confuses the simple principles of right and 
 wrong. The fearful frauds that mark modern 
 days, and our own country, bid us to strength 
 en every foundation of equity, and beware of 
 the spirit of 
 
 " These feverish times, 
 That putting the how-much 'before the how, 
 Cry like the daughters of the horse-leech, give." 
 
 How forcible were the words of the elo 
 quent Patrick Henry, on his death-bed, to his 
 children, " If I could will to give you the 
 Christian religion, how gladly would I do so ; 
 for with this, and without any earthly posses 
 sion, you would be infinitely rich : without it, 
 though with all else that the heart can wish, 
 you would be miserably poor." 
 
 The apostolic injunction, " Owe no man 
 anything, except to love one another," gath 
 ers strength and significance, with every 
 added year. The luxury of giving, cannot
 
 200 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 be fairly enjoyed, while debts remain unliqui 
 dated. " Be just before you are generous/' 
 is a precept as admirable for its innate truth, 
 as for its garb of simplicity. Punctual and 
 cheerful payment of wages to the laborer is 
 a form of benevolence. To withhold hard- 
 earned dues, or to render them churlishly, is 
 anti-christian. A philanthropist, who in his 
 business employed many operatives, was in 
 the habit of paying them all at stated periods, 
 and of adding, if possible, some kind word of 
 counsel, saying it was a " good time to sow a 
 good seed, when there was a sunbeam to 
 quicken it." 
 
 Repress the spirit of accumulation. This 
 has been said to increase with years. Yet 
 the faculties which it calls into exercise are 
 adverse to the tranquillity which is usually 
 coveted in life's decline. Its progress must, 
 therefore, be traced to the force of a habit, 
 against which reason remonstrates. 
 
 The fever of speculation, the eagerness of 
 gain, the disappointment of loss, all the in-
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 201 
 
 tense gradations from exultation to despair, 
 are inapposite and hurtful to a being who 
 cannot long partake that for which he barters 
 so much ; and whose wisdom is rather to 
 seek wealth in the country where he is 
 about to dwell. The value of every species 
 of property depends upon the period in which 
 it may be rendered available, or upon its 
 probability of continuance. A bond about to 
 expire, a house ready to fall, an estate which 
 the mortgagee might at any moment claim, 
 would not be coveted as investments by the 
 prudent. To the aged all earth's possessions, 
 being deficient in the article of time, which is 
 the breath of their nostrils, are far less worthy 
 of fervent search, than when in early prime, 
 they were encouraged by hope to associate 
 them with a long term of years. Such med 
 itations, probably, induced a man of laborious 
 and successful acquisition to say, "I will add 
 no more to my capital hereafter ; and the 
 surplus of all my income shall be the Lord's." 
 
 Cultivate the habit of giving. This great 
 18
 
 202 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 pleasure may have been reserved for later 
 years as a compensation for those enjoyments 
 which time has taken away. The aged, by 
 their position, are peculiarly solicited to make 
 trial whether it is not better to give than to 
 receive. 
 
 There is force in that quaint epitaph, 
 
 " What I saved I lost, 
 What I spent I had, 
 What I gave I kept." 
 
 "I think I am rich enough," said Pope, 
 after his writings became productive, "to 
 give away one hundred pounds a year. I 
 would not crawl upon the earth without 
 doing a little good. I will enjoy the pleasure 
 of giving what I have to give by doing it 
 while I am alive, and seeing others enjoy it. 
 I should be ashamed to leave enough for a 
 monument if there was a friend in want 
 above ground." 
 
 Many examples might be cited were time 
 and space mine, where similar resolutions
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 203 
 
 have been adopted as the motto and guide of 
 life, until the spirit blessing all whom it met 
 was wafted by gratitude below, to songs of 
 melody above. Such an one has been just 
 removed from among us. Anson G. Phelps, 
 Esq., of New York, who by his own unaided 
 industry, became the possessor of a large 
 fortune, through untiring deeds of philan 
 thropy kept his heart tender and open to 
 the wants and woes of mankind. Time, 
 money and sympathy were with him ever 
 ready for the claims of beneficence, whether 
 large or small. To the Being who had pros 
 pered his labors, he thus considered himself 
 accountable, and this conscientious discharge 
 of duty was blessed as one of his highest joys. 
 Until more than threescore and ten years had 
 passed over him, he attended with undimin- 
 ished judgment to the concerns of a great 
 commercial establishment, and the interests 
 of many associated and individual forms of 
 benevolence. Amid the sufferings and lan 
 guor of decline his mind peacefully resting
 
 204 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 upon that God whom from youth he had 
 served, still occupied itself in plans of liber 
 ality. Within two or three days of his death, 
 while arranging for a donation of several 
 thousand dollars to some religious design, 
 a beloved one expressed fear thaj; it might 
 too much tax his feeble strength^and proposed 
 that it should be left to the care of others, 
 but he replied, " My business has long been 
 to save that I might give, and I wish to con 
 tinue it while life lasts." More than half a 
 million is dedicated in his will to the chari 
 ties which he had long patronized, and beside 
 other bequests to his twenty-two grandchild 
 ren, was the sum of $5000 for each, the 
 interest of which was to be annually devoted 
 to deeds of religious bounty. Thus did he 
 seek, even when he should be numbered 
 with the dead, to lead his descendants in 
 those paths of Christian charity which he had 
 loved. Among the objects of philanthropy 
 in his own city, the Asylum for the Blind had 
 shared' largely in his bounties and sympathies.
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 205 
 
 Its inmates, at his frequent visits, gathered 
 around him to take his hand as that of a 
 father. Their thrilling and tuneful voices 
 poured forth the tearful melody of a hymn at 
 his thronged funeral obsequies. 
 
 "How those blind children will miss him!" 
 said the clergyman in his address, at the 
 church where for many years he had worship 
 ed. " They never saw his benignant face, but 
 they well knew the kind voice of their ben 
 efactor. How do all the blessed affections of 
 humanity, how do all the sacred hopes of 
 religion, delight to hover over a good man's 
 grave." 
 
 Another counsel which we venture to give, 
 is to superintend personally, as far as possible, 
 such plans of benevolence as are approved 
 and adopted. This is true economy. We 
 best understand our own designs. It may 
 not always be feasible, perfectly to incorporate 
 them with the mind of another. " He who 
 uses the ministry of many agents, says a pro- 
 18*
 
 206 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 found moralist, may be by some of them 
 misunderstood and by others deceived." 
 
 Why should we not enjoy the pleasure of 
 dispensing pur own gifts ? " Come, please to 
 give us something," said a shrewd nurse to 
 an invalid and rather parsimonious old lady ; 
 " give us all something now and see us look 
 pleasant while you are alive." There was 
 philosophy here as well as policy. 
 
 Illustrations of this position are so numer 
 ous that it is embarrassing and almost invid 
 ious to select. 
 
 The late Hon. Samuel Appleton, of Boston, 
 who lived to almost the verge of ninety, was 
 distinguished by the practical efficiency of 
 charity. The exercise of a clear judgment 
 kept pace with his persevering liberality. 
 In carrying out such designs as he decided to 
 adopt, the amount of his benevolence often 
 exceeded $25,000 annually. So long did he 
 pursue this blessed husbandry, that he was 
 enabled to see ripening fruits from the germs 
 he had planted in the sterile soil of poverty 
 and ignorance.
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 207 
 
 It is pleasant to observe how his discrimi 
 nating and unimpaired mind simply and sen- 
 tentiously expressed itself, in presenting a 
 donation of ten thousand dollars to a venera 
 ted scholastic institution. 
 
 " It affords me much pleasure to have it in my power 
 to do something for the only College in my native State, 
 which has done so much to establish a sound literary 
 character in the country. 
 
 " Dartmouth has done her full proportion in educating 
 for the pulpit, the bar, the healing art, and the senate, 
 good and great men, who have done honor to their names, 
 to the College, and the Country. 
 
 " May New Hampshire long continue to send forth from 
 her literary emporium, men who will dispense among their 
 fellows, religion, law, and the other arts and sciences, in 
 simplicity, purity, and truth." 
 
 Though few have the amount of wealth to 
 dispense, which fell to the lot of this un 
 wearied philanthropist, yet the zeal which 
 determined as far as possible, to be its own 
 executor, is imitable. Those who trust to 
 others, even during life, are not sure of having
 
 208 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 their plans executed. Much less can this be 
 expected when they are dead. Agents may 
 fail or betray. They may be absorbed with 
 their own business and ours be delayed or 
 forgotten. A large' portion of testamentary 
 charities perhaps never reach the most avail 
 able points of the object which their donors 
 contemplated. 
 
 The forms of benevolence change. Those 
 objects which twenty years since were 
 prominent, are now in a measure obsolete, 
 or superseded by others. If we have selected 
 one which seems fitting and feasible, let us 
 see to it ourselves. Our heirs will probably 
 have concerns enough of their own, and not 
 care to be burdened with ours also. 
 
 Methinks I hear a murmured rejoinder, 
 " there are various forms of charity I should 
 like to patronize, but I must save for my 
 children, and I have poor relations." 
 
 These are the key-tones which covetous- 
 ness has struck for ages, and with such force 
 as often to bewilder itself. There is in them
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 209 
 
 a semblance of justice and of conscience, 
 while the root is at best a concealed selfish 
 ness. The hoarding for descendants, which 
 at first view seems paternal and amiable, may 
 be hurtful to those whose benefit it contem 
 plates. The expectation of wealth may par 
 alyze their industry. Its possession may check 
 their sympathies, perhaps endanger their 
 souls. If we adopt the charity that begins 
 at home, let us see that it does not become 
 bed-ridden and die at home. For wherever 
 there is one of God's family who is in sorrow, 
 or ignorance, or needs bread or a garment, 
 or is sick, or in prison to vice or despair, let 
 the same be to us as our "brother and sister 
 and mother." 
 
 The possession of property involves an 
 obligation of stewardship, both to the Giver 
 and to our fellow-creatures ; an obligation 
 which receding life renders more imperative 
 and sacred. We would not stand before our 
 Judge with rust upon our souls, derived from 
 the gold that perishes. Of its unrighteous
 
 210 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 gathering, its unjust detention, or unkind 
 denial to any in the hour of need, we would 
 
 be guiltless in the dread day of account. 
 
 * 
 
 I have somewhere seen four homely rules 
 which comprise^ true wisdom, and whose 
 observance would prevent much remorse : 
 
 " 1. Do all the good you can; 
 
 2. In all the ways you can ; 
 
 3. To all the people you can ; 
 
 4. Just as long as you can." 
 
 There are some who in their desires to do 
 good are discouraged if they must operate on 
 a small scale, or be bounded by a narrow 
 circle. They erroneously associate large ben 
 efactions, with the pure element of benev 
 olence. Such persons may be consoled by 
 Mahomet's explanation of good deeds to our 
 race. His definition embraced the wide 
 circle of all possible kindness. Every good 
 act he would say is charity. Your smiling 
 in your brother's face is charity ; an exhorta 
 tion of your feflow-man to virtuous deeds is 
 equal to alms-giving, your putting a wanderer
 
 ABOUT MONEY. 211 
 
 in the right road is charity ; your assisting the 
 blind is charity; your removing stones, and 
 thorns, and other obstructions, from the road, 
 is charity ; your giving water to the thirsty 
 is charity. A man's true wealth hereafter is 
 the good he does in this world to his fellow- 
 man. When he dies, people will say, " what 
 property has he left behind him ? " But the 
 angels will ask, " what good deeds has he 
 sent before him?" 
 
 And now, if any of us who have together 
 mused on this subject, realize that the time 
 is short, let us the more strenuously fulfill 
 deferred resolutions and undischarged duties. 
 Let us pay what we owe, and break the 
 slavery of money getting, and study the 
 science of charity in the love of it, and learn 
 the joy of being our own almoners. For to 
 all, whether young or old, who are still seek 
 ing the good things of this transitory state, 
 the warning of an ancient writer is appropri 
 ate : 
 
 "Build your nest upon no tree here, for
 
 212 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 God hath sold the whole forest unto Death ; 
 and every tree whereupon we would rest is 
 ready to be cut down. Therefore, let us flee, 
 and mount up, and -make our abode among 
 the cliffs, and dweil in the sides of the Great 
 Everlasting Rock."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " He prayeth best, who loveth best." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 IT is sometimes the case, that good and 
 kind-hearted people, imbibe on certain points, 
 a rigidity of opinion, or an undue expectation 
 of conformity, which is both disagreeable and 
 inexpedient. It is a kind of despotism, against 
 which enlightened intellect revolts. I am 
 not ignorant that it has been numbered among 
 the tendencies of age, though I have never 
 observed it to be exclusively confined to that 
 period. On the contrary, I have seen and 
 admired in many old persons, an increase of 
 candor, a reluctance to condemn, and a miti 
 gation of all austerity, like the mellowing of 
 19
 
 214 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 rich fruit, ripe for the harvest. Those amia 
 ble friends seemed to have taken the advice 
 of the clear-minded and benevolent Franklin, 
 not to tarry in the basement rooms of the 
 Christian edifice, but to make haste and get 
 into the upper chamber, which is warm with 
 the sunlight of charity. 
 
 While we concede liberty of judgment to 
 others, we should use courtesy in the expres 
 sion of our own. It is both fitting and wise, 
 that dissenting opinions should be wrapped in 
 gentle speech. Were it always so, much of 
 the bitterness of strife would evaporate, and 
 controversies lulled into harmony, make only 
 a stronger music to the ear of humanity. 
 
 If dogmatism has been considered a con 
 comitant of age, in former times, it would 
 surely be well to dismiss it in our own. The 
 world itself has so changed its aspects, capaci 
 ties and modes of action, during the last half 
 century, that many of the conclusions which 
 then seemed rational and well-established, 
 must now be either reconsidered, or counted
 
 THE AMENITIES. 215 
 
 obsolete. Then, she was in a manner home 
 bred, and when she went abroad, it was 
 comparatively with the pace of a tortoise. 
 She sate in the evening, by the light of a 
 tallow-candle, and read standard old books, 
 'and remembered what was in them, and who 
 wrote them. 
 
 Now, she is in haste, and can admit but 
 few lasting impressions. She rides on the 
 steam, and talks by lightning. She reveals 
 new agencies that bewilder her children, and 
 astonish herself. Like the mystic form in 
 the Apocalypse, she "is clothed with the sun, 
 and hath the moon under her feet." Her 
 " stones are the place of sapphires, and she 
 hath dust of gold." 
 
 So many new elements, or unknown com 
 binations, have been, or are being discovered, 
 in this our planet, that a common, old-fash 
 ioned person could scarcely be more at a 
 loss, on the ring of Saturn, or among the 
 belts of Jupiter. It is no wonder that those 
 who founded conclusions on ancient premises,
 
 216 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 should be at fault, where there is no prece- 
 (dent. The great principles of right and 
 wrong, must, indeed, ever remain the same ; 
 but the rapid movement, and transmutation 
 of passing objects, confuse the old modes of 
 reasoning. 
 
 We, therefore, of the ancient regime, should 
 forbear strongly to press preconceived opin 
 ions, and should form new ones with peculiar 
 modesty. For we are not certain of what we 
 once supposed we well understood, and must 
 solace ourselves with the assertion of Bacon, 
 that " he is the wisest man, who is the most 
 susceptible of alteration." Still, we will not 
 embark on a sea of doubt, but regard with 
 leniency our fellow-voyagers, as they steer 
 their various courses, over time's troubled 
 billows, as we hope, toward the same great 
 haven of rest. 
 
 These amenities mingling with our religious 
 belief, should repel bigotry. That we should 
 be attached to the form of faith that has long 
 sustained and solaced us, is natural and com-
 
 THE AMENITIES. 217 
 
 mendable. But if there has been ever a 
 period in which we were inclined to think 
 that " we alone were the people, and wisdom 
 must die with us/' it is time to dismiss the 
 assumption. For among the many good les 
 sons that age has taught us, should be tolera 
 tion and humility. Through much discipline 
 and many sorrows, it instructs us that true 
 religion is not a wall to shut out our fellow- 
 beings, nor a balance in which to weigh grains 
 of doctrine, nor a rack, on which to stretch 
 varying opinions, nor a javelin to launch at 
 different complexions of faith, but "peace, 
 and love, and good-will to men." It should 
 have enabled us to make progress in the 
 last and highest grace, benignant and saintly 
 charity. 
 
 Faith has been our teacher, ever since we 
 first lisped, with childish utterance, " in the 
 beginning was the Word, and the Word was 
 with God, and the Word was God." Hope, 
 as far as she draws nutriment from earth, can 
 
 have little more for the aged, either in vision 
 19*
 
 218 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 or fruition. But Charity, our last, most patient 
 teacher, will ever find some beautiful precept, 
 some holy exercise, till " this mortal shall put 
 on immortality." 
 
 Yet though age should soften all hostilities 
 of opinion, as the setting sun softens the land 
 scape, there are occasionally some minds of 
 antagonistic character, whose controversial 
 tastes gather strength. With them, the 
 beatitude which the gospel promises to peace 
 makers, is overshadowed by the ambition of 
 controlling the opinions of others. Such ideas 
 harmonize rather with the policy of an Israel- 
 itish usurper, than of the meek and lowly 
 Redeemer. " Is it peace, Jehu ? What hast 
 thou to do with peace ? Turn thee, behind 
 me." 
 
 But how often is the disposition and power 
 of guiding others, associated with the most 
 eminent liberality and love. Hear the noble 
 suffrage of John Wesley, when advanced years 
 had fully instructed his large mind and heart. 
 
 " My soul loathes the frothy food of con-
 
 THE AMENITIES. 219 
 
 tending opinions. Give me solid, substantial 
 religion. Give me a humble lover of God, 
 and of man, full of mercy and good fruits, 
 laying himself out in works of faith, in the 
 patience of hope, and the labor of love. My 
 soul shall be with such Christians, whereso 
 ever they are, and whatsoever doctrines they 
 may hold." 
 
 "There is no way," says the venerable 
 Bishop White, " in which the ministerial 
 office may be more useful than in raising the 
 harmonizing voice of religion, to allay the 
 jealousies and resentments that result from 
 the interfering opinions and interests of men 
 in civil life. But, does it appear, that from 
 the infancy of Christendom to the present 
 day, this blessedTwork has been promoted 
 by ecclesiastical politicians ? Have they not 
 been rather the fomenters of strife ? No 
 wonder; because either the lust of power, or 
 the spirit of faction, drove them into tempta 
 tion." 
 
 "Men who think, will differ" writes the
 
 220 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 learned Dr. Priestly, "but true Christians 
 will ever be candid." 
 
 "I do not wish/' said Rowland Hill, with 
 his characteristic pleasantry, "the walls of 
 separation between different orders of Chris 
 tians destroyed, but only a little lowered, that 
 we may shake hands over them." 
 
 " The nearer we approximate to universal 
 love," said the large-minded, large-hearted 
 Robert Hall, "the higher we ascend in the 
 scale of Christian excellence." 
 
 We blame the folly of the Egyptian Queen, 
 yet overlook their greater madness, who dis 
 solve in the sharp acid of contention, the 
 priceless pearl of charity, the soul's chief 
 wealth, and venture to stand in their reckless 
 poverty before a Judge who requireth love, 
 and the deeds of love, as a test of loyalty, and 
 a shield from wrath. In His dread presence, 
 we must all appear, and appeal only as sin 
 ners, having " left undone the things that we 
 ought to have done, and done the things that 
 we ought not to have done." From this
 
 THE AMENITIES. 221 
 
 parity of condition should spring brotherhood 
 of feeling. Hand in hand let us kneel before 
 the throne of the Pardoner. 
 
 A simple, significant incident was once re 
 lated, in the discourse of a Scottish divine. 
 
 Two cottagers, dwelling under the same 
 roof, became alienated. It so happened that 
 both were employed at the same time in 
 thatching their tenement. Each heard the 
 sound of the other's hammer, and saw the 
 progress of his work, yet took no friendly 
 notice. 
 
 But at length, as they approached nearer, 
 they looked in each other's face and chanced 
 to smile. That smile was a messenger from 
 heaven. With it, came the thought how 
 much better it would be for those who dwell 
 under one roof, to be at peace in their hearts. 
 
 Then they shook hands. They said, "Let 
 us be friends" and a new, great happiness 
 became theirs. 
 
 Are we not, all of us, dwellers under God's 
 roof, and as Christians engaged in the same
 
 222 
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 work ? Is not the silent lapse of years bring 
 ing us nearer and nearer toward each other ? 
 Let us then press on in love, until by His 
 grace, our thatching well done, we meet on 
 the top at last, and mingle in with the joy of 
 angels.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ttinter. 
 
 " And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves 
 Had faded from its glory, we have sat 
 By the good fires of winter, and rejoiced 
 Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf." 
 
 WILLIS. 
 
 WHAT a singular subject ! The pleasures of 
 winter. And what may they be? Some, 
 with whom the imagery of frost and snow 
 predominates, will be ready to say that it 
 has none. 
 
 Surely it has been the most ill-treated 
 season, decried by almost every one that 
 could wield a pen or weave a couplet. The 
 poets have been in league against it from 
 time immemorial. Still it has some very 
 respectable, shall I say desirable characteris-
 
 224 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tics? It has not the fickleness of spring, 
 whose blossoms so soon fall, nor the enervation 
 of summer, when the strong men bow them 
 selves, nor the imperious exactions of autumn, 
 when the in-gathering is a weariness, and 
 may be a disappointment. 
 
 Do not speak with too much scorn of a 
 wintry landscape. The wreaths of smoke 
 rising high into the clear, blue skies, the pure, 
 white covering under which nature reposes, 
 the sparkling of the sinuous streams, where 
 the graceful skaters glide, the groups of chil 
 dren, gathering rosier cheeks and merrier 
 spirits from the heightened oxygen of the 
 atmosphere, give to a winter morning in our 
 sunny latitude cheering excitement. 
 
 Did you ever chance to look upon the 
 glorious Niagara in the garniture of winter ? 
 And did not its solemn, solitary majesty, 
 impress you more deeply, than when the 
 green, waving woods, and the busy, gazing 
 throngs, divided the absorbing sentiment ? 
 
 Is not the wintry eve sweet, with its warm
 
 THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 225 
 
 fires and bright lights, when families gather 
 in a closer circle, and better love each other ? 
 Heart springs to heart, with fewer obstacles 
 than in the more discursive seasons, when the 
 foot is_tempted to roam and the eye to wander. 
 ' The baby crows louder after its father because 
 it can sit longer on his knee. The youth has 
 a lengthened tale for his lady-love, and the 
 storm passes by unheard. Pleasant talk, and 
 sweet song, and loud reading, vary the scene 
 of household delights. Added cheerfulness 
 and love are among the treasures of the 
 wintry evening. 
 
 Shall we not avail ourselves of these hints, 
 when the winter of life comes ? Shall we 
 not light up the cheerful lamp, and put more 
 fuel on the flame in our cold hearts ? They 
 need not go out, though some are gone who 
 were wont to feed them with fresh oil. We 
 will keep love to our race, alive, till the last. 
 Let its embers throw their warmth even into 
 the dark valley. Yes, we will carry those 
 20
 
 226 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 embers with us, and relight them where they 
 can never wane or expire. 
 
 The young are said to love winter. Let 
 us strive to make them love us, when we 
 become the personification of winter. We 
 will redouble our offices of kindness, and our 
 powers of entertainment, and see if we cannot 
 melt the ice that has collected between us. 
 
 " Young men," says Lord Bacon, " are to 
 be happy by hope, and the old by memory." 
 Yes, with us, are the pictures of the past, 
 the winter gallery, whose landscapes fade 
 not, and whose fountains still freshly murmur. 
 Memory ! she who hath sifted and winnowed 
 the harvest of life, that she may know the 
 true wheat. Memory, who' hath stood by us 
 when Hope and Love have so often rung the 
 death-knell, and forsaken us, may we be 
 happy through her ? The Lord be thanked 
 if it is so. If, in looking back on all the way 
 wherein He hath led us, she presents a 
 predominance of correct motive, of earnest 
 obedience, of forgiven sin, let us strike that
 
 THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 227 
 
 key-tone of praise which shall re-echo through 
 eternity. 
 
 Among the prominent joys of life's winter, 
 are those of faith ; a nearness, and shadowing 
 forth of things unseen. It was at a festal 
 gathering of the old and young, that the 
 question w T as once proposed, which season of 
 human life was the happiest. It was freely 
 discussed, with varying opinions. Then the 
 guests decided that their host, a man of four 
 score, should be the umpire. Pointing to a 
 neighboring grove, he replied, " When vernal 
 airs call forth the first buds, and yonder trees 
 are covered with blossoms, I think how beau 
 tiful is spring. When summer clothes them 
 w r ith rich foliage, and birds sing among the 
 branches, I say how beautiful is summer. 
 When they are loaded with fruit, or bright 
 with the hues of early frost, I feel how beau 
 tiful is autumn. But in sere winter, when 
 there are neither verdure or fruit, I look 
 through the leafless boughs as I could never 
 do before, and see the stars shine"
 
 228 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Stars of our God ! beam more brightly into 
 our souls, through this wintry atmosphere. 
 For our home is near. And notwithstanding 
 the Great Philosopher hath said that the old 
 can be happy only through memory, we will be 
 happy through hope also, yea, through that 
 hope which hath no mixture of earth, the 
 " hope that maketh not ashamed, and which 
 is as an anchor to the soul."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Oh soldier of the Cross, away with dreams ! 
 Bright on thy brow, eternal glory streams, 
 In faith, in love, in wisdom's stedfast mind. 
 Arise and leave this moonlight camp behind." 
 
 BISHOP BURGESS. 
 
 IF it is wrong to disparage the season of 
 age, which so few reach, over the hidden pit 
 falls of time, it is unwise to regard only with 
 reluctance and terror, the transition to another 
 life. To depart from this world, is as neces 
 sary to the completion of our pilgrimage as 
 to have entered it ; a point of existence not 
 to be evaded, a consummation of what was 
 here begun. 
 
 Do we not bear within ourselves, the 
 essential argument and proof of future exist- 
 20*
 
 230 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ence ? Even a heathen shall beautifully 
 answer this question, the clear-minded Xen- 
 ophon. "When I consider the boundless 
 activity of our minds, the remembrance we 
 have of things past, our foresight of what is 
 to come, when I reflect on those noble dis 
 coveries and improvements that those minds 
 have achieved, I am persuaded, and out of 
 all doubt, that a nature which hath in itself 
 such excellent things cannot possibly be 
 mortal." 
 
 Is not this brief life so fitted and adjusted 
 to another, as to form but one existence ? 
 Like apartments in a well-arranged mansion, 
 they harmonize and are in symmetry. May 
 we not pass from one to the other, with con 
 fidence in the Builder and Master of the 
 Mansion ? If the passage be dark, is there 
 not a lamp at each extremity, placed there 
 by His hand who " hath conquered Death, 
 and brought life and immortality to light 
 through the Gospel ? " 
 
 A saintly man drawing near his last hour,
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE. 231 
 
 said to me, " That other world is as clear, and 
 as near, as the entrance into the next room." 
 Raising his emaciated hand, with a great 
 brightness in his eye, he added, "I had rather 
 enter that next room than to remain longer 
 here, for in that pleasant room are more of 
 my friends than in this." 
 
 " Why are we spared so long ? " is sometimes 
 the half-murmuring question of the aged, for 
 whom the novelties of life are extinguished. 
 
 The remark is an implication of unerring 
 wisdom. As long as breath is lent, there 
 will be some duty to perform, some enjoyment 
 to partake, some right word to be spoken, 
 some prayer to be sent upward, some point 
 of Christian example to be made complete. 
 It would be well to bear in our hearts the 
 motto of a poet, 
 
 "How well is ours : how long, permit to Heaven." 
 
 Were our fears and anxieties less devoted 
 to the circumstances of leaving this life, than 
 to the danger of failing in those duties on
 
 232 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 which the welfare of a future one depends, 
 it were better for us now and ever after. 
 
 The dark-winged angel who is appointed 
 to summon us to a new existence, is often 
 arrayed with imaginary terrors, and represen 
 ted as the foe of our race. A quaint writer 
 has recommended that we should "keep on 
 good terms with Death." It would be indeed 
 wise to make him our friend, to speak no ill 
 of him, to be ready for him, and to meet him 
 without fear. 
 
 "I am dying," said Washington, when a 
 sharp sickness of twenty-four hours cut off 
 his span of sixty-seven years, " but I am not 
 afraid to die." Sometimes a new and strange 
 courage comes to the Christian with death, 
 though he might " all his lifetime have been 
 subject to bondage." The diffident, who 
 shrank ever from his fellow-man, has been 
 heard to open his mouth boldly, and speak 
 beautiful things of the world to come. To 
 the weak-spirited and oppressed, he appears 
 as a deliverer. Tyranny hath power no more.
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE. 233 
 
 The fears and hopes that were born in dust, 
 and dwelt there, fade away. The eye that 
 grows dim to these lower skies, kindles with 
 the glorious liberty of the children of God." 
 Friends ! brethren and sisters, already far 
 advanced on the journey to another life, who 
 
 " Nightly pitch the moving tent 
 A day's march nearer home," 
 
 are we afraid ? Why should we be ? Who 
 provided for us, before we entered this state 
 of probation ? Whose eye " saw our substance 
 yet being imperfect 1 " Who took care of us 
 when we knew Him not ? Will He forget 
 us now that we are His servants ? 
 
 To loosen the bonds of affection, and depart 
 from those who are most dear, needs the ex 
 ercise of a strong, implicit faith. If there are 
 any in that circle, whose helplessness or 
 absorbing love render them apparently de 
 pendent on us for protection or happiness, let 
 us endeavor serenely to leave them on the 
 Everlasting Arm.
 
 234 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 A statesman, during a disastrous period in 
 the civil wars of England^ being appointed to 
 a foreign embassy, was listening to the violent 
 tumult of a stormy sea, the night before his 
 embarkation, and reflecting on the perilous 
 condition of his native land, until his troub 
 led mind forbade sleep. A confidential 
 servant who accompanied him, perceiving his 
 distress, said, 
 
 " Sir, do you not think that God governed 
 the world well, before you came into it ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 " Sir, do you not think He will govern it as 
 well, when you are gone out of it ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Sir, pray excuse me, but do you not think 
 that you may trust Him to govern it quite as 
 well, while you do live ? " 
 
 The reproof overcame his perturbation, who 
 was about to undertake a tempestuous voy 
 age, burdened with heavy cares. Its spirit 
 might instruct us. For those, whom we con 
 template leaving with such anxiety, we might
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE. 235 
 
 be powerless to protect if we remained be 
 hind. The calamities of life would overtake 
 them. Sickness would smite them, and 
 sorrow find a passage to their hearts, and we 
 could not shield them. We could not " de 
 liver our darling from the lion." We would, 
 therefore, confidently trust them and ourselves 
 to an Almighty Hand, and filled with holy 
 faith, respond to the words of a powerful 
 writer, " We have nothing to do with death 
 but to defy it, to lift up our heads, and look 
 above it. He is but the mere loosener of the 
 cords that moor us to the shores of time, the 
 dissolver of the cement that attaches to the 
 things that perish in the using. What we 
 have to do with it, is to despise it ; not to pre 
 pare to meet it, but to prepare to meet our 
 God." 
 
 Nature might herself instruct us, by the 
 calm aspect with which she meets her own 
 changes.
 
 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 " How quiet shows the woodland scene ! 
 
 Each flower and tree, its duty done, 
 Reposing in decay serene, 
 
 Like holy men when age is won, 
 Such calm old age, as conscience pure 
 And self-commanding hearts ensure, 
 Waiting the summons of the sky, 
 Content to live and not afraid to die." 
 
 Content, and not afraid. That is a blessed 
 Christian motto. Yet we would add still 
 more. Should we not be happy to pass into 
 whatever state of existence God shall desig 
 nate ? Look at the bird. It hath gathered 
 neither into store-house or barn. Its food 
 hath been from the garner of the broad, 
 green earth, and its life a music-strain. The 
 blasts of autumn come. Its empty nest trem 
 bles amid the leafless boughs. It must speed 
 its way to another clime. 
 
 Does it linger ? Does it doubt ? Nay, it 
 spreads an unreluctant wing into the trackless 
 ether. 
 
 So go thou forth, O Soul ! It is God's
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE. 237 
 
 universe. Thou canst not pass beyond His 
 jurisdiction. His grace is sufficient for thee. 
 
 Living, or dying, we would obey the elo 
 quent injunction of the prophet, to "seek 
 Him who maketh the seven stars and Orion, 
 and turneth the shadow of death into the 
 morning." Let us bring our will into con 
 formity with His will, and catch the spirit 
 of the dying prayer of Bishop Jewel, 
 
 " Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace. 
 Lord, suffer thy servant to come unto Thee. 
 Lord receive my spirit. 
 
 <( I have not so lived, as to be ashamed of 
 having lived ; neither do I fear death, for God 
 is merciful. Father, Thy will be done. Thy 
 will, I say, and not mine. 
 
 " Lo, this is my day. To-day shall I quickly 
 come unto Thee. This day shall I see my 
 Lord Jesus Thou, O Lord, who hast been 
 my only hope." 
 
 But in what attitude shall we stand, and 
 how shall we occupy ourselves, when the 
 21
 
 238 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 time and strength for active service have past 
 away ? The answer is, Wait. 
 
 The waiting graces are beautiful. They 
 imply readiness. We can not quietly await 
 any great event for which we are unprepared. 
 Let us have oil in our Jamps, and cherish 
 every gentle and holy affection. 
 
 Wait! It is an honorable service. An an 
 cient warrior put on his armour and braced 
 himself upright when the footstep of death 
 stole upon him. "I have never turned my 
 back on any foe, while I lived," said he, 
 "and I will look the last one in the face." 
 
 Wait bravely, therefore, in Christian ar 
 mour, the opening of that gate which leads 
 to a higher existence. Wait, with a smile, 
 the ministry of the last messenger. Ask not 
 when he cometh, or where or in what man 
 ner. Stipulate nothing. Poor pensioner on 
 God's free mercy, question not, distrust not. 
 His time is the best time. 
 
 When it shall come may we have grace to 
 let the frail tent of this body calmly fall, and
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE. 239 
 
 putting our hand into the pierced hand of a 
 Redeemer, with a song of praise go forth to 
 " the house not made with hands, eternal in 
 the heavens."
 
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