UC-NRLF 
 
PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 Here, at Earth s banquet, he s the wisest guest 
 Who gladly takes whate er his God dnth s^itd^ J . * 
 Keeping each instrument of joy in tuntf ~ 
 That giveth fitness for the choir of Heaven. 
 
 HARTFOKD, CONN. 
 PUBLISHED BY BROWN & GROSS. 
 
 1858. 
 
fl 
 
 ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 P. A. BtyOWN, 
 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. HOBB8, 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN. 
 
I 
 
 , 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 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. 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. Whoever is found reading it, may 
 be suspected to have attained the same ripe age. 
 
 It is, therefore, a kind of confidential affair 
 between me and my compeers we, whose faces 
 are toward the setting sun. To all such, I offer 
 the right hand of fellowship. We are in the same 
 catagory a joint stock concern that admits no young 
 
 45506 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 partners. Every camp has its watch -word. Every 
 state its history. Every profession its policy. And 
 have not we ours? Aye, and our rights too? Shall 
 we not stand for them? Come let us see. 
 
 L. H. S 
 HARTFORD, CONN. 
 
TO 
 
 GEORGE PEABODY, ESQ., 
 
 OF LONDON, 
 
 nilmnt taty tljt 3. B s unit $. 
 
 OF HIS NATIVE LAND 
 
 TURN WITH TRIBE AND PLEASURE, 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOB. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK. 
 
 PREFACE, 3 
 
 THE A. M s AND P. M s, 9 
 
 OLD, 18 
 
 REPORTERS, 29 
 
 THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE, 37 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF AGE, 49 
 
 Am, 62 
 
 DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES, 78 
 
 PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS, 99 
 
 ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 113 
 
 PRIVILEGES OF AGE, 126 
 
 LONGEVITY AND INTELLECTUAL LABOR, 143 
 
 AGED DIVINES, 172 
 
 CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN, 243 
 
 WESTERING SUNBEAMS, 274 
 
 ABOUT MONEY, 299 
 
 THE AMENITIES, 317 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF WINTER, 327 
 
 A NEW EXISTENCE, 333 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 Cjj* %,. 
 
 attU , t/8. 
 
 " 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 vague 
 ly denned, is not an imaginary line. Arithmeti 
 cally speaking, thirty-five, as predicated on the 
 allotted span of seventy years, is the true 
 
:f). :. :: - :< pAs-t MERIDIAN. 
 
 zenith. Yet life s latitude can not 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 excep 
 tions, and it must 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. Bounda 
 ries may diverge, here and there, but the charac 
 teristics and possessions of those on each 
 side of this debatable ground are sufficiently 
 distinct. 
 
 With the A. M. s, are the beauty and the 
 vigor, and the ambition of this present world. 
 Of these distinctions they are aware and tena 
 cious. 
 
 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 have 
 winnowed the chaff from the wheat, and 
 
THE A. M. S AND THE P. M. s. 11 
 
 tested both what is worth pursuing, and worth 
 possessing. 
 
 Is there any antagonism between these par 
 ties ? 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 uni 
 verse 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 pre 
 decessors. One comprise the planting, the 
 other the garnering process. In agriculture, the 
 
12 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 necessity of preparing the soil, and sowing right 
 seed, is apparent and imperative. The requisi 
 tions to remove weeds, and destroy noxious in 
 sects, 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 pressing, 
 yet the responsibilities of its period of repose, 
 deserve frequent and distinct contemplation. 
 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 and divine aid to bring 
 it happily to the eternal harvest. 
 
 It has been said that the ethics of age have 
 been less elaborately stated than those of youth 
 
AXD THE P. M. S. 13 
 
 or maturity, Still, the most perfect philosophy, 
 the most sublime precepts, fail, without the ex 
 ample of a good life. The morality of Socra 
 tes and Seneca, was beautiful, but their times 
 furnished no illustrations. The code of Con 
 fucius 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 threaten me, 
 I will look up to Him for help, and question not 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 develop- 
 
 2 
 
14 PASTMEKIDIAN. 
 
 merit, and may cause them to fall before theii 
 time. To pass through God s world unrecon 
 ciled, 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 ingratitude. 
 
 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 close of our probation, 
 a single road strongly solicits us, one promi 
 nent 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 Di 
 vine 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 
 maturing day by day, under the " clear shining 
 of the Sun of Righteousness." Thus may it 
 
THE A. 31. S AND THE P. M . S . 15 
 
 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 impor 
 tance. They should have gained an ascent 
 which discloses much of earth s vanity. * They 
 have passed life s meridian, and journey hence 
 forth toward the gates of the west. Those 
 who like tutelary spirits presided over their ear 
 liest years, and rejoiced in their blossoming 
 promise, have long since ceased those ministra 
 tions, or departed to their reward. For the re 
 sponsibilities that remain, they must gird them 
 selves, 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 three 
 score and ten, which it is computed that only 
 five in one hundred of our race attain, or even 
 far exceed the prescribed date of man, every 
 year is said to gather fleetness as it approaches 
 its goal. The rapidity of the tide of time has 
 
16 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 been well depicted by one of our own eloquent 
 lecturerSj the Rev. Henry Giles. 
 
 u 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 can not rekindle the morning beams of 
 childhood ; we can not recall the noontide glory of youth ; we 
 can not bring back the perfect day of maturity ; we can not fix the 
 evening rays of age, in the shadowy horizon ; but we can cher 
 ish that goodness 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. " I can scarcely 
 think that man in his right mind " said the elo 
 quent Cicero, " who is destitute of religion." 
 
 It may be, that God s gift of life in its more 
 protracted periods, is by certain classes of ob 
 servers, 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 
 
THE A. M. S AND THE P. M . S . 17 
 
 cooperate with all heavenly influences, so con 
 form our conduct to the precepts of the Gospel, 
 so trust in our Redeemer, that 
 
 11 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, 
 may we find the last note of its hymn sweetly 
 harmonizing with the angels welcome, " Come 
 up hither ! " 
 
 2* 
 
CHAPTEE 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." 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 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 carriage, might 
 have added, it was remarkably easy for an "old 
 gentleman to get in and out of." 
 
 Old, indeed ! How officious and rude these 
 common people are ! Whereupon, you have 
 
OLD. 19 
 
 consulted your mirror, and been still more 
 ndignant at their stupidity. 
 
 lut you may have been more gently helped 
 along to this conclusion, by the circumstance 
 of paternity. Old Mr. and Mrs., set in apposi 
 tion 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 cogno 
 men. Possibly, you have been moved mag 
 nanimously to exclaim, with the sententious 
 Ossian, "Let the name of Morni be forgotten 
 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 will by 
 old John and young John, while I am yet in me 
 prime." "I wish my son had not taken it into 
 his head to marry so early," said a lady in a 
 remarkably fine state of preservation; "for 
 now, I suppose, it must be old Madam, and 
 
20 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 young Madam." The unmarried, whose recol 
 lections can bisect a century, are prone to be 
 annoyed at the disposition to pry into dates, 
 and are sure that no well-bred person would be 
 guilty of such absurd curiosity. 
 
 Yet, to veil the traces of time, and put family 
 records out of the way, are of little avail. 
 There will be here and there, a memory stub 
 bornly tenacious of chronological matters, and 
 whoever labors to conceal his proper date, will 
 usually find some Argus ready 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 deterioated ? What 
 do you think of old wine ? We can not, indeed, 
 say quite as much about that, in these temper 
 ance 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 
 
OLD. 21 
 
 partake of new cheese. Saith he not, "the old 
 is better." Does any one question the correct 
 ness 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 every 
 thing 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 ? 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, 
 
22 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 demand that com 
 modity, 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 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 con 
 vinced that it is wisest and best to fix our atten 
 tion 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 
 
OLD. 23 
 
 prone to be querulous, dissatisfied, and dealers 
 in complaints. I think I have heard a few of 
 these. Supposing we should 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. Those who plod after it in their an 
 tique, lumbering stage-coaches, fail to 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 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 something 
 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 enter 
 tainment at life s board. "I had a beautiful 
 dream," said a bright boy. "I thought we 
 
24 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 children were all in heaven, and so happy. By 
 and by, grandfather came in frowning, and say 
 ing, 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 or emolu 
 ments, there is a natural impatience for rever 
 sion. " That old law r yer 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 unreason 
 able 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 resignation at the departure of the aged 
 and distinguished, can be readily understood. 
 Allusions to the majority of the early sum 
 moned, may be sometimes significant. " Those 
 whom the gods love, die young," said a pagan. 
 In an age when all slow movements are 
 
OLD. 23 
 
 unpopular, speed in departure may possibly be 
 counted among the graces ; and in a republic, 
 a desire for the equalization of honors, is nei 
 ther peculiar nor reprehensible. 
 
 "We are not in good health." Very likely. 
 It would be remarkable if we were. We 
 could not expect to wear the world s harness 
 so many years, up hill, and down hill, without 
 some chafing. It would be a wonder if none 
 of our senses were enfeebled. They have 
 served us a long time. Let us be thankful 
 for the period in which we have seen clearly, 
 heard quickly, and moved nimbly. Many mys 
 terious springs, and intricate chords, and deli 
 cate 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, 
 
26 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 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 garments glitter from the oppo 
 site shore ? Does not their smile inspire us 
 with courage ourselves 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 
 
* OLD. 27 
 
 away, and return no more ? ready for its atmos 
 phere and service of love ? 
 
 If any preparation for this change of clime is 
 incomplete, let us address ourselves fervently 
 to the work, without loss of time or energy, in 
 murmuring. We might, indeed, from loneliness 
 and morbidness, multiply complaints without 
 end. The habit might grow with indulgence, 
 till every breath became a claim for sympathy, 
 or an objurgation if it were withheld. 
 
 But cui bo^io ? 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 bur 
 dens, and so fulfill the law of Christ," It hath 
 been well said that " murmuring is a black gar 
 ment, and becometh none so ill as saints." 
 
 Oh friends ! let us not lose our interest in 
 life s blessings, because we have so long en 
 joyed our share of them. Rather, as an elo 
 quent 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 the breath 
 of the violet." We will not permit that bright 
 
28 PAST MERIDIAN. * 
 
 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. 
 
 MRS. OSGOOD. 
 
 " THE senses," says Lord Bacon, " are report 
 ers to the mind." No wonder that they should 
 get wearied with taking evidence, when the 
 case is kept 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 pattern or hue. The 
 crutch-vender, and the cork-worker, do their 
 
 3* 
 
30 PAST MERIDIAN 
 
 best to aid diseased locomotion. The tiny, 
 curving trumpet, promises to stir the dull tym 
 panum. 
 
 Yet, can any human power revivify the 
 defunct ear ? If sound hath died in its myste 
 rious 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 
 conversations 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 repose. 
 It is true that we are thus prevented from ren 
 dering ourselves agreeable in society. But, 
 perhaps, when we were there, we did not do or 
 receive any great amount of good. Possibly, 
 
REPORTERS. 31 
 
 our oral contributions to knowledge may not be 
 much missed, and meditation may be as serv 
 iceable to us as the taking in of new supplies. 
 It may be our true wisdom to withdraw 7 from 
 the traffic of words, and cultivate a more thor 
 ough 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 list 
 ening 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 windows, dark 
 ened ? " 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 memory walks in halls 
 where is perpetual light. Thought concen 
 trates itself, and makes its work more perfect, 
 Should we have had the Iliad of Homer, or the 
 greater poems of Milton, 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 
 
32 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the mind s sanctuary ? 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 reporting 
 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 nutri 
 ment of their life might sustain his own. If 
 
 o 
 
 any of these sentinels 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 tranquilizing pause of preparation 
 for a state 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. 
 
REPORTERS. 33 
 
 How many dangers have been overruled that 
 we might be sheltered. What hosts of ene 
 mies 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 compara 
 tively safe. Who says there is safety at 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 
 
34 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 saddened 
 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 center of a 
 happy circle. All their powers are in requisi 
 tion to protect, to guide, to foster the children 
 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. 
 
 But, have we been permitted to see our 
 nursery-plants grow up, and cast a fair shadow ? 
 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 
 
REPORTERS. 35 
 
 of young paternity, as warm with fresh hope, 
 and perchance even more pleasant, in being 
 freed from an anxious burden of accounta 
 bility? 
 
 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 stiff 
 on 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 dis 
 tinguished, it is not for us to say. Yet a weight 
 of obligation rests on us, to render, in some pro 
 portion, according to the benefits \ve 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 protracted term of 
 
36 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 fatherly discipline, may not pronounce us idle 
 scholars, or profitless stewards of his abound 
 ing mercy? So faithfully served by his report 
 ers, 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 pa 
 tience 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 IY. 
 
 Custohr erf 
 
 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, 
 1 Hast thou hot lost, with careless key r 
 Something that I entrusted to thee ? 
 Her tardy answer was sad and low, 
 4 Alas, 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 dis 
 tinction than rank or wealth can bestow. The 
 pleasures of original thought, of deep research, 
 of high converse with nature or art, are a rich 
 reward for the perseverance they require. For 
 
 4 
 
38 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 them, both contemplative and ambitious men 
 have been content 
 
 u To scorn delights, and live laborious days." 
 
 To the mind thus elevated, even the bliss of 
 heaven is 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 ecsta 
 tic 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 
 ancient Romans, led chained to his left hand, 
 the prisoner or captive committed to his charge. 
 Of memory, we are wont to expect similar vigi 
 lance. The tendency of advanced age is to 
 impair this custody. Whether the tendency is 
 inevitable, or to be resisted, is an inquiry of 
 serious import. 
 
THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 3 ( J 
 
 The venerable President Quincy, whose 
 retentive powers, and mental elasticity, sur 
 mount the pressure of time, thus pleasantly 
 alluded to this subject, in a speech on a public 
 occasion in Boston, after he had numbered 
 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 atten 
 tion, and more room in her casket to arrange 
 her accumulated stores. She attaches a height 
 ened 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 writ 
 ten memoranda, as an expedient for mental 
 retention. Yet, they serve rather to nourish 
 the sloth of Memory, than to gird her for 
 healthful action. Is it necessary that she 
 should fail with years, unless the action of 
 
40 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 perma 
 nent and vivid I saw a female, of the Mohe- 
 gan 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 de 
 parted. Yet, within, the lamp of memory 
 clearly burned. She spoke of the state of her 
 people, in the far-off days of her childhood, of 
 the terror they felt at the powerful and savage 
 Mohawks, of the lineaments of different chief 
 tains who had borne sway, and of the spread 
 ing strength of the whites, who like a great 
 oak-tree overshadowed them. She graphically 
 narrated many circumstances 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 
 
THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. -il 
 
 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 a hundred, whose memory was not con 
 fined to the impressions of early years, but took 
 sympathetic cognizance 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 
 immediate sphere. 
 
 That infirmity of the retentive faculties is 
 inseparable from advanced age, seems the 
 general opinion. I would ask if it is a condi 
 tion 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 he has 
 learned. The philosopher has been known to 
 forget his own theories, and the eloquent states 
 man to pay his debts. It is not the exclusive 
 province of grey hairs to forget attainments, 
 resolutions, or promises. There was a 
 
42 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 gentleman who had the reputation 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 repetition, conversa 
 tion 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 
 exercise. She has no time to idle away. She 
 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 precau 
 tions 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 
 
THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 43 
 
 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 acquir 
 ing, verbatim, every day, a few lines of poetry, 
 or a single verse from the Bible ? 
 
 o 
 
 Can t we remember? I suspect the failure to 
 be that of sufficient repetition. No one is inte 
 rested to hear us. The child, w r hose first fal 
 tering intonations we fostered with parental 
 pride, is immersed in the cares of life, and can 
 not regard our fragmentary gleanings. We 
 need not expect our children, or grandchildren, 
 to listen to our mental gatherings, as we have 
 done to theirs. Friends and visitants, we would 
 not wish to annoy, and thus the privilege of 
 repetition, on which memory so much depends, 
 is forfeited. 
 
 An aged gentleman, who was not willing to 
 lose the advantage of deepening the traces 
 
44 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of a course of history he was pursuing, devised 
 an ingenious expedient. A promising 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 afterwards adhered to remem 
 brance. 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 
 they are reading, and repeat what they have 
 considered worthy to be committed to memory? 
 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 
 
THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 45 
 
 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 method 
 of engraving 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 journal, from early life, 
 found it profitable in his nightly self-examina 
 tion, to trace back the same day through many 
 years, recalling the dealings of divine provi 
 dence with himself and others, and selecting 
 some subject for the little descriptive entertain 
 ment his grandchildren had been trained to 
 expect 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 
 
46 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 interest and affection as possible with the mov 
 ing drama of life, and its actors? to entwine 
 around each new generation the links of love ? 
 Memory, thus fed by living sympathies, like the 
 Roman captive, nourished at his daughter s 
 breast, would sustain solitude 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 does indeed grow 
 inert to intellectual gatherings, or to the routine 
 of daily events, that she records not, as 
 formerly, 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 
 
THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 47 
 
 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 anxie 
 ties 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 glit 
 tered there, as she murmured, 
 
 "I remember, yes, I remember his kiss 
 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 
 embraces all mankind. The religion whose 
 seat is in the affections, survives when polemic 
 fervor and theological subtleties are lost in obli 
 vion. The instance of the aged clergyman, 
 who forgot his boyhood s friend, the favorite 
 son under whose roof he dwelt, and the darling 
 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. 
 
48 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 have evidence 
 within ourselves that Memory has become 
 vacillating or infirm, we will be in no haste to 
 proclaim it on the house-tops. There are 
 enough who are ready and swift to publish the 
 declension, if we admit it ourselves. Rather 
 should we struggle to keep hold of the hand 
 of that old and tried friend as long as possible. 
 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, with 
 out 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. 
 
 0f 
 
 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 chestnut, or auburn, or raven black, 
 vanish, and the complexion, unrelieved by their 
 
 5 
 
50 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or lily, and 
 settles into the trying companionship of iron- 
 grey, or white. The erect form yields its dig 
 nity. 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 beauti 
 ful 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 argument, the 
 beauty of age. 
 
 Where is it ? In what does it consist ? Its 
 dwelling is in the soul, and it makes itself visi 
 ble 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. 
 
 The smile of Washington, which had always 
 
BEAUTY OF AGE. 51 
 
 possessed a peculiar charm, gathered force and 
 sweetness from the snows of time. One who 
 was accustomed to meet him in the family, 
 says, " Whenever he gave me one of those 
 smiles, I always felt the tears swelling under 
 my eye-lids." 
 
 What an affecting sketch of the tranquil 
 beauty of age, on which death has set its seal, 
 is given in a letter from Pope, to an artist whom 
 he desires to preserve the likeness 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 tranquillity, 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 obligation which that art could bestow 
 on a friend, 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 th 
 
52 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 interchange of these hal 
 lowed 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 arid holy 
 were entwined with silver hairs, and I bless 
 God that the fourteen first years of life were 
 nurtured 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 
 
BEAUTY OF AGE. 53 
 
 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 sunbeam that dwelt in her spirit, and 
 the children of want to find bread and a gar 
 ment ; 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 indulgence, 
 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 fit 
 ted here, tears flowed widely and freely, as for 
 
 one in their prime. At her grave, I learned my 
 
 5* 
 
54: PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 first lesson of a bursting grief that has never 
 been forgotten. Let none say that the aged 
 die unloved, or unmourned by the young. It is 
 not so. 
 
 Another I knew, without munificent endow 
 ment 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 with 
 out 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 fruits, and fair vine- 
 clusters. By these sweet recreations, life was 
 made sweeter, and renewed 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 
 tenderness for all who mourned. His religion 
 had no mixture of coldness toward those who 
 
BEAUTY OF AGE. 55 
 
 differed 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 
 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 philan 
 thropy, 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 
 
56 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 deep 
 est humility and reverence toward God. To 
 draw merit from obscurity, to sustain honest 
 industry, to encourage humble virtue, to stimu 
 late 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 of the skin that 
 she admires." It was the beauty of the soul, 
 looking forth in the life of one, who faithfully, 
 and without ostentation, 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. Me- 
 thinks 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 
 
BEAUTYOFAGE. 57 
 
 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 beau 
 tiful in youth, but the portraits of that period 
 bore no resemblance to her countenance in 
 advanced years, so much had Time changed its 
 structure. Yet, she held a talisman, over 
 which he had no power, a goodness, 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 
 was first summoned, and through a lingering 
 decline, sought strength from above, to adhere, 
 as far as possible to her habits of usefulness, 
 and that gentle self-renunciation, w r hich, in pro 
 moting the good of others, forgot its own 
 sufferings. As her step grew feeble, her brow 
 
58 PASTMEKIDIAN. 
 
 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 seclusion, 
 or what she said to her God, we know 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 privi 
 lege often to be near, and always to admire the 
 " hoary head found in the way of righteous 
 
 ness." 
 
BEAUTY OF AGE. 59 
 
 I must indulge myself and my readers with 
 one more example. It occurs in 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, with his 
 white locks, and face beaming with the benignity of a 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 l change of air 1 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 medi 
 cine in it than would be believed, without trial,) and he inhales 
 it in the larger field that he finds for the instructive benevolence 
 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 singularly sweet and winning; 
 and, with his genial and beautiful 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 
 particularly 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, 
 
60 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 suffice for a theme, or for the attractive woof on which to broi- 
 der instruction, and -he does it with a mingled playfulness and 
 earnestness which form a most attractive as well as valuable les 
 son. Can any price be put on such an old man, as the belong 
 ing of a neighborhood ? Can landscape gardening invent any 
 thing 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 character of a home, more cheering and dignifying 
 to its atmosphere and society ? Among the Arts among the 
 refinements of taste in the culture of Beauty, in America let 
 us give Old Age its preeminence ! The best arm-chair, by the 
 fire- side, 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 this most crowning beauty." 
 
 Youth hath its fascinating smile, 
 
 Its cheek of rose-bud ray ; 
 They charm the admiring eye awhile, 
 
 Then fade, and fleet away ; 
 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. 
 
BEAUT Y OF AGE. 61 
 
 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 morn 
 ing. Noon is brilliant, but the wearied senses 
 crave repose, as from the long excitement of an 
 Arctic summer. Evening, with her placid 
 moon, through the chequering branches, dis 
 guises every blemish, bathes the simplest archi 
 tecture in a flood of silver light, and makes the 
 vine-clad cottage and the antique 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. 
 
 6 
 
CHAPTEE 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 f9r 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 subtle 
 
AIR. 63 
 
 Fire, in which they recognized the great vivi 
 fying principle of the universe. Pliny, and 
 other ancient philosophers, applauded the per 
 vading love of the Earth for her offspring, 
 which, like a watchful mother, fed and clothed 
 the creature of the dust, and folded 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, which 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 com 
 peers, yet he can scarcely exist a moment with 
 out its permission. The earth he burdens with 
 palaces and pyramids, the pent fires do his bid 
 ding, and his ships rule the mountain-wave. 
 But, he inflates a balloon, and the storm-cloud 
 overturns it, and, perhaps, takes the life of the 
 
64 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 headlong aeronaut. In his reverie, he builds a 
 castle on the air, and where is it ? 
 
 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 sufficiently 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, arid 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 pedes 
 trians, fearless of rain or cold. Her gentlemen, 
 however burdened with important concerns, 
 always find time for muscular action. Even 
 those who have reached a patriarchal age, often 
 persevere in equestrian exercise, that elegant 
 form of recreation, which, more than any other, 
 
AIR. 65 
 
 keeps alive the consciousness of manly power 
 and dignity. 
 
 I have seen, in my own country, some strik 
 ing instances of the protracted power and enjoy 
 ment 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 equestrian excursions, 
 withheld only by very inclement weather. 
 Methinks, I clearly see him now ; his small, 
 well-knit, perfectly upright 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 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 construct a good little book, in dialogue form, 
 
66 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 on the works of nature, and nature s God, enti 
 tled, " The Father and Son," which we young 
 lings received with great gratitude from its 
 kind-hearted author : juvenile Avorks 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 temperature, were remarkable, 
 and a model for younger men. 
 
 Yet, it is not necessary thus to turn to the 
 far-off past, for examples of perseverance and 
 grace in this exhilarating exercise. Scarcely 
 two years since, I saw the venerable Colonel 
 White, of Danbury, Conn., now eighty-six, on 
 horseback, at the imposing ceremonies con 
 nected with the public erection of a monument 
 to the memory of General David Wooster, the 
 revolutionary patriot and martyr. Amid thou 
 sands thronging the streets, he was observed 
 passing and re-passing, at an early hour, to the 
 lofty Cemetery-Hill, engaged in 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 
 
AIR. 67 
 
 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 him with a serene self- 
 possession and perfect skill, which few men in 
 the prime of their strength could have sur 
 passed or equalled. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Kendal, of Massachusetts, also 
 in his eighty-seventh year, perseveres in that 
 active out-door exercise which preserves energy 
 and vigor. Driving himself, a short time since, 
 several miles from home, the reins chanced to 
 part, and the horse became unmanageable. It 
 being in the country, none were near to render 
 assistance. The venerable gentleman, leaping 
 from the carriage, over the wheels, seized the 
 horse by the head, while at a brisk movement, 
 and subjected him to control. It was pleasant 
 to see a feat, of such activity, so admirably per 
 formed, at so advanced a period of life. 
 
 To those not inured to equestrian exercise, 
 a daily walk in the open air, not so far extended 
 as to involve weariness or fatigue, is salutary, 
 
68 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 even in extreme old age. To connect these 
 excursions with a definite object, either the 
 cherishing 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 proverbial acti 
 vity, it was said, by his biographer, Mrs. Child, 
 that "he would scarcely allow the drivers to 
 stop for him, at ascending or descending from 
 their vehicles. Few ever passed him without 
 asking who he was ; for, not only did his primi 
 tive dress, broad-brimmed hat, and antique 
 shoe-buckles, attract attention, but the beauty 
 and benevolence of his face, were sure to fix 
 the eye of ordinary discernment. He was a 
 living temperance lecture, and those who desire 
 to preserve good looks, need not ask a more 
 infallible recipe than that sweet temper and 
 
AIR. 69 
 
 active, overflowing benevolence which made 
 his countenance so pleasing to all." 
 
 Peregrine White, the first-born Saxon in 
 New England, the lone baby of Cape Cod, 
 who opened his eyes ere the tossing Mayflower 
 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 hardi 
 hood 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. 
 
70 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 King James, the pedant, found a tomb, 
 
 King Charles at Whitehall bled ; 
 Stout Cromwell held a twelve years rule, 
 
 And slumber d with the dead ; 
 The second Charles, with gibe and jest. 
 
 His royal realm survcy 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 band, 
 
 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 atmos 
 pheric air, if not an absolute necessity of our 
 being, seems an essential condition of vigorous 
 health. The pursuits that promote that inter 
 course, such as horticultural, or floricultural, it 
 is, therefore, desirable to cultivate. 
 
 On inquiring for an aged man, at his door, a 
 bright-eyed boy said, 
 
 " My grandfather has gone out for his morn 
 ing-walk. I love to have him go, because he 
 always comes back pleasant and happy." 
 
^ AIR. 71 
 
 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 pulverized earth 
 and rich compost over them, while my man 
 added water gradually, treading down the sur 
 face firmly, as much as to say to the new comer, 
 keep at home, and finishing with a cavity 
 around the trunk, a casket to hold such pearl- 
 drops as the clouds see fit to give." 
 
 Perceiving that his practical remarks were 
 listened to with interest, he kindly proceeded,. 
 
72 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 * 
 
 " 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 placed 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, 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 yet 
 set out a grove before we die." 
 
 The animated countenance of the aged 
 speaker reminded me of the enthusiasm with 
 w r hich Sir Walter Scott used to expatiate on 
 the " exquisite pleasures of planting." The 
 greater part of the noble trees at Barley- Wood 
 w r ere placed there by the hand of the venerable 
 Mrs. Hannah More ; and, a cabinet-table, which 
 she prized, and often pointed out to the atten 
 tion of visitants, was inlaid with small diamond- 
 shaped pieces of wood, from different trees of 
 her own rearing. Those who in early life 
 
^ AIR. 1 15 
 
 rejoiced in the culture of flowers, their own 
 emblem of hope and beauty, might with pro 
 priety, 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, and blessings to the nested 
 birds/ that sing among the branches." 
 
 To those whose infirmities preclude the pleas 
 ure of active exercise out of doors, there still 
 remain restricted forms of fellowship with the 
 renovating air, which it is important to secure. 
 The invalid lady who perseveres as far as pos 
 sible in her daily ride, notwithstanding lassitude 
 or debility tempts to the indulgence of repose, 
 does not lose her reward. The blessed element, 
 thus solicited, sustains the worn frame, and 
 sweeps away many of the morbid fancies and 
 groundless fears that disease engenders. 
 
 A lady, who was not able to bear the fatigue 
 of S3 7 stematic riding, told me she had maintained 
 some degree of vigor, and, perhaps, resisted 
 pulmonary tendencies, by a brief yet systema 
 tic intercourse with the morning air, for a short 
 time, through her window. Opening it, and, if 
 
74 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 the current proved too fresh, wrapping herself 
 in a shawl, 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 her remark 
 able treatise, " On the motive powers that pro 
 duce the circulation of the blood," thus describes 
 a course by which she has been enabled long 
 to persist in the preparation of those excellent 
 works which have given her a high 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, increas 
 ing 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 
 
AIR. 75 
 
 the window, sat down, and wrapped my cloak around me, to 
 make, for a few minutes longer, breathing 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 
 mile. In the evening, I thus found myself as vigorous for writ 
 ing 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 uncom 
 mon preservation of those energies, which, from 
 early youth, were developed in the noble pro 
 fession 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 was a source of satisfaction 
 
76 PASTMEEIDIAN. 
 
 to her friends that, in her sixty-eighth year, she 
 should have made her second tour in Europe, 
 with a bright spirit, and much of the lingering 
 comeliness of her early prime, cheered also by 
 that 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 pin 
 ing 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 w r ritten con 
 amore of what has seemed to me an important 
 adjunct, if not an essential element of that price 
 less possession, " mens sance, in corpore sano" 
 
 But, this subtle- element of air, so powerful 
 
AIR. 77 
 
 over our physical and mental organization, 
 hath it aught to do with moral structure, or 
 spiritual welfare ? Yes. Modified by elo 
 quence, it rules the multitude of rninds ; swell 
 ing 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 souls 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 for 
 sake him. The lungs collapse. He is lifeless. 
 
 Hath he then taken final leave of the air? 
 No. In the form of words here uttered, air 
 shaped into soimd, in the form of deeds spring 
 ing from those words, air shaped into action, 
 it shall meet him at the judgment. 
 
 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 
 which we have never laid our hand, should 
 fearfully confront us, when the "books are 
 opened, and the dead, small and great, stand 
 
 before God." 
 
 7* 
 
CHAPTEE 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 domestic anniversaries are 
 the most pleasantly cherished, is distinguished 
 by a healthful growth of domestic happiness. 
 Recurrences of the marriage-day, of the births 
 of children, grandchildren, and especially of 
 the silver-haired grandparents, are welcomed 
 with fond and fervent congratulation. 
 
 In that country, the Golden Bridal as it is 
 
DOMESTIC AN XI VE US ARIES 79 
 
 called, or the fiftieth return of the marriage 
 day, is marked by ceremonies peculiarly strik 
 ing and national. Preparations for a domestic 
 festival are made, and the rooms richly adorned 
 with flowers. The venerable pair, arrayed in 
 their best garments, and surrounded by child 
 ren and near relatives, receive visitors and con 
 gratulations 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, 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 
 
80 . PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 accomplishment 
 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 presents, 
 many of which were costly, for the aged bride 
 groom, 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. 
 
 After the dinner, where two long tables were 
 filled by 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 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 81 
 
 "No sooner," continues the narrator, "had he recognized the 
 performers, and the tones of his own early devotional 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 those solemn strains were addressed, he seemed 
 for a moment overcome with gratitude to Him." 
 
 In our own country, these household eras are 
 sometimes regarded, though with less of roman 
 tic accompaniment, John Quincy Adams, the 
 last summer that he passed on earth, celebrated 
 ir> his own sacred home-circle, the Golden Wed 
 ding ; an epoch which was also reached by his 
 own venerable parents, walking hand in hand 
 toward that clime where "love is inde- 
 strUctable." 
 
 An instance of the quiet observance of the 
 sixtieth anniversary I have heard described, a 
 rare occurrence in this world of mortality. The 
 age of both the parties exceeded fourscore, yet 
 their forms were unbowed ; there was even a 
 lingering of early comeliness, and that smile of 
 the spirit which gathers depth and meaning 
 from long knowledge of this life, and firm hope 
 of a better. They had entered, in the bloom 
 of youth, the conjugal relation, and " com- 
 
82 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 mended it in the sight of all me,n," by an exam 
 ple of steadfast affection, and amiable virtues. 
 Three generations surrounded them with loving 
 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 greet 
 ing 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 sig 
 nificance ; a small parallelogram of the purest 
 white marble, wrought into a double watch-case, 
 and surmounted in the center by a cross of the 
 same material. In the cavities lined with crim 
 son 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 measures of time, long 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 83 
 
 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 occasion, 
 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 n the young creatures who came 
 into life under the shadow r of their tree of love, 
 and to become themselves more and more con 
 formed to " the example of His great humility," 
 was a victory that might not only be admired 
 on earth, but approved in Heaven. 
 
 An interesting celebration of the sixtieth 
 anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wright, of East Hampton, Mass., took place at 
 
84 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the commencement of the present year. The 
 14th of January, 1856, was truly a winter s 
 day, cold, icy, and keen, but, with a pure, 
 exhilarating atmosphere. The evening lamps 
 glittered early, and, at six o clock, commenced 
 the festive scene. 
 
 The aged couple were in health and happi 
 ness. The memory of God s great goodness 
 to them sate on the smile with which they wel 
 comed kindred and friends. Four sons were 
 there, with their households. The fifth, whose 
 family altar was amid the snows of Wisconsin, 
 cheered their hearts by an affectionate epistle. 
 
 A few invited coevals and neighbors gather, 
 with their congratulations. But what venerable 
 form enters, with such a saintly smile ? All 
 cluster around him. It is the same man of 
 God who, sixty years before, had pronounced 
 the nuptial benediction, the Rev. Dr. Williston, 
 whose ninety-third winter sits freshly on him. 
 Still, he lifts his hand, and blesses them in the 
 name of the Lord. 
 
 Four of the guests at the original wedding 
 are present at this commemoration. Two more 
 
DOMESTIC AXNIVEKSARIES. 85 
 
 survive, but denizens of a distant State. It was 
 a touching part of the scene when the eldest 
 son, well-known as the former Principal of the 
 Williston Seminary, gave utterance to his feel 
 ings of gratitude and reverence for his aged 
 parents, interweaving appropriate facts and cir 
 cumstances that absorbed the attention of every 
 hearer. 
 
 Happy and forcible remarks were familiarly 
 made by others, on the beauty of bringing forth 
 fruit in old age, and of that filial piety which 
 has kept the blessed commandment with 
 promise. " Then the young rose up and 
 praised the aged, as having done well in their 
 generation ; and, the aged replied by modest 
 disclaimer, insisting that they had not done so 
 well, but that the young should do far better, 
 following more closely the Higher Pattern, even 
 Christ." 
 
 When the season allotted to refreshments 
 arrived, there were seen seated around the 
 board of distinguished honor six personages, 
 whose united ages amounted to four hundred 
 and eighty years. That table of ancients! 
 
86 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 What countless memories were there embodied, 
 what treasures of experience, what wealth of 
 Christian hope. Sweet and solemn was the 
 voice imploring a blessing and rendering thanks 
 for that rich repast ; the voice of that beloved, 
 white-haired minister, soon after called to a 
 more exalted and eternal banquet. 
 
 The closing exercises of this cheering and 
 rational festivity were reading from the Scrip 
 tures, prayer, and the Doxology in the devout 
 " Old Hundred," swelled by every voice. Then 
 came the kind parting wishes, and the separa 
 tion at nine, that hour wisely set apart by the 
 early fathers of our country for drawing home 
 ward every wandering wing to its rest, and fold 
 ing it in supplication that hallowed the nightly 
 repose. 
 
 Rare was this sixtieth anniversary, not only 
 in itself, but for the number of the aged there 
 convened, their comfortable health, their pos 
 session of muscular activity and mental vigor, 
 their sympathy in social feeling and the faith of 
 the Gospel, their Christian rejoicing in their 
 children and their children s children. 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 87 
 
 It has been mentioned that Music bore 
 a part in this varied festival. The melodies, 
 so often overlooked in modern psalmody, 
 were summoned, and many an aged heart 
 thrilled with early, tender associations, at 
 the full tones of " St. Martins " and " Lenox," 
 " Majesty " and " Greenville." Among the 
 hymns adapted to these antique tunes, was the 
 following one, composed for the occasion. 
 
 Three times twenty ! Three times twenty ! 
 
 How those years have sped away, 
 Since the wreath of young affection, 
 
 Brightened on our Bridal Day ; 
 Like a shadow o er the mountain, 
 
 Like a billow on the main, 
 Like a dream, when one awaketh, 
 
 Tinted both with joy and pain. 
 
 Three times twenty ! Three times twenty ! 
 
 While the years their circles wove, 
 Smiling infants sprang around us, 
 
 Scions from our Tree of Love! 
 And, with patriarchal pleasure, 
 
 Still another race we view, 
 And, in their unfolding promise, 
 
 Seem to live our lives anew. 
 
 Three times twenty ! Three times twenty I 
 He, who gave our marriage vow, 
 
88 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Hallowing it with prayer and blessing, 
 
 Cheers us by his presence now : 
 Faithful Pastor ! here we greet thee, 
 
 May the flock that heard thy voice, 
 Near the great Chief Shepherd meet thee, 
 
 And for-evermore rejoice. 
 
 Three times twenty ! Three times twenty I 
 
 Many a friend of earlier days, 
 To a higher sphere translated, 
 
 Swells the angel hymn of praise ; 
 And, the glorious hope we treasure, 
 
 Side by side with them to stand, 
 Whensoe er our Father s wisdom 
 
 Warns us to that Better Land ! 
 
 A pleasant custom is it to notice the birth 
 days of our coevals, and especially of those older 
 than ourselves. A few words of congratulation, 
 a few cheering wishes for the future, convincing 
 them that they are neither forgotten nor disre 
 garded, will be of more real value than costly 
 gifts. Affectionate references to the path in 
 which they have walked, and the home toward 
 which they draw near, aid in giving strength 
 for the remainder of their pilgrimage. 
 
 It is true that, to prolonged life, funeral anni 
 versaries multiply. Many of our way-marks 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 89 
 
 are tombstones. We may render there the 
 offering of a strewn flower, and a faithful tear. 
 Yet, let the tribute be in silence, between God 
 and our own soul. Why need we sadden the 
 young 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 nativity 
 and departure may be made serviceable to the 
 living. We may then give new vigor to their 
 example, continue their good works, or complete 
 their unfinished charities. 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 the sad orphan, or lonely widow, 
 was made glad, cells of sickness entered, as by 
 an angel of mercy, the page of knowledge 
 spread for ignorance, and salvation on mission- 
 wings sent to those who sate in the shadow of 
 death. 
 
 8* 
 
90 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Was not the melody of such gratitude heard 
 in heaven? 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 mournful 
 mother to her heart, " in which my darling, 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 trembling pressure : the 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 w r hose dim eyes the 
 beautiful things of creation were shut out. The 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 91 
 
 poor blind shall be made glad through, him, this 
 clay. 
 
 " How his eye kindled with varying emotion, 
 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 so long 
 the bullet s weight of bread, and the few water- 
 drops, and, of the Crusoe settlement on Pit- 
 cairn s island, from whence, as good may spring 
 out of evil, now rises the Sabbath worship of a 
 little Christian community. A token of his 
 remembrance shall go forth to that lone oasis 
 of the Pacific. 
 
 " He loved little children. When he was 
 himself a child, he wished to give every desti 
 tute 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 one from that number, to 
 provide for, to watch over, and to guide on life s 
 future way with maternal counsels, I know it 
 would be pleasing to the departed, for in such 
 things he ever took delight. 
 
 "He revered the old and gray-headed. 
 
92 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 sun 
 beam over their furrow r ed brows. And, when 
 they would fain express their gratitude, 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 peculiarly 
 desirable that cheering anniversaries should 
 have free scope, and predominate. We had 
 rather shed a sunbeam than a midnight chill. 
 Let us render the birth of every new year, and 
 each return of the season of our dear Redeem 
 er s nativity, a time of joy to every heart within 
 the sphere of our influence, not overlooking the 
 lowliest servant, or the humblest child. It is 
 better to be harmless finger-posts, pointing to 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 93 
 
 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. Perhaps 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, 
 We two, of all that happy band, 
 
 Of sportive girls and boys, 
 Who wept together childish griefs, 
 
 Or smiled o er childish joys. 
 
94 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 95 
 
 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 ; 
 1 God and tlie rights then* 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 woe. 
 
 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, 
 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. 
 
96 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 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 nattering 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. 
 
 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, 
 
DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 97 
 
 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; 
 And forward may we dare to look? 
 
 Another opening year 
 Hath dawned upon us, and its close 
 
 May scarcely find us here. 
 9 
 
98 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 patriotic 
 
 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 adhe 
 siveness and force to impressions that might 
 else be desultory, and perishable. 
 
 What mathematics are to the mind, they may 
 also be to the heart, adding stability and power 
 to its better sentiments and affections. 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 anni 
 versaries. By thus deepening the imagery, and 
 refreshing the colors on our moving diorama, 
 
100 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 we may renew a grateful sense of His good 
 ness, perhaps make more permanent the ben 
 efits 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 Nov 
 ember, from the white-robed priest, and the 
 chanting choir in the cathedrals, to the merry 
 urchins let loose from school, perchance, more 
 inclined to laud than to denounce the " Gun 
 powder plot," that had given them a holiday. 
 Yet a truer fellowship and stronger nationality 
 sprang from this general sympathy of gratu- 
 lation. 
 
 The birth of our own country, so peculiar 
 in itself, and so fraught with blessings to her 
 children, should be warmly and reverently re 
 garded. That event might be so embalmed 
 and brought forward year by year, as to 
 perpetuate the blessings which first flowed 
 from it. 
 
 The fourth of July, 1776, is a date that every 
 American remembers, from the snows of Min 
 nesota, to the Floridian orange-groves, from the 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 101 
 
 sounding shores of the Atlantic, to the new 
 found realm 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 citizen" 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 circum 
 stance, as a heritage of glory. That this anni 
 versary should have been marked by the trans 
 ition to another world, of two of the venerable 
 signers of our Declaration of Independence, 
 each dignified by the highest office in our 
 country s power to bestow, adds a mystic sa- 
 credness to its historic interest. 
 
 John Adams, whose far-reaching mind saw 
 the incipient rights of his native land, when in 
 the chrysalis of her colonial state, she herself 
 
 understood them not, who with boldness and 
 
 9* 
 
102 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 enthusiasm, unfolded and demanded them, 
 to whom, next to Washington, she first accord 
 ed 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 the fourth of July, 1826. Raising 
 his head from the pillow, the last brightness 
 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 
 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 hos 
 pitality, received, while still lightly bearing the 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 103 
 
 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 Indepen 
 dence : 
 
 Forth from that pen of might, 
 Burst the immortal scroll, 
 Which gave a living soul 
 
 To shapeless clay ; 
 Which 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 fifti 
 eth year of that nation s life, the beating of 
 whose infant pulse they had counted and reg 
 istered, both those great men expired. As So 
 lon shrouded his head and departed, that the 
 mystery of his absence might add 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 pat 
 riotism. 
 
 The twenty-second of February, the birth- 
 
104 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 day of Washington, should be regarded with 
 demonstrations of national enthusiasm and 
 gratitude. Especially should they who stand 
 nearest in proximity to those tempestuous times 
 which his wisdom helped to change into the 
 broad sunlight of freedom, speak of the virtues 
 of that king of men, to all in the forming period 
 of life. Not as a warrior, would we chiefly 
 commend him; that was indeed 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 patriotism, his patience in 
 adversity, his unswerving truth, his wisdon, in 
 the greatest matters, his just attention to the 
 smallest, the punctuality of his dealings with 
 all men, the godlike dignity, the serene, unos 
 tentatious piety, which 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, on the completion of half 
 a century from that of the " Pater Patriae," and 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 105 
 
 also within a single day of the anniversary of 
 his birth. He was himself the sixth President 
 of the United States, and the son of the second 
 who had sustained that honor. Though he 
 had surpassed the age of fourscore, he still 
 kept his seat among the representatives of our 
 nation, at Washington, watching with keen eye 
 and unimpaired 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 to a 
 sofa in an inner apartment. Partially recover 
 ing from insensibility, he said slowly, " This is 
 all of earth. I am content." Repeating the 
 assurance of his calmness and preparation, he 
 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. 
 
106 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Thus fell nobly at his post, and in the manner 
 that his patriot heart might have chosen, this 
 man of stainless integrity, of universal acquire 
 ments, of diplomatic training from early boy 
 hood, and one of the few in whom precocity 
 of talent continues to advance through the 
 whole of life, and to ripen amid the frosts of 
 age. 
 
 But not in the splendor of the fame of states 
 men or chieftains, would we lose the memory 
 of others, who, in humbler stations, gathered 
 firmly around the endangered cradle of our 
 common country. Some of these were our 
 own sires. By the hearth-stone, they have told 
 our listening infancy, of toils and perils, brave 
 ly and cheerfully borne. It becomes us to 
 impress them on our children, who amid the 
 luxurious indulgences of a great and prosper 
 ous land, can scarcely concieve the hardships 
 and dangers by which its freedom was wrought 
 out. 
 
 Standing as we do, literally as well as polit 
 ically, on the "isthmus of a middle state," it 
 seems incumbent on us to deliver unimpaired 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 107 
 
 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 
 the hearts of the young, 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 cherish, 
 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 content 
 edly and bravely endured, should not be for 
 gotten. In many a lowly home, from whence 
 the father was long sundered 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 
 
108 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 u An undergoing spirit, to bear up 
 Against whatever ensued." 
 
 How often, during that long war, did the 
 mother labor to perform to her little ones, both 
 the father s duties, and her own, having no ref 
 uge in her desolate estate, and unresting anxie 
 ty, save the Hearer of Prayer. 
 
 I have often reflected on a simple narration, 
 once given me by a good and hoary-headed 
 man, the Rev. Dr. David Smith, of Durham, 
 Conn., who with unimpaired intellect, and 
 cheerful piety, has passed several years the 
 bounds of fourscore. 
 
 " My father was in the army, during the whole eight years 
 of the Revolutionary war, at first as a common soldier, after 
 ward 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 allow 
 ed 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 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 109 
 
 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 had achieved our liberties, was slight, and irregularly ren 
 dered. Yet when he went, my mother ever bade him farewell 
 with a cheerful face, and not to be anxious 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 country. Sometimes we wondered that 
 she did not mention 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 endan 
 gered 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 
 as an exercise of memory. Thus might we 
 with more variety and freshness, impart to the 
 young, that which they so well gather from 
 
 10 
 
110 PAST MEKIDIAX. 
 
 books, details of the self-sacrifice, the courage 
 and the piety which God recompensed with the 
 life and liberty of a nation. Thus, might we 
 perchance, lift a barrier, slight, yet not power 
 less, against venality and luxury and ambition, 
 those banes of a republic, arrogantly polluting 
 the pure sources of patriot health. 
 
 The diligent formation, and regular reference 
 to a daily list of dates founded on. universal 
 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 import 
 ance, it might probably bear the record of the 
 birth or death of some individual whose biog 
 raphy it would be pleasant to review, or im 
 press 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 a profitable contempla 
 tion for plastic youth. 
 
 Hints derived from our daily list of anniver- 
 
PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. Ill 
 
 saries, with some tact in avoiding prolixity, 
 might be rendered valuable to the young who 
 surround us. Let us hazard any aspersion of 
 pedantry that might chance to flow from it. 
 Ridicule of that sort, should be pointless to us. 
 If through adduced illustration or example, we 
 may be made the medium of implanting some 
 great truth or holy precept, which shall bear 
 fruit for our country after we are dead, let us 
 neither shrink or loiter ; for the time is short. 
 
 The people who have past their prime, have 
 reason to rejoice that so many of their own 
 immediate band have been enabled to leave 
 such enduring traces on the sands of time, If 
 the satisfactions of rural life, the transmutation 
 of the unsightly mould into fruits and flowers, 
 are so soothing and salutary, is it not a priv 
 ilege to plant in the region where we were 
 ourselves reared, trees, whose " leaves are for 
 the healing of the nations ? " If the founding 
 of those time-honored edifices, the pyramid, 
 the obelisk, and the temple, on which the 
 storms of ages have beaten in vain, are in 
 quired for with earnestness, should not higher 
 
112 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 honor be theirs, who have been enabled to 
 erect for liberty and law, columns on whose 
 Corinthian capital, lingers the smile of heaven, 
 as a never-setting sun? 
 
CHAPTEE 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 heed that they 
 should take pains to make themselves agree 
 able. 
 
 Every other period of life has its peculiar 
 prospect of improvement, and its prescribed 
 modes of promoting it. What care is expend 
 ed to teach childhood the theory of language. 
 Through ignorance, grammatical error, and sol 
 ecism, it steadily advances, nothing daunted. 
 10* 
 
114 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 or discouraged. What efforts are put forth to 
 induce the young to make the most of any at 
 tainment they may possess, and strenuously to 
 acquire those in which they are deficient. 
 And this is right. Maturity has its beautiful 
 occupations, its hallowed responsibilities, and 
 an array of resistless 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 for some relief, or loophole 
 through which to escape, forgive me, if I hint 
 what at first view might seem trifling, the pres 
 ervation 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 society, and the effect is 
 to render them still more disregarded. "A 
 merry countenance," said Jeremy Taylor, "is 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 115 
 
 one of those good things which no enemy or 
 persecutor can take away from me." 
 
 On the subject of apparel, whose importance, 
 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 society for 
 not being well dressed, or for thinking of them 
 selves after they are dressed." To a very 
 advanced age, she was herself, a fine illustra 
 tion 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, la 
 borious practice of years, emulation is contin 
 ually exerted. More than one fair aspirant has 
 cheered her long session at the piano, by re 
 calling what was said of the captivating Ann 
 Boleyn, that " when she composed her hands 
 to play, and her voice to sing, it was joined 
 with such sweetness of countenance that three 
 harmonies concurred." 
 
116 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 accomplishments. I have had 
 the honor of being acquainted with ladies, w^ho 
 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 persons, more addicted to languid po 
 sitions, 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, Alexan 
 der Hamilton, with many other feminine accom 
 plishments, exhibited to a great age, the ex 
 quisite uses of the needle, and continued to be 
 admired for the ease and courtesy with which 
 she entertained her numerous guests, during a 
 life which almost comprised a century. 
 
 Mrs. Madison was distinguished, not only 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 
 
 while in the presidential mansion, where she 
 won the heart of every visitant, but throughout 
 a long life, by one of the most kindly and 
 queenly natures that ever belonged to woman. 
 So fully developed and unchangeably sustained 
 were her social powers, and brilliance of con 
 versation, that after the age of eighty, I have 
 often heard her in the large assemblages at the 
 court of our nation, address to every person 
 some appropriate remark, or touch some train 
 of familiar thought, that would make the em 
 barrassed at ease, or the happy, happier. She 
 was unwilling, even for hours, to indulge in 
 the repose of a seat, lest some one should es 
 cape her notice, whom she might cheer, or 
 gratify. Especially, when children were pres 
 ent, she never forgot or overlooked the young 
 est, but with admirable tact had something to 
 say, which they might take with them as a 
 pleasant memory onward to 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- 
 
118 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 elo 
 cution, 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 manners and 
 a lowly heart. In the varieties of conversa 
 tion, which, without pedantry or display, unveil 
 extensive learning and suggestive thought, I 
 have never known any of my own sex, her su 
 perior ; I was about to have said, her equal. 
 Fabrics of use and of taste, she wrought and 
 ornamented, and with her delicate scissors, imi 
 tated the beauties and wonders of the animal 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 119 
 
 and floral world. Children, she especially 
 charmed by these efforts of her skill, as well 
 as by her great descriptive powers, ever keep 
 ing in view their instruction as well as pleas 
 ure. 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 musical powers remained, 
 a source of wondering gratification to all 
 around. Even now, those swan-like melodies 
 that enchanted my earliest years, revisit me, 
 rich, clear, and softened by the lapse of years, 
 as if borne over untroubled waters. 
 
 The time would fail me to tell of her excel 
 lent knowledge in all that appertained to the 
 domestic sphere ; as it also would to mention 
 other ladies in my own New England, who in 
 the delicate elements of that great feminine 
 attainment, good housekeeping, yielded nei 
 ther energy or skill to the frost of seventy 
 years, but dexterously continued to touch every 
 clock-work spring, on which the order and 
 comfort of a blessed home depend. 
 
120 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 It would be quite impossible here to enume 
 rate, those of the other sex whom it has been 
 my privilege to know, who in their various de 
 partments and professions, derived added dig 
 nity from age ; merchants, whose mental acute- 
 ness time seemed to have refined ; 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 ; states 
 men, whose eloquence was never more fervid 
 or vigorous than when their sun went down. 
 
 A gentleman, whose period of collegiate ed 
 ucation had been cut short by the absorbing 
 toils of a life at sea, having found in advanced 
 age a haven of repose, resumed with zeal, the 
 perusal of the classics, remarking, that after 
 fourscore he had been led decidedly to prefer 
 them to his native tongue, which was "so easy 
 as not to keep the mind awake." I have often 
 found him deeply engaged over the pages of 
 Homer, or Cicero, in the original, his eye 
 brightening at every gem of genius, and his 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 121 
 
 florid complexion pure with temperance, re 
 minding one of Miss Metford s description of 
 the beauty of her own venerable father. 
 
 A genius for the fine arts, we sometimes see 
 evolved, at a late period of life. This was the 
 case with the adopted son of Washington, the 
 late George W. P. Custis, Esq., who after the 
 age of seventy, has executed a series of large 
 historical paintings, representing prominent 
 scenes in our Revolution, and presenting in 
 various attitudes, the Pater Patrise, with the 
 warmth of a filial pencil. This elevated, self- 
 taught accomplishment, was associated with one 
 of earlier acquisition, that of music; and the 
 stirring melodies of other times, which occa 
 sionally echoed through the lofty halls of Arling 
 ton, from the violin of their master, betrayed no 
 indication that the frosts of fourscore had al 
 ready settled upon his temples. 
 
 The efforts that sustain social intercourse, 
 and the attractions that adorn it, are in our Re 
 public, too soon laid aside. Of these, the gray- 
 haired seem in haste to absolve themselves, 
 
 as of a sin. In France, they are kept in con- 
 
 ll 
 
122 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 stant and prosperous exercise. 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 
 naivette. Many instances of this, I beheld, 
 with admiring wonder. One evening, in par 
 ticular, I recollect being interested in watching 
 Isabey, the celebrated miniature painter, of 
 Paris, who, with hair like the driven snow, gli 
 ded through the mazes of the dance, at a state 
 ball given by the elegant Marchioness Lavalete, 
 the agility of his movements not at all impair 
 ed 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 fourscore." 
 The philosophic Socrates, though not, indeed, 
 at quite so ripe an age, used to dance, and play 
 upon the lyre ; one, to preserve his physical 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 123 
 
 vigor, and the other to tune and elevate his 
 mind with cheerfulness. 
 
 Mackliii, after he had numbered a full cen 
 tury, appeared on the stage, and in the charac 
 ter of the Jew, Shylock, held his audience in 
 absorbed attention. He also successfully occu 
 pied himself in revising and remodelling his 
 owh dramatic compositions. 
 
 It will be said that these instances are excep 
 tions, rather than examples that we may hope 
 to reach. Of some, this is true ; but from oth 
 ers 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, w r ho both 
 learn and teach. We will speak of the mani 
 fold goodness of God, which we have so long 
 tested, and strike that keytone of praise, whose 
 melody will be perfected in Heaven : 
 
 " Yet oh ! eternity s too short, 
 To utter all His praise." 
 
124 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 Among the highest accomplishments of age, 
 are its dispositions. It should daily cultivate 
 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 partakers. 
 As sensual pleasures lose their hold, the char 
 acter should become more sublimated. While 
 we would avoid that fixedness 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, w r ho 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 ? ? 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 125 
 
 Let us hold to the spirit of progress, and the 
 capabilities of improvement of this immortal 
 nature, as long as it sojourns in the flesh. 
 : There is no reason," said a clear-minded phi 
 losopher, " 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 admiration, or 
 relax our pursuit of " whatsoever is fair, lovely, 
 or of good report?" " Excelsior," may as 
 well be our motto, at the close, as at the com 
 mencement 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 be 
 fore ! " 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." 
 
 11* 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " 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 disposition ever 
 be tolerated ? Many enjoyments have, indeed, 
 run their course ; their lease having expired by 
 limitation of time. Yet others remain, the 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 127 
 
 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, emolu 
 ments, or immunities, to justify such an assump 
 tion ? 
 
 Originally, it was in possession of a charter, 
 sanctioned by divine authority, demanding 
 reverence for the hoary head, and for the coun 
 sel of those to whom years had given wisdom. 
 Modern times have indeed modified this char 
 ter. Our own republic has been pronounced 
 by observant foreigners, deficient in the senti 
 ment of respect. Still, among well-trained 
 and noble natures, there will be ever a willing 
 ness 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." 
 
 The inquirer, if age has any emolument, 
 may be reminded of the wealth of experience. 
 Are not the whole beautiful, ever-moving world 
 of the young, in poverty for the want of it ? 
 searching, trying, tasting, snatching at garlands 
 
128 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and grasping thorns, chasing meteors, embark 
 ing on fathomless tides, and in danger of be 
 ing swallowed up by quicksands ? 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, per 
 chance, 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 immunities ? Its sources of reve 
 nue seem to be negative rather than positive. 
 It has probably dissolved partnership with per 
 sonal vanity. And was not that a losing con 
 cern? There remains no consciousness of 
 beauty, no feverish hope of admiration, no un 
 due excitement of competition, no bewilder 
 ment from flattery, to put out of sight higher 
 purposes, or exclude more rational pleasures, 
 The consequent gain, both of leisure and quiet 
 must be great. Has it not also a respite from 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 129 
 
 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 enfran 
 chisement, while yet "the lamp holds out to 
 burn. 7 
 
 In age, is not the over-mastering force of 
 the passions broken ? Is it as irascible at op 
 position as when the current of life rushed 
 fiercely on, battling all obstacles with the im 
 petuosity of a cataract ? Is it still led in blind 
 and deep captivity as of yore, by 
 
 " Love, Hope and Joy, fair Pleasured 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 
 tages of the aged consist. Have they not more 
 aid, and stronger promptings to disinterested 
 ness, than in the earlier stages of their journey ? 
 
130 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 The young acquire accomplishments, that they 
 may be distinguished, or admired; the old 
 strive to continue agreeable, 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 admix 
 ture of self, escape countless discomforts by 
 which others are annoyed, the aged are assist 
 ed by their condition, to find that happiness 
 which is more independent of " things that per 
 ish in the using." 
 
 " That which they are, they are, 
 Made weak by time, perchance, but strong in will, 
 To strive, to seek, to grasp, and not to yield." 
 
 If to compensate for the visible losses of 
 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 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 131 
 
 balance the books, ere the Master calleth for 
 an account of their stewardship. An ancient 
 classic 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 suit 
 able advantages. 
 
 The God of nature has decreed to every 
 season of life, its inherent happiness, and fit 
 ness 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 win 
 try age awaiteth the Lord of the harvest. Not 
 unmindful of its privileges, or reluctant to res 
 tore the mysterious gift of life, should it watch 
 for his coming. 
 
 Age should clothe itself with love, to resist 
 the loneliness of its lot. Yet it sometimes 
 cherishes a morbid and mistaken consciousness 
 that it no longer retains the power of concilia- 
 
132 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ting 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 sympa 
 thies, their tried judgment, and their half 
 mournful tenderness toward those they are 
 soon to leave, has not been enough remembered 
 in poetry. Their calm, reliable affection, is 
 like the Indian summer of friendship." 
 
 The aged, especially if their 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 remain 
 ing privileges, to recount them, and to rejoice 
 in them. Many instances have I witnessed, 
 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 pros- 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 133 
 
 pect of hill and dale, and broad river, and dis 
 tant spire, cheered the vine-covered piazzas, 
 through whose loop-holes, with the subdued 
 cry of the steam-borne cars, the world s great 
 Babel made a dash at the picture without com 
 ing too near. Traits of agricultural life, divest 
 ed of its rude and sordid toils, were pleasantly 
 visible. A smooth-coated, and symmetrical 
 cow, ruminated over her clover-meal. A faith 
 ful horse, submissive to the gentlest rein, pro 
 truded his honest face through the barn window. 
 A few brooding mothers, were busy with the 
 nurture of their chickens, while the proud 
 father of the flock, told with a clarion- voice, 
 his happiness. There were trees, whose sum 
 mer fruits were richly swelling, and bushes of 
 ripening berries, and gardens of choice vege 
 tables. Those who from the hot and dusty city, 
 came to breathe the pure air of this sylvan re 
 treat, took note of these " creature-comforts/ 
 and thought they added beauty to the land 
 scape. 
 
 Within the abode, fair pictures and books ol 
 
 no mean literature adorned the parlors ; in the 
 12 
 
134 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 without 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 premises, 
 is an admission of peculiar sources of comfort. 
 
 " Two old people together." Whose sympa 
 thies can be so perfect ? And is not sympathy 
 a source of happiness ? Side by side ye have 
 journeyed through joys and sorrows. You 
 have stood by the grave s brink, when it swal 
 lowed up your idols, and the iron that entered 
 into your souls was fused as a living link, that 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 135 
 
 time might never destroy. Under the cloud, 
 and through the sea, you have walked hand in 
 hand, heart to heart. What subjects of com 
 munion 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 w r ords, "left alone!" How many 
 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 em 
 ployment, pining in disappointed hope, or 
 solitude of the heart? Married and gone! 
 To teach in other homes, the virtues they 
 
136 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 have learned from you. Perchance, in newer 
 settlements to diffuse the energy of right hab 
 its, and the high influence of pure principles. 
 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 
 sweet in the skies? Dream ye not some 
 times that ye hear the echo of their harp- 
 strings? Is not your eternal home brought 
 nearer, and made dearer by them. Praise God. 
 
 Several cottage homes, have I been lately 
 favored in seeing, where age delightfully re 
 poses. Two of them especially, dwell in mem 
 ory, as pictures not easily forgotten. One in a 
 retired part of the most admired city of Connec 
 ticut, united every appliance of comfort, with 
 elegance and refinement. There dwelt the 
 saintly sage of more than ninety, looking calm 
 ly back upon a well-spent life, enlivened by 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 137 
 
 the animation and cheerfulness of his compan 
 ion, who, though only a few years younger, 
 retained in a remarkable degree, the attractions 
 of manner and person, which had fascinated his 
 youth. So near their cultured grounds, that 
 intercourse through the windows might be per 
 mitted, rose like a tutelary genius, the loftier 
 mansion of their children, attentive to every 
 wish and movement of the blessed parents, and 
 anxious to accord the same protection and hap 
 piness, which they had themselves received, 
 when life was new. This union of filial piety, 
 with the calm enjoyment of honored age, gave 
 a charm to this beautiful cottage, which made 
 the heart thankful for the privilege of behold 
 ing it. 
 
 The other, in one of our most thriving, rural 
 townships, was bright with the roses of June. 
 The aged pair who occupied it, were consider 
 ably past fourscore, and happy to resign the 
 more exciting cares of a city residence, for 
 the quiet of the simple abode, and beautiful 
 garden, which their own skill and health ena 
 bled them to cultivate. Not ambitious were 
 12* 
 
138 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 they of wealth, but rich in the recollections of 
 active and virtuous years, social, courteous, 
 religiously satisfied with this fair world and its 
 Maker. 
 
 Methought the mildness of such a sunset, 
 was more beautiful, than the uncertain bril 
 liance of life s morning. One feels better for 
 such a visit; and for the sight of such people. 
 Looking upon the inhabitants of these two 
 peaceful abodes, I was reminded of that fine 
 passage from Mountford. 
 
 " Old age is a public good. It is indeed. Don t feel sad, be 
 cause you are old. Whenever you are walking, no one ever opens 
 a gate for you to pass through, no one ever honors you with any 
 kind of help, without being himself the better for what he does, 
 for fellow feeling with the aged, ripens the soul." 
 
 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 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 139 
 
 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, benevolence being inherent in their na 
 ture, 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. Cordials 
 also, and simple medicines for debility, or inci 
 pient 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 dispen 
 sary. Kind, loving words had they for all, the 
 fullness of their heart s content, brimming 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 
 
140 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 favorite tunes of Mear and Old Hundred, wed 
 ded 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 an 
 cient harmonies, mingled with the devout 
 prayers that morning and evening, hallowed 
 his home and its comforts ; she, the loved part 
 ner 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 perfect 
 neatness and economy dictated ; while by the 
 evening lamp, her bright knitting-needles 
 
THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 141 
 
 moved with quickened zeal, as she remember 
 ed the poor child, or wasted invalid, in some 
 cold apartment, for whom 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 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 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 ad 
 vancing age. Little children, who know by 
 instinct where love is, would draw 7 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 
 
142 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 this beautiful world. Neither was Time weary 
 of bringing them, letter by letter, the full alpha 
 bet of a serene happiness, and when extreme 
 age added the Omega, they were well educated 
 to begin the bliss of Eternity. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 anb ntellectual 
 
 u 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 disas 
 trous consequences. Still, their constant, and 
 
144 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 even severe exercise, may comport both with 
 physical welfare and longevity. 
 
 It is indeed, true, that Swift " expired a driv 
 eller 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 pursued, for the safe union 
 of flesh with spirit ; and Southey, whose reck 
 less industry precluded 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 ex 
 citements of imagination, saw his eighty-second 
 winter; and the sententious architect of the 
 ; Night Thoughts/ numbered fourscore and four ; 
 and Voltaire, at the same period, was still in love 
 with the vanity of fame ; and Colly Gibber, for 
 twenty-seven years poet laureate of England, 
 
ETC. 145 
 
 reached eighty-six ; and Corneille continued to 
 enjoy his laurels till seventy-eight ; and Crabbe, 
 at an equal age, resigned the pen which had 
 sketched with daguerreotype minuteness the 
 passing scene. Joseph Warton, until his sev 
 enty-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 inexpressible smile, dictated his last metri 
 cal 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 " McFin- 
 gal," preserved tiH eighty-two, the bright, origi 
 nal intellect, whose strains had animated both 
 camp and cottage. His friend, the distinguish 
 ed Dwight, author of " Greenfield Hill," and for 
 many years President of Yale College, died at 
 sixty-four; and Joel Barlow, ten years younger, 
 found a foreign grave ; and the knell has yet 
 scarcely ceased, for Percival, another of our 
 Connecticut poets, who laid down his varied 
 
 13 
 
146 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 learning, and hermit life, at sixty-one. Philip 
 Frenean continued his varied labors until his 
 eightieth year; and Roger Wolcott, better 
 known as a statesman, than as the writer of a 
 volume of poems, published in colonial times, 
 lived to be eighty-nine. The illustrious Metas- 
 tasio detained the admiring ear of Italy, until 
 eighty-four; and Milton, at sixty-six, opened 
 his long eclipsed eyes on " cloudless light se 
 rene." Who, that now thrills, while reading the 
 sublime strains of " Paradise Lost," can forbear 
 to smile at the criticism of one of its cotempo- 
 raries, the celebrated Waller ? " The old blind 
 schoolmaster, John Milton, hath published a 
 tedious poem on the fall of man ; if its length 
 be not considered as merit, it hath no other." 
 
 Mason was seventy-two, ere the "holy 
 earth," where "dead Maria" slumbered, admit 
 ted him to share her repose ; and the tender 
 Petrarch, and the brave old John Dry den, 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 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 147 
 
 ninety-six years, lacked only the revolution of 
 a few moons to complete his entire century ; 
 and Sadi, the poet of Persia, is said to have 
 passed twenty years beyond it. 
 
 Those masters of the Grecian lyre, Anacre- 
 on, the sweet Sophocles, and the fiery souled 
 Pindar, felt no frost of intellect, but were trans 
 planted as evergreens, in the winter of four 
 score ; at the same advanced period, Words 
 worth, in our own times, continued to mingle 
 the music of his lay with the murmur of Ry- 
 dal s 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; while 
 Clotilde de Surville, the poetess of Languedoc, 
 who flourished two or three centuries earlier, 
 saw the autumnal vintage almost a hundred 
 times. Montgomery, the religious poet, so 
 long a cherished guest, amid the romantic 
 scenery of Sheffield, enjoyed life with an un 
 impaired zest till eighty -two; and Rogers, long 
 the most venerable poet in Europe, has within 
 the last few months departed, at the age of 
 
148 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ninety-four. His first gift to the world, was 
 the "Pleasures of Memory;" his last effusion, 
 an epithalamium, to a friend. It was com 
 posed, or rather uttered, at Brighton, to whose 
 salubrious waters he had resorted, for a short 
 season, in his extreme age. 
 
 " Forth to the Altar, and with her thou lov st, 
 With her who longs to strew thy path with flowers, 
 Nor lose the blessed privilege to give 
 Birth to a race immortal as your own, 
 That trained by you, may make a heaven on earth, 
 And tread the path that leads from earth to heaven." 
 
 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 ; though according to the theory of one 
 of their own number, " their thoughts make 
 rich the blood of the world." 
 
 " The solace of song," says Southey, " cer 
 tainly mitigates the suffering 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." 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 149 
 
 True Poetry has surely an affinity with the 
 higher harmonies of our being, with religion 
 and its joys. Gathering the beautiful from na 
 ture, and soaring into the realm of fancy for 
 what reality withholds, she feeds her 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 three 
 score and ten ; and Lady Mary Wortley Monta 
 gue, until two years beyond it, indulged her 
 lively and capricious temperament ; Mather 
 Byles, who wrapped his bright fancies in verse 
 as well as prose, reached his sixty-second 
 year; and Sidney Smith at seventy-six, re 
 tained in a remarkable degree his intellectual 
 keenness and originality. 
 
 Literary pursuits seem not to have been ad 
 verse to the happiness or longevity of females. 
 Mrs. Hoffland and Miss Jane Porter, reached 
 seventy-four, in dignity and honor ; Mrs. Cha- 
 pone, seventy-five ; Mrs. Piozzi, the biographer 
 of Dr. Johnson, eighty-one ; Miss Burney, 
 eighty-eight; Mrs. Carter, eighty-nine; and 
 
 13* 
 
150 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the venerated Hannah More, died only one 
 year younger, having with indefatigable indus 
 try, composed eleven books, after she had 
 numbered her sixtieth birthday. Mrs. Eliza 
 beth Montague, and Mrs. Sherwood, lived to be 
 eighty-one ; and Mrs. Barbauld, to a more ad 
 vanced age. Of the latter, it w T as 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 pe 
 culiarly 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 embit 
 ters or shortens existence. 
 
 Plato, wove for the men of Attica, his beau 
 tiful and sublime theories, to the age of eighty- 
 one. 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 monument, as 
 
ETC. 151 
 
 the result of long experience, that " all is van 
 ity which is not honest, and that there is no 
 solid wisdom but in real piety." The diligent 
 and acute Bentley, reached fourscore ; and 
 Walker, seventy-five ; and Dr. Samuel Johnson, 
 " whose name is a host," attained the same age, 
 having with characteristic energy applied him 
 self to the study of the Dutch language, but a 
 short time before his death. Scaliger and Park- 
 hurst fell only a few months short of three 
 score and ten ; Ainsworth passed three years 
 beyond it; Dr. Noah Webster, our own New 
 England lexicographer, retained unimpaired 
 until eighty-four, his physical and mental 
 health, with the rich store of his varied attain 
 ments. Lindley Murray, at more than eighty, 
 continued in the active duties of Christian phi 
 lanthropy ; and the philologist, Mitscherlich, 
 the Nestor of the German schools, and uncle 
 to the famous chemist of that name, died re 
 cently at Gottengen, at the age of ninety-three. 
 One who visited Humboldt, after he had 
 passed his eighty-sixth birthday, says, "this 
 illustrious philosopher is still in the full enjoy- 
 
152 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ment of bodily health and vigor, continuing as 
 heretofore, to devote himself to the interests 
 of science, with wonderful activity and perse 
 verance," not having, it is asserted, in the last 
 half-century, spent an idle hour. Sir Isaac 
 Newton, as illustrious for Christian humility as 
 for intellectual greatness, laid down his earthly 
 honors at eighty-five ; and Franklin, who in 
 the words of Mirabeau, " stole the lightning 
 from Heaven, and the sceptre from tyrants," 
 cheered us with the mild radiance of his phi 
 lanthropy till eighty-four; and Herschel rose 
 above the stars, with which he had long com 
 muned, at eighty ; while his sister, whom he 
 had so kindly made the companion of his ce 
 lestial intercourse, survived until ninety-eight 
 Yet it was not our intention to gather from the 
 lists of science, its multiplied examples of ripe 
 age and rare fame, but rather devote our pre 
 scribed limits to the affinities of literature with 
 longevity. 
 
 The sympathies that spring from community 
 of labor in the field of intellect, are salutary 
 and graceful. Those minds that are above the 
 
ETC. 153 
 
 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 writers of England s 
 Augustan age. Frequent association led to in 
 timacy of plan and pursuit. They criticised 
 each other s works, and in the attrition of kin 
 dred spirits, found that as - iron sharpeneth 
 iron, so doth the 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 
 sarcastic Swift, shrank to open a letter which 
 he feared might announce the fatal termination 
 of a sickness that oppressed this friend. It lay 
 long on his cabinet, unsealed, and was after 
 ward endorsed by him, as communicating the 
 mournful event of his "dear friend Gay s de 
 cease, received December 15th, but not read 
 until five days after, by an impulse foreboding 
 some misfortune." One would scarcely have 
 
154 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 expected such sentimentality from the fierce- 
 tempered Dean of St. Patrick s; but literary 
 friendship softened him. The intellectual com 
 munion of Addison and Steele, cemented an in 
 teresting attachment ; and the majestic old 
 Johnson, though with less of mental congenial 
 ity for Goldsmith, still from affectionate regard 
 excused his eccentricities, praised his talents, 
 and rejoiced in his reputation. 
 
 This amiable and salubrious element of in 
 tellectual intercourse, is by no means confined 
 to any particular age or country, In Germany, 
 where native and noble impulse is the least fet 
 tered by conventionalism, in France, where 
 genius and the labors of literature, open the 
 gate of distinction more readily than a key of 
 ^rold, and in our own 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 differ 
 ent departments, advance the great work of 
 mental progress. 
 
 The poetic friendship of the Saxon mind 
 has embalmed itself in the interwoven lines 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 155 
 
 and lives of Beaumont and Fletcher. The 
 Lake Spirits, Wordsworth, Southey, and Cole 
 ridge, beautifully attested the brotherhood of 
 genius, until the " threefold cord" was sunder 
 ed at the tomb. 
 
 Much of this affectionate, generous sympa 
 thy between gifted minds, seemed to me still 
 to exist in Great Britain, and though I was 
 
 7 O 
 
 there too late to witness it in those most gen 
 ial spirits, Sir Walter Scott, and Mrs. He mans, 
 its sweet revealings were manifested by Maria 
 Edge worth, 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 epi 
 sode to please myself? an interview at Hamp- 
 stead, which Memory cherishes among her pen 
 cil-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, sur 
 rounded by many pictures, herself to me, the 
 most pleasant picture, of dignified and health- 
 
156 PAST MERIDIAN-. 
 
 ful age. On her cheek was somewhat 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 be 
 nevolence, lent new life and expression to her 
 smile. She was riot handsome, at least, so the 
 world said; her high 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 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 157 
 
 collect her fugitive poems, from th eir wide 
 spread channels, into the more enduring form 
 of a volume. As she felt disinclined to the 
 labor, he had himself undertaken and accom 
 plished it, and was now discussing the success 
 
 ^ 
 
 of the publication, and enjoying the high suff 
 rages of criticism, as if they were his own. 
 While their cheering, joyous tones, so pleas 
 antly blended, and mental communion and ser 
 vice 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 that venerable man, repeating with delib 
 erate intonation and perfect emphasis, his 
 favorite passage from Mrs. Barbould, who her 
 self resided in the immediate vicinity, at Hamp- 
 stead. 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 : 
 14 
 
158 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 So, steal away, give little warning, 
 Choose thine own time, 
 Say not good night, but in yon happier clime, 
 
 Bid me good morning." 
 
 The power of fine writing, sometimes re 
 mains unimpaired to th"e later evening of life. 
 One of the most distinguished instances of this 
 is found at the fair home of Sunny Side, on 
 the banks of the noble Hudson. There Wash 
 ington Irving, having planted the seventy-fourth 
 milestone upon his journey of life, continues 
 with much of the spirit, and external aspect 
 of earlier years, to increase the number of his 
 literary laurels. England vies with his native 
 clime in doing him honor, while in this digni 
 fied retirement, respected by all who know him, 
 he watches not inactively, the shadows that 
 lengthen on his path. The pen which has 
 won for him so illustrious a place in the annals 
 of the world, is still a loved companion. His 
 elaborate Biography of Washington is now in 
 the progress of publication and none can trace 
 in its pages, any mark of declension in vigor 
 of conception, or genial beauty of style. Long 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 159 
 
 may he be enabled to add to his country s fame, 
 and by an example of sunny age, to animate 
 all who behold it. 
 
 At a still more advanced age, Professor Silli- 
 man, Senior, of Yale College, long the editor 
 of the "American Journal of Science," has 
 presented the public with two volumes, delin 
 eating a recent extensive tour in Europe. Com 
 pared with a similar work from his own pen, 
 issued half a century before, they yield nothing 
 of force, variety or brilliance. Possibly they 
 have even the advantage over their predecess 
 or. Their admixture of science, with the dra 
 pery of narrative, give them, as it were, bone 
 and muscle, by which to stand erect, and move 
 among the people. 
 
 Over their author, also, now in his seventy- 
 ninth year, changeful time has had little 
 power. His fine manly form is still unbowed, 
 his unspectacled eyes, daunted by no obscurity 
 of type or chirograph} 7 , and his urbanity and 
 hospitality in full exercise. A summer or two 
 since, he returned unfatigued, from a journey 
 to the Far West, of some four thousand miles, 
 
160 PAST MEEIDIAN 
 
 enjoying, as keenly as ever, the varied scenery, 
 adding to the cheerfulness of a large traveling 
 party, and especially entering into the pleasures 
 of the young, with a fresh, unclouded spirit. 
 As recently as the last winter, he was induced 
 to deliver a course of Lectures on Geology, at 
 St. Louis, Missouri, regarding the distance, the 
 season, and the toil, as no greater obstacles, 
 than in early manhood. 
 
 The accomplishment of lecturing, which re 
 quires such a combination of talent is occasionally 
 among the perquisites of age. Dr. Caldwell 
 enumerates several striking instances. 
 
 "Dr. Shippen, he says, delivered after his seventieth year, 
 some of the ablest and most instructive lectures I have ever 
 heard from his chair. 
 
 Cullen was a splendid lecturer in the medical school of Edin 
 burgh, at the age of eighty-three, and Monroe, the elder, was 
 equally distinguished at about the same age. Boerhaave, when 
 more than seventy, attracted to his lectures, crowds of pupils 
 from all parts of Europe. Blumenback did the same from 
 eighty-three to eighty-five ; and Professor Hufeland, when up 
 ward of fourscore, was the pride of his profession in Berlin, a 
 city scarcely inferior to any in science and letters." 
 
 The popular lectures, that so agreeably 
 diversify the winters in most of our cities, and 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 161 
 
 often attract such dense and delighted audi 
 ences, are sometimes uttered by men past their 
 prime. Distinguished among these, is the Rev. 
 John Pierpont, a poet as well as a scholar, 
 and one of nature s noblemen; who in his 
 seventy-second year, has delivered during the 
 past season, his eightieth Lecture, having trav 
 eled, to meet the consequent engagements, 
 more than twelve thousand miles. 
 
 Who that has listened, as we have had the 
 privilege of recently doing, to the Honorable 
 Edward Everett s classic analysis of the char 
 acter of Washington, with its elegant argu 
 ments for national harmony, would imagine 
 that more than sixty winters had passed over 
 him, or ever forego the impression of his per 
 fect oratory and pure patriotism ? 
 
 Turning again to those whose age shrinks 
 not from the complicated toils of authorship, 
 we perceive a work from the pen of George 
 Griffin, L L. D., of New York, entitled " The 
 Gospel its own Advocate." It was written 
 after he had numbered more than threescore 
 
 and ten, and shows the research of a mind 
 u* 
 
162 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 disciplined by the severe studies of jurispru 
 dence, accustomed to weigh contending claims, 
 to throw words into the crucible, and through 
 all their fermentations watch for the witness- 
 ings of truth. It embodies the force of a clear 
 intellect, and the conclusions of a long life. 
 The learned author, now in his seventy-first 
 year, still endued with vigor of mind and body, 
 might in his hours of literary labor, have read 
 ily 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 well as in a 
 previous work, to devote the gathered lights of 
 his experience to the defence and illustration 
 of that gospel wherein is our hope. 
 
 The Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. William 
 Croswell, of Boston, by the venerable Dr. Cros- 
 well, for more than forty years Rector of 
 Trinity Church, in New Haven, Connec 
 ticut, is an octavo of more than five hundred 
 pages, and undoubtedly the most affecting as 
 well as judicious tribute that a man of genius 
 and piety ever received from a father of almost 
 fourscore. Girding himself to lay in the grave 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 163 
 
 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 altar, constructs a monu 
 ment which will endure when brass and marble 
 perish. 
 
 An interesting catalogue might doubtless be 
 constructed of authors, who after the period of 
 seventy or even of eighty years, have contin 
 ued to interest and instruct mankind. Dr. 
 Johnson prepared his celebrated " Lives of the 
 Poets," when more than threescore and ten ; 
 Hannah More wrote her work on " Prayer," at 
 seventy-six ; Richard Cumberland, his attract 
 ive auto-biography, at seventy-two, and his 
 poem on " Retrospection," several years later. 
 Dr. Blair, so celebrated for his Lectures on 
 " Rhetoric and Belle Lettres," pursued his lite 
 rary labors to a great age, and was engaged in 
 preparing for the press, an additional volume 
 of sermons, when Death took the pen from his 
 hand, in his eighty-second winter. 
 
164 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 At a still more advanced age, Walter Savage 
 Landor, retains the force and elasticity which 
 marked his youthful style, and has recently 
 interested himself in editing a work, entitled 
 " Letters of an American." At his pleasant 
 house in Bath, England, healthful and happy, 
 he delights by that peculiar wit, which in early 
 days irradiated the pages of his " Imaginary 
 Conversations," and gave him so high a rank 
 among men of genius. 
 
 The compositions of Dr. Franklin, after he 
 was eighty, some of which were dictated only a 
 few days before his death, display much of that 
 freshness and simplicity, which gave a charm 
 to the productions of his earlier years. 
 
 The Rev. Sidney Smith, to the last, wielded 
 a pen of power and versatility. "I do not 
 consider my education by any means finished," 
 said he at seventy-four. Ever was he learning 
 something, not only in the intellectual field, 
 but in those sciences that promote the comfort 
 of domestic life, and in the healing art, that he 
 might benefit his poor parishioners. When in 
 his remote and ill-remunerated curacy of 
 
ETC. 165 
 
 Yorkshire, he managed to erect a dwelling, to 
 construct a carriage that might bear him to his 
 distant posts of labor, or accommodate his del 
 icate wife, and also provide articles of furni 
 ture for the parsonage, combining convenience 
 with some degree of grace, though the materi 
 als with which he could supply the workman, 
 were but deal boards. To elevate the condi 
 tion of the surrounding villagers, he devised 
 gardens for them, dividing several acres of his 
 glebe into small portions, and giving instruction 
 at his intervals of leisure, in their right culti 
 vation. A pleasant sight it was, those little 
 expanses of rich vegetables, their crevices 
 adorned with a vine, or flowering shrub, and 
 the women and children cheerfully working 
 there in early morning, ere they went forth to 
 the labors of the day. There was not only 
 added comfort for these families, but a pleas 
 ant emulation in their own hearts, to obtain the 
 prize, he had kindly offered, for the best cul 
 tured, most productive domain. 
 
 The later years of his life were spent amid 
 comparative wealth, and the clerical duties of 
 
166 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 London, yet his benevolence and delight in 
 social pleasures, did not yield to time. 
 
 " Should old age prove a state of suffering," he 
 says, "it is still one of superior wisdom. Then 
 a man avoids the rash and foolish things to 
 which he was tempted in youth, and which 
 make life dangerous and painful." 
 
 Those who have already attained that period, 
 he thus advises : 
 
 "Be diligently occupied in the highest em 
 ployments of which your nature is capable, 
 that you may die with the consciousness of 
 having done your best. Keep on; be ener 
 getic to the last. Take short views ; hope for 
 the best, and trust in God." 
 
 A volume of poems, recently composed, du 
 ring the short period of six months, by James 
 Henry, M. D., and published in England, show 
 that warmth of fancy and grace of versifica 
 tion may flourish amid the snows of fourscore. 
 
 We give a specimen of this octogenarian 
 poetry, which like the other effusions in the 
 book, is characterized by a spirit of gladness 
 
LONGEVITY. ETC. 167 
 
 and hope, proving that the heart has not grown 
 either old or cold. 
 
 " Pleasant are the sun s rays, 
 
 Hill and vale adorning ; 
 
 Pleasant are the small birds 
 
 Singing in the morning ; 
 
 Pleasant is the Spring s breath, 
 Thro the thorn-hedge blowing ; 
 
 Pleasant is the primrose 
 In the garden growing ; 
 
 Pleasant is the kettle 
 
 O er the bright fire singing ; 
 Pleasant are the joy -bells .* 
 
 In the steeple ringing ; 
 
 Pleasant is the wild bee s 
 
 Right contented humming ; 
 Pleasant is the old friend s 
 
 Long-expected coming." 
 
 No author of modern times, has probably 
 reached the date of Lewis Cornaro, the Vene 
 tian. His three treatises on health, and the 
 means of its preservation, were written at the 
 respective ages of eighty-one, eighty-five, and 
 ninety-one. They are brief records of his 
 own life and regimen, mingled with the reflec- 
 
168 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tions and precepts of a clear mind, and sound 
 judgment. Their style is as perspicuous and 
 sprightly, as that of a young man. They 
 earnestly recommend the strict temperance and 
 judicious exercise of both body and mind, by 
 which he was enabled to restore the health 
 which at forty seemed prostrated, but which 
 for sixty years, with unimpaired intellectual 
 power, it \vas his privilege to enjoy. At the 
 age of more than one hundred years, while 
 seated in his arm chair, and apparently without 
 suffering, he ceased to breathe. 
 
 The author of the admirable " Essay on old 
 age," remarks : 
 
 " The propensity to inaction which makes its insidious visit, 
 at the commencement of the decline of life, is a weakness which 
 by temperance, and determined resistance, may be vanquished 
 and banished. Three observances are necessary : strict tem 
 perance in diet, drink, and in emotions, moderate exer 
 cise in the open air, and mental industry carried to a suitable 
 extent, and bestowed on suitable subjects. Men of a high order 
 of mental constitution, may thus render their decline capable of 
 vigorous, and efficient action to a very advanced age, not unfre- 
 quently to their eightieth or even eighty-fifth year." 
 
 It might be pleasant to enlarge the list of 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 169 
 
 those, who to the extreme point of human life, 
 have continued to enlighten others, by their 
 intellectual efforts. But the present purpose 
 is rather, by a desultory selection of examples, 
 to prove that the mind may continue expanding, 
 and refining to the utmost limit of mortal ex 
 istence. 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 
 which 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, bat rather of its unison with the high- 
 is 
 
170 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 Friendship for the authors who have cheered 
 or instructed us, is one of the peculiar pleas 
 ures of this present state of existence. We 
 may have never seen their faces in the flesh, 
 yet we have heard their voices. They may 
 have died long before we were born. "But 
 their speech hath gone forth to the end of the 
 world." We are their debtors for high and holy 
 thoughts. Pearls have they gathered for us 
 from the profoundest depths. Flowers that 
 are ever fragrant, they strew around our sol 
 itary study. Their diadems sparkle through 
 the darkness of midnight, as on our sleepless 
 pillows we commune with them. Benefactors 
 are they, to whom ingratitude is impossible, for 
 their gifts have become a part of ourselves. 
 
 Literature, like those fields of benevolence 
 in which all Christians can agree, offers a fair 
 meeting-ground of compromise and of peace. 
 
LONGEVITY, ETC. 171 
 
 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." Perchance, 
 the world, like Naomi, may listen for their foot 
 steps and bless them. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Like living, breathing Bibles ! Tables where 
 Both covenants at large engraven were ; 
 Gospel and Law, on heart had each its column, 
 Their head an index to the Sacred Volume, 
 Their very name a title-page : and next, 
 Their life a Commentary on the text." 
 
 REV. BENJAMIN WOODBRIDGE.* 
 
 IT is an interesting study to trace the influ 
 ence of the varied employments of man, upon 
 his physical welfare. Some are manifestly 
 hazardous, others destructive to life. They 
 who " take the sword, are liable to perish by 
 the sword." They who "go down to the sea 
 in ships," prove by their brief everage of years, 
 at what risk they grapple with adverse ele- 
 
 * The first graduate of Harvard University. 
 
AGED DIVINES. Ii3 
 
 ments. They who excite the earth to fruitful- 
 ness, not unfrequently find added vigor among 
 the rewards of toil. Would it be irrational to 
 infer that they who cultivate the fruits of im 
 mortality, might sometimes gather from their 
 richness and fragrance, strength for the life 
 that now is, as well as for that which is to 
 come ? 
 
 Among the less exposed, and more sedentary 
 professions, the employment of an instructor 
 of youth, has been considered favorable to lon 
 gevity. The cheering influence of companion 
 ship with the young, like an indwelling with 
 fresh and beautiful thoughts, aids in preserving 
 the youth of the mind ; and if in the perpetual 
 inculcation of good principles, and a right 
 practice, there is a development of feeling, that 
 makes even strangers dear, a solace for joys 
 that are withheld, or have departed, it might 
 be congenial also to physical as well as moral 
 prosperity. 
 
 It would, therefore, not be surprising to find 
 among those, who have chosen as their life s 
 vocation, the highest interests of the soul, and 
 
 15* 
 
174 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 by voice or pen labored to promote them, 
 many instances of healthful adjustment of 
 structure to pursuit, and the prolonged use of 
 those powers, which benevolence and piety 
 called into action. 
 
 Looking back to the earlier periods of Christ 
 ianity, we find the venerated Jerome, on the 
 borders of ninety, and Epiphanius on the 
 verge of a hundred. Bishop Burgess, in that 
 remarkable work, entitled " The Last Enemy, 
 so distinguished for learned research and pro 
 found piety, says, in adducing instances of long 
 life :- 
 
 " St. Polycarp, seems to have been an exception to the com 
 mon lot, and Simeon, the second Bishop of Jerusalem, reached 
 one hundred and twenty years; both dying by martyrdom. 
 Many of the saints and anchorites of the earlier ages, were famed 
 for length of days. Paul, the Hermit, is said to have lived 
 to be a hundred and thirteen : his follower, Antony, to a hun 
 dred and five ; and John, the Silent, to a hundred and four. 
 The cenobites of Mount Sinai, not unfrequently attained ex 
 treme age. In our own day, a Baptist minister, at one hundred 
 and eight, has addressed a congregation from the pulpit." 
 
 Recently also, has been announced in Eng 
 land, the death of the Reverend G. Fletcher, 
 
AGED DIVINES. 175 
 
 of the Wesleyan denomination, who continued 
 active in duty to the same great age. 
 
 Bishop Leslie completed more than a centu 
 ry, and Bishop Barrington, in his ninety -third 
 year, having read the usual Sunday course 
 with his household, told them it " was the last 
 time" and ere the return of that hallowed day, 
 yielded his breath so gently, that those who 
 stood by his bedside, were unconscious of the 
 moment of transition. 
 
 Thomas Kempis, whose writings filled 
 three folio volumes, and whose principal work, 
 " The Imitation of Christ," was composed at 
 the age of sixty, reached his ninety-second 
 year, not only with unimpaired mental powers, 
 but with the perfect use of eye-sight, unaided 
 by spectacles. 
 
 At an equally advanced period, was Bishop 
 Huet removed, and Bishop Wilson, whose 
 "Sacra Privata," still breathes like living 
 incense upon the altar of the pious heart. 
 The venerated Bishop Lloyd, numbered ninety 
 winters ; and at the same age, Archbishop Har- 
 court, having attended divine service at York- 
 
176 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Minster, announced not again, beneath the 
 arches of that noble cathedral, the * Lord is in 
 His holy temple," being summoned ere the close 
 of the week to a more glorious company, and 
 a " house, eternal in the heavens." 
 
 John Wesley was enabled to persevere in 
 his wonderful toils, till eighty-eight, having, 
 before he reached his seventieth year, publish 
 ed more than thirty octavo volumes. On his 
 seventy-second birthday 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." 
 
 Bishop Kurd, at a similar age with Wesley, 
 closed a life of calm piety, by consigning him 
 self, at the usual hour, to quiet sleep, from 
 which he awoke no more on earth. 
 
AGED DIVINES. 177 
 
 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 
 and Simeon, completed their Christian example 
 at seventy-seven ; and Richard Baxter, at sev 
 enty-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 ; 
 arid Bishop Andrews, the master of fifteen lan 
 guages, who was appointed by James First, one 
 of the principal translators of our present ver 
 sion of the Scriptures, continued until seventy- 
 one, his untiring toils and devoted charities. 
 Beveridge, beloved by all, ceased from his 
 peaceful pilgrimage at seventy, and Philander 
 Chase, for years the senior Bishop of the 
 Episcopal church in these United States, closed 
 
178 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the earnest labors commenced in early youth, 
 and the pioneer bravery of his unresting age, 
 at seventy-seven. 
 
 At eighty-six, the Rev. Solomon Stoddard, for 
 more than threescore years, pastor of but 
 one church in Northampton, Mass., was still a 
 zealous and effective preacher ; and the Rev. 
 Dr. Archibald Alexander, closed eighty years 
 of Christian example, in the serene light of 
 intellect and happiness. At seventeen he 
 became a teacher in his native Virginia, at 
 eighteen commenced preaching the Gospel, 
 with singular fervor and fluency, and for the 
 last forty years discharged the duties of a Pro 
 fessorship of eminence, in the theological Insti 
 tution at Princeton, New Jersey. Old age was 
 never adduced by him, as an excuse from any 
 labor. " There are two errors," he said, "to 
 which the aged are exposed. One is that of 
 refusing to admit that they are old. The other, 
 that of permitting themselves to become so 
 prematurely." 
 
 Beautiful instances here and there occur, of 
 divines, who have devoted all of life to one 
 
AGED DIVINES. 179 
 
 post of duty, thus enjoying better opportunities 
 to mature their plans of usefulness, and to 
 see blessed fruits ripen in fields of their own 
 planting. 
 
 Conspicuous among these, was the Rev. Dr. 
 Routh, who sustained for sixty-four years, the 
 presidency of Magdalen College, Oxford, and 
 died within the last few months at the age of 
 ninety-nine. This learned and venerable 
 man, preserved good health, and habits of in 
 tellectual research, until the last. A bright 
 link was he, between the present and the past, 
 having in youth known those who had person 
 ally conversed with Ken, Bull, and Beveridge. 
 
 On the flourishing branch of the Church of 
 England, established in America, he looked 
 with a peculiarly affectionate interest, having 
 more than seventy years before his death, used 
 his influence in inducing our own Seabury to 
 seek consecration from the Bishops of Scotland. 
 
 The extent and accuracy of his knowledge, 
 and his suavity in imparting it, were proverbial. 
 His judgment was so reliable, and his self-con 
 trol so absolute, that men took counsel of him,. 
 
180 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 as of an oracle. Notwithstanding his extreme 
 age, he was ever courteous to strangers, and 
 accessible to the youngest person. 
 
 An interview with the President of Magda 
 len, was something to be remembered, even by 
 men of letters and distinction. " That grave 
 and solemn presence, that refined and some 
 what austere politeness, the invariable pomp of 
 full academic costume, the spare form, alive 
 with intelligence, the inexhaustible library, the 
 copiousness of quotation, and immense range 
 of knowledge and memory, all recalled the 
 majesty of the past." A monument of his 
 reputation as a scholar and theologian, is the 
 work entitled, "Reliquise Sacra," a new and 
 revised edition, of which, he prepared, while 
 approaching his hundredth year. 
 
 As a mark of the affectionate appreciation 
 of the students under his charge, the following 
 brief extract is subjoined from their last birth 
 day tribute to this venerated guide and friend. 
 
 " In studious care a century well nigh past, 
 Three generations ROUTE S fresh powers outlast ; 
 A NESTOR S snows his reverend temples grace, 
 
AGED DIVINES. 181 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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." 
 
 Bishop White, the beauty of whose silver 
 locks, and saintly smile, still dwell in the mem 
 ory of many, entered on his sacred duties, at 
 the age of twenty-four, in the city of Philadel 
 phia, and there continued as priest and prelate, 
 for sixty-four years, until his death at eighty- 
 eight. During two years spent in England, 
 after the completion of his theological studies, 
 
 16 
 
182 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 where he also received orders, he numbered 
 among his privileges, to have seen and heard 
 the voices of Bishop South, and Bishop Home, 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson, the giant of English lite 
 rature, and the sweet poet, Oliver Goldsmith. 
 Amid the earliest troubles of our Revolution, 
 he firmly espoused the cause of his country, 
 was appointed chaplain to Congress, during the 
 gloomy period of its flight to Yorktown, and 
 continued after its return, to be elected an 
 nually to that office, until its permanent loca 
 tion at the present seat of government. The 
 fourth year after his consecration as Bishop. 
 Philadelphia sustained for several months, the 
 ravages of pestilential yellow fever. Like the 
 plague, it suddenly destroyed almost every vic 
 tim whom it seized. The mortality was fear 
 ful. Those who had it in their power, took 
 flight. Among them, was every minister of 
 religion except himself. Removing his family 
 into the country, he remained that he might 
 lend the solaces of religion to all who suffered. 
 Without regard to denomination, and in the 
 poorest hovel he might be found, pointing to 
 
AGED DIVINES. 183 
 
 the " Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of 
 the world." Untouched by the Destroyer, while 
 throngs around, and even the servants in his 
 own house fell, he stood firm at his post, be 
 tween the living and the dead, lifting the cen 
 ser of prayer, until the " plague was staid." 
 
 Fearless in duty, and sincerely attached to 
 the doctrines of his own church, he cherished 
 no bigotry, or spirit of condemnation to those 
 of differing opinions. In his meek soul, the 
 prelacy wrought no pride. It made his humility 
 and condescension more effective. Time, 
 talents and fortune, he devoted conscientiously 
 to the good of others. When on the verge of 
 ninety, he was borne to his grave, the beauti 
 ful city of his birth mourned as for a father. 
 Feelingly and forcibly was it said of him by 
 one of another sect of Christians, that " he en 
 joyed a revenue above a monarch s command, 
 his daily income was beyond all human com 
 putation, for whenever he went forth, age paid 
 him the tribute of affectionate respect, and 
 children rose up and called him blessed." 
 
184 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 He was prized 
 
 As a pure diamond that an elder age 
 Bequeathed to this : for souls that wrap themselves 
 In holy love, can never be alone, 
 Each waking generation clasps its arms 
 Fondly around them, and with plastic smile 
 Learns wisdom from their lips. 
 
 The Rev. William Jay, so widely known 
 and highly prized for the fervor of his religious 
 writings, was induced by circumstances to com 
 mence preaching, at the age of sixteen. In 
 this exercise he was so eminently successful, 
 and took such delight, that it was mingled with 
 his course of study, and he had delivered more 
 than a thousand sermons ere he had attained 
 the age of twenty-one. Afterwards, he was 
 settled as the pastor of Argyle Chapel, in Bath, 
 where he continued for sixty-three years, until 
 his death at eighty-four, encircled to the last 
 moment, by the loving hearts of his people, 
 and the reverence of mankind. 
 
 Many occasional services did he perform 
 in London and its vicinity, and as his di 
 rectness and pathos were powerful in moving 
 to deeds of charity, he was frequently per- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 185 
 
 suaded thus to advocate the different forms of 
 benevolence that marked his times. Age did 
 not impair either his freshness of memory, or 
 his power in the pulpit. The Rev. Dr. Johns, 
 of Baltimore, who during his travels abroad, 
 listened to him in his own chapel, when in his 
 eighty-fourth year, thus speaks : 
 
 u To the inquiries of American friends, as to whose preaching 
 I liked best of all among those whom I heard while in England 
 and Scotland, my answer has uniformly been, the old preacher at 
 Bath, whom you all know as the author of the Morning and 
 Evening Exercises. " 
 
 Amid the severity and variety of his labors, 
 and the fame that attended them, the loveliness 
 of his domestic and social character was con 
 spicuous. His delight in rural scenery, and 
 the simple pleasures of horticulture was great. 
 When far advanced in years, he says in a let 
 ter to absent children : 
 
 " How many rose trees do you imagine I ha vein my garden? 
 Five thousand four hundred and one. How fond I grow of 
 flowers ! A pious female said lately, while dying, I go to a land 
 of peace and of flowers" 
 
 16* 
 
186 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 So much did he desire to impart the pleas 
 ure he thus received, that it was his habit to 
 give each of his servants, on Sunday, when 
 going to church, a large handful of flowers, 
 charging them on no account to bring them 
 back, but distribute them to the poor people, 
 who would value them more, as sent from his 
 garden. Cheerfulness* and gratitude to God, 
 pervaded his daily course of duty, and beauti 
 fully has he thus expressed both : 
 
 u The place of my residence, is of all others, that of my 
 preference. My condition has been that happy medium of nei 
 ther poverty nor riches. My friends have been many, and cor 
 dial, and steady. I have a better opinion of mankind, than 
 when I began my public course. I cannot, therefore, ask, what 
 is the cause that former days were better than these ? Surely, 
 goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life." 
 
 Twelve years before his death, the jubilee 
 of his ministry at Bath, was celebrated with all 
 the enthusiasm that an attached and liberal 
 people could evince. Gifts of great value, 
 and touching import were presented him, and 
 clergymen of various denominations united in 
 testifying respect for him, who had preached 
 
AGED DIVINES. 187 
 
 the gospel in the love of it. Original hymns 
 for the occasion were prepared by the poet 
 Montgomery, from one of which we select the 
 following stanzas. 
 
 " To God he gave his flower of youth, 
 
 To God, his manhood s fruit he gave, 
 The herald of life-giving truth, 
 Dead souls from endless death to save. 
 
 Forsake him not in his old age, 
 
 But while his Master s cross he bears, 
 
 Faith be his staff of pilgrimage, 
 A crown of glory his gray hairs. 11 
 
 Seldom have I been more impressed by the 
 happy temperament and almost youthful activ 
 ity that may comport with threescore years 
 and ten, than in the case of a minister of the 
 Baptist denomination, met during my visit in 
 Scotland, the Rev. William Innes of Edinburgh. 
 He was in the habit of varying his more sed 
 entary pursuits, by a summer excursion on foot, 
 among the rude scenery and people of the 
 Highlands. Having prepared himself to preach 
 in their native tongue, he collected large audi 
 ences, who listened with rivetted attention to 
 
188 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the truths of the gospel. This missionary ser 
 vice, which by most persons would have been 
 deemed severe, was the only recreation in 
 w T hich he indulged during a whole year of sted- 
 fast, strenuous labor. He would return from 
 it, with an elastic step, and a cheek and lip 
 florid with health. Until between eighty and 
 ninety, he was spared to guide a beloved flock 
 by voice and example. 
 
 Rev. Rowland Hill, at an equally advanced 
 age, was enabled to persevere in his work with, 
 characteristic vivacity and eloquence. A pleas 
 ing description of some of his octogenarian la 
 bors, is given by the graphic pen of the Rev. 
 Dr. Sprague of Albany. While on a visit to 
 him, he mentions his spirited going forth one 
 morning to fulfill an appointment at a church, 
 fourteen miles distant from London, preaching 
 at another on his homeward route at three in 
 the afternoon, and again, with undiminished 
 energy, a third service, after his return to the 
 metropolis. 
 
 " I attended," says the narrator, "this evening, worship, at 
 Tottenham Court-Road Chapel, and found a thronged house> 
 
AGED DIVINES, 189 
 
 and the preacher seemed just as vigorous and fresh as if his fac 
 ulties had not been tasked at all during the day. He told me 
 that upon an average, he preached about seven times a week, 
 besides having much of his time taken up with public engage 
 ments, though he had then reached the age of eighty-three, and 
 had been in the ministry sixty -four years. When I took my 
 final leave of him, he said, Remember me kindly to any of 
 my friends you may meet in America, and tell them that I have 
 not quite done yet. 
 
 I have never seen, on the whole, another man to whom Rev. 
 Rowland Hill could be likened. The son of a baronet, there 
 was nobility impressed upon his whole appearance, and bearing, 
 and character ; and yet no man labored more zealously than he 
 for the improvement of the humblest classes. He had an exu 
 berance of wit, and yet it was evident that he lived almost con 
 stantly amidst the realities of the future. He was gentle, and 
 mild, and winning, and yet, when occasion required, would re 
 buke sinners, and come down upon the follies of the times, like 
 a thunderbolt or an avalanche," 
 
 Mingled with his originality and boldness, 
 was a large benevolence, and tender pity for 
 suffering. He erected Surry Chapel, and other 
 places of worship at his own expense, tene 
 ments also for the indigent, and for the widow, 
 and was a visitant of the lowliest shed, where 
 poverty mourned, even to extreme old age. 
 
 The ecclesiastical history of our own country, 
 
190 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 especially of New England, is rich in exam 
 ples of consecration of the energies of a whole, 
 long life, to a single church and people, thus 
 giving broad scope for the blessed affections 
 that spring from so hallowed an intercourse. 
 Of these precious instances of pastoral con 
 stancy, the annals of Connecticut have their 
 full share. In 1665, scarcely thirty years after 
 its first colonists stirred the depths of its unbro 
 ken forest, with " their hymns of lofty cheer," 
 we find the Rev. James Noyes, in his sea-girt 
 home, at Stonington, guiding a single flock, for 
 almost fifty-six years, till recalled by the Chief 
 Shepherd, at fourscore. 
 
 The Rev. Samuel Andrew, was the pastor 
 of Milford, from 1675, for a period of more 
 than half a century. Besides his ministerial 
 labors, he devoted much time and attention to 
 Yale College, then in its infancy. Being a 
 man of learning, he was an instructor of its 
 senior class, after the death of the first Presi 
 dent, before its permanent location in New Ha 
 ven; and for nearly forty years continued an 
 active member of its corporation. 
 
AGED DIVINES. 191 
 
 In 1694, at Windsor, one of the earliest set 
 tled towns, on the banks of the beautiful Con 
 necticut, the Rev. Timothy Edwards, assumed 
 the pastoral duties, which for sixty-two years, 
 he was enabled to discharge, with usefulness 
 and happiness, to the age of ninety. Among 
 his honors, should be recorded, that of training 
 his illustrious son, the first President Edwards, 
 one of the most devout men, and acute meta 
 physicians of his own, or any other times. 
 
 The first ecclesiastical Society in East Ha 
 ven, had, from its birth, in 1708, for fifty years, 
 enjoyed the fostering care of the Rev. Jacob 
 
 Hemenwav, whose cradle and crave were be- 
 
 / 7 
 
 neath the same fair shades ; and after his death. 
 that of the Rev. Nicholas Street, who on the 
 day that completed the fifty-first anniversary 
 of his acceptance of the sacred office, went 
 peacefully to the Redeemer whom he loved. 
 For more than a whole century did those two 
 servants of God, watch over that one people. 
 
 The Rev. Anthony Stoddard, from 1704, 
 completed a pastorate of fifty-eight years, in 
 the romantic region of Woodbury. 
 
192 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 A man he was of unresting activity, earnest 
 and skillful in the wisdom of this life, as well 
 as of that which is to come. His people sought 
 counsel of him, as of an oracle. In many of 
 their physical ailments, he was their healer ; 
 in their testamentary dispositions, their ad 
 viser, and clerk of probate; in cases of con 
 flicting interest, their protector from the evils 
 of litigation. Nor was this versatility, and ex 
 tent of practical knowledge, so used as to im 
 pair the dignity of the pulpit, but perhaps, 
 through an increase of personal sympathy, ren 
 dered it more efficacious. 
 
 The Rev. Moses Dickenson, who died at 
 Norwalk, at the age of more than fourscore, 
 had been sixty-four years in the active duties 
 of the ministry. In his earlier prime, he offi 
 ciated in New Jersey, but for more than half 
 a century, was devoted to the affectionate peo 
 ple among whom he closed his eyes, and who 
 paid him tribute in their simple monumental 
 inscription, as a "man of good understanding, 
 well-informed by study, cheerful in temper, and 
 prudent in conduct." 
 
AGED DIVINES. 193 
 
 The Rev. Solomon Williams, took charge of 
 the church at Lebanon, somewhat more than half 
 a century before our Revolution, having scarcely 
 reached the age of twenty-one. Other pro 
 fessions might have allured him, for he was a 
 distinguished scholar at Harvard University, 
 where he graduated at eighteen ; but the choice 
 of his heart w r as theology. Fifty-four years, 
 did he faithfully teach and serve that people. 
 If there were differences to be composed among 
 them, he was their peace-maker. Their pas 
 sions were wont to yield to his mildness, and 
 force of reasoning. Unassuming, yet fearless, 
 his gravity was mingled wdth a serene cheer 
 fulness, readily beaming out into pleasantry, 
 and it was sententiously affirmed of him, by 
 one qualified to judge, that he was through his 
 whole clerical course, "so affable that all might 
 approach him, yet so dignified that none could 
 do so without respect." 
 
 The senior Governor Trumbull, a man of 
 kindred excellence, and long one of the com 
 municants in his church, characterizes him as 
 
 " that eminently learned and pious divine." In 
 17 
 
194 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 a letter to his distinguished son, the second 
 Governor of that name, dated in the spring of 
 1776, he thus touchingly announces his de 
 cease : 
 
 " Alas ! he is gone from us. To the last, he was calm, pa 
 tient and resigned. Let us follow him as he followed our Lord 
 and Master, Jesus Christ. It will not be the fault of our dear 
 departed Teacher, if we have not profited under his instructions. 
 His friendship hath been one of the great comforts of my life." 
 
 The same fair, rural township, where his 
 ashes repose, was the birth-place of the Rev. 
 Dr. John Smalley, for more than sixty years 
 the beloved pastor at Berlin. For this long 
 period he was exhibiting in that one spot, the 
 beauty of Christian example, enforced by 
 energy in the pulpit, knowledge of human 
 nature, and soundness of judgment, in the 
 daily intercourse of life. At the age of eighty 
 six, Death unbraced his armor, and taught him 
 the triumph-song, " thanks be unto God, who 
 giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Benjamin Trumbull, was or 
 dained at North Haven, in 1760, and contin- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 195 
 
 ued to discharge pastoral duty, with great fidel 
 ity, among the same people, for sixty years ; 
 attaining himself, the age of fourscore and four. 
 To his ministerial toils, he added those of au 
 thorship, bequeathing to posterity, the " History 
 of Connecticut/ in two volumes octavo ; a 
 " History of the United States," not entirely 
 finished, with other works on theological sub 
 jects. The patient research in accumulating 
 facts and statistics, and the persevering labor, 
 requisite to the accurate historian, and which 
 no other writer can fully comprehend, he pos 
 sessed in full measure. Venerated by all his 
 cotemporaries, his pen and life wrought out the 
 same memorial of intellectual eminence and 
 saintly piety. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Andrew Lee, from 1768, offi 
 ciated as the pastor of Hanover, sixty-two 
 years, unaided and alone, and sixty-four, with 
 the occasional assistance of a colleague. Grav 
 ity, and " sound speech, that needeth not 
 to be ashamed," were among the elements 
 of his character. So were, also, contentment 
 with his lot, and its duties, and an aversion to 
 
196 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 change, from principle. To a young minister, 
 who consulted him on the subject of taking a 
 new parish, saying that it would " help his 
 stock of sermons," he replied. 
 
 " Will it help your stock of grace, brother ? 
 Or would it help to build up the churches, if all 
 their pastors turned itinerants, to save them 
 selves the trouble of study?" 
 
 In his eighty-eighth year, he gave his last 
 blessing to the rural scenes of his love and toil, 
 and entered into the " rest that remaineth for 
 the people of God." 
 
 And now, suffer me to pause by an unassu 
 ming, sacred edifice, overshadowed by tow 
 ering ledges of gray rock, at whose base 
 glide the bright waters of the Yantic. From 
 that pulpit, while one hundred and seventeen 
 years, notched their seasons upon those cliffs, 
 and generation after generation yielded to the 
 sickle of. time, the voice of but two spiritual 
 guides were heard, teaching the way of salva 
 tion. Of one, the fathers have told me the other, 
 shed the baptismal water on my infancy, and 
 drew my youthful feet within the fold of Christ, 
 
AGED DIVINES. 197 
 
 Dr. Benjamin Lord, born in 1693, took 
 charge of the church at Norwich, in 1717, con 
 tinuing there for sixty-seven years, until his 
 death in his ninety-second year. Though he 
 attained such longevity, his constitution was 
 not vigorous, and the measure of health that 
 he enjoyed, especially in early life, seemed the 
 result of care, rather than of native strength. 
 Still this prudence never withheld him from 
 any duty of his sacred profession, for self was 
 forgotten, when his Master called. Like an 
 affectionate father with his children, he dwelt 
 among his people. "In their hearts I have 
 lived," said he, " and they in mine." 
 
 At the age of seventy- four, he preached his 
 half-century sermon, apparently possessed of 
 more physical endurance than in his prime, and 
 also, a sixty-fourth anniversary sermon, when 
 in his eighty-ninth year. Emphatically might 
 it have been said of him, " they that wait upon 
 the Lord shall renew their strength." 
 
 Dimness, in the later years of his ministry, 
 gathered over his sight. Yet still he sat in the 
 accustomed chair in his study, and wrote his 
 
 17* 
 
198 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 discourses, partially by the sense of feeling, 
 guiding, as well as he was able, the course of 
 his lines upon the paper, with the fingers of his 
 left hand. Then a gentle grand-daughter, who 
 greatly loved him, would read slowly to him, 
 with her sweet clear voice, what he had com 
 posed, until it was so impressed upon his mem 
 ory, that he could deliver it with his wonted 
 fluency. Fitting scene for a painter, that man, 
 so meekly beautiful, his hoary head slightly 
 declined, listening to his own sacred themes, 
 from the filial lips of the fair-haired maiden. 
 Indeed, his flock, who were pleased with what 
 ever their old Shepherd did, said his sermons 
 were even better than before he became blind, 
 for the great labor of transcribing, gave 
 force of condensation, and his natural fullness 
 of thought and language, sometimes approached 
 redundancy. Though of a gentle spirit, he 
 was occasionally earnest and authoritative in 
 demanding obedience to the requisitions of the 
 Gospel. 
 
 Difference of religious opinion, in those days, 
 as well as in our own, sometimes interrupted 
 
AGED DIVINES. 199 
 
 Christian intercourse. A degree of estrange 
 ment, had been thus permitted to exist, between 
 him and the minister of an adjacent township. 
 But the hallowed influence of age, and the ap 
 proach to a clime of perfect harmony, melted 
 the shades of doctrine, and the ice of preju 
 dice. He could not bear that any cloud should 
 obscure the sunlight of charity, and remember 
 ing this one instance of an alienated friend, 
 determined himself to make advances for rec 
 onciliation. An interview was requested, and 
 when the saintly old man, saw the younger one 
 approaching, he rose to meet him, and taking 
 both his hands, said with a tenderness that 
 melted those present to tears, " Brother under 
 neath thee be the Everlasting Arms. May we 
 dwell together where love is eternal." 
 
 With what affectionate reverence did the 
 people watch their blessed minister, as when 
 past the age of ninety, having for almost sev 
 enty years, spread before them the riches of 
 the Gospel, and besought them to be recon 
 ciled to God, he was led in his feebleness, Sun 
 day after Sunday, to ascend the pulpit stairs, 
 
200 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and pronounce the benediction. When he 
 sometimes said, with trembling tones, and the 
 smile as of an angel, "I am now ready to be 
 offered up : the time of my departure is at 
 hand," though every soul among them, might 
 have responded, "Thou hast fought the good 
 fight, thou hast kept the faith," or listened 
 for a voice from above, " Henceforth, there is 
 laid up for thee a crown of righteousness," yet 
 in the depth of their love, they \vere ready 
 rather to weep. 
 
 " Like flock bereft of shepherd, when snows shut out the day." 
 
 By his side, attentive to every movement, 
 anxious to relieve him from every care, stood 
 his young colleague, the Rev. Joseph Strong. 
 Gray-headed men, who remembered his ordi 
 nation, have described it as a scene, strikingly 
 impressive. The concourse was large and at 
 tentive, the music devout and elevating The 
 candidate about to receive the sacred vows, 
 was surrounded by many elders in the ministry. 
 The preacher selected for the occasion, was 
 his own brother, Rev. Dr. Nathan Strong, for 
 
AGED DIVINES. 201 
 
 more than forty years, pastor of the 
 gregational church in Hartford, and one of the 
 most distinguished and eloquent men of his 
 times. His text was from the sublime prophet. 
 " How beautiful upon the mountains, are the 
 feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that 
 publisheth peace, that saith unto Zion, thy God 
 reigneth." The rich and tender tones of his 
 voice trembled with feeling, as at the close he 
 said : 
 
 " My dear brother, now may I address you by that endearing 
 epithet, in all senses. We received our being, under God, from 
 the same parents, were educated by the same nurturing kind 
 ness, have professed obedience to the same glorious Master, and 
 this day introduces you as a fellow-laborer in his vineyard. 
 Very pleasant hast thou been unto me, my brother ; and never 
 was my joy greater in beholding thec, than on this day s solem 
 nities. Long may thy feet be beautiful on these mountains of 
 Zion." 
 
 Still deeper was the emotion, when the father 
 of these two ministers, himse-lf long the es 
 teemed pastor of a neighboring township, came 
 forward, and solemnly charged this his young 
 son, to be faithful to the high trust committed 
 to him, in the presence of men, and of angels. 
 
202 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Pointing to his predecessor in that pulpit, 
 bending under the weight of years, yet from 
 whose dim eye beamed a light that earth might 
 not darken, he adjured him to " serve with that 
 beloved and venerated man, as a son with the 
 father, as Timothy with Paul, the aged." 
 
 A model of reverent and filial regard was 
 the whole intercourse of this youthful colleague 
 with the aged Shepherd, until he exchanged his 
 pastoral staff, for a " seat at the Redeemer s foot 
 stool." The Rev. Dr. Strong of Norwich, was a 
 man of greatbenevolence, and eminently success 
 ful in preserving the unanimity and respect of his 
 people. I hear now, in memory s echo, the in 
 flections of his voice, in his wonderfully solemn, 
 concise prayer, or when he comforted the 
 mourners. I imagine that I still see him, as he 
 passed in the streets ; his tall form, his stately 
 movement, the faultless neatness of his cos 
 tume. The rudest boy hushed himself, and 
 grew demure, as he approached. At school 
 visitations, he entered as a superior being. 
 We, children, strove to be perfect at our recita 
 tions, and maintained the most unexceptionable 
 
AGED DIVINES. 203 
 
 demeanor in his presence. A word from him, 
 was a thing to be boasted of, and always worth 
 treasuring. The high respect, paid in those 
 days to the teachers of religion, was his with 
 out a drawback ; so gentlemanly was he at all 
 times, so perfect in social intercourse, and in all 
 life s beautiful duties. Never for the sake of 
 popularity, did he lay aside the dignity apper 
 taining to an ambassador of God. All his in 
 fluence was consecrated on that altar where 
 his heart was laid in youth. It was sacred to 
 the good order, the improvement, the private 
 and public virtue of the community among 
 whom his lot was cast. Thus he continued, a 
 benefactor to all around, until in thje fifty-sev 
 enth year of his ministry, and the eighty-second 
 of his life, the voice of grieving affection said, 
 "the memory of the just is blessed." 
 
 His fourscore years 
 
 Sate lightly on him, for his heart was glad, 
 Even to its latest pulse, with that blest love, 
 Home-nurtured and reciprocal, which girds 
 And garners up, in sorrow and in joy. 
 
 The Rev. John Tyler, was the first regularly 
 
204: PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 settled clergyman of the Episcopal church, in 
 Chelsea, the southern section of my native 
 city. He had been educated in Congregation 
 alism, the prevalent denomination of the State, 
 but embracing- the doctrines of the Church of 
 
 o 
 
 England, crossed the ocean in 1768, to receive 
 ordination, and the following year returned, and 
 entered on the duties of the priesthood. During 
 the war of the Revolution, when the mind of 
 the whole country w r as so embittered against 
 the Mother Land, that even her Liturgy did 
 not escape odium, his church was closed for a 
 period of three years ; but a band of faithful 
 worshippers gathered in his own house, where 
 divine service was performed every Sunday, 
 without molestation. So conciliator}^ was his 
 manner, and so consistent his piety, that when 
 the passions of men ran highest, he was res 
 pected as a true servant of the Prince of Peace. 
 Conscientious and unshrinking in duty, he 
 still bore upon his life and his brow r , the motto, 
 " giving no offence in anything, that the minis 
 try be not blamed." 
 
 The establishment of a new sect, in the im- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 205 
 
 mediate vicinity of others, long accustomed to 
 priority and power, requires both discretion and 
 tolerance. These virtues seem to have been 
 here, in mutual exercise, from the beginning. 
 Invitations to Episcopalians to hold their festi 
 vals in the more spacious Congregational meet 
 ing-house, were repeatedly given, and cordially 
 accepted. At length an instance of reciprocity 
 occurred, worthy of remembrance. In the 
 year 1794, a sweeping conflagration destroyed 
 the place of worship of the Gongregationalists, 
 and the parish of Christ Church, in sym 
 pathy, voted to accommodate their bereaved 
 neighbors in their own edifice, the pas 
 tor of each denomination officiating alter 
 nately, one half of every Sunday. This 
 arrangement of Christian hospitality and cour 
 tesy, subsisted for several months in perfect 
 harmony, and was acknowledged by a public 
 expression of gratitude, inserted in the records 
 of both societies. 
 
 Good Mr. Tyler, in the benevolence of 
 his nature, aimed to relieve bodily as well 
 
 as spiritual ills, and became so skillful in ex- 
 is 
 
206 PAST MERIDIAN". 
 
 extracting the spirit of health from the plants 
 of his garden, and roots of the forest, as often 
 to become the healer of the suffering poor. 
 
 In his own family he cultivated the percep 
 tion and power of melody. Chanted hymns 
 in sweet accordance hallowed their morning 
 and evening devotions. Music, nursing holy 
 thought, dwelt among them as a bird of heaven. 
 
 One who observed the sweet countenances, 
 and amiable deportment of his children, in 
 quired if he pursued any peculiar mode of ed 
 ucation, to produce so happy a result He 
 replied : 
 
 " If anything disturbs their temper, I say to them sing ; and 
 if I hear them speaking against any person, I call them to sing 
 to me, and so they seem to have sung away all clouds of discord, 
 and every disposition to scandal." 
 
 He was possessed of persuasive eloquence, 
 as a preacher, and a voice singularly sweet 
 in its modulations. With meekness he 
 bowed himself down to the griefs of others, 
 while his devotion uplifted and upheld them. 
 It was in his silver, plaintive tones, that I first 
 heard the burial service of the Church of 
 
AGED DIVINES. 207 
 
 England. We stood by the open grave of a 
 school-mate, suddenly smitten in her young 
 bloom. Having neither of us brother or sister, 
 we had striven to make up that deficiency to 
 each other, till a great love had sprung up be 
 tween us. As they laid her fair head beneath 
 the broken summer turf, and uprooted grass- 
 flowers, that tuneful voice turned the grief 
 and the silence, into such melodies as angels 
 use. Through a flood of childhood s tears, I 
 said to my mother, " Let that same be read 
 over me, when I am dead." 
 
 Afterwards, some of our young band, ac 
 counted it a privilege, to be permitted to take a 
 winter walk of four miles, (two going, and 
 two returning,) to hear that godly man conduct 
 the solemn festivities of Christmas. The last 
 time I heard his voice of sweetness, was with 
 the emotion which has never yet been transla 
 ted into words : when the bride, about to leave 
 father and mother, stands by his side, who is 
 to be henceforth " her more than brother, and 
 her next to God." When he imposed that hal- 
 
208 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 lowed vow, which Death alone can sever, he was 
 weak and tremulous with age. 
 
 On his monument, amid the beautiful com 
 bination of rocks, woods and waters, where so 
 long his favored lot was cast, may be read the 
 following inscription : 
 
 u Here lie interred, the earthly remains of the Rev. John Tyler, 
 for fifty-four years Rector of Christ s Church in this city. Hav 
 ing faithfully fullfilled his ministry, he was ready to be dissolved, 
 and to be with Christ. His soul took its flight, Jan 20th, 1823, 
 when he had reached the eighty-first year of his age." 
 
 Among other clergymen of the Episcopal 
 Church, who have consecrated longevity, and 
 faithful labor, to the benefit of one people, but 
 of whose distinctive lineaments of character I 
 am not in possession, were the Rev. John 
 Beach, who continued at Newtown, from his 
 ordination in 1723, for half a century; the 
 Rev. Dr. Bela Hubbard, at New Haven, from 
 1764, for forty-eight years ; and the venerable 
 Dr. Mansfield, from 1746, at Derby, for the 
 unusually long period of seventy-four years, 
 himself reaching on life s dial-plate, the patri 
 archal point of almost a century. 
 
AGED DIVINES. 209 
 
 Give praise to God, from whom proceeds 
 
 Each gift and purpose high, 
 Strength to the pastor wise and pure. 
 Strength to the aged to endure, 
 Strength to the saint to die. 
 
 The Rev. John Noyes, accepted the charge 
 of the Congregational church, at Norfield, or 
 Weston, as it is now called, in 1786, at the age 
 of twenty-four. Emphatically his work was 
 his delight, and it was said of him that "his 
 smile was without a cloud, like the angel stand 
 ing in the sun." The love of his people, as well 
 as of an extensive circle of friends, followed him 
 through life, and a part of his eulogy in death, 
 was, that " he had no enemy." Having com 
 menced to preach before his ordination, he had 
 been more than sixty years engaged in the 
 ministry, and died at the age of eighty-four. 
 He gave a half centennial sermon, and prepared 
 one for his sixtieth anniversary. But between 
 his laying down of the pen, and his entrance 
 into the pulpit, Death came, and the valedictory 
 was read by other lips. In it he mentions, that 
 though ill-health, occasioned by over-exertion, 
 
 18* 
 
210 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 had compelled him to an interval from stated 
 pastoral duty, he had " never since his ordina 
 tion, changed his residence." His example was 
 in accordance with the opinion that "a long-con 
 tinued ministry, under the same pastor, better 
 promotes the stability of the churches, the 
 soundness of faith, and the healthful growth 
 of piety, than one that is subject to frequent 
 add fitful changes." 
 
 The Rev. Levi Nelson, ordained at Lisbon, 
 at the age also of twenty-four, proved a most 
 faithful, and acceptable laborer in the vineyard 
 of his Lord. Truly he was a man of a sincere 
 and upright spirit. In the half century sermon, 
 delivered to his one only flock, he mentions 
 having given them from the pulpit, nearly five 
 thousand sermons, and that but one of the com 
 municants who welcomed him at his arrival, 
 was then in the land of the living. Feelingly 
 and reverently he alludes to the aged por 
 tion of the congregation, who attended so 
 punctually his Sabbath services, "not despi 
 sing his youth." 
 
AGED DIVIXES. 211 
 
 " Most of them seemed to possess a deep tone of piety. To 
 this day, I love to think of their saintly appearance in the 
 House of God, of the seats they occupied, and their significant 
 expression of approbation of the word of truth." 
 
 Rev. Dr. Nathan Perkins, became the minis 
 ter at West Hartford, in 1772, at the age of 
 twenty-three. He was a graduate of Prince 
 ton College, and studied his profession, under 
 the venerable Dr. Lord, of Norwich. The 
 people had been divided before his entrance 
 among them, and it is no slight proof of the 
 discretion of so young a man, that following as 
 he did, twenty candidates, each of whom had 
 some partial adherent, he should concentrate 
 and eventually render permanent, the affec 
 tions of the whole people. More than sixty- 
 five years did he serve them, never having been 
 settled elsewhere, though he declined other al 
 luring calls. They appreciated his superior 
 talents, his ready zeal for their good, his deep, 
 unaffected piety. His influence over them, 
 deepened as it was by time, became unbounded, 
 for his contemplative, well balanced mind, 
 being capable of ruling itself, had the inherent 
 
212 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 power of ruling others. Mild in his tempera 
 ment, and friendly to life s innocent enjoyments, 
 those who had been favored with intimate in 
 tercourse, said they had never seen him moved 
 to anger. 
 
 Whenever, and wherever his people desired 
 to hear the truths of the gospel, he was ready 
 to address them, either in church or in school- 
 house. Cherishing the love of literature, and 
 learning, for which he w r as early distinguished, 
 he delighted in the instruction of youth, and 
 aided many in their preparatory classical train 
 ing, as well as in theological studies. 
 
 His manners were admirably adapted to win 
 and maintain reverence both of young and old 
 He possessed a high-toned self-respect, a sen 
 sitiveness to clerical propriety in the smallest 
 things, yet softened by Christian urbanity, and 
 graced by the politeness of a gentleman of the 
 old school. One who had known him from 
 boyhood says : 
 
 " The impression stamped deep upon my soul, from the entire 
 being, spirit, and conduct of that man, is reverence for the 
 Christian ministry, and unbounded honor for the gospel of Jesua 
 Christ." 
 
AGED DIVINES. 213 
 
 He was a clear writer, and a pleasant per 
 suasive speaker : in his distinct, deliberate 
 utterance, every word was audible, and every 
 thought had its full force. He preached a fifti 
 eth and sixtieth anniversary sermon, and in re 
 viewing the national changes which he had 
 witnessed, remarks : 
 
 " I have lived to see great revolutions in the world, in our 
 own country, in commerce, and in mediums of trade. I have 
 seen the evils of war, rny native Land bleeding at every pore, 
 and the prospect darker than midnight gloom. I have seen the 
 mighty conflict that achieved our independence. I have seen 
 the time of framing a national constitution of -government, when 
 all wise men, and able statesmen trembled/ 
 
 The compensation of his services, was small, 
 one hundred pounds annually ; but being in 
 possession of a considerable patrimonial for 
 tune, he was enabled to indulge the promptings 
 of benevolence. These were a part of his 
 nature. 
 
 41 1 am determined," said he, "that though I may die a poor 
 man, I will die a generous one." 
 
 His practice was uniform with this resolu- 
 
214 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tion. In contrasting the blessedness of giving, 
 with that of receiving, he remarked : 
 
 " I have always wondered, why Avarice, proceeding on its 
 own plan of accumulating to itself the greatest quantity of good, 
 never adopted benevolence as the basis of its action." 
 
 He occupied but one abode, a parsonage 
 which he himself purchased, large, plain, com 
 modious, peacefully overshadowed by trees, and 
 not inconsistent with simple elegance. Thither, 
 in his prime of manhood, he led a gentle bride 
 of seventeen, the daughter of a neighboring 
 clergyman. A proficient was she in that house 
 hold science which ensures comfort and com 
 mands respect, arid also, in the higher lore of 
 living, earnest piety. There, while sixty-three 
 years drew over them, they exhibited in beau 
 tiful fidelity, all the conjugal and paternal 
 virtues. 
 
 There it was once my privilege to see them. 
 Eighty-six years had he numbered, yet his 
 stately form yielded not to time, and the silver 
 hair receding from his broad crown, floated light 
 ly and gracefully down the temples toward the 
 
AGED DIVINES. 215 
 
 shoulders. I was charmed with his affability and 
 dignity, and his saintly words of the life to 
 come. She too, the sharer and heightener of 
 all his joys was still of a comely aspect, cheer 
 ful, and full of Christian courtesy. Scarcely 
 ever in her long life had she been so ill, as to 
 commit to other hands, the domestic policy that 
 she understood and loved. But at last, sick 
 ness came. Pulmonary consumption, with its 
 fiery shaft, and suffocating pang, smote her. 
 Many months she endured that wasting agony, 
 until the " bones that were not seen, stood 
 out." 
 
 Full of tender sympathy, yet as one amazed, 
 the aged servant of God regarded her, who 
 had so long been the light of his home, and 
 heart. Like the Apostle Elliot, it seemed not 
 to have occurred to him, that the fresher spirit, 
 the younger yoke-fellow, should be first sum 
 moned. But he took his stand beside her, to 
 strengthen her while she suffered the will of 
 God. By her bed, he studied and wrote his 
 sermons, and when she saw his noble brow ra 
 diant with holy thought, she uplifted her faith 
 
216 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and followed him. He spoke blessed things to 
 her of the Redeemer of Man, patient unto 
 death, till she forgot her pain. Night and day 
 he girded himself afresh from the armory of 
 heaven, that he might uphold her, who battled 
 more and more feebly with the Destroyer. 
 Into the valley of the shadow of death, as far 
 as mortal foot might go, he followed her. 
 
 When all was over, he repined not, His 
 mourning was subdued, like the servant who 
 reveres his Lord s will. But the charm of 
 earth was broken. 
 
 " To the afflicted, she was always sympathizing/ said the be 
 reaved husband, " to benefactors, thankful, to those in want, 
 beneficent, studying the peace, harmony, and good of all under 
 my pastoral care ; she lived beloved, and died lamented, in the 
 full hope of a blessed immortality." 
 
 When the falling leaf was taking its first 
 autumnal tint, she departed. Every day after 
 ward, however deluged the earth might be 
 with rain, or drifted with snow, that aged man 
 went to spend a little time at her grave. Every 
 day, except that which God had set apart for his 
 own worship ; then he felt that his duties as an 
 
AGED DIVINES. 217 
 
 ambassador of heaven, were higher than his 
 private griefs. Four months passed, and soon 
 after the dawning of the New Year, as he was 
 on his way to the sanctuary, a messenger invis 
 ible to mortal eye, met him, and said, " Come 
 up higher." Ere the next Sabbath, he was 
 laid by her side. 
 
 Manifestly was his prayer answered that he 
 might not outlive his usefulness. Till his 
 eighty-ninth year he was fit for faithful service. 
 Only five days did the failing flesh hold the 
 spirit from its home. During that period he 
 spoke not. Paralysis of the throat, was his 
 form of dismission. But with the eye, and the 
 smile of one ready for a glorious existence, he 
 held communion with those around, and rec 
 ompensed the daughter, who leaving her own 
 family, came and took care of him with the 
 tenderest love. Perchance, in that pause of 
 silence, the waiting soul, disengaging itself 
 from the love of earth, was better fitted to join 
 the great song of the redeemed. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Calvin Chapin, was ordained 
 at Rocky Hill, in 1794, where he continued 
 
 19 
 
218 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 fifty-seven years, until his death, which took 
 place within a few months of his eighty-eighth 
 birth-day. His naturally strong constitution 
 had derived additional vigor from an agricul 
 tural training, the first twenty years of his life 
 having been spent on the paternal farm. The 
 same habits of zealous industry transferred to 
 scholastic study, caused him to excel in that 
 department. His attainments were afterwards 
 deepened and matured by passing two years as 
 the instructor of a school in Hartford, and 
 nearly three as a tutor in Yale College. He had 
 great fondness for the employment of imparting 
 knowledge, and always referred with pleasure 
 to the period of time, thus devoted. 
 
 He pursued theological studies with the Rev. 
 Dr. Perkins of West Hartford, and entered on 
 ministerial duty, with a deep sense of responsi 
 bility to his Divine Master. 
 
 "I am not aware, said he, that in preparing a sermon, I ever 
 inquired what would please or displease the people. What is 
 immutable truth ? What do sinners need ? What do Christians 
 need? What is the preaching which Christ directs and will 
 bless ? Such has been my rule. Preaching should be earnest 
 talk." 
 
AGED DIVINES. 219 
 
 In corporate bodies, in the formation of reli 
 gious societies, in the promotion of philan 
 thropy, his efforts were conspicuous, and his 
 decisions respected. This prominence, and the 
 appreciation that attended it, caused frequent 
 applications to change his place. Some of 
 these were attractive, with regard to perquisite, 
 and personal ambition. Among them, was the 
 offer of the presidency of two colleges. But 
 the principle of pastoral constancy was strong 
 within him. He agreed in opinion with his 
 venerable friend, the Rev. Dr. Marsh of Weth- 
 ersfield, who continued faithful to the verge of 
 fourscore, at one post of duty, that "he should 
 as soon think of leaving his wife, as his 
 people." 
 
 He was a man of intense, and versatile in 
 dustry. Though a thorough scholar, and 
 delighting in books, he knew how to use his 
 hands to good purpose. He had constructive- 
 ness in the management of tools, and kept some 
 thirty acres of land in profitable culture. He 
 was skilful in the production of fine fruits ; and 
 twigs grafted by himself, were favorite gifts to 
 
220 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 friends. Now, as large, thrifty trees, they keep 
 in memory, by their annual harvest, him, who 
 was still more earnest to set in the mental soil, 
 the plants of righteousness. 
 
 He had the power of turning from one em 
 ployment to another, without rupturing trains of 
 thought. Order, economy, and the unities of 
 time and place, seemed inherent habitudes of 
 his mind. A full flow of spirits pervaded his 
 whole course of action. Yet, he was inured to 
 physical suffering, notwithstanding his vigor of 
 frame. Acute rheumatism was one of his 
 maladies ; fever and ague, taken during a mis 
 sionary tour at the west, taught him its fearful 
 alternations; and asthma, his foe from childhood, 
 so annoyed him, that sometimes in the night 
 he left his chamber, and mounting his horse, 
 rode for miles, to parry the sense of suffocation. 
 At others, he would spend whole nights in his 
 study, by reading and writing, overuling the con 
 sciousness of pain, and striving to turn his 
 broken rest to advantage. He was one of the 
 few who required slight refreshment from sleep, 
 seldom more than six hours out of twenty -four ; 
 
AGED DIVINES, 221 
 
 and never lying down to rest in the day. He 
 was not inclined to allude to his ailments, but 
 what he could not conquer, endured with reso 
 lution, and singular cheerfulness. 
 
 "Tell about low spirits? he would say For shame! I pro 
 secute my work, without regarding any of these things." 
 
 My own impression of him, from a single 
 unceremonious interview, was that of a man, 
 who mingled with whatever he did, the strength 
 of a happy heart, and who influenced others, 
 not only by innate power and piety, but by 
 the simple truthfulness of his words, and the 
 genial spirit of his manners. 
 
 His domestic virtues, and enjoyments were 
 delightful. A daughter of the younger Pre 
 sident Edwards, whom he won in the bloom 
 of seventeen, for more than half a century was 
 his chief earthly joy. Four years before his 
 own departure, and when he was himself 
 nearly eighty-four, she was called to eternal 
 rest. 
 
 " She made my home, said he, the pleasantest spot on earth. 
 Now she is gone, my worldly loss is perfect" 
 19* 
 
222 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Yet still with cheerfulness, and those habits 
 of industry that sought the good for this life and 
 the next, of all around, he lightened his lot of 
 loneliness. He counted it a high privilege that 
 he was enabled to be profitably occupied, until 
 life s close. Though relieved from the weight 
 of pulpit cares, he attended as usual, divine 
 service, the Sunday preceding his death, em 
 ployed himself industriously till the close of 
 the week, and after a slight indisposition, seated 
 in his chair, passed without a sigh to that 
 heavenly world, which his satisfied spirit, so 
 calmly contemplated. 
 
 Sweetly has he given his suffrage of old 
 age, that period often so unwisely dreaded, 
 and unjustly delineated. 
 
 " Having retired from every official demand abroad, without 
 the shadow of embarassment at home, and consequently finding 
 myself perfectly at leisure, I yet seem never to have been in my 
 life so busy. My often expressed opinion is, that notwithstand 
 ing the decays that unperceived by myself, I know age must bo 
 steadily producing, I never enjoyed existence better. In my 
 chamber, I dwell, as in a paradise. Here too, I am certain, the 
 Infinite Mind is always accessible." 
 
 But the patriarch among the pastors of his 
 
AGED DIVINES. 223 
 
 native State, was the Rev. Dr. Samuel Nott of 
 Franklin. That pleasant agricultural township, 
 formerly an appendage of Norwich, and called 
 its West Farms, had become disturbed in the 
 exercise of its religious polity. Two ministers 
 had been dismissed, and numerous candidates 
 presented themselves in the pulpit, without 
 securing unanimity of choice. At length, in 
 1782, a young man of a serious and pleasing 
 aspect, stood there, by request, addressing them 
 from the inspired passage, "I ask therefore, 
 with what intent, ye sent for me." Verily, a 
 good intent. And a good result. Seventy 
 years of faithful service, until those bright 
 locks should be white as the almond-tree. 
 
 He adds another to the many instances, 
 where a delicate constitution and feeble health 
 in youth, are by prudence and the divine bless 
 ing, led to increased strength, and decided lon 
 gevity. Probably such rewards are more 
 likely to ensue, than where native vigor de 
 pends arrogantly upon itself. During the first 
 years of his ministry, he found it expedient to 
 confine himself to a diet of milk, yet withdrew 
 
224 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 from no ministerial effort, parochial visit, 
 or duty to his household. In his half cen 
 tury sermon he mentions, that he had been 
 withheld by indisposition, from the public ser 
 vices of the sanctuary, but six sabbaths, for 
 that whole period. He speaks of six hundred 
 and ten graves, over whose tenants he had per 
 formed the funeral obsequies, in six of which, 
 slumbered his own children. 
 
 I remember, in early days to have seen him 
 more than once, in the pulpit of my own minis 
 ter. He was tall, and of a grave aspect, and 
 his words were searching and solemn. In my 
 simplicity I likened him to an ancient prophet ; 
 methought to the one who cried, " Stand 
 ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old 
 paths, where is the good way and walk therein, 
 and ye shall find rest to your souls." 
 
 With his clerical toil, he mingled occasional 
 participation in the cares of instruction, prepar 
 ing a number of young men for college, and 
 superintending the studies of others who w r ere 
 to enter the ministry. Feeling deeply the value 
 of education, as those are prone to do, who 
 
AGED DIVINES. 225 
 
 defray its expenses by their own exertions, he 
 had given pecuniary aid in such measure as he 
 was able, to between two and three hun 
 dred who were striving to earn its benefits. 
 These charities, with the thorough nurture 
 of his own children, and the materials of com 
 fort for his family, required amid restricted 
 means, the most judicious use both of time 
 and money. 
 
 Self-denial was a part of his religion. In 
 this respect, he both taught and exemplified 
 that the " disciple need not be above his Lord." 
 Doubtless this virtue has something to do with 
 growth in grace, as well as with consistency in 
 a spiritual guide ; allowing no room for competi 
 tion in show or extravagance, for indolence or 
 luxurious indulgence that war against the. soul. 
 "By economy, industry, and the divine bless 
 ing, says this primitive pastor, I have never even 
 nominally been expensive to my people, beyond 
 the original contract. My salary is 333 ; 
 about $230 by individuals, and twelve loads of 
 wood annually, were kindly added. I have seen 
 the time, when as far as compensation was con- 
 
226 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 cerned, I might have changed my situation 
 advantageously. Yet though it has been so 
 common, especially of late years, for ministers 
 and people, either from necessity, or a restless 
 disposition to part, I have nevertheless, thought 
 it my duty to abide at the post where I was first 
 stationed." 
 
 The simple, but rare morality of avoiding 
 debt, and the higher philosophy that " made his 
 wish with his estate comply," were features in 
 his Christian example, worthy of imitation and 
 praise. In consistence with these principles, 
 and illustrating all the virtues of a cheerful, 
 deep-rooted, and self-sustaining piety, life drew 
 on, amid the harmony, and love of his flock, 
 until he had passed several months beyond his 
 ninety-eighth birth-day. From the grave, we 
 seem to listen to that venerated voice, repeating 
 its time-honored counsels. 
 
 " Dear friends, you have each of you, your day, your sphere 
 of usefulness. You can live but once. Let the world be the 
 better for you, while you do live." 
 
 Still continuing to search in the annals of 
 Connecticut, for those divines, who have con- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 227 
 
 nected faithful service with longevity, we find 
 the names of Rev. Dr. Joseph Bellamy of 
 Bethlehem ; Rev. Dr. Joseph Whitney of 
 Brooklyn; Rev. ISoadiah Russell of Middle- 
 town; Rev. Ammi R. Robbins of Norfolk ; Rev 
 Daniel Dow of Thompson ; Rev. Thomas Can- 
 field of Roxbury ; Rev. Peter Starr of Warren ; 
 as having labored for fifty years, or more, with 
 out change, at a single post of duty. The 
 tomb-stone of the Rev. Frederick W. Hotch- 
 kiss, of Saybrook, records that his death took 
 place at fourscore, after having been pastor of 
 one church for sixty years. 
 
 Yet not alone, to olden times, or the memory 
 of departed worthies, do we turn for such hon 
 ored testimonies. They are found among liv 
 ing witnesses. The Rev. Dr. Joab Brace, has 
 recently delivered an interesting discourse at 
 Newington, recapitulating his labors, and the 
 mutations of fifty years ; as have also, the Rev. 
 Dr. Abel McEwen of New London, and the 
 Rev. Dr. Noah Porter of Farmington, the 
 latter of whom continues his pastoral ser 
 vices. Numerous instances might be cited 
 
228 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 where for thirty and forty years, the shepherd 
 has guided in green pastures, and beside still 
 waters, the same trusting flock. 
 
 A complete catalogue has not been attempted. 
 The space at my command would not admit of 
 it. In pursuing the interesting research how 
 far the duties of a spiritual teacher were favor 
 able to longevity, the theory involuntarily pre 
 sented itself, that continuance in one sphere of 
 action, or the habitudes that are involved in that 
 continuance, may possess a conservative influ 
 ence. In the narrow circle which has been con 
 templated, evidence seems to have been ad 
 duced, that this " patience of hope" has been 
 often rewarded by prolonged capacities for the 
 " labor of love." It might appear that avoiding 
 to untwine and break the tendrels of holy affec 
 tion, had given vitality to the vine, and spar 
 ing to pour the "oil of the sanctuary" from 
 vessel to vessel, aided the frail lamp longer to 
 burn 
 
 I am not aware that my native State trans 
 cends others in the number of these beautiful 
 instances of God s goodness, and man s con- 
 
AGED D I V I X E S . 229 
 
 stancy. I have selected it, because the mate 
 rials were more readily available. 
 
 It is pleasant now to gather from different 
 localities, and a broader field, a few examples 
 of clerical usefulness, freshly surviving amid 
 the winter of age. The Rev. Dr. Eliphalet 
 Nott, the brother of our Nestor of Connecticut 
 pastors, sustains without declension, at the age 
 of eighty-seven, the onerous office of President of 
 Union College, Schenectady. For the long 
 period of fifty-four years, he has skillfully and 
 successfully conducted the interests of that im 
 portant Institution, having had under his charge 
 nearly five thousand students. He possesses 
 much knowledge of human nature, and that un 
 bounded forbearance and hope for the errors of 
 youth, that are often among the powerful ele 
 ments of its reinstatement, and elevation. He 
 is an eloquent speaker, and still occasionally 
 officiates in the pulpit. A new edition of his 
 :i Counsels to Young Men," has recently been 
 issued from the press, enriched by additions 
 from his pen ; a valued contribution to octoge 
 narian literature. 
 
 20 
 
PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 One of our periodicals records the interest 
 ing circumstance, that a pulpit in Salem, Mass., 
 was lately occupied on the Sabbath, by two 
 aged brothers, the Rev. Brown Emerson, its own 
 minister, in his seventy-eighth year, and the 
 Rev. Reuben Emerson of South Reading, 
 in his eighty-fourth, both of whom have been 
 in the exercise of pastoral duty for more than 
 half a century. On this occasion, the usual 
 services were combined with the administra 
 tion of the sacrament, and the admission to 
 that ordinance of a number of new communi 
 cants. The entire exercises were conduct 
 ed by these venerable men, with a remark 
 able degree of physical vigor and mental fervor. 
 The youngest having some slight indisposition, 
 it was observed that the older brother, was as 
 siduous to relieve him, and to assume wherever 
 it was possible the heavier portion of the toils 
 of the day. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Thomas C. Brownell, senior 
 Bishop of the United States, has presided nearly 
 forty years over the Episcopate of Connecticut, 
 and now approaches the boundary of fourscore. 
 
AGED DIVINES. 231 
 
 He has long been a resident of Hartford, and 
 though in feeble health, mingles as far as pos 
 sible, in the sacred duties of his station. The 
 tones of his tremulous voice are still a melody 
 to those who revere and love him. 
 
 His principal published writings are a large 
 "Family Commentary on the Prayer Book;" 
 and the " Religion of the Heart and Life," a 
 work in five volumes, presenting the condensed 
 opinion of many distinguished divines, on the 
 highest interests of the soul. In his Introduc 
 tion he remarks, 
 
 " Man has affections to be matured and improved as well as an 
 intellect to be enlightened. It is not enough therefore, that his 
 mind embrace sound doctrinal views of Christianity, his heart 
 must be affected by these doctrines, and renewed by their influ 
 ence, and the effects of this renovation must be made manifest in 
 a pure, and holy life. 
 
 His wise and conciliatory counsels have re 
 markably resulted in the harmony of his Dio 
 cese. In his address, at the recent Convention, 
 after speaking of the infirmities of age, and 
 meekly reviewing his long spiritual adminis 
 tration, he says : 
 
PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 " I am not conscious in all that period, of having cherished 
 unkind feelings to any clergyman in my diocese, or of having 
 uttered unkind language to any one. Neither am I conscious 
 that any one has by thought or word manifested unkindness 
 towards me. This is a source of unmingled satisfaction, and 
 if the present should be our last meeting, I feel that we shall part 
 in peace and mutual charity." 
 
 A blessed suffrage. Long may the beauty 
 of his venerable presence, and serene example 
 remain among us. 
 
 The Rev. Lincoln Ripley, a resident of 
 Maine, thoughin his ninety-seventhyear, enjoys 
 comfortable health, and is not unfitted for the 
 duties of his sacred office. A brother of his, 
 retained his ministerial charge in Massachusetts 
 for more than half a century, until his death at 
 the age of ninety. This whole family pre 
 sent a distinguished instance of longevity. 
 It originally comprised nineteen, eight sons, 
 and eleven daughters, all of them children of 
 one pious, pains-taking mother. Of this large 
 circle, ten surpassed the limits allotted to the 
 life of man ; five lived beyond eighty, and three 
 beyond ninety years. Of the last named trio, 
 one of the sisters is mentioned in the sue- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 233 
 
 ceeding chapter of this work, as illustrating 
 the happy usefulness that may comport with 
 great age : and three of the brothers, selected 
 the pastoral office in youth, and faithfully 
 consecrated to its duties, their heritage of 
 days. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. T. M. Cooley, of Granville, 
 Mass., is a native of that romantic and almost 
 Alpine region, where as a servant of God, he 
 has labored for more than sixty years. Still 
 he is enabled to minister to an affectionate peo 
 ple, with the glowing warmth of a pious heart 
 at the age of fourscore and six. His first 
 sermon after receiving license to preach, was 
 delivered in that place of his birth, where he 
 was persuaded to take spiritual charge of a 
 congregation, comprising father and mother, 
 grand-parents and many gray-haired people ; 
 though he accounted himself with humility, as 
 " but a babe in Christ," Very happy has been 
 that long connection. Its Jubilee was observed 
 about eleven years since, and its festive cere 
 monies and addresses are preserved in the form 
 
 of an interesting- little book. The pastor in his 
 20* 
 
234 PAST MEEIDIAN. 
 
 recapitulatory discourse, speaks of his interest 
 in the supervision of schools, and his labors 
 as a practical teacher, adding 
 
 " Eight hundred pupils have received instruction from my lips, 
 preparatory for college, and for business, sixty of whom have 
 already entered the ministry." 
 
 On his eightieth birth-day, he said to his peo 
 ple, that he could " hear, see, and speak with 
 the facility of early manhood, and had never 
 been confined to his bed, or his room, by sick 
 ness, a single day, for threescore and fourteen 
 years." 
 
 He still reads without the aid of spectacles ; 
 in epistolary intercourse holds the pen of a 
 ready writer, while his clear chirography might 
 put to shame much of the fashionable illegi 
 bility. 
 
 Half a century since, a detachment from his 
 church and people, departed amid prayers and 
 blessings to form a colony in Central Ohio. 
 Forty-six days of travel, brought them to their 
 home in the then unbroken wilderness. Be 
 neath a spreading tree, through whose almost 
 
AGED DIVINES. 235 
 
 leafless branches the November winds made 
 bleak accompaniment to their hymns of praise, 
 their first sabbath- worship was held. Now this 
 fair daughter, bearing also the name of Gran- 
 ville, in vigorous beauty, surpasses the mother. 
 
 Thither, the aged pastor, in the course of the 
 past year, was induced to journey, and received 
 a patriarch s welcome. During the last few 
 months, the sixtieth anniversary of his mar 
 riage, has been celebrated, at the request and 
 under the auspices of his attached parishioners. 
 Four generations gathered around the venera 
 ble pair ; gratulatory letters poured in from the 
 absent, while the pleasant union of conversa 
 tion, refreshments, music, and giving of thanks, 
 made this festival one of the bright resting-pla 
 ces of memory. 
 
 The Rev. Daniel Waldo, at the age of nine 
 ty-three, has regularly officiated during the past 
 year, as Chaplain to Congress, discharging the 
 duties of his sacred office with zeal and accept 
 ance. He has enjoyed the large national library, 
 the varied and distinguished society, and other 
 advantages of his unsought position, with the 
 
236 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 earnestness and enthusiasm of earlier years 
 An auspicious augury is it, when at the Court 
 of any nation, reverence is accorded to the 
 "hoary head, found in the way of wisdom/ 
 
 Probably the oldest active minister in New 
 England, and one of the oldest in the world, 
 is the Rev. Mr. Sawyer, of Maine, who 
 w r hen the harvest-moon of 1856, filled her 
 horn, completed his century. Seventy-five 
 years has he been an assiduous servant in 
 his Master s cause, and enjoyed almost un 
 interrupted health. He lately visited and 
 preached at Hebron, in Connecticut, his native 
 place, which he left when a boy of twelve. 
 He has also recently made a pleasant tour in 
 the Granite State, beneath the shadow of whose 
 lofty White Mountains, he commenced his 
 youthful labors. Surprisingly does he retain 
 his early vigor, preaching once or twice on the 
 Sabbath, with a clear voice, sufficient to fill the 
 largest churches. 
 
 One who heard him close the exercises at the 
 Commencement of a Theological Seminary, 
 the last year with prayer, mentions with admo- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 237 
 
 ration, his fine strong tones, and the earnest 
 love with which he poured forth, as if from the 
 soul s depths, his reverence for God, his grati 
 tude for a Savior, and his desires that the gos 
 pel might irradiate every dark spot upon the 
 earth. 
 
 " Not the slightest of the attractions of the 
 house where I was entertained," says the rela- 
 tor, was the society of a model Christian gen 
 tleman, Deacon Adams, whose sight is not dim, 
 nor hearing dull, nor natural force abated, 
 though he lacks only some 15 years, to bring 
 him to the date of his aged minister. Twenty 
 years more would bring him to that of Moses." 
 
 "After all, Moses would not have seemed so 
 very old, down here in Maine. Father Sawyer 
 and Deacon Adams, would not think much of 
 his extra 20 or 30 years. Indeed, from a little 
 incident that occurred, I should think that such 
 patriarchs got quite accustomed to living. A 
 minister in his prime, said to the former, "If 
 you preach a sermon on your hundredth birth 
 day, I ll be there to hear you." " How do you 
 know you ll be alive then," was the quick 
 
238 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 repartee of that bright-minded patriarch, stand 
 ing on the verge of his second century." 
 
 An interesting jubilee was held in the open 
 air, a summer or two since, amid the romantic 
 scenery, and wild mountains of Wales, to com 
 memorate the settlement of the Rev. D. Wil 
 liams, at Breconshire. After introductory ser 
 vices, one of the numerous clergymen present, 
 came forward, and requested his acceptance of 
 various appropriate gifts, with the congratula 
 tions of their donors. Large additions to his 
 library, and no inconsiderable accession to his 
 salary came on that day, from the half-pastoral, 
 half-agricultural people, where for fifty years 
 he has labored with stainless reputation, and 
 unwavering popularity. Still hale and vigor 
 ous he stood among them, able to preach thrice 
 on a Sabbath, without fatigue, and as the clear 
 sunlight beamed upon him through the chequer 
 ing branches, and the air which was purity 
 itself, stirred his locks, he seemed the personi 
 fication of healthful and serene happiness. The 
 people over whom he presides, have had but 
 three clergymen for 160 years, and it is a 
 
AGED DIVINES. 239 
 
 significant fact that they have enjoyed during 
 that period, uninterrupted peace and harmony. 
 His amiable and pious consort, for half a cen 
 tury his helper and friend, was not forgotten, 
 but shared in the liberal tokens, and he art- felt 
 attentions of the festival. 
 
 Being what is called in that primitive region, 
 a pluralist pastor, and the country, one of vol 
 canic formation, the yearly labor of travelling 
 to meet the necessities of his scattered flock, 
 involves both fatigue and risk. Yet during 
 the 2600 Sabbaths which his fifty years have 
 comprehended, it was stated that he had never 
 once been disabled from preaching, or excused 
 himself from any call of duty. By us, nur 
 tured amid smooth roads, or flying at will in 
 the rail-car, it would be impossible to conceive 
 the toils of traversing that mountainous coun 
 try, with its bridgeless streams, its foaming tor 
 rents, its narrow, winding, declivitous paths, 
 often made invisible by mist and snow. Yet 
 no tempest has kept at home on the Sabbath, 
 or witheld from the out-door gatherings in North 
 or South Wales, the apostle of Breconshire. 
 
240 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 To meet these requisitions for half a century, it 
 is computed that he must have spent some 
 years in the saddle. Fifteen hundred from 
 amid that sparse population, has he gathered in 
 to the fellowship of his church. 
 
 A spectator of this commemorative festival , 
 says : 
 
 "It was impossible to look at him, surrounded by fortj 
 of his younger brethren in the ministry, without mingled 
 feelings of admiration and pious gratitude. Physically, as well 
 as mentally, he was formed for his profession. His broad chest, 
 and voice, even now powerful, make the utterance of hours 
 easier to him than breathing to many public speakers. His ser 
 mons have been always prepared with great care, and delivered 
 with unfaltering fluency, and a glow of enthusiasm. There he 
 stood, after a campaign of fifty years, against an evil world, with 
 an unblemished name, and lips whose eloquence no inconsistency 
 had silenced. Honor to the brave old man, and praise to the 
 grace of God, which has made him what he is." 
 
 Though these selections from the ranks of 
 aged divnes, which are so pleasant to contem 
 plate, must be accounted rather as exceptions, 
 yet their number sanctions the conclusion that 
 the sacred profession is not inauspicious to lon 
 gevity. It would also seem, from the investi- 
 
AGED DIVINES. 241 
 
 gation of rather a limited sphere, that length of 
 days had been more frequently attained, where 
 the excitements of change of position, and the 
 trial of uprooting pastoral affections had been 
 as far as possible avoided. 
 
 To many ancient servants of the altar, the 
 active usefulness of earlier days is not accorded. 
 Still, is it in their power to benefit man, and to 
 honor God. Rest, as well as labor, He is able 
 to make profitable. The meekness with which 
 they resign employments and efforts once so 
 dear, and the cheerfulness with which they 
 turn to remaining comforts are salutary exam 
 ples to the younger traveller. Their virtues. 
 day by day, reiterate and make plainer on the 
 map of life, the narrow way to the celestial 
 city. Their secret influence is as a purifying 
 breath to the moral atmosphere. By the silent 
 eloquence of holiness they still lead in the 
 way of righteousness. The gentle and sol 
 emn memories of many years sublimate their 
 spirits, while their chastened expectations 
 surround them with a deeper tenderness of 
 love. 21 
 
242 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 No frost of age 
 
 May blight their pure example, or impair 
 Those fruits, which mid the tears and clouds of time, 
 Mellow to Heaven s own hue. 
 
 " Oh how comely is the wisdom of old men, says the son of 
 Sirach/ much experience is their crown and the fear of God their 
 glory." 
 
 For those who sustained by blessed recollec 
 tions, calmly wait the Divine will, the metaphor 
 of a fine writer has peculiar significance : 
 
 " The years of old age are stalls in the Cathedral of life, for 
 the gray haired to sit in, and listen, and meditate, and be patient 
 till the service is over, and so get themselves ready to say amen 
 at last, with all their hearts and souls." 
 
CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 Cfjmfttl 
 
 " Say ! 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 the breast, 
 The evening sun but fades away, 
 
 To find new morning in the west." 
 
 T. B. READ. 
 
 Cheerful Old Women ! Yes, to be sure, that 
 is very proper : and why not cheerful old men 
 also ? Is not that amiable temperament fitting 
 for both? 
 
 No doubt. Yet it seems expressly incum 
 bent on those to whom home-happiness is con 
 fided. Gloom is very inconsistent with that 
 
244 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 science. If its elements have been acquired, 
 and some commendable progress made in early 
 life, it would be unwise and inconsistent to 
 abandon them at its close. 
 
 Women wish to make themselves agreeable. 
 There is no harm in that. It is a part of their 
 nature. But how do they expect to continue 
 so, when the attractions of youth forsake them ? 
 
 If they once possessed beauty, it may have 
 become a matter of tradition, of which the ob 
 server is incredulous. The elegance of man 
 ners for which they were praised of old, may 
 now be deemed antiquated, for there are fash 
 ions in manners as well as in dress. What 
 are they to do then, in order to avoid being 
 disagreeable ? 
 
 Let them make trial of the temper that looks 
 on the bright side of things. Let them put on 
 the spectacles that discern the bright side of 
 character. The smile of such a temperament 
 is always admired. There is no Old School, 
 or New School about that. Like the pure gold 
 of patience, it grows brighter for using. 
 
 Life with all its trials, is very much what we 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 245 
 
 choose to make it. We may go complaining 
 all our days, or singing the heart song : 
 
 "Simply to be 
 Is a joy to me. 
 For which my God I bless. 
 
 I have known many of my own sex, who 
 eminently cultivated this sunny spirit. Among 
 them, I think at this moment of the only sister 
 of Wordsworth, for whom the voice of mourning 
 has recently gone up from the beautiful regions 
 of Grassmere and Helvellyn. Amid exquisite 
 scenery with a soul attuned to all its loveliness, 
 she had walked arm in arm with her loved 
 brother for more than half a century. To him, 
 her unfailing cheerfulness, and refined taste, 
 were priceless treasures, and he admitted that 
 some of the finest passages in his poems were 
 suggested by communion with her. Destitute 
 of his reserve and taciturnity, she had the power 
 of charming a company of listeners, by her 
 varied conversation, though entirely unobtru 
 sive, and child-like in simplicity. 
 
 " A true woman, is she indeed, said Coleridge, in mind and in 
 .heart Her person is such, that if you expected to see a pretty 
 21* 
 
246 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 woman, you might think her rather ordinary, but if you expect 
 ed to find an ordinary woman, you would think her pretty so 
 simple are her manners, so ardent, so impressive, and in every 
 motion her most innocent soul beams out so brightly." 
 
 A close observer of Nature whose changes 
 she loved, benevolent, affectionate, and doing 
 good, to all, Dorothy Wordsworth numbered 
 eighty-four years, without a winter in her heart; 
 and with the sweet sound of Rydal s falling 
 water, her pleasant memory mingles. 
 
 Social intercourse, is among the remedies for 
 the ennui and inertia, which sometimes attend 
 declining years. Thus, Mrs. Garrick, the wid 
 ow of the celebrated actor, continued to be 
 accessible and acceptable, until ninety-seven ; 
 and Miss Monckton at ninety-four, through her 
 vivacity and good taste in dress, drew around 
 her throngs of gratified guests, in the metropo 
 lis of England. Hannah More, after her re 
 moval to Clifton, in her eighty-fifth year, was 
 so attractive, that the number of her visitants 
 was computed at four hundred in the space of 
 three weeks. Her conversational powers, 
 charming the most elegant and refined, re- 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 247 
 
 tained all their freshness and brilliancy, while 
 her liveliness of manner, delighted the young, 
 and the warmth of her Christian love, with the 
 wisdom, of her writings inspired all with affec 
 tion and confidence. 
 
 How touchingly does she unfold the secret 
 of this cheerfulness, as she approached the 
 close of life : 
 
 " When and whither, belong to Him, who governs both worlds. 
 I have nothing to do but to trust. I bless God that I enjoy 
 great tranquility of mind, and am willing to depart, and be with 
 Christ, whenever He shall call. I leave myself in His hands, 
 who doeth all things well." 
 
 " I have seen the better part of the race of life," said a distin 
 guished writer, at the age of seventy-four. Of the little that 
 remains, I endeavor to make the best. On the whole, I am 
 rather surprised that I have scrambled through it as well as I 
 have. That I have lived on good terms with so many good peo 
 ple, gives me about as much pleasure as any other reflection." 
 
 Philosophers have called woman the " home 
 teacher. 1 If she accepts this distinguished 
 office, she should renounce an inanimate, and 
 mournful deportment. The best precepts lose 
 their force if lugubriously uttered. Aged peo 
 ple of a pleasant countenance and cheerful 
 
248 PAST MEEIDIAN. 
 
 voice have great power in winning the affec 
 tions of children. The infant stretches its 
 arms to its grandparents, and little forms clus 
 ter around the chair of the silver-haired story 
 teller. 
 
 The gentler sex have a great resource in age, 
 from their varieties of interesting domestic em 
 ployment, and especially the uses of the needle. 
 
 " I wish I could sew," said the Rev. Sidney Smith. "I be 
 lieve one reason why women are generally so much more cheer 
 ful than men, is, because they can work with the needle, and so 
 endlessly vary their employments. I knew a lady of rank, who 
 made her sons do carpet-work. All men ought to learn to sew." 
 
 The simple forms of feminine industry, are 
 surely favorable to serenity of spirit, as well as 
 conducive to respectability and comfort. A 
 lady of eighty-four, in one of the smaller towns 
 of Connecticut, found great pleasure from these 
 unostentatious pursuits. During one year, she 
 completed with her quiet knitting-needles, forty- 
 eight pairs of stockings, besides constructing 
 from fragments of calico, two large bed-quilts, 
 one of them comprising more than three thou 
 sand separate pieces, symmetrically arranged. 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 249 
 
 These fabrics were principally for the accom 
 modation and relief of needy persons, so 
 that with the peaceful consciousness of time 
 industriously improved, was blent the still higher 
 satisfaction of benevolence. Was not this a 
 gainful exchange for the lassitude, and suspi 
 cious sense of uselessness, which is sometimes 
 permitted to gather like rust over advanced 
 years, or like a cancer to eat away their re 
 maining vitality ? 
 
 This good woman might seem to have con 
 stantly kept in view, the old Arabian proverb, 
 " the idle are not to be classed among the liv 
 ing ; they are a peculiar kind of dead, who can 
 never be buried." 
 
 A part of the regimen that promotes cheer 
 fulness, may be thus simplified : 
 
 Make the best of everything, 
 Think the best of everybody, 
 Hope the best for yourself. 
 
 Aged women of a sunny spirit, retain a de 
 cided influence on those around them. Lady 
 Strange, whose husband did so much for the 
 encouragement of the fine arts in England, 
 
250 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 somewhat more than a century since, so far 
 from underrating what time had spared, thus 
 remarks in a letter to one of her female 
 friends. 
 
 " My heal this excellent. My cheeks have still some bloom. I 
 have two of my own teeth, and several brown hairs in my head. 
 I might have been able to dance at any of my children s wed 
 dings. Is not this a tolerably satisfactory condition at eighty- 
 four ?" 
 
 During the long absences of Sir Robert from 
 his native land in the earlier years of their 
 union, she zealously and economically took 
 charge of a large family, bringing up the boys 
 with a judicious energy, and cheering her hus 
 band by the pen, to "endure as patiently as 
 possible the privations of absence. Keep fully 
 in mind, all the blessings that you enjoy. Weak 
 health may be helped, if due care is attended 
 by cheerfulness, that best of medicines. Cheer 
 lip your heart, our situation has still many cau 
 ses of thankfulness to God." 
 
 After her death which took place at her own 
 house, in her 88th year, it was said by an ac 
 curate judge, that " at this late period she re- 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 251 
 
 tained all the activity of a vigorous mind, that 
 her lively, interesting conversation, would be 
 remembered and regretted by a large circle of 
 acquaintance, and that she continued to unite 
 the vivacity of youth to the dignity of age. 
 Her whole life was usefully employed for the 
 benefit as well of her own family, as that of 
 those in whom she took a benevolent interest. 
 Equally distinguished was she by purity of 
 morals, and integrity of principles, as for excel 
 lence of understanding." 
 
 Yet it is not necessary to cross the ocean, or 
 explore foreign lands for examples of women, 
 who have illumined long life by an unclouded 
 spirit. Many such will be readily recalled, and 
 among them one, over whom the tomb has but 
 recently closed, Madam Susan Johnson, of 
 Stratford. Connecticut. 
 
 " I had visited her, only a little time before her death, said a 
 friend, in the lovely village of her residence. In the full enjoy 
 ment was she, of every faculty, at the advanced age of eighty- 
 four. She retained an unimpaired memory, and kept up a con 
 stant and elegant correspondence with her friends, until within 
 a few days of her death. She was looking toward approaching 
 spring with pleasant anticipation, for though life s winter was 
 
252 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 upon her, she delighted in the carol of birds, and the changing 
 beauties of every season, watching them as in by-gone days, 
 and sharing cheerfully the joys of those around her, as in times 
 of old." 
 
 Quite recently also, has passed away, Mrs. 
 Abigail Leonard, of Abington, Connecticut, hav 
 ing almost reached her ninety-third birth-day. 
 She retained her physical and mental powers in 
 healthful action until life s close. She was fond 
 of reading and conversing, and nourished her 
 activity by a habit of performing some useful 
 labor every day. Industry was her enjoyment. 
 Many tokens of this, has she left among friends 
 and acquaintances, as pleasant memorials. 
 They can show the garments, and other articles 
 she took such pleasure in making while still 
 among them. A Christian Dorcas was she, and 
 her works praise her. Ever amiable and bright- 
 spirited, she delighted to converse on cheering 
 and instructive themes, and especially as she 
 drew near her final transition, to speak to her 
 Pastor, high and holy words of that country 
 where she was to find a home, arid of those 
 skies which have no need of either sun or moon 
 to give them light. 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 253 
 
 Among those matrons who have nobly sus 
 tained the hardships of settling our new Western 
 States, was one who emigrated during the last 
 century to the wilds of Illinois. A large family 
 did she bring up, and extended the helping 
 hand and loving smile to her great grand-chil 
 dren even to the verge of fourscore. A model 
 was she of useful industry. Scarcely ever 
 would you see her seated, without the needle, 
 or knitting-needles in busy exercise. By her 
 side, also, on a little table, were ever lying her 
 Bible, pen and ink. For the last thirty years 
 of life, her spirit w r as so much soothed by the 
 melody of rhyme, that she seldom passed a 
 day without composing a few verses. She nev 
 er mentioned them to others, but linked the 
 harmonies of thought and sound, of which the 
 following is a specimen, as a source of solitary 
 satisfaction, and a sweetener of the spirit. 
 
 " All eyes on one Creator wait, 
 
 The rich, the poor, the mean, the great, 
 
 The ignorant, and wise, 
 All on one common father call, 
 The universal Lord of all, 
 
 Sovereign of earth and skies, 
 22 
 
254 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 " Yet how ungrateful mortals prove, 
 To him who is the Lord of Love, 
 
 Nor trace the hand Divine ; 
 O erlook the guardian love and care, 
 Nor render praise nor offer prayer, 
 
 Forgetful they are thine. 
 
 " Lord, may this thought be deep imprest 
 Upon the tablets of my breast, 
 
 Thy mercies still my song 
 At sober eve, at morning light, 
 And through the watchful hours of night, 
 
 I would the theme prolong. 
 
 " Dear to my soul shall be thy praise ; 
 Tho poor and weak the song I raise 
 
 It would to Thee aspire, 
 teach to pray, to praise adore, 
 To love, to reverence more and more, 
 
 Impart celestial fire." 
 
 Mrs. Esther Edwards, of Windsor, Connecti 
 cut, illustrated somewhat more than a century 
 since, what woman may perform in her own 
 peculiar province, with an unbroken, unclouded 
 spirit. Having accepted in early youth, the 
 station of the wife of a pastor, she imbibed the 
 idea that it was her duty to release him wholly 
 from all participation in domestic care. To her 
 
CHEEKFUL OLD WOMEN. 255 
 
 high-toned and unselfish mind, it seemed that 
 he who had undertaken the guidance of immor 
 tal souls, ought not to be annoyed by the daily 
 questions of earth, " what shall we eat ? what 
 shall we drink ? and wherewithal be clothed ?" 
 On this principle she commenced and continued 
 to act. Neither was it a quiet utterance of "be 
 ye warmed, and be ye filled ;" nor the simple 
 ordering of obedient servants, that could ac 
 complish her purpose. In village life, such 
 was then the equality of condition, that 
 the help of subordinates was not easily obtain 
 ed, or habitually depended upon. Every re 
 past, and every garment, must have not only 
 the providing thought, but the aiding hand of 
 the mistress ; the minister s family must of course, 
 be a pattern to all, and his restricted salary was 
 expected to sustain a free hospitality. The 
 thoroughness of New England housekeeping, 
 and the determination to avoid all pecuniary 
 indebtedness, which was then an essential part 
 of every honest education, involved both per 
 sonal labor and rigid economy. Head, hands 
 and feet, were alike taxed. 
 
256 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Yet nothing daunted, she who in these days, 
 would have been counted in age but as a school 
 girl, came modestly and bravely forward, girded 
 with the love of her husband, and the fear of 
 God. Blessed with a good physical constitu 
 tion, and a superior intellect, she failed not, 
 fainted not. The simplicity of primitive times 
 favored her, which required no elaborate cos 
 tume, or ceremonious visiting, or luxurious ap 
 pointment. Hence, she had more time for the 
 training of her many children, which she deemed 
 of unspeakable importance. She moved among 
 them as a spirit of life and light. Requiring of 
 them that implicit obedience which was the 
 first lesson of life in the olden time, she looked 
 upward for the wisdom she needed for their fu 
 ture guidance, wearing on her brow the sweet 
 trustful spirit of the supplication; " Lead me to 
 the rock that is higher than I." 
 
 Her illustrious son, President Edwards, who 
 was educated at home, until his entrance at col 
 lege, in recording his filial obligations, delight 
 ed to pay her a tribute of heartfelt praise. It 
 has been remarked by some of his biographers, 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 257 
 
 that intercourse throughout the whole of scho 
 lastic training, with mother and sisters, the lat 
 ter of whom also pursued a course of study 
 under their father s supervision, contributed to 
 the benignity and domestic tenderness, that 
 mingled with his strength of intellect. Ten 
 daughters well instructed, and fitted to perform 
 whatever appertains tow r oman s sphere, attes 
 ted her maternal fidelity. During her sixty- 
 three years of conjugal duty, she never neg 
 lected mental improvement, or sacrificed pro 
 gress in knowledge. On these, she depended 
 still more for solace, after the eclipse of wid 
 owhood fell upon her heart and house. For a 
 very long period, it had been her custom, to 
 keep upon her parlor-table, a Bible, with some 
 standard works of History, Biography and Theo 
 logy, divested of controversy. Thither, at a 
 specified hour of each afternoon, came the 
 neighboring ladies, both old and young. First, 
 a passage of Scripture was read, then a portion 
 of the volume which was in consecutive peru 
 sal, which their revered friend and guide inter 
 spersed with remarks or illustrations, readily 
 
 22* 
 
258 PAST MERIDIAN". 
 
 suggested by her extensive knowledge, or pro 
 found experience. The happy influence of 
 such a habit on the intelligence of those around, 
 it is not easy to compute ; and many in the mor 
 ning of life, referred their first serious impres 
 sions to words thus falling from those aged lips. 
 
 Looking with a cheerful temper upon every 
 creature, and all mutations below, her life 
 drew on, in usefulness and honor, to the ex 
 treme period of ninety-nine years. Its wheels 
 moved with music, until they were " broken at 
 the cistern, and the golden bowl" filled with the 
 waters of immortality. 
 
 Modifications of physical infirmity, are prone 
 to attend advancing years. They should be 
 expected, and if not welcomed as guests, se 
 renely tolerated. There is often amid these 
 decays, a kind of compensation in the dealings 
 of Nature, a giving on one side, for what she 
 takes on the other. 
 
 " I am delighted, said an eminent physician, with this rheu 
 matism in my knee, for now some other complaints that I had, 
 will vanish before it. We constantly perceive in the course of 
 our medical practice, one disease counteracting or destroying 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 259 
 
 another, so that the superintending care and wisdom of God is 
 as manifest in the theory of indisposition, as in that of health." 
 
 This occult science, is but too little studied, 
 and the laws of health, with that cloudless spirit 
 which is the sister of health, are too often neg 
 lected. Still, were I permitted, with full scope, 
 and a free pencil to enter the gallery of living 
 portraits, many might be selected where silver 
 hairs, and a furrowed forehead, are in unison 
 with dignity, cheerfulness, and grace. 
 
 I think at this moment, of one, from whom the 
 Atlantic divides us, in whom these lineaments 
 are strikingly prominent. Mad. Rotch, a native 
 of our own clime, but a resident by marriage, for 
 more than half a century, in the Mother Land, 
 retains at ninety-four, not merely the capacity 
 of pleasing, and being pleased, but undiminish- 
 ed delight in domestic and social duties. 
 That practical science which promotes the com 
 fort of home, she still pursues as a source of 
 happiness, and notwithstanding her great age, re 
 gularly adds to her household-book, the items of 
 daily expenditure, as in her vigorous prime. In 
 conversation, she evinces remarkable spright- 
 
260 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 liness, and even brilliance of repartee. Her 
 fine, erect person, seems to be rendered more 
 attractive, by the perfect neatness and sim 
 plicity of costume, peculiar to the sect of 
 Friends, of which she is a member This 
 naivete, with the kindness, of which it is 
 an expression, charms the young, and promotes 
 good-humor in all around. 
 
 Her charities are constantly active, both in 
 liberal bounties, and those slighter sunbeams 
 that brighten the current of human life. Du 
 ring her walks in those parks that revivify the 
 great heart of London, it is delightful to see 
 her distributing to the children whom she meets, 
 some appropriate gift, lighting up the wonder 
 ing smile upon their innocent faces, or pausing 
 to counsel the nurses, in what position to carry 
 their infant charge, so as least to constrain their 
 delicate limbs, and heighten as much as possi 
 ble, the benefits of air and exercise. Love of 
 the little ones, so frequently an element of hap 
 py old age, is a conspicuous trait in her nature, 
 and may be traced in the following extempora- 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 261 
 
 neous morceau, sent with the Christmas gift of 
 a thimble, to one of her juvenile descendants : 
 
 " Dear Minnie, tis a pleasant thing 
 
 To use the busy thimble ; 
 I fancy I can see you now, 
 
 With fairy fingers nimble 
 Preparing for your doll a dress, 
 
 Against the Christmas-day, 
 When we appear in all our best, 
 
 Why should not she be gay ? 
 
 Your Grandmama, from her arm-chair 
 
 The distance scarcely measures, 
 But often in a fancy-flight 
 
 Visits her living treasures, 
 Pleas d to enjoy their cheerful smiles, 
 
 Or hear their laughter hearty, 
 And then to No 8 returns, 
 
 To welcome her own party." 
 
 It is unfortunate, that those who are con 
 strained to feel the decays of time, should add 
 a voluntary evil, that of mental depression. 
 This tendency they ought at all points to resist. 
 If they are compelled to resign the " harp and 
 organ," and the full voice of their youthful 
 minstrelsy, have they not still some humbler 
 
262 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 instrument of joy, which they can tune to the 
 chorus of God s praise ? 
 
 In their efforts to preserve a happy equilibri 
 um of spirits, they should have aid from those 
 around. Younger, fresher sentinels should 
 keep watch with and for them. Self-deroga 
 tion is their besetting sin. Pleasant statements 
 of passing incidents, should be daily made 
 them, to nourish the life of sympathy, and keep 
 it in healthful connection with the outer world. 
 Has the eye grown dim ? Let the interesting 
 page, be rendered vocal, by lips of love. Has 
 the ear become wearied? Let the sweetly, dis 
 tinct elocution, with a sustained but not too 
 elevated tone, keep the heart from relapsing in 
 to solitude and silence. 
 
 The young are not aware, what a charm such 
 attentions and services cast around them. The 
 higher class of minds are more moved by them, 
 than by the brief blaze of beauty. An accom 
 plished gentleman, and critical observer, on his 
 return from foreign travel, was asked to which 
 of the fair ladies whom he constantly met in 
 elegant society, he should give the preference. 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 263 
 
 He designated one, who, among the reigning 
 belles, had no distinction, giving as a reason 
 
 " She is sweetly attentive to her hoary, and sickly grandmoth 
 er. She will make a good wife." 
 
 Smiles, and words of approval, are medicines 
 to the aged. They are not in danger from flat 
 tery, as at earlier periods of life. They are 
 often painfully unassured of their acceptance 
 with the new generation among whom they 
 linger, as pilgrims and strangers. To suggest a. 
 becoming costume, or notice whatever is agreea 
 ble in conversation or style of manner, gives 
 them confidence in their social relations. To 
 refer to their opinion, or advice, is useful in 
 keeping their judgment in exercise, as well as 
 a proper tribute to their experience. Above all, 
 never permit them to believe that their counsel, 
 or company, are of little account. This gives 
 strength to their chief temptation. The belief 
 that they are considered supernumeraries, drives 
 them to become superannuated. I hope no fil 
 ial heart may be moved to compunction, by the 
 following graphic sketch from a maternal pen. 
 
264 PAST MEKIDIAN. 
 
 " Not long since, a comely man, scarcely past his prime, in 
 quired at our door for the clergyman. He appeared disappoint 
 ed and anxious, at hearing that he was out of town, and on be 
 ing questioned, replied 
 
 " I have lost my mother. As this place used to be her home, 
 and my father is buried here, we came to lay her beside him." 
 
 u You have met with a great loss," I said, moved by sym 
 pathy." 
 
 "Well, why yes;" answered the man. "A mother, in 
 the general way is a great loss. But ours had outlived her 
 usefulness. She was in her second childhood. Her mind got to 
 be as weak as her body, so that she was no comfort to herself 
 nor to anybody else. There are seven of us, sons and daughters. 
 We could not find anybody, who was willing to board her, so 
 we agreed to keep her among us, a year apiece. But I had more 
 than my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved, when 
 my time was out ; and that was more than three months before 
 her death. She had been a good mother in her day, and work 
 ed very hard to bring us all up." 
 
 " Without looking in the face of the heartless man, I directed 
 him to a neighboring pastor and returned to my nursery. I 
 gazed on the little faces that smiled, or grew sad, in imitation of 
 mine, and wondered if the day would ever come when they 
 should say ; " She has outlived her usefulness. She is no com 
 fort to herself and a burden to everybody else." God forbid 
 that we should outlive the love of our children ! 
 
 " When the bell tolled for this poor mother s obsequies, I went 
 to the sanctuary to pay the only token of respect in my power 
 to the aged stranger, for I felt that I could give her memory a 
 tear, though the money-grasping children to whom she had 
 ceased to be profitable might perchance have none to shed. 
 
CHEERFUL OLD W O 31 E X . 265 
 
 "Mournfully and long spoke out the church-bell, till its iron 
 tongue had chronicled the years of the toil-worn mother. Re 
 verberating through our quiet forests, and echoing from hill to 
 hill, the knell continued until we had counted eighty-nine." 
 
 " Eighty-nine ! there she lies in her coffin, still and cold. She 
 makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no ten 
 der little offices. A look of patient endurance, we fancied also 
 an expression of grief for unrequited love sat on her marble fea 
 tures. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and in 
 irony we remembered the strong man s words, " She was a good 
 mother in her day/ 
 
 " When the bell ceased tolling, the strange minister rose in 
 the pulpit. His form was very erect, and his voice strong, but 
 his hair silvery white. He read several passages of Scripture 
 expressive of God s compassion to feeble man, and especially of 
 his tenderness when grey hairs are on him, and his strength fail- 
 eth. He made some touching remarks on human frailty, and 
 dependence on God, urging all present to make their peace with 
 Him while in health, that they might claim his promises when 
 heart and flesh should fail them. Leaning over the desk, and 
 gazing intently on the coffined form before him, he then said 
 reverently. " From a little child I have honored the aged ; but 
 never till the gray hairs covered my own head, did I know truly 
 how much love and sympathy this class have a right to demand 
 of their fellow-creatures. Now I feel it. Our mother, " he ad 
 ded most tenderly," who now lies in death before us, was a 
 stranger to me, as are all these, her descendants. All I know of 
 her is what her son has told me to-day that she was brought 
 to this town from afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride ; that 
 here she passed most of her life, toiling as only mothers ever 
 
 have strength to toil, until she had reared a large family of sons 
 
 23 
 
266 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and daughters ; that she left her home here, clad in the weeds 
 of widowhood, to dwell among her children ; and that till health 
 and vigor left her, she lived for her decendants." 
 
 " You, who together have shared her love and her care, know 
 how well you have requitted her. God forbid that conscience 
 should accuse you of ingratitude or murmuring, on account of 
 the care she has been to you of late. When you go back to 
 your homes, be careful of your words and your example before 
 your own children, for the fruit of your doing you will surely 
 reap from them, when you yourselves totter on the brink of the 
 grave. I entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself entered 
 u the evening of life," that you may never say, in the presence 
 of your families nor of heaven, " Our mother has outlived her 
 usefulness she is a burden to us." Never, never; a mother 
 cannot live so long as that ! No ; when she can no longer labor 
 for her children, nor yet care for herself, she should fall like a 
 precious weight on their bosoms, and call forth by her helpless 
 ness all the noble, generous feelings of their natures." 
 
 Is it to be supposed that there is in our coun 
 try, a disposition to deny the just claims of 
 age ? We are not willing to admit so grave a 
 charge upon a Christian people. Whatever 
 would seem to countenance it, probably arises 
 from the over excited energies and haste of a 
 young nation, intent to be rich, which amid 
 its countless inventions, hazardous enterprises, 
 and insatiate accumulation, overlooks the lone 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 267 
 
 and the silent, the slow in speech, and the slow 
 of action. 
 
 N. P. Willis, from whose graceful pen we 
 have heretofore quoted, thus feelingly remarks 
 on this part of our subject. 
 
 "The neglected portion of the great American family is old 
 age we are sorry to say. Not that we as a nation are disre 
 spectful to the old, or that they are denied or grudged anything. 
 We perform the negative duty to them, by avoiding all which 
 shall occasion them offence or deprivation ; but we do not per 
 form the positive duty of assiduously seeing that they occupy, 
 always and only the places of honor and prominence ; nor, more 
 particularly, do we study to contrive, untiringly and affection 
 ately, how to comfort, strengthen, cheer, and recuperate them. 
 An old man in one house may have his chair in the drawing- 
 room, and his place at the table, and be listened to when he 
 speaks, and obeyed when he commands. But in another house 
 he will have his easy chair cushioned and pillowed, and his arm 
 chair at the table, and the cook will be busied most with what 
 will newly nourish or refresh his more delicate appetite ; while all 
 listen first for his words, and address conversation to him as a 
 center, and eagerly seek for his commands as an authority. This, 
 (we assure the reader, from our well weighed observation in both 
 countries,) is a fair picture of the difference between old age in 
 America and old age in England. We have been sad to admit 
 this, to the commenting traveller. 
 
 It is an unconscious fault in our country an oversight of our 
 life too busy, our attention too overtasked, and our plans of 
 
268 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 home and pleasure too unsettled and immature. But the feeling 
 for better things is in us. Time will bring it into action." 
 
 What remains therefore, for this interval du 
 ring which the country is getting ready to do its 
 duty, but for the aged in general, and for old 
 women in particular, to make themselves of as 
 much consequence as they can ? If this is a 
 busy, calculating age, let them bring a drop or 
 two of honey to the hive, and they will be the 
 more regarded. If they may not as formerly, 
 spread the wing, on wide excursions, they can 
 cheerily greet the working-bees, when they 
 come laden home, and tell the young ones, 
 \vhere the white clover grows. Habits of use 
 fulness, varied according to the necessities of 
 their position, and an agreeable demeanor, may 
 be still their own. In the exercise of these, 
 they will find comfort, until they rise to a high 
 er estate. 
 
 It might be in accordance with the spirit of 
 thrift that prevails in a new country, to repre 
 sent cheerfulness as a matter of loss and gain. 
 Low spirits are decidedly unprofitable. They 
 unhinge the nervous system. They are losses in 
 
CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 269 
 
 the balance-sheet of life. " Discontent, says 
 an ancient writer, casts a cloud over the mind. 
 It occupies it with the evil that disquiets, in 
 stead of the means by which it is to be re 
 moved." 
 
 Among things to be avoided by cheerful old 
 women, are vain regrets. " Would that I were 
 young again!" is the wish sometimes uttered 
 by lips that might be better employed. It has 
 been well treated by a Scottish lady, Caroline 
 Baroness Nairn, in the following lines, writ 
 ten when she had attained her seventy-sixth 
 year, and must therefore be admitted as com 
 petent to judge of the question thus examined : 
 
 " Would you be young again ? 
 
 So would not I 
 One tear to memory given, 
 
 Onward I ll hie: 
 Life s dark flood forded o er, 
 All but at rest on shore, 
 Say, would you plunge once more, 
 
 With home so nigh ? 
 
 If you might, would you now 
 Retrace your way ? 
 
 Wander through stormy wilds, 
 23* 
 
270 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Faint and astray ? 
 Night s gloomy watches fled, 
 Morning all beaming red, 
 Hope s smiles around us shed, 
 
 Heavenward away. 
 
 Where, are the parted friends, 
 
 Once our delight ? 
 Dear and more dear, though now 
 
 Hidden from sight. 
 Where they rejoice to be, 
 There is the land for me ; 
 Fly time, fly speedily 
 
 Come, life and light. 
 
 The kind and wise provision of our Heaven 
 ly Father, by which the losses or needs of the 
 several periods of life, find substitutes or com 
 forts, is a pleasant contemplation. Youth must 
 lose the sleepless affection that watched over 
 its early helplessness, but exults in the vigor 
 that can take care of itself, and in the developed 
 intellect that knows what to do. Love resigns 
 the fragrance of its first flowers, but is repaid 
 by the rich clusters, ripening beneath its leaves. 
 Age feels its strength decline, but rests peaceful 
 ly in the shadow of the filial love, that itself had 
 
CHEERFUL OLD W M E X . 271 
 
 reared, inhaling mental health from the beau 
 tiful ministries of Nature. 
 
 Has the rose of June, less brilliance and 
 freshness, than in our childhood ? Is it a slight 
 er favor than of old, to behold it, as it goes 
 clustering up to the cottage-eaves ? " Every 
 bud grows more lovely, the song of the bird is 
 sweeter than ever ;" said a man on the verge 
 of eighty-eight (my own blessed father.) Ah! 
 thus should it ever be, with those who draw 
 nearer, to flowers that never fade, to melody 
 that never ceases. By the daily exercise of 
 such a spirit, should they prepare for the " ex 
 ceeding weight of glory," that awaits them. 
 Let us educate ourselves for Heaven s high 
 bliss, by cheerfully partaking of that, which 
 Earth yields. 
 
 Now and then we meet a person, who seems 
 unwilling to forfeit the privileges of murmur 
 ing and wearing a sour, sad face. These but 
 heighten the evils they deprecate. Others, from 
 a naturally easy temperament, more readily 
 avoid repining; yet a capacity for sustained en 
 joyment under the pressure of years, needs the 
 
272 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 support of piety; a spirit in harmony with its 
 lot and with its Law-giver. 
 
 Would it not be well for all to try to enjoy 
 their closing day ? What is the use of hang 
 ing a black pall over the setting sun ? Shall 
 we spread the wet napkin of the wicked Hazael, 
 that smothered the kingly sleeper, to extinguish 
 our own " life of life," while yet breath is lent 
 us? 
 
 Rather with the armor recommended by the 
 eloquent Apostle, " in the patience of hope, and 
 the labor of love," would we press onward. 
 " Wax old in thy work" says the son of Sirach. 
 We will ask wisdom to do so, and to " stand 
 in our lot, at the end of the days." 
 
 " A fine writer has said, " the ancients might call age, sad, 
 but that is not what we Christians ought to do. If any old per 
 sons think there are about them, things that might sadden them 
 a little, let them become Christians, and this melancholy will 
 change into something like a gentle prayer, always rising from 
 within the soul." 
 
 Every year that we are permitted to live, 
 -enhances the debt of gratitude. Yes, every 
 full orbed year, with its four beautiful seasons, 
 
CHEEKFUL OLD WOMEN. 273 
 
 its twelve perfect months, its days and nights, 
 set in rose-diamond and ebony chased with 
 gold, are glorious gems, for the casket of eter 
 nity. 
 
 Oh Lord, our Governor! for every added 
 year, receive our thanks. We will not hide 
 their number, or prize them less because they 
 are many ; but taking each, as a blessed gift 
 from Thine Hand, embalm them with the 
 melody of praise. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 entering 
 
 "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 remem 
 ber him. 
 
 Thus should a good life draw to its close, 
 fruitful in benefits, and glowing w r ith reflected 
 love, until the evening star hangs out its silver 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 275 
 
 crescent. Thus should its westering sun 
 beams be treasured in the grateful hearts 
 which have been cheered by its path of ra 
 diance. 
 
 A selfish old age must be of necessity, an 
 unhappy one. It is an indwelling with losses ; 
 lost comeliness, lost vigor, lost pleasure, lost 
 importance among the bright and swift current 
 of moving things. The hopeless search for 
 what is departed, depresses the spirits and pre 
 pares 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 princi 
 pally and permanently of themselves. It is 
 cause for thankfulness if through the changes,, 
 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 long 
 pilgrimage is nearly finished ; withdrawing the 
 
276 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 props on which they leaned, loosening the 
 heart-strings that were too closely or proudly 
 earth-bound, that the Soul, ere she tries her un 
 fettered wing, may " spring up and take strong 
 hold on Him who made her." 
 
 It is pleasant to recall whatever of brilliance 
 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 bra 
 very with which the poet Dry den battled the 
 storms of fortune, lifting an unquenched spirit 
 like a torch arnid rocks and waves. When he 
 might through age have naturally wished to re 
 lax the pressure of literary labor, he was stimu 
 lated anew by 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 imme 
 diately contracted to supply a bookseller with 
 ten thousand verses, at sixpence a line, saying 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 277 
 
 t 
 
 pathetically of his invalid child, " I can not 
 spend my life better than in preserving his." 
 
 Among the men, who taking in their hand, 
 " their lives, their fortunes and their sacred 
 honor," gave signature to the Magna Chart a 
 of our national freedom, quite a number were 
 appointed to length of days, with unfaded re 
 nown. 
 
 Of this band of fifty-six, some of whom, in 
 the course of our Revolution, encountered dan 
 ger, as well as loss, it seems remarkable that 
 ten should have survived to between eighty and 
 ninety, and four to between ninety and an hun 
 dred. 
 
 The Honorable Charles Carroll of Carrolton, 
 Maryland, attained the greatest age, and long 
 after his compeers had departed, lingered to 
 witness the growth of the liberties which they 
 had planted under the storm-cloud. He had 
 received many advantages for the acquisition 
 of knowledge, having been taken to Europe at 
 the age of eight and placed under accomplished 
 instructors. After a collegiate course in France, 
 
 and the study of Law in England, he returned 
 
 24 
 
278 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 to his native land at twenty-eight, a finished 
 scholar and gentleman. 
 
 His powerful pen was early used in defence 
 of the endangered States, and a series of 
 Essays published at an important crisis, had 
 influence in arousing the zeal of patriotism, 
 and aiding its successful result. 
 
 Many offices of honor were appointed him 
 in his own State, as well as those of Member 
 of Congress, and Senator of the United States, 
 in all of which he evinced high integrity and 
 ability. His clearness of judgment, extensive 
 learning and decision of character, gave weight 
 to the opinions he advocated, and the course 
 he pursued. 
 
 At sixty-three, he chose to retire from public 
 toils and distinctions. Then, his love of do 
 mestic and social intercourse, his vivacity of 
 temper and refinement of taste, shone forth 
 without a cloud. Pilgrimages were made by 
 strangers, to see in his own nobly, hospitable 
 mansion, this patriarch of the patriarchs. 
 There, surrounded by his descendants, to the 
 third generation, and venerated by all, on the 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 279 
 
 14th of November, 1832, he ceased to live, fall 
 ing short only three years, of a complete cen 
 tury. 
 
 The Honorable William Ellery of Newport, 
 who from the memorable era of 1776, contin 
 ued nine years a member of Congress, after 
 ward took his seat as chief justice of the supe 
 rior court of Rhode Island. When the age of 
 seventy released him from this office, he accep 
 ted that of collector of customs for his native 
 city, affectionately serving her till the day of 
 his death, which took place at the age of nine 
 ty-three. So social and agreeable was he, not 
 withstanding his advanced age, and such pow 
 ers of vivid and graphic narration did he con 
 tinue to possess, that the young sought his 
 company for their own pleasure. 
 
 It was on the morning of his death, February 
 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-chair, reading 
 Cicero de Officiis. But while the tide of con 
 versation flowed freely and brightly on, the 
 
280 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 quick eye of the medical man detected a 
 change in his venerated companion. He was 
 laid upon the bed, but resumed reading the 
 page which was interesting him when his friend 
 entered. Gently the pulse ceased its motion, 
 and the unclouded mind glided from its tene 
 ment 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 calm 
 ly, and perhaps longer, from the serene tempe 
 rament of his religion, which under every ob 
 stacle or misfortune solaced his own soul and 
 that 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 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 281 
 
 studies, he exchanged his fair ancestral home 
 in New Jersey for a residence at 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, marking 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 travel 
 ing was by bridle paths, by blazed trees, ford 
 ing wild streams and camping on the wet 
 ground. Educated in the school of Washing 
 ton and of Hamilton, who were honored guests 
 at 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. Pop 
 ulation spread around him like the pageantry 
 of a dream, and Cincinnati, among whose rudi- 
 
 24* 
 
282 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ments 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 colloquial 
 powers as free and fascinating, as at thirty. 
 When full of knowledge and benevolence, 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 fuller ra 
 diance at seventy, than in his prime. Like the 
 reformer Wycliffe, he was more and more 1 
 " intent upon being understood, intent upon im 
 parting the conviction or passion of his own 
 mind to other minds." With this singleness 
 of purpose, and power of truth, was also 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 283 
 
 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 with 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 him to live in a world so 
 teeming with beauty." Thus, with the radi 
 ance 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 di 
 rector of his own large estates, and an orna 
 ment in society, was as great at eighty-five, as 
 during any previous period. His bodily activ 
 ity and powers of endurance were also remark 
 able, though in boyhood his constitution was 
 
284 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 pronounced extremely delicate. More than 
 once I have observed with delight his arrival 
 at the House of Lords, on some wintry morn 
 ing, on horseback, when, throwing his reins to 
 the single servant who attended him, he would 
 proceed with vigorous step, and cheek bright 
 ened by exposure to the keen air, up those long 
 flights of stairs, which in the old parliament 
 building, were formidable to younger feet. 
 
 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 de 
 parture, anxiously followed and finding he had 
 no carriage in attendance, induced him to ac 
 cept 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 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 285 
 
 m his accustomed parliamentary seat, he sus 
 tained some pending resolution with a brief 
 and lucid speech, proving that indomitable en 
 ergy and strength of will, which pervaded even 
 the latest period of his existence. 
 
 England is still happy in the protracted light 
 shed upon her counsels, by heads that wear 
 the silver crown of age. At seventy-nine, Lord 
 Brougham speaks much and well ; Lords Lans- 
 downe and Aberdeen at more than threescore 
 and ten, are eminent ministers of state ; and 
 Lord Lyndhurst, the son of our own artist Cop 
 ley, is in his eighty-sixth 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 greatest of living 
 orators. 
 
 Born in the same year with Lord Lyndhurst, 
 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 
 
286 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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, and on so many civic oc 
 casions, cast forth its bold metaphors and cor 
 uscations 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 may 
 oralty of his native city, an office which he 
 had held thirty years before ; leaving at his re 
 tirement indelible marks of his taste and effi 
 ciency in the financial prosperity, the humane 
 institutions, and elegant structures of this 
 Athens of New England. 
 
 At his delightful summer residence in Quincy, 
 superintending the minute and perfectly bal 
 anced policies of his rural domain, he enter 
 tains his guests with that fine blending of 
 frankness and dignity peculiar to the true gen 
 tlemen of the old school. It is a pleasure to 
 see his erect form, healthful complexion, and 
 what is still more remarkable in our changeful 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 287 
 
 climate, an entire set of white teeth which the 
 art of the dentist has never interpolated. Sur 
 rounded by the sweetest filial affections, the 
 man whom the eloquent Everett has pronounced 
 the " ornament of the forum, the senate and 
 the academy," gracefully, exchanges the pur 
 suits of Cicero for those of Cincinnatus. 
 
 From his fair estate at Brookline, in the vicin 
 ity of Boston, where so many have been made 
 happy by hospitality and benevolence, has been 
 recently transferred to a higher state of exist 
 ence, Col. Thomas H. Perkins, in his ninetieth 
 year. It was to me a source of exulting pleasure , 
 while abroad, to meet him arriving in London, 
 with unalloyed spirits, an energetic and excel 
 lent traveler, both by sea and land, though 
 then on the confines of fourscore The voyage, 
 from which so many young persons shrink, 
 was to him no obstacle ; indeed, he afterward 
 repeated it, enjoying the changeful and boister 
 ous 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 
 
288 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 bounties, among others, the gift of a mansion, 
 valued at forty thousand dollars, that the insti 
 tute for their instruction was incorporated by 
 the name of the " Perkins Asylum for the 
 Blind." Truly was it said of him by Mr. Ste 
 venson, at an assemblage of the merchants 
 of Boston, whose profession he had so honor 
 ably 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 sor 
 row 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, by 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 289 
 
 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 benevo 
 lent actions, and go down a sweet odor to our 
 children s children." 
 
 Still traversing the streets of Boston, in his 
 eighty-sixth year, regardless of winter s cold, 
 or summer s heat, may be seen the venerable 
 missionary, the Rev. Charles Cleveland, intent 
 on deeds of mercy. The orphan, so often 
 
 25 
 
290 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 overlooked in the world s great strife, the suffer 
 ing- 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 concentrated all 
 Christian 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 deportment, 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 
 Dwight, was eminently distinguished. A na 
 tive of Massachusetts, he resided the greater 
 part of his life in Connecticut and New York, 
 
WESTERIXGSUXBEAMS. 291 
 
 and conducted in both of the last-named states, 
 different weekly periodicals, for the space of 
 half a century. He also stood a faithful senti 
 nel at that unslumbering post, the head of a 
 daily newspaper of large circulation, in the city 
 of New York. His fine literary taste did not 
 confine itself to editorial articles, but in consec 
 utive works, as well as on the floor of Congress, 
 he was appreciated by his countrymen. Age 
 did not dim his intellect, or his remarkable col 
 loquial powers. He continued to write with 
 the same rapidity and acuteness that had mark 
 ed his early prime ; the messenger often taking 
 the pages wet with ink to the waiting press. 
 Well do I remember the radiance of his ex 
 pressive black eye, when those coruscations 
 of wit kindled, which eighty-two winters had 
 not quelled, or when the smile of earnest 
 friendship, or hallowed affection, lighted up a 
 face beautiful to the last. 
 
 The gentler sex have occasionally adventured 
 into the arduous and responsible post of Editor ; 
 and among these, Mrs. Ann Royal continued to 
 conduct a paper in the city of Washington, with 
 
292 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 an unclouded spirit, until the age of eighty-five. 
 In the same city, the venerable Editors of the 
 " National Intelligencer," continue unimpaired 
 their professional toils. Col. Seaton, who 
 mingles with indefatigable industry, a singular 
 urbanity, has received among other marks of 
 popular favor, repeated elections to the mayor 
 alty; and his associate, Mr. Gales, with his 
 still bright eye and expansive benevolence, has 
 been characterized by a discriminating pen, as 
 " a politician without seeking office, and a states 
 man, without holding it." 
 
 Col. Green, one of the earliest Editors, who 
 gave Connecticut her weekly " folio of four 
 pages," is still clear-minded, and full of happiness 
 in his ninety-second year. The late Col. Ward, 
 who was born in the same year and has been re 
 cently removed, retained after a life of active 
 business, a memory wonderfully tenacious of 
 dates, facts and historical incidents, and was 
 among the most interesting representatives of the 
 past, that Hartford can boast. The same pleasant 
 city numbers with its most honored dwellers, 
 Chief Justice Williams, who veils profound learn 
 ing, with true humility, having passed the thresh- 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 293 
 
 old of fourscore, is ready with the bright smile, 
 and earnest voice of early years, to promote 
 every work of benevolence, patriotism, or piety. 
 
 For still, to all of human-kind, a friend, 
 And ne er from paths of equity enticed, 
 
 He skills with heavenly alchemy to blend 
 
 The lore of Themis, with the Cross of Christ 
 
 Among the most genial spirits of the age, is 
 the venerable Dr. John W. Francis of New 
 York. Time seems to have levied no tax on 
 his enthusiasm in intellectual pursuits, in friend 
 ship, or in charity. The Mentor of his profession, 
 he warmly extends to the young medical prac 
 titioner, the helping hand, or the word of encour 
 agement. The oldest member of the Historical 
 
 o 
 
 Society of the Empire city, his authority is deci 
 sive as an antiquarian, so vast and precise are his 
 retentive and recollective powers. He is a writer 
 of versatility and force, a favorite in literary 
 circles, while his conversation and manners 
 are replete with such a glow of feeling, as 
 sets the frosts of age at defiance. 
 
 In every grade and occupation are some- 
 
 25* 
 
294: PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 times found instances of protracted usefulness, 
 mingling with that hopeful, cheerful tempera 
 ment, which is supposed to appertain to the 
 earlier periods of life. This is illustrated in 
 the following extracts from one of those letters 
 with which Grant Thorburn, the octogenarian 
 florist, occasionally interests the public, through 
 the medium of our various periodicals. 
 
 NEW YOEK, February 18, 1854. 
 
 u 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 in 
 gratitude 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 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 preser 
 vation of myself and family ; for neither my wife, myself, nor 
 any of my thirteen children, were ever affected by this fatal dis- 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 295 
 
 case. 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 recov 
 ered ; 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 Scot 
 land in April, 1794, I 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 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 the 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 my 
 self 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 ves- 
 
296 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 sel, I feared they were mildewed. On the top, lay a small pock 
 et Bible ; it was placed there by the hands of my pious father. 
 I opened the book. u 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 mor 
 ning, 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, " This is the way, walk ye in it." 
 
 " 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 intercourse 
 were more cultivated among those who share 
 in the sympathies of many years. A lady of 
 ninety-three, in one of the villages of Massa 
 chusetts, 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 uni 
 ted experience covered an area of six hundred 
 and fifty years. Rural employments had pro 
 bably contributed to preserve their health ; for 
 all were dwellers upon their own farms, within 
 
WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 297 
 
 the vicinity of a square mile, so that neighborly 
 intimacy gave a zest to their intercourse, and 
 no snows of age had been allowed to obstruct 
 the avenues of friendship. 
 
 It is desirable that the lambent light of hap 
 piness should beam from the countenance and 
 life of those who have long set a good exam 
 ple, thus making virtue attractive, and dispel 
 ling the dread which the young feel of becom 
 ing old. 
 
 Is not the parting sun beautiful in a wintry 
 landscape ? The whitened 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. 
 
298 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 
 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 XT. 
 
 Ye who hold 
 
 Proud tenantry in earth, and call your lands 
 By your own names, and lock your cofler 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, adhesiveness 
 undoubtedly gathers strength from time. Since 
 
300 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 what we have been habituated 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 observa 
 tion 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 con 
 tempt of coming ages. The solemn warning 
 of his confessor, that to purchase peace of con 
 science, he must make restitution of unjust 
 Sfains, failed to overcome his insatiable habit of 
 hoarding. The frank assurance of his physi 
 cian, that though but just upon the verge of six 
 ty, 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 passed be 
 fore him, in review, each one as dear as ever. 
 
A B O V T MONEY. 301 
 
 To enrich his relatives, the haughty family of 
 Mancini, was probably an excuse made by the 
 wily cardinal, for his unequalled avarice, but 
 the root was in the love of it. Some rare gems, 
 and peculiarly precious treasures, were placed 
 in bags beneath his pillow. After struggles of 
 deadly anguish, which increasing disease in 
 duced, he stretched his weak, emaciated hands 
 to feel if they were still there. The fearful 
 Spoiler, drawing every hour more near, he 
 might have apostrophized in the words ascribed 
 to one of England s great and unhappy states 
 men. 
 
 " 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 recommend 
 such antidotes as are the most obvious, if we 
 admit that avarice is a disease indigenous to 
 life in its decline. 
 
 The first prescription would be, pay all 
 debts. There is religion in it. If we are using, 
 
 26 
 
302 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 or have the name of possessing anything for 
 which the owner has not been fully remunera 
 ted, let us lose no time in rendering adequate 
 compensation. It is better always to do 
 without what we cannot justly afford to pur 
 chase, than avail ourselves of what literally be 
 longs to another: and the weight of undis 
 charged 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. " Pov 
 erty without debt is independence," 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 exam 
 ple, in the payment of tribute to the Roman ru 
 ler. An old author has quaintly remarked, 
 "Even when Christ borrowed 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 that too common forgetfulness 
 of equity, " borrowing and paying not again." 
 The spirit of acquisitiveness is a temptation to 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 303 
 
 vice. It confuses the simple principles of 
 right and wrong. The fearful frauds that mark 
 modern days, and our own country, bid us to 
 strengthen every foundation of equity, and be 
 ware of the spirit of 
 
 "These feverish times, 
 That putting the Tioic-much before the how, 
 Cry like the daughters of the horse-leech, give." 
 
 How forcible were the words of the eloquent 
 Patrick Henry, on his death-bed, to his children, 
 " If I could will to give you the Christian reli 
 gion, how gladly would I do so ; for with this 
 and without any earthly possession, you would 
 be infinitely rich : without it, though with all 
 else that the heart can wish, you would be mis 
 erably poor/ 
 
 The apostolic injunction, " Owe no man any 
 thing, except to love one another," gathers 
 strength and significance, with every added 
 year. The luxury of giving, cannot be fairly 
 enjoyed, while debts remain unliquidated. "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 
 
304 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 tranquility 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 intense 
 gradations from exultation to despair, are inap 
 posite 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 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 305 
 
 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 posses 
 sions, 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 asso 
 ciate them with a long term of years. Such 
 meditations, probably, induced a man of labo 
 rious 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 
 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 re 
 ceive. Chrysotom has well said that " a man 
 does not become rich by laying up abundance 
 
 26* 
 
306 FAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 but by laying out abundance : that is laying it 
 out for God." 
 
 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 w r ere time 
 and space mine, where similar resolutions have 
 been adopted as the motto and guide of life, un 
 til 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, 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 307 
 
 became the possessor of a large fortune, through 
 untiring deeds of philanthropy kept his heart 
 tender and open to the wants and woes of man 
 kind. Time, money and sympathy were with 
 him ever ready for the claims of beneficence, 
 whether large or small. To the Being who 
 had prospered 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 undiminished judgment to the concerns of 
 a great commercial establishment, and the in 
 terests of many associated and individual forms 
 of benevolence. Amid the sufferings and lan 
 guor of decline, his mind peacefully resting up 
 on that God whom from youth he had served, 
 still occupied itself in plans of liberality. With 
 in two or three days of his death, while arrang 
 ing for a donation of several thousand dollars to 
 some religious design, a beloved one expressed 
 fear that it might too much tax his feeble 
 strength and proposed that it should be left to 
 the care of others, but he replied, " My busi- 
 
308 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ness has long been to save that I might give, 
 and I wish to continue it while life lasts." More 
 than half a million is dedicated in his will to 
 the charities which he had long patronized, 
 and beside other bequests to his twenty-two 
 grandchildren, was the sum of $5000 for each, 
 the interest of which was to be annually devo 
 ted 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. 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 fune 
 ral obsequies. 
 
 " How those blind children will miss him !" 
 said a clergyman in his address, at the church 
 where for many years he had worshiped. 
 " They never saw his benignant face, but they 
 well knew the kind voice of their benefactor. 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 309 
 
 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, 
 
 O i 
 
 is to superintend personally, as far as possible, 
 such plans of benevolence as are approved and 
 adopted. This is true economy. We best un 
 derstand our own designs. It may not always 
 be feasible, perfectly to incorporate them with 
 the rnind of another. " He who uses the min 
 istry of many agents, says a profound moralist, 
 may be by some of them misunderstood and by 
 others deceived." 
 
 Why should we not enjoy the pleasure of 
 dispensing our 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 numerous 
 that it is embarrassing and almost inviduous to 
 select. 
 
 The late Hon. Samuel Appleton, of Boston, 
 
310 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 who lived to almost the verge of ninety, was 
 distinguished by the practical efficiency of chari 
 ty. The exercise of a clear judgment kept 
 pace with his persevering liberality. In carry 
 ing 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. 
 
 It is pleasant to observe how his discrimina 
 ting and unimpaired mind simply and senten- 
 tiously expressed itself, in presenting a dona 
 tion of ten thousand dollars to a venerated 
 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, 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 311 
 
 religion, law, and the other arts and sciences, in simplicity, puri 
 ty, and truth." 
 
 Though few have the amount of wealth to 
 dispense, which fell to the lot of this unwea 
 ried philanthropist, yet the zeal which deter 
 mined as far as possible, to be its own execu 
 tor, is imitable. Those who trust to others, 
 even during life, are not sure of having their 
 plans executed. Much less can this be expect 
 ed 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 available points of the 
 object which their donors contemplated. 
 
 The habit of promptly making their multi 
 form plans of benevolence available, was con 
 spicuous in the brothers Amos and Abbot Law 
 rence, of Boston, those shining lights in the 
 galaxy of goodness. One in heart, in devising 
 and executing liberal things, they are doubtless 
 reunited where " charity never faileth." We 
 borrow the expressive language of one of the 
 biographers of the elder brother, whose boun- 
 
312 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 ties during the last ten years of his life were 
 supposed to have amounted to half a million 
 of dollars. 
 
 "It is known," says the Rev. Dr. Hopkins, "that his habit of 
 giving liberally, extended back to the period of his earliest pros 
 perity, and kept pace with its growth. He had a sense of reli 
 gious obligation, as well as a benevolent heart and with the same 
 sagacity that governed his business transactions, perceived the 
 tendency there is in accumulation to increase the love of money, 
 and guarded against it. 
 
 " He did not dispense his bounty at random, nor yet by any 
 rigid and inflexible system, that could not be moulded and 
 shaped by the calls or aspects of each passing day. 
 
 "He aided family connections near and remote, and old 
 friends and acquaintances. If any of them needed a few hun 
 dred dollars to help them over a difficult position, it was sure to 
 come. But his sympathy was not limited at all to kindred or 
 acquaintance, or in any way narrowed by sect or party. He 
 was a true man, in sympathy with suffering humanity, and was 
 always glad, it gave him real pleasure, to find a worthy object 
 of his bounty. He sought out such objects. He learned histo 
 ries of reverses, and of noble struggles with adversity, that were 
 stranger than fiction. Those thus struggling he placed in posi 
 tions to help themselves, furnishing them, if necessary, with 
 sums from one hundred to a thousand dollars, or more, as freely 
 as he would have given a cup of cold water. He visited alms- 
 houses, and hospitals, and insane asylums, and retreats for the 
 deaf and dumb, and the blind, and became deeply interested in 
 many of their inmates. He was watchful of every thing needed 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 313 
 
 there for comfort or for instruction, and his presence always car 
 ried sunshine with it. He distributed useful books. He aided 
 genius, and encouraged promising talent. A true son of New 
 England, he appreciated education, and gave his money and his 
 influence to extend it, and to elevate its standard in every grade 
 of our institutions, from the primary school to the College and 
 the Professional Seminary." 
 
 The forms of benevolence change. Those 
 objects which twenty years since were promi 
 nent, are now in a measure obsolete, or super 
 seded 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 chil 
 dren, and I have poor relations." 
 
 These are the keytones which covetousness 
 has struck for ages, and with such force as 
 often to bewilder itself. There is in them a 
 semblance of justice and of conscience, while 
 the root is at best a concealed selfishness. The 
 hoarding for descendants, which at first view 
 
 27 
 
314 PAST M E K I D I A N . 
 
 seems paternal and amiable, may be hurtful to 
 those whose benefit it contemplates. The ex 
 pectation of wealth may paralyze their indus 
 try. Its possession may check their sympa 
 thies, 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 obli 
 gation of stewardship, both to the Giver and to 
 our fellow-creatures ; an obligation which re 
 ceding life renders more imperative and sacred. 
 We would not stand before our Judge with rust 
 upon our souls, derived from the gold that per 
 ishes. Of its unrighteous 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 
 
ABOUT MONEY. 315 
 
 which comprise true wisdom, and whose obser 
 vance 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 benefactions, 
 with the pure element of benevolence. Such 
 persons may be consoled by Mahomet s expla 
 nation of good deeds to our race. His defini 
 tion 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 exhortation of your fellow-man to 
 virtuous deeds is equal to alms-giving ; your 
 putting a wanderer in the right road is charuVy ; 
 your assisting the blind is charity ; your remov 
 ing stones, and thorns, and other obstructions 
 from the road, is charity ; your giving \vater to 
 the thirsty is charity. A man s true wealth 
 hereafter is the good he does in this world to 
 
316 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 
 \e 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 defer 
 red resolutions and undischarged duties. Let 
 us pay what we owe, and break the slavery of 
 money getting, and study the science of char 
 ity in the love of it, and learn the joy of being 
 our own almoners. For to all, whether young 
 or old, who are still seeking the good things of 
 this transitory state, the warning of an ancient 
 writer is appropriate : 
 
 " Build your nest upon no tree here, for 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 dwell in the sides of the Great Everlasting 
 Rock " 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 " He prayeth best, who loveth best." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 IT is sometimes the case, that good and kind- 
 hearted people, imbibe on certain points, a rig 
 idity of opinion, or an undue expectation of 
 conformity, which is both disagreeable and in 
 expedient. 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 observ 
 ed 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 re 
 luctance to condemn, and a mitigation of all 
 austerity, like the mellowing of rich fruit, ripe 
 
 27* 
 
318 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 for the harvest. Those amiable friends seemed 
 to have taken the advice of the clear-minded 
 and benevolent Franklin, not to tarry in tho 
 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 express 
 ion 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, mast 
 now be either reconsidered, or counted obso 
 lete. Then, she was in a manner home-bred, 
 and when she went abroad, it was compara- 
 
THE AMENITIES. 319 
 
 tively 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 agen 
 cies that bewilder her children, and astonish 
 herself. Like the mystic form of the Apoca 
 lypse, 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 combi 
 nations, have been, or are being discovered, in 
 this our planet, that a common, old-fashioned 
 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 con 
 clusions on ancient premises, should be at 
 fault, where there is no precedent. The great 
 principles of right and wrong, must, indeed, 
 ever remain the same ; but the rapid movement, 
 
320 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 and transmutation of passing objects, confuse 
 the old modes of reasoning. 
 
 We, therefore, of the ancient regime, should 
 forbear strongly to press preconceived opinions, 
 and should form new ones with peculiar mod 
 esty. For we are not certain of what we once 
 supposed was well understood, and must con 
 sole ourselves with the assertion of Bacon, that 
 " he is the wisest man, who is the most suscep 
 tible 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. 
 
 Such amenities mingling with our religious 
 belief, would repel bigotry. That we should 
 be attached to the form of faith that has long 
 sustained and solaced us, is natural and com 
 mendable. But if there has been ever a peri 
 od 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 lessons that age has 
 taught us, should be toleration and humility. 
 
THE AMENITIES. 321 
 
 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 jav 
 elin 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 be 
 ginning 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 or frui 
 tion. But Charity, our last, most patient teach 
 er, 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 
 
322 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tastes gather strength. With them, the beat 
 itude which the gospel promises to peace-ma 
 kers, is overshadowed by the ambition of con 
 trolling the opinions of others. Such ideas 
 harmonize rather with the policy of an Israel- 
 itish usurper, than of the meek and lowly Re 
 deemer. " 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 emi 
 nent liberality and love. Hear the noble suf 
 frage of John Wesley, when advanced years 
 had fully matured his piety. 
 
 " My soul loathes the frothy food of conten 
 ding opinions. Give me solid, substantial reli 
 gion. 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, wheresoever they are, and 
 whatsoever doctrines they may hold." 
 
 Bishop Stillingfleet asks : " Cannot good 
 men differ about some things, and yet be good 
 still? Yes. Cannot such love one another 
 
THE AMENITIES. 323 
 
 notwithstanding such difference? No doubt 
 they ought. Whence comes it then that a small 
 difference in opinion is so apt to make a breach 
 in affection ? In plain truth it is every one 
 would be thought to be infallible ; and they have 
 so good an opinion of themselves as to make 
 their notions and practices a rule for the world. 
 Hence arise disputes and ill-language not be 
 coming men or Christians. And if others have 
 the same opinion of themselves, there must be 
 everlasting clashings, and thence falling into 
 parties and factions ; which cannot be prevent 
 ed till they come to more reasonable opinions 
 of themselves, and more charitable and kind 
 feelings towards others." 
 
 Sir George Mackenzie says, " Bigotry is a 
 laying of too much stress upon a circumstantial 
 point of religion, and making other essential 
 duty subordinate thereto. It obtrudes upon us 
 things of no moment, as matters of the great 
 est importance. As it would be a great defect 
 in a man s sense to take a star for the sun, so 
 it is a much greater error in a Christian to pre- 
 
324 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 fer, or even to equal, a mere circumstance to 
 the vital points of religion." 
 
 "Men who think, will differ," writes the 
 learned Dr. Priestly, " but true Christians will 
 ever be candid." 
 
 " I do not wish," said Rowland Hill, with his 
 characteristic pleasantry, "the walls of separa 
 tion between different orders of Christians de 
 stroyed, 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 Rob 
 ert Hall, " the higher we ascend in the scale 
 of Christian excellence." 
 
 The venerable President Nott, thus counsels 
 a class of his students about to enter the min 
 istry. "Let -religious controversy alone. Let 
 heresy alone. Preach the pure Gospel. That 
 will be your best defence against all error." 
 
 We blame the folly of the Egyptian Queen, 
 yet overlook their greater madness, who dissolve 
 in the sharp acid of contention, the priceless 
 pearl of charity, the soul s chief wealth, and 
 casting away the substance for the symbol, 
 
THE AMENITIES. 325 
 
 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 sinners, having " left undone 
 the things that we ought to have done, and done 
 the things that we ought not to have done." 
 From this 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 rela 
 ted 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 thatch 
 ing 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 heav 
 en With it, came the thought how much bet 
 ter it would be for those who dwell under one 
 roof, to be at peace in their hearts. 
 
 28 
 
326 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 Then they shook hands. They said, " Let 
 us be friends," and a new, great happiness be 
 came theirs. 
 
 Are we not, all of us, dwellers under God s 
 roof, and as Christians engaged in the same 
 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 learn the joy of angels. 
 
CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 of 8Kixtt 
 
 " 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 shea" 
 
 WILLIS. 
 
 WHAT a singular subject ! The pleasures of 
 winter. And what may they be ? Some, with 
 whom the imagery of frost and snow pre 
 dominates, will be ready to say that it has 
 none. 
 
 Surely it has been the most ill-treated sea 
 son, decried by almost every one that could 
 wield a pen or weave a couplet. The poets 
 have been in league against it from time imme- 
 
328 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 morial. Still it has some very respectable, shall 
 I say desirable characteristics ? It has not the 
 fickleness of spring, whose blossoms so soon 
 fall, nor the enervating influence of summer, 
 when the strong men bow themselves, nor the 
 imperious exactions of autumn, when the in 
 gathering is a weariness, and may be a disap 
 pointment. 
 
 Do not speak with too much scorn of a win 
 try landscape. The w r reaths of smoke rising 
 high into the clear blue skies, the jrure, white 
 covering under which nature reposes, the spark 
 ling of the sinuous streams, where the grace 
 ful skaters glide, the groups of children, gath 
 ering rosier cheeks and merrier spirits from 
 the heightened oxygen of the atmosphere, give 
 to a winter morning in our sunny latitude, 
 cheering excitement. 
 
 t)id you ever chance to look upon the glori 
 ous 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? 
 
THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 329 
 
 Is not the wintry eve sweet, with its warm 
 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, w*e will carry those embers 
 
 28* 
 
380 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 be 
 come the personification of winter. We will 
 redouble our offices of kindness, and our pow 
 ers 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. Mem 
 ory, 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 look 
 ing back on all the way wherein He hath led 
 us, she presents a predominance of correct mo 
 tive, of earnest obedience, of forgiven sin, let 
 us strike that key-tone of praise which shall 
 re-echo through eternity. Many treasured 
 
THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 331 
 
 things have indeed eluded our grasp, and faded 
 from our sight. Yet countless Messings remain. 
 " Was Job miserable," says Chrysostom, " when 
 he had lost all that God had given him ? No, 
 for had he not still that God, who gave him all ? " 
 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 gath 
 ering of the old and young, that the question 
 was once proposed, which season of human 
 life was the happiest. It was freely discussed, 
 with varying opinions. Then the guests deci 
 ded that their host, a man of fourscore, 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 beautiful is spring. 
 When summer clothes them with 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 beautiful is autumn. But in sere 
 winter, when there are neither verdure or fruit, 
 
332 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 I look through the leafless boughs as I could 
 never do before, and see the stars shine." 
 
 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 hap 
 py through hope also ; yea, through that hope 
 which hath no mixture of earth, the "hope that 
 rnaketh not ashamed, and which is as an an 
 chor to the soul." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 |Ufo 
 
 " Oh soldier of the Cross, away with dreams ! 
 Bright on thy brow, eternal glory streams, 
 In faith, in love, in wisdom s steadfast 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 necessary to the 
 completion of our pilgrimage as to have enter 
 ed it ; a point of existence not to be evaded, a 
 consummation of w hat was here begun. 
 
 Do we not bear within ourselves, the essen- 
 
334 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tial argument and proof of future existence ? 
 Even a heathen shall beautifully answer this 
 question, the clear-minded Xenophon. ""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 
 the n6ble discoveries 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 confidence 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 immor 
 tality to light through the Gospel ?" 
 
 A pious man drawing near his last hour, 
 said to me, " That other world is as clear, and 
 as near, as the entrance into the next room." 
 
A NEW EXISTENCE. 335 
 
 Raising his emaciated hand, with a great bright 
 ness 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 V 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 Chris 
 tian 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 circumstance of leaving this life, than to 
 the danger of failing in those duties on which 
 the welfare of a future one depends, it were 
 better for us now and ever after. 
 
 The messenger who is appointed to summon 
 
3S6 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 us to a new existence, is often arrayed with 
 imaginary terrors, and represented as the foe 
 of our race. A quaint writer has recommen 
 ded 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 cour 
 age 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 corne. To the weak-spirited and 
 oppressed, he appears as a deliverer. Tyranny 
 hath power no more. 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." As the last breath ebbed 
 away, a saintly woman whispered, with a smile 
 
A XEW EXISTENCE. 337 
 
 never to be forgotten. " God s happiness ! 
 God s happiness!" 
 
 Friends ! brethren and sisters, already far 
 advanced on the journey to another life, who 
 
 u 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?" Who took care of us 
 when we knew Him not ? Will He forget us 
 now that we are His servants ? 
 
 Sometimes the faith of the unlearned and 
 simple, reproves those whom the w r orld accoun- 
 teth wise. A poor Indian woman of great age 
 dwelt on the far banks of the Mississippi. Her 
 people, who always reverence the hoary head, 
 spoke of her as an oracle, and a traveler from 
 one of our Eastern States, was thus led by cu 
 riosity to pay her a visit. The way was lonely, 
 and the noon-day sun sultry, ere he reached 
 the spot which had been indicated as her dwel 
 ling. Seated alone on a fallen tree, in the shade 
 
 29 
 
338 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 of her wigwam, with arms folded, and head 
 drooping upon her bosom, he found the object 
 of his search. Withered were her features, as 
 the dead trunk upon which she rested, and with 
 the taciturnity of her race, she returned his 
 greeting, and replied to his questions only in 
 monosyllables. At length he repeated the in 
 terrogatory of Egypt s monarch, to the pa 
 triarch 
 
 "Howoldartthou?" 
 
 " I don t know. Some of iny people say, one hundred and 
 twenty years. Everybody that I knew when I was young, have 
 been long dead." 
 
 " Are you afraid to die ?" 
 
 This seemed a talismanic question. Her in 
 difference of manner fled. Light came to her 
 dim eye. Raising its downcast glance, she ut 
 tered with an animation that changed her whole 
 aspect, the simplicity and clearness of her faith. 
 
 " Afraid to die ? No ! Why should I be afraid ? The Great 
 Spirit has been good to me. He has taken care of me all my 
 life. He has kept me from harm through many dangers and 
 troubles. He opens the hearts of the people to be good to me, 
 so that though I am too old and feeble to make provision for my- 
 
A NEW EXISTENCE. 339 
 
 self, they let me want for nothing. I know not when He will 
 take me, but wherever it may be, I am willing to go, when he 
 calls." 
 
 The brightness faded from her eye as she 
 ceased to speak, and relapsing into her habitual 
 calmness, the aged woman seemed as immove- 
 able as the trees that surrounded her. But as 
 the traveler wended his way back through the 
 pathless forest, her words followed him as a 
 strong, strange melody. " Afraid to die? No ! 
 Wherever it may be. I am willing to go, when 
 he calls." 
 
 To loosen the bonds of affection, and depart 
 from those who are most dear, needs the exer 
 cise of an implicit trust. If there are any in 
 that circle, whose helplessness or absorbing 
 love render them apparently dependent on us 
 for protection or happiness, let us endeavor se 
 renely to leave them on the Everlasting Arm. 
 
 A statesman, during a disastrous period in the 
 civil wars of England, being appointed to a for 
 eign embassy, was listening to the violent tu 
 mult of a stormy sea, the night before his em 
 barkation, and reflecting on the perilous condi- 
 
340 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 tion of his native land, until his troubled mind 
 forbade sleep. A confidential servant who ac 
 companied 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, w ? ho 
 was about to undertake a tempestuous voyage, 
 burdened with heavy cares. Its spirit might 
 instruct us. For those, whom we contemplate 
 leaving with such anxiety, we might be power 
 less to protect if we remained behind. The 
 calamities of life would overtake them. Sick 
 ness would smite them, and sorrow find a pas 
 sage to their hearts, and we could not shield 
 them. We could not " deliver our darling from 
 the lion." We would, therefore, confidently trust 
 them and ourselves to an Almighty Hand, and 
 
A XETV EXISTENCE. 341 
 
 filled wth 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 prepare 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. 
 
 "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 w r e not be happy to pass into whatever 
 state of existence God shall designate ? Look 
 at the bird. It hath gathered neither into store- 
 
 29* 
 
342 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 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 trembles 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 uni 
 verse. Thou canst not pass beyond His juris 
 diction. His grace is sufficient for thee. 
 
 Living, or dying, we would obey the eloquent 
 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 conformity with His will, 
 and catch the spirit of the last prayer of Bish 
 op 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 
 
A NEW EXISTENCE. 343 
 
 is merciful. Father, Thy will be done. Thy 
 will, I say, and not mine. 
 
 " Lo, this is my day. To-day shall I quick 
 ly 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 time and 
 strength for active service have past away ? 
 The answer is, Wait. 
 
 The waiting graces are beautiful. They im 
 ply readiness. We can not quietly await any 
 great event for which we are unprepared. Let 
 us have oil in our lamps, and cherish every gen 
 tle and holy affection. 
 
 Wait! It is an honorable service. An an 
 cient warrior put on his armor and braced him 
 self 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 armor, 
 the opening of that gate which leads to a higher 
 existence. Wait, with a smile, the ministry of 
 
844 PAST MERIDIAN. 
 
 the last messenger. Ask not when he cometh, 
 or where, of in what manner. Stipulate noth 
 ing. Poor pensioner on God s free mercy, ques 
 tion 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 
 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." 
 
SELECTIONS FROM THE PEESS. 
 
 "PAST MERIDIAN." 
 
 "North American Review, Boston" 
 
 " PAST MERIDIAN," indeed, by the clock, but not by the still 
 culminating sun. Mrs. Sigourney has never before written so 
 wisely, so usefully, so beautifully, as in this volume. In saying 
 so, we yield to none in our high appreciation of her previous lite 
 rary merit ; but unless we greatly mistake, this is one of the com 
 paratively few books of our day which will be read with glisten 
 ing eyes and glowing heart when all who now read it will have 
 gone to their graves. It is written by her in the character of one 
 who has passed the meridian of life, and addresses itself to sensa 
 tions and experiences which all whose faces are turned westward 
 can understand and feel with her. It is much more than the " De 
 Senectute Christianized. It is devotion, philosophy, and poetry 
 so intertwined that each is enriched and adorned by the associa 
 tion. It describes, indeed, the straitnesses and sadnesses of grow 
 ing years ; but sets off against them the more than preponderant 
 immunities and felicities. It treats of the duties of the aged, and 
 of their rights and dues at the hands of the younger. It gives 
 biographical sketches and anecdotes of good and happy old men 
 and women. And, above all, it blends with the serene sunset of 
 a well-spent life the young morning beams of the never-setting 
 day. It will carry solace to many a fireside, and will rekindle 
 hope and gladness in many a soul that hardly dares to look into 
 its earthly future. 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney furnishes a striking refutation of the not unusual 
 idea that a poet s prose is none the better for the habit of metrical 
 composition. Hers is not poetry dismembered, but chaste and 
 modest prose, free from the intrusive licenses of verse, yet thorough 
 ly interpenetrated with the poetic imagination which gives grace 
 and glow alike to all forms of literature. 
 
 "Hartford Courant" 
 
 This is the latest, though we hope not the last publication of 
 the excellent authoress ; and we much mistake if it be not 
 regarded as one of the best and most useful of the many volumes 
 she has given to the public. It relates to a subject not often 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 treated, but which has a most intimate connection with the duty 
 and happiness of a full half of the race. It is warm and genial in 
 its spirit, fresh and youthful in its style, and the reader can not 
 dwell on its pages long without having his pulse quickened, a 
 kindlier glow kindled in his bosom, and a smile of satisfaction 
 spread over his countenance. Its sentiments are admirably suited 
 to interest and profit the class of persons for whom it was particu 
 larly intended ; and such can not read and "inwardly digest" the 
 lessons it inculcates, without being made both wiser and happier 
 as they descend into the vale of age. 
 
 Mrs. S., intimates in the preface, that any who may be found 
 reading the book, may be suspected of being on the wrong side of 
 fifty. We sincerely hope that none of those to whom she gives 
 this hint, will be deterred by it from giving the volume a careful 
 perusal ; for we can assure them that if they live long enough, 
 they will be among the past meridians some of them, too, sooner 
 than they might be willing to confess and familiarity with the 
 thoughts here set forth in a very attractive manner, will fit them 
 to pass that dreaded line with a better grace, and tend to make 
 them " behave better" when they find their faces well turned to 
 ward the setting sun. Peace to the author of this good book, 
 and a blessing on all who read it. 
 
 "Norwich Courier" 
 
 "Looking out on her times," Mrs. Sigourney, has not failed to 
 descry the indecorous haste in thrusting aside persons hardly 
 past their prime, which marks the present aspect of society, 
 and sets herself to recall, if possible, those attributes of worth and 
 true dignity, which, in times past, compelled reverence and com 
 manded influence for life in its decline. Taking her stand in the 
 ranks, as one past mid-age, there is pathos and beauty in the 
 counsels and encouragements she ministers to her compeers, en 
 forced as they are, by the whole tenor of her life. 
 
 The intellect and the heart which indicted this well-timed vol 
 ume are yet far from Past Meridian. 
 
 11 New York Ledger." 
 
 Our gifted American poetess, whose name has so long been a 
 household word at the firesides of the country, has favored the 
 public with a volume of prose sketches, under the modest title of 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 Past Meridian 1 by which it is delicately hinted that the book 
 is more especially intended for those who have passed the noon of 
 existence, by one who is herself traversing the descending slope 
 of the hill of life, and whose shadow, with theirs, is lengthening in 
 the setting sun. But notwithstanding the graceful frankness with 
 which the authoress assumes a station among those who are "past 
 meridian," the work exhibits none of the characteristics of age, ex 
 cept a statelier dignity, a riper experience, and a more composed 
 strength, while it gives unmistakable evidence of containing the 
 maturest flowerings, and the mellowest fruitage of a mind which 
 seems exhaustless in its richness and beauty. "\Ve imagine, there 
 fore, that " Past Meridian" will not be limited in its circulation to 
 the class to whom it is particularly addressed, but that its lessons 
 of gentle wisdom, its sweet pathos, its chaste style, and its eloquent 
 diction, will win their way to all hearts, irrespective of age, and 
 position in life. 
 
 "Philadelphia Episcopal Recorder" 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney is above the need of praise from the press, and 
 can have no fear of its censure. Her name has a prestige, which 
 will give currency to her writings, so far as she is known. What 
 ever she is pleased to write, booksellers will be happy to publish, 
 and the public will desire to read, without knowing more of the 
 book than its authorship. The power and fascination of her pen 
 were never more apparent than in this last production, as is de 
 monstrated to every reader before he gets beyond the title and 
 preface. It is incredible that any common-place mind should 
 have conceived the one, or composed the other. We have never 
 seen anything of the kind that pleased us more. 
 
 The cast of the book is eminently evangelical, and is replete 
 Avith counsels and encouragements, by which the reader can hardly 
 fail to be made both happier and better. We should be greatly 
 embarrassed in attempting to select from a work of such continu 
 ous beauty, a portion which would give the reader an adequate 
 idea of the whole. 
 
 "Washington National Intelligencer" 
 
 "PAST MERIDIAN," by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Appropriate title 
 of a most charming book. Bryant sings of Nature s autumn, 
 "now come the melancholy days, the saddest of the year;" 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 but not in such colors docs our gifted authoress paint the 
 scenes from the human seasons in their procession to hale and 
 hearty winter. No gloomy thoughts, no sad footprints does she 
 leave, but loving pictures of the still active happiness, the sereno 
 hopes which gild the path of those whose sun of life is " past 
 meridian." There is in these sketches a joyous appreciation of 
 the fulfilled stages of experience, a freshness which belongs rather 
 to the Old World, where people never grow old, than to this busy, 
 worn-out, yet infant country of ours, where " Young America" 
 seems to think white hairs an impertinence, and grand-parents a 
 useless institution. Beautiful and touching are Mrs. SIGOUKNET S 
 descriptions of the domestic anniversaries of Germany, of the sil 
 ver and golden weddings celebrated by those couples who for half 
 a century have enjoyed together the brightness of youthful love, 
 have lightened by tender mutual sympathy the cares of maturcr 
 age, and who now, with hearts still warm with the best affections, 
 and surrounded by new generations glad to show them loving 
 reverence, are hallowed with an almost sacred light in their glori 
 ous "past meridian." 
 
 There is in these genial pages much encouragement for those 
 who have not yet entered their " fifties," and our authoress imparts 
 to them the difficult art, unknown to all save French women, that 
 of growing old gracefully, and we thank Mrs. Sigourney for the 
 noble examples she has selected of the great and good of "aged 
 divines," and " cheerful old women," the evening of whose pilgrim 
 age has been made lovely and serene by the reflected light of well- 
 spent days. 
 
 Indeed, we busy editors can scarce find time or words with 
 which to thank our authoress for this her last " envoie" to her ad 
 miring countrymen. There is a tempered humor and touching 
 pathos pervading it, unsurpassed, we think, by any other of her 
 gifts to us, prose or poetical. Would that all in this our " fast" 
 age and country could muse for an hour over the serious yet un 
 speakably cheerful thoughts which these pages suggest ! She 
 speaks to the young, the A. M. s of life s morning, with a sweet 
 brightness suited to their eager spirit, while to those who sit in the 
 evening shadows of P. M. she points to the coming dawn, welcome 
 herald of that eternal day which knows no "past meridian." 
 
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