ong men,
regarding the shortness of life and the uncertainty of all human
relationships. The last word of the wise on life has ever been its
fleetingness, its appalling changes, its unexpected surprises. The
only certainty of life is its uncertainty--its unstable tenure, its
inevitable end. But practically we go on as if we could lay our plans,
and mortgage time, without doubt or danger; until our feet are knocked
from under us by some sudden shock, and we realize how unstable the
equilibrium of life really is. The lesson of life is death.

The experience would not be so tragically universal, if it had not a
good and necessary meaning. For one thing it should sober us, and make
our lives full of serious, solemn purpose. It should teach us to
number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom. The man, who
has no place for death in his philosophy, has not learned to live. The
lesson of death is life.

On the whole, however, it is not our own liability to death which
oppresses us. The fear of it to a brave man, not to speak of a man of
faith, can be overcome. It is the fear of it _for others_ whom we
love, which is its sting. And none of us can live very long without
knowing in our own heart's experience the reality, as well as the
terror, of death. This too has its meaning for us, to look at life
more tenderly, and touch it more gently. The pathos of life is only a
forced sentiment to us, if we have not felt the pity of life. To a
sensitive soul, smarting with his own loss, the world sometimes seems
full of graves, and for a time at least makes him walk softly among men.

This is one reason why the making of new friends is so much easier in
youth than later on. Friendship comes to youth seemingly without any
conditions, and without any fears. There is no past to look back at,
with much regret and some sorrow. We never look behind us, _till we
miss something_. Youth is satisfied with the joy of present
possession. To the young friendship comes as the glory of spring, a
very miracle of beauty, a mystery of birth: to the old it has the bloom
of autumn, beautiful still, but with the beauty of decay. To the young
it is chiefly hope: to the old it is mostly memory. The man who is
conscious that he has lost the best of his days, the best of his
powers, the best of his friends, naturally lives a good deal in the
past.

Such a man is prepared for further losses; he has adjusted himself to
the fact of