MINENCE OF IT IN EVERYTHING--

in an old friend, in old wine, in an old pedigree." "I venerate old
age," says the great and good poet Longfellow; "and I love not the man
who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of
evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of
twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding." "It is only
necessary to grow old to become more indulgent," writes Goethe; "I see
no fault committed that I have not committed myself." "An aged
Christian," says Chapin, beautifully enlarging on Goldsmith's and Dr.
Donne's ideas, "with the snow of time on his head, may remind us that
those points of earth are whitest which are nearest heaven."

[Illustration: OLD AGE.

"Age is the outer shore against which dashes an eternity." Page 401.]

"LIKE A MORNING DREAM,"

again says Richter, "life becomes more and more bright the longer we
live, and the reason of everything appears more clear. What has puzzled
us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter
as we approach the end." "Time has laid his hand upon my heart gently,"
says Longfellow, "not smiting it; but

AS A HARPER LAYS HIS OPEN PALM

upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations." "I think that to have known
one good old man," George William Curtis says, "one man who, through the
chances and mischances of a long life, has carried his heart in his
hand, like a palm branch, waving all discords into peace--helps our
faith in God, in ourselves, and in each other more than many sermons."
"He that would pass the declining years of his life with honor and
comfort," says Addison, with fine opposition, "should, when young,
consider that he may one day become old, and remember, when he is old,
that he has once been young." On the principle that blessings brighten
as they take their flight we come to love the sunshine and the birds and
all God's glorious works just as we grow old.

"IF WE NEVER CARED FOR LITTLE CHILDREN BEFORE"

says Lord Lytton, "we delight to see them roll on the grass over which
we hobble. The grandsire turns wearily from his middle-aged, care-worn
son, to listen with infant laugh to the prattle of an infant grandchild.
It is the old who plant young trees; it is the old who are most saddened
by the autumn, and feel most delight in the returning spring." "Winter,"
says Richter, "which strips the leaves from around us, makes us see the
distant regions they formerly co