old, though not very robust, he would cut away as many scales from
a block of very hard marble, in a quarter of an hour, as three
young sculptors would have effected in three or four hours. Such
was the impetuosity and fire with which he pursued his labors,
that with a single stroke he brought down fragments three or four
fingers thick, and so close upon his mark, that had he passed it,
even in the slightest degree, there would have been danger of
ruining the whole.” From the time he was seventy-one years old
till he was seventy-five, he was employed in painting the Pauline
Chapel. It was done in fresco, which is exceedingly laborious, and
he confessed that it fatigued him greatly. He was seventy-three
years old when he was appointed architect of the wonderful church
of St. Peter’s, at Rome; upon which he expended the vast powers
of his mind during seventeen years. He persisted in refusing
compensation, and labored solely for the honor of his country and
his church. In his eighty-seventh year, some envious detractors
raised a report that he had fallen into dotage; but he triumphantly
refuted the charge, by producing a very beautiful model of St.
Peter’s, planned by his own mind, and in a great measure executed
by his own hand. He was eighty-three, when his faithful old servant
Urbino, who had lived with him twenty-six years, sickened and died.
Michael Angelo, notwithstanding his great age, and the arduous
labors of superintending the mighty structure of St. Peter’s, and
planning new fortifications for Rome, undertook the charge of
nursing him. He even watched over him through the night; sleeping
by his side, without undressing. This remarkable man lived ninety
years, lacking a fortnight. He wrote many beautiful sonnets during
his last years, and continued to make drawings, plans, and models,
to the day of his death, though infirmities increased upon him, and
his memory failed.
Handel lived to be seventy-five years old, and though afflicted
with blindness in his last years, he continued to produce oratorios
and anthems. He superintended music in the orchestra only a week
before he died. Haydn was sixty-five years old, when he composed
his oratorio of The Creation, the music of which is as bright as
the morning sunshine. When he was seventy-seven years old, he went
to a great concert to hear it performed. It affected him deeply
to have his old inspirations thus recalled to mind. When they
came to the passage, “It was light!” he was so overpowered by
the harmonies, that he burst into tears, and, pointing upwards,
exclaimed: “Not from _me_! Not from _me_! but _thence_ did all this
come!”
Linnæus was past sixty-two years old when he built a museum at his
country-seat, where he classified and arranged a great number of
plants, zoöphytes, shells, insects, and minerals. Besides this, he
superintended the Royal Gardens, zealously pursued his scientific
researches, corresponded by letter with many learned men, taught
pupils, and lectured constantly in the Academic Gardens. His
pupils travelled to all parts of the world, and sent him new
plants and minerals to examine and classify. In the midst of this
constant occupation, he wrote: “I tell the truth when I say that
I am happier than the King of Persia. My pupils send me treasures
from the East and the West; treasures more precious to me than
Babylonish garments or Chinese vases. Here in the Academic Gardens
is my Elysium. Here I learn and teach; here I admire, and point out
to others, the wisdom of the Great Artificer, manifested in the
structure of His wondrous works.” It is said that even when he was
quite ill, the arrival of an unknown plant would infuse new life
into him. He continued to labor with unremitting diligence till he
was sixty-seven years old, when a fit of apoplexy attacked him in
the midst of a public lecture, and so far impaired his memory that
he became unable to teach.
The celebrated Alexander von Humboldt lived ninety years, and
continued to pursue his scientific researches and to publish
learned books up to the very year of his departure from this world.
The Rev. John Wesley continued to preach and write till his body
was fairly worn out. Southey, his biographer, says: “When you met
him in the street of a crowded city, he attracted notice, not only
by his band and cassock, and his long hair, white and bright as
silver, but by his pace and manner, both indicating that all his
minutes were numbered, and that not one was to be lost.” Wesley
himself wrote: “Though I am always in haste, I am never in a hurry;
because I never undertake more work than I can go through with
perfect calmness of spirit.” Upon completing his eighty-second
year, he wrote: “It is now eleven years since I have felt any such
thing as weariness. Many times I speak till my voice fails me, and
I can speak no longer. Frequently I walk till my strength fails,
and I can walk no farther. Yet even then I feel no sensation of
weariness, but am perfectly easy from head to foot. I dare not
impute this to natural causes. It is the will of God.” A year
later, he wrote: “I am a wonder to myself. Such is the goodness
of God, that I am never tired, either with writing, preaching, or
travelling.”
Isaac T. Hopper, who lived to be past eighty, was actively employed
in helping fugitive slaves, and travelling about to exercise a
kindly and beneficent influence in prisons, until a very short time
before his death. When he was compelled to take to his bed, he said
to me: “I am ready and willing to go, only there is so much that I
want to do.”
Some will say it is not in their power to do such things as these
men did. That may be. But there is something that everybody can do.
Those whose early habits render it difficult, or impossible, to
learn a new science, or a new language, in the afternoon of life,
can at least oil the hinges of memory by learning hymns, chapters,
ballads, and stories, wherewith to console and amuse themselves
and others. A stock of nursery rhymes to amuse little children is
far from being a foolish or worthless acquisition, since it enables
one to impart delight to the little souls,
“With their wonder so intense,
And their small experience.”
Women undoubtedly have the advantage of men, in those in-door
occupations best suited to the infirm; for there is no end to the
shoes that may be knit for the babies of relatives, the tidies that
may be crocheted for the parlors of friends, and the socks that
may be knit for the poor. But men also can find employment for
tedious hours, when the period of youthful activity has passed.
In summer, gardening is a never-failing resource both to men and
women; and genial qualities of character are developed by imparting
to others the flowers, fruit, and vegetables we have had the
pleasure of raising. The Rev. Dr. Prince of Salem was always busy,
in his old age, making telescopes, kaleidoscopes, and a variety
of toys for scientific illustrations, with which he instructed
and entertained the young people who visited him. My old father
amused himself, and benefited others, by making bird-houses for
children, and clothes-horses and towel-stands for all the girls
of his acquaintance who were going to housekeeping. I knew an
old blind man, who passed his winter evenings pleasantly weaving
mats from corn-husks, while another old man read to him. A lathe
is a valuable resource for elderly people; and this employment
for mind and hands may also exercise the moral qualities, as it
admits of affording pleasure to family and friends by innumerable
neatly-turned little articles. The value of occupation is threefold
to elderly people, if usefulness is combined with exercise; for in
that way the machinery of body, mind, and heart may all be kept
from rusting.
A sister of the celebrated John Wilkes, a wise and kindly old lady,
who resided in Boston a very long time ago, was accustomed to say,
“The true secret of happiness is always to have a little less time
than one wants, and a little more money than one needs.” There is
much wisdom in the saying, but I think it might be improved by
adding, that the money should be of one’s own earning.
After life has passed its maturity, great care should be taken
not to become indifferent to the affairs of the world. It is
salutary, both for mind and heart, to take an interest in some of
the great questions of the age; whether it be slavery or war, or
intemperance, or the elevation of women, or righting the wrongs of
the Indians, or the progress of education, or the regulation of
prisons, or improvements in architecture, or investigation into
the natural sciences, from which proceed results so important
to the daily comfort and occupations of mankind. It is for each
one to choose his object of especial interest; but it should be
remembered that no person has a right to be entirely indifferent
concerning questions involving great moral principles. Care should
be taken that the daily social influence which every man and woman
exerts, more or less, should be employed in the right direction.
A conscientious man feels himself in some degree responsible for
the evil he does not seek to prevent. In the Rev. John Wesley’s
journal for self-examination this suggestive question occurs:
“Have I embraced every probable opportunity of doing good, and
of preventing, removing, or lessening evil?” Such habits of mind
tend greatly to the improvement of our own characters, while at
the same time they may help to improve the character and condition
of others. Nothing is more healthy for the soul than to go out
of ourselves, and stay out of ourselves. We thus avoid brooding
over our own bodily pains, our mental deficiencies, or past moral
shortcomings; we forget to notice whether others neglect us,
or not; whether they duly appreciate us, or not; whether their
advantages are superior to ours, or not. He who leads a true,
active, and useful life has no time for such corrosive thoughts.
All self-consciousness indicates disease. We never think about
our stomachs till we have dyspepsia. The moral diseases which
induce self-consciousness are worse than the physical, both in
their origin and their results. To indulge in repinings over our
own deficiencies, compared with others, while it indicates the
baneful presence of envy, prevents our making the best use of such
endowments as we have. If we are conscious of our merits, bodily or
mental, it takes away half their value. There is selfishness even
in anxiety whether we shall go to heaven or not, or whether our
souls are immortal or not. A continual _preparation_ for eternal
progress is the wisest and the happiest way to live _here_. If we
daily strive to make ourselves fit companions for angels, we shall
be in constant readiness for a better world, while we make sure of
enjoying some degree of heaven upon this earth; and, what is still
better, of helping to make it a paradise for others.
Perhaps there is no error of human nature productive of so much
unhappiness as the indulgence of temper. Often everything in a
household is made to go wrong through the entire day, because one
member of the family rises in a fretful mood. An outburst of anger
brings a cloud of gloom over the domestic atmosphere, which is
not easily dissipated. Strenuous efforts should be made to guard
against this, especially by the old; who, as they lose external
attractions, should strive all the more earnestly to attain that
internal beauty which is of infinitely more value. And here, again,
the question may be asked, “What am I to do, if I have naturally
a hasty or fretful temper, and if those around me act in a manner
to provoke it?” In the first place, strong self-constraint may be
made to become a habit; and this, though very difficult in many
cases, is possible to all. People of the most ungoverned tempers
will often become suddenly calm and courteous when a stranger
enters; and they can control their habitual outbreaks, when they
are before people whose good opinion they are particularly desirous
to obtain or preserve. Constraint may be made more easy by leaving
the presence of those with whom you are tempted to jangle. Go out
into the open air; feed animals; gather flowers or fruit for the
very person you were tempted to annoy. By thus opening a door for
devils to walk out of your soul, angels will be sure to walk in.
If circumstances prevent your doing anything of this kind, you
can retire to your own chamber for a while, and there wrestle for
victory over your evil mood. If necessary avocations render this
impossible, time can at least be snatched for a brief and earnest
prayer for help in overcoming your besetting sin; and prayer is a
golden gate, through which angels are wont to enter.
“And the lady prayed in heaviness,
That looked not for relief;
But slowly did her succor come,
And a patience to her grief.
“O, there is never sorrow of heart
That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn and ask
Of Him to be our friend.”
There is a reason for governing our tempers which is still more
important than our own happiness, or even the happiness of others.
I allude to its influence on the characters of those around us;
an influence which may mar their whole destiny here, and perhaps
hinder their progress hereafter. None of us are sufficiently
careful to keep pure and wholesome the spiritual atmosphere which
surrounds every human being, and which must be more or less inhaled
by the spiritual lungs of all those with whom he enters into the
various relations of life. Jean Paul said: “Newton, who uncovered
his head whenever the name of God was pronounced, thus became,
without words, a teacher of religion to children.” Many a girl has
formed an injudicious marriage, in consequence of hearing sneering
remarks, or vulgar jokes, about “old maids.” Poisonous prejudices
against nations, races, sects, and classes are often instilled by
thoughtless incidental expressions. There is education for evil
in the very words “Nigger,” “Paddy,” “old Jew,” “old maid,” &c.
It is recorded of the Rabbi Sera, that when he was asked how he
had attained to such a serene and lovable old age, he replied: “I
have never rejoiced at any evil which happened to my neighbor; and
I never called any man by a nickname given to him in derision or
sport.”
False ideas with regard to the importance of wealth and rank are
very generally, though often unconsciously inculcated by modes of
speech, or habits of action. To treat _mere_ wealth with more
respect than honest poverty; to speak more deferentially of a man
whose _only_ claim is a distinguished ancestry, than you do of
the faithful laborer who ditches your meadows, is a slow but sure
process of education, which sermons and catechisms will never be
able entirely to undo. It is important to realize fully that all
merely conventional distinctions are false and illusory; that
only worth and usefulness can really ennoble man or woman. If we
look at the subject from a rational point of view, the artificial
classifications of society appear even in a ludicrous light. It
would be considered a shocking violation of etiquette for the
baronet’s lady to call upon the queen. The wife of the wealthy
banker, or merchant, cannot be admitted to the baronet’s social
circle. The intelligent mechanic and prosperous farmer is excluded
from the merchant’s parlor. The farmer and mechanic would think
they let themselves down by inviting a worthy day-laborer to
their parties. And the day-laborer, though he were an ignoramus
and a drunkard, would feel authorized to treat with contempt any
intelligent and excellent man whose complexion happened to be
black or brown. I once knew a grocer’s wife, who, with infinite
condescension of manner, said to the wife of her neighbor the
cobbler, “Why don’t you come in to see me sometimes? You needn’t
keep away because my house is carpeted all over.” Hannah More
tells us that the Duchess of Gloucester, wishing to circulate some
tracts and verses, requested one of her ladies in waiting to stop
a woman who was wheeling a barrow of oranges past the window,
and ask her if she would take some ballads to sell. “No indeed!”
replied the orange-woman, with an air of offended dignity. “I
don’t do anything so mean as that. I don’t even sell apples.” The
Duchess was much amused by her ideas of rank; but they were in fact
no more absurd than her own. It is the same mean, selfish spirit
which manifests itself through all these gradations. External rank
belongs to the “phantom dynasties”; and if we wish our children to
enjoy sound moral health, we should be careful not to teach any
deference for it, either in our words or our habits. Mrs. Gaskell,
in her sketch of a very conservative and prejudiced English
gentlewoman, “one of the olden time,” gives a lovely touch to the
picture, indicating that true natural refinement was not stifled by
the prejudices of rank. Lady Ludlow had, with patronizing kindness,
invited several of her social inferiors to tea. Among them was the
wife of a rich baker, who, being unaccustomed to the etiquette
of such company, spread a silk handkerchief in her lap, when she
took a piece of cake; whereupon some of the curate’s wives began
to titter, in order to show that they knew polite manners better
than she did. Lady Ludlow, perceiving this, immediately spread
her own handkerchief in her lap; and when the baker’s wife went to
the fireplace to shake out her crumbs, my lady did the same. This
silent rebuke was sufficient to prevent any further rudeness to the
unsophisticated wife of the baker. No elaborate rules are necessary
to teach us true natural politeness. We need only remember two
short texts of Scripture: “Do unto others as ye would that they
should do unto you.” “God is your Father, and all ye are brethren.”
Elderly people are apt to think that their years exempt them from
paying so much attention to good manners as the young are required
to do. On the contrary, they ought to be more careful in their
deportment and conversation, because their influence is greater.
Impure words or stories repeated by parents or grandparents may
make indelible stains on the minds of their descendants, and
perhaps give a sensual direction to their characters through life.
No story, however funny, should ever be told, if it will leave in
the memory unclean associations, either physically or morally.
A love of gossiping about other people’s affairs is apt to grow
upon those who have retired from the active pursuits of life; and
this is one among many reasons why it is best to keep constantly
occupied. A great deal of trouble is made in neighborhoods, from no
malicious motives, but from the mere excitement of telling news,
and the temporary importance derived therefrom. Most village
gossip, when sifted down, amounts to the little school-girl’s
definition. Being asked what it was to bear false witness against
thy neighbor, she replied: “It’s when nobody don’t do nothing, and
somebody goes and tells of it.” One of the best and most genial
of the Boston merchants, when he heard people discussing themes
of scandal, was accustomed to interrupt them, by saying: “Don’t
talk any more about it! Perhaps they didn’t do it; and may be they
couldn’t help it.” For myself, I deem it the greatest unkindness
to be told of anything said against me. I may prevent its exciting
resentment in my mind; but the consciousness of not being liked
unavoidably disturbs my relations with the person implicated. There
is no better safeguard against the injurious habit of gossiping,
than the being interested in _principles_ and _occupations_; if you
have these to employ your mind, you will have no inclination to
talk about matters merely personal.
When we reflect that life is so full of neglected little
opportunities to improve ourselves and others, we shall feel that
there is no need of aspiring after great occasions to do good.
“The _trivial_ round, the _common_ task,
Would furnish all we need to ask;
Room to deny ourselves,--a road
To bring us daily nearer God.”
[Illustration]
THE BOYS.
WRITTEN FOR A MEETING OF COLLEGE CLASSMATES.
BY OLIVER W. HOLMES.
Has there any _old_ fellow got mixed with the boys?
If there has, take him out, without making a noise!
Hang the Almanac’s cheat, and the Catalogue’s spite!
Old Time is a liar! We’re twenty to-night.
We’re twenty! We’re twenty! Who says we are more?
He’s tipsy, young jackanapes! Show him the door!
“Gray temples at twenty?” Yes! _white_, if we please;
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest, there’s nothing can freeze.
Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!
Look close,--you will see not a sign of a flake;
We want some new garlands for those we have shed,--
And these are white roses in place of the red.
We’ve a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,
Of talking (in public) as if we were old;--
That boy we call “Doctor,” and this we call “Judge”;--
It’s a neat little fiction,--of course, it’s all fudge.
That fellow’s “the Speaker,”--the one on the right;
“Mr. Mayor,” my young one, how are you to-night?
That’s our “Member of Congress,” we say when we chaff;
There’s the “Reverend” What’s his name? Don’t make me laugh!
* * * * *
Yes, we’re boys,--always playing with tongue or with pen,--
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?
Then here’s to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its Winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys!
ODE OF ANACREON.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.
I love a mellow, cheerful sage,
Whose feelings are unchilled by age;
I love a youth who dances well
To music of the sounding shell;
But when a man of years, like me,
Joins with the dancers playfully,
Though age in silvery hair appears,
His heart is young, despite of years.
[Illustration]
MYSTERIOUSNESS OF LIFE.
FROM MOUNTFORD’S EUTHANASY.
About the world to come, it ought not to be as though we did not
know _surely_, because we do not know _much_. From the nearest
star, our earth, if it is seen, looks hardly anything at all. It
shines, or rather it twinkles, and that is all. To them afar off,
this earth is only a shining point. But to us who live in it,
it is wide and various. It is sea and land; it is Europe, Asia,
Africa, and America; it is the lair of the lion, and the pasture
of the ox, and the pathway of the worm, and the support of the
robin; it is what has day and night in it; it is what customs and
languages obtain in; it is many countries; it is the habitation
of a thousand million men; and it is our home. All this the world
is to _us_; though, looked at from one of the stars, it is only a
something that twinkles in the distance. It is seen only as a few
intermittent rays of light; though, to us who live in it, it is
hill and valley, and land and water, and many thousands of miles
wide. So that if the future world is a star of guidance for us, it
is enough; because it is not for us to _know_, but to _believe_,
that it will prove our dear home.
* * * * *
We live mortal lives for immortal good. And really this world is
so mysterious, that there is not one of its commonest ways but is
perhaps sublimer to walk on than we at all think. At night, when we
walk about and see at all, it is by the light of _other_ worlds;
though we do not often think of this. It is the same in life. There
is many a matter concerning us that is little thought of, but which
is ours, as it were, from out of the infinite. Yes, our lives are
to be felt as being very great, even in their nothingness. Even our
mortal lives are as wonderful as immortality. Is the next life a
mystery? So it is. But then how mysterious even _now_ life is. Food
is not all that a man lives by. There is some way by which food has
to turn to strength in him; and that way is something else than his
own will. I am hungry, I sit down to a meal, and I enjoy it. And
the next day, from what I ate and drank for my pleasure, there is
blood in my veins, and moisture on my skin, and new flesh making
in all my limbs. And this is not my doing or willing; for I do not
even know how my nails grow from under the skin of my fingers. I
can well believe in my being to live hereafter. _How_, indeed, I
am to live, I do not know; but, then, neither do I know how I do
live _now_. When I am asleep, my lungs keep breathing, my heart
keeps beating, my stomach keeps digesting, and my whole body keeps
making anew. And in the morning, when I look in the glass, it is as
though I see myself a new creature; and really, for the wonder of it,
it is all the same as though another body had grown about me in my
sleep. This living from day to day is astonishing,
when it is thought of; and we are let feel
the miracle of it, so, perhaps, that
our being to live again may not
be too wonderful for
our belief.
[Illustration]