The frosty, kindly, jealous friend
His drawing-pencil deftly plies,
And mars the face he thinks to mend.
Nor am I called _alone_ to wear
Old Time, “His mark,” in deepening trace;
That “twain are one,” this limner sere
Will print in lines on either face.
’Tis not, perhaps, a gallant thing
On such a morning to be told,
But Time doth yearly witness bring,
That--Bless you! _we_ are growing old.
Together we have lived and loved,
Together passed through smiles and tears,
And life’s all-varying lessons proved
Through many constant married years.
And there is joy Time cannot reach,
A youth o’er which no power he hath,
If we cling closer, each to each,
And each to God, in hope and faith.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
In the summer evenings, when the wind blew low,
And the skies were radiant with the sunset glow,
Thou and I were happy, long, long years ago!
Love, the young and hopeful, hovered o’er us twain,
Filled us with sad pleasure and delicious pain,
In the summer evenings, wandering in the lane.
In the winter evenings, when the wild winds roar,
Blustering in the chimney, piping at the door,
Thou and I are happy, as in days of yore.
Love still hovers o’er us, robed in white attire,
Drawing heavenly music from an earthly lyre,
In the winter evenings, sitting by the fire.
ANONYMOUS.
[Illustration]
THE EVERGREEN OF OUR FEELINGS.
EXTRACTS FROM THE GERMAN OF J. P. RICHTER.
I oppose, as I would every useless fear in men, the lamentation
that our feelings grow old with the lapse of years. It is the
narrow heart alone which does not grow; the wide one becomes
larger. Years shrivel the one, but they expand the other. Man often
mistakes concerning the glowing depths of his feelings; forgetting
that they may be present in all their energy, though in a state
of repose. In the wear and tear of daily life, amid the care of
providing support, perchance under misdemeanors, in comparing
one child with another, or in daily absences, thou mayest not be
conscious of the fervent affection smouldering under the ashes
of every-day life, which would at once blaze forth into a flame,
if thy child were suffering innocently, or condemned to die.
Thy love was already there, prior to the suffering of thy child
and thyself. It is the same in wedlock and friendship. In the
familiarity of daily presence, the heart beats and glows silently;
but in the hours of meeting and parting, the beautiful radiance of
a long-nurtured flame reveals itself. It is on such occasions that
man always most pleases me. I am then reminded of the glaciers,
which beam forth in rosy-red transparency only at the rising and
setting of the sun, while throughout the day they look gray and
dark.
A golden mine of affection, of which the smallest glimmer is
scarcely visible, lies buried in the breast until some magic word
reveals it, and then man discovers his ancient treasure. To me, it
is a delightful thought that, during the familiarity of constant
proximity, the heart gathers up in silence the nutriment of love,
as the diamond, even beneath water, imbibes the light it emits.
Time, which deadens hatred, secretly strengthens love; and in the
hour of threatened separation its growth is manifested at once in
radiant brightness.
Another reason why man fancies himself chilled by old age, is that
he can then feel interested only in higher objects than those which
once excited him. The lover of nature, the preacher, the poet, the
actor, or the musician, may, in declining years, find themselves
slightly affected by what delighted them in youth; but this need
produce no fear that time will mar their sensibility to nature,
art, and love. Thou, as well as I, may indeed weep less frequently
than formerly, at the theatre or at concerts; but give us a truly
excellent piece, and we cannot suppress the emotion it excites.
Youth is like unbleached wax, which melts under feeble sun-beams,
while that which has been whitened is scarcely warmed by them. The
mature or aged man avoids those tears which youth invites; because
in him they flow too hot, and dry too slowly.
Select a man of my age, and of my heart, with my life-long want
of highland scenery, and conduct him to the valley of the Rhine!
Bring him to that long, attractive, sea-like river, flowing
between vine-clad hills on either side, as between two regions of
enchantment, reflecting only scenes of pleasure, creating islands
for the sake of clasping them in its arms; let also a reflection of
the setting sun glow upon its waters; and surely youth would again
be mirrored in the old man, and that still ocean of infinity, which
in the true and highest heaven permits us to look down.
Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age;
but the _heart_ can. In order to be convinced of this, we need
only remember how the hearts of poets have glowed in the autumn
and winter seasons of life. He who in old age can do without love,
never in his youth possessed the right sort, over which years have
no power. During winter, it is the withered branches, not the
living germs, that become encrusted with ice. The loving heart
will indeed often bashfully conceal a portion of its warmth behind
children and grandchildren; so that last love is perhaps as coy as
the first. But if an aged eye, full of soul, is upraised, gleaming
with memories of its spring-time, is there anything in that to
excite ridicule? Even if it were silently moistened, partly through
gladness, and partly through a feeling of the past, would it not be
excusable? Might not an aged hand presume to press a young hand,
merely to signify thereby, I, too, was once in Arcadia, and within
me Arcadia still remains? In the better sort of men love is an
interior sentiment, born in the soul; why should it not continue
with the soul to the end? It is a part of the attraction of tender
and elevated love that its consecrated hours leave in the heart a
gentle, continuous, distinct influence; just as, sometimes, upon a
heavenly spring-evening, fragrance, exhaled from warm blossoms in
the surrounding country penetrates every street of a city that has
no gardens.
I would exhort men to spare every true affection, and not to
ridicule the overflowings of a happy heart with more license than
they would the effusions of a sorrowing one. For the youth of the
soul is everlasting, and eternity is youth.
[Illustration]
OUR SECRET DRAWER.
There is a secret drawer in every heart,
Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;
Each dear remembrance of the buried past,
Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.
The old delights of childhood, long ago;
The things we loved because we knew them best;
The first discovered primrose in our path;
The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;
The merry haymakings around our home;
Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;
The story told beside the winter fire,
While the wind moaned across the window panes;
The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,
Those magic visions of our young romance;
The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,
Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;
The link which bound us, later still, to one
Who fills a corner in our life to-day,
Without whose love we dare not dream how dark
The rest would seem, if it were gone away;
The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;
The gentle word that unexpected came;
The gift we prized because the thought was kind;
The thousand, thousand things that have no name;
All these, in some far hidden corner lie,
Within the mystery of that secret drawer,
Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,
Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
“How seldom, friend, a great, good man inherits
Honor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”
“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain
_What_ wouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?
Place, title, salary,--a gilded chain?
Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?
Goodness and greatness are not _means_, but _ends_.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;
And three true friends, more sure than day and night,--
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”
COLERIDGE.
[Illustration]
THE GOLDEN WEDDING.
The German custom of observing a festival called the Silver
Wedding, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of marriage, and a
Golden Wedding on the fiftieth anniversary, have now become
familiar to us by their frequent observance in this country.
The following description of such an anniversary in Sweden is
from the graceful pen of Fredrika Bremer, in her work entitled
“The Neighbors.”
There was a patriarch and wife, and only to see that ancient,
venerable couple made the heart rejoice. Tranquillity was upon
their brows, cheerful wisdom on their lips, and in their glance
one read love and peace. For above half a century this ancient
couple have inhabited the same house and the same rooms. There they
were married, and there they are soon to celebrate their golden
nuptials. The rooms are unchanged, the furniture the same it has
been for fifty years; but everything is clean, comfortable, and
friendly, as in a one-year-old dwelling, though much more simple
than the houses of our time. I know not what spirit of peace and
grace it is which breathes upon me in this house! Ah! in this
house fifty years have passed as a beautiful day. Here a virtuous
couple have lived, loved, and worked together. Many a pure joy has
blossomed here; and when sorrow came, it was not bitter, for the
fear of God and mutual love illuminated the dark clouds. Hence has
emanated many a noble deed, and many a beneficent influence. Happy
children grew up. They gathered strength from the example of their
parents, went out into the world, built for themselves houses, and
were good and fortunate. Often do they return to the parental home,
to bless and to be blessed.
A long life of integrity, industry, and beneficence has impressed
itself on the father’s expansive forehead, and on his frank,
benevolent deportment. His figure is yet firm, and his gait steady.
The lofty crown is bald, but the venerable head is surrounded by
silver-white locks, like a garland. No one in the city sees this
head without bowing in friendly and reverential greeting. The whole
country, as well as the city, loves him as their benefactor, and
venerates him as their patriarch. He has created his own fortune,
and sacrificed much for the public good; and notwithstanding much
adversity and loss, he has never let his spirit sink. In mind and
conversation he is still cheerful, full of jest and sprightliness.
But for several years his sight has failed him greatly; and at
times the gout troubles his temper. But an angel moves round the
couch to which suffering confines him; his feet are moved and
enwrapped by soft white hands; the sick-chamber and the countenance
of the old man grow bright before his orphan grandchild, Serena.
In the aged countenance and bowed form of the mother you see an old
woman. But show her something beautiful, speak to her of something
worthy of love, and her mien, her smile, beams from the eternal
youth which dwells immortal in her sensitive spirit. Then you
involuntarily exclaim, “What beautiful age!” If you sit near her,
and look into her mild, pious eyes, you feel as if you could open
your whole soul, and believe in every word she speaks, as in the
Gospel. She has lived through much and experienced much; yet she
still says she will live in order to learn. Truly we must all learn
from _her_. Her tone and manner betoken true politeness, and much
knowledge of life. She alone has educated her children, and she
still thinks and acts both for children and children’s children.
Will you see in one little circumstance a miniature picture of the
whole? Every evening the old man himself roasts two apples; every
evening, when they are done, he gives one of them to his “handsome
old wife,” as he calls her. Thus for fifty years have they divided
everything with each other.
* * * * *
And now the day for their Golden Wedding has arrived. The whole
city and country take an interest in it. It is as if all the people
in the place were related to the old Dahls. The young people
come from east and west,--Dahls here, Dahls there, brave men and
handsome children. A swarm of cousins encounter one another at
every step. Brotherships and friendships are concluded.
If you wish to learn the true value of marriage,--if you wish
to see what this union may be for two human hearts, and for
life,--then observe, not the wedded ones in their honeymoon, nor
by the cradle of their first child; not at a time when novelty and
hope yet throw a morning glory over the young and new-born world of
home; but survey them, rather, in the more remote years of manhood,
when they have proved the world and each other; when they have
conquered many an error, and many a temptation, in order to become
only the more united to each other; when labors and cares are
theirs; when, under the burden of the day, as well as in hours of
repose, they support one another, and find that they are sufficient
for each other. Or survey them still farther in life. See them
arrived at that period when the world, with all its changes and
agitations, rolls far away from them; when every object around
becomes more dim to them; when their house is still; when they are
solitary, yet they stand there hand in hand, and each reads in the
other’s eyes only love; when they, with the same memories and the
same hopes, stand on the boundaries of another life, into which
they are prepared to enter, of all desires retaining only the one
that they may die on the same day. Yes, then behold them! And,
on that account, turn now to the patriarchs, and to their Golden
Wedding.
There is, indeed, something worth celebrating, thought I, when I
awoke in the morning. The sun seemed to be of the same opinion,
for it shone brightly on the snow-covered roof of the aged
pair. I wrapped myself in my cloak, and went forth to carry my
congratulations to the old people, and to see if I could be helpful
to Serena. The aged couple sat in the anteroom, clad in festal
attire, each in their own easy-chair. A large bouquet of fresh
flowers and a hymn-book were on the table. The sun shone in through
snow-white curtains. It was peaceful and cheerful in the room.
The patriarch appeared, in the sunny light, as if surrounded by a
glory. I offered my congratulations with emotion, and was embraced
by them, as by a father and mother. “A lovely day, Madame Werner,”
said the old gentleman, as he looked toward the window. “Yes,
beautiful indeed,” I answered. “It is the feast of love and truth
on the earth.” The two old people smiled, and clasped each other’s
hands.
There was great commotion in the hall, caused by the arrival of
troops of children and grandchildren, who all, in holiday garb,
and with joyous looks, poured in to bring their wishes of happiness
to the venerable parents. It was charming to see these groups of
lovely children cling round the old people, like young saplings
round aged stems. It was charming to see the little rosy mouths
turned up to kiss, the little arms stretching to embrace them, and
to hear the clamor of loving words and exulting voices.
I found Serena in the kitchen, surrounded by people, and dealing
out viands; for to-day the Dahls made a great distribution of food
and money to the poor. Serena accompanied the gifts with friendly
looks and words, and won blessings for her grandparents.
* * * * *
At eight in the evening, the wedding guests began to assemble. In
the street where they lived the houses were illuminated in honor of
the patriarchs, and lamps burned at the corners. A great number of
people, with glad countenances, wandered up and down the street, in
the still, mild winter evening. The house of the Dahls was thrown
into the shade by the brilliancy of those in the neighborhood; but
there was light within.
Serena met me at the door of the saloon. She wore a white garland
in her light-brown hair. How charming she was in her white dress,
with her kindly blue eyes, her pure brow, and the heavenly smile
on her lips! She was so friendly, so amiable, to everybody! Friends
and relatives arrived; the rooms became filled. They drank tea,
ate ices, and so on; and then there fell at once a great silence.
The two old people seated themselves in two easy-chairs, which
stood near each other in the middle of the saloon, on a richly
embroidered mat. Their children and their children’s children
gathered in a half-circle round them. A clergyman of noble presence
stepped forward, and pronounced an oration on the beauty and
holiness of marriage. He concluded with a reference to the life
of the venerable pair, which was in itself a better sermon on the
excellence of marriage, for the human heart, and for life, than
was his speech, though what he said was true and touching. There
was not a dry eye in the whole company. All were in a solemn,
affectionate mood.
Meantime, preparations for the festival were completed in the
second story, to which the guests ascended. Here _tableaux_ were
presented, whose beauty and grace exceeded everything I had
anticipated. The last one consisted of a well-arranged group of
all the descendants of the Dahls, during the exhibition of which
a chorus was sung. The whole exhibition gave great and general
pleasure. When the chorus ceased, and the curtain fell, the doors
of the dance-saloon flew open; a dazzling light streamed thence,
and lively music set all the hearts and feet of the young people
in lively motion.
We sat talking pleasantly together, till supper was served, on
various little tables, in three rooms. Lagman Hok raised his glass,
and begged permission to drink a toast. All were attentive. Then,
fixing a mild, confident gaze on the patriarchs, he said, in a low
voice: “Flowers and Harps were woven into the mat on which our
honored friends this evening heard the words of blessing pronounced
over them. They are the symbols of Happiness and Harmony; and these
are the Penates of this house. That they surround you in this
festive hour, venerable friends, we cannot regard
as an accident. I seemed to hear them
say, ‘During your union you have so
welcomed and cherished us, that
we are at home here, and can
never forsake you. Your
age shall be like your
youth!’”
[Illustration]
The wisest man may be wiser to-day than he was yesterday, and
to-morrow than he is to-day.
COLTON.
[Illustration]
THE WORN WEDDING RING.
BY W. C. BENNETT.
Your wedding ring wears thin, dear wife. Ah summers not a few,
Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o’er me and you.
And, love, what changes we have seen! what cares and pleasures too!
Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new.
O blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life,
When, thanks to God, your low, sweet “Yes” made you my loving wife!
Your heart will say the same, I know; that day’s as dear to you,
The day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.
How well do I remember now your young, sweet face that day!
How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say;
Nor how I doated on you. Ah, how proud I was of you!
But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new?
No! No! no fairer were you then, than at this hour, to me;
And dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer be?
As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, ’tis true;
But did I know your _heart_ as well, when this old ring was new?
O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief, is there
For me you would not bravely face? with me you would not share?
O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting _you_!
Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new!
Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife,--small voices that are here,
Small faces round our fire that make their mother’s yet more dear,
Small, loving hearts, your care each day makes yet more like to you,
More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new.
And, blessed be God, all He has given are with us yet; around
Our table every little life lent to us still is found;
Though cares we’ve known, with hopeful hearts the worst we’ve struggled
through;
Blessed be His name for all His love since this old ring was new.
The past is dear; its sweetness still our memories treasure yet;
The griefs we’ve borne, together borne, we would not now forget.
Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart still true,
We’ll share, as we have shared all else, since this old ring was new.
And if God spare us, ’mongst our sons and daughters to grow old,
We know His goodness will not let your heart or mine grow cold.
Your aged eyes will see in mine all they’ve still shown to you;
And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.
And O, when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest,
May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that breast!
O, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear sight of you!
Of those fond eyes,--fond as they were when this old ring was new.
CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL.
[Illustration]
HINTS ABOUT HEALTH.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.
There are general rules of health, that cannot be too often
repeated and urged, concerning which physicians of all schools are
nearly unanimous. All who are acquainted with the physical laws of
our being, agree that too much food is eaten. As far back as the
twelfth century, the School of Salerno, the first Medical School
established in Europe, published Maxims for Health, among which
were the following: “Let these three things be your physicians;
cheerfulness, moderate repose, and diet.” “Eat little supper, and
you will sleep quietly.” A few years ago, the celebrated French
physician, Dumoulin, in his last illness, said to friends who were
lamenting the loss of his medical services, “I shall leave behind
me three physicians much greater than I am: water, exercise, and
diet.”
The Rev. Sydney Smith says: “The longer I live, the more I am
convinced that half the unhappiness in the world proceeds from
little stoppages; from a duct choked up, from food pressing in
the wrong place, from a vexed duodenum, or an agitated pylorus.
The deception, as practised upon human creatures, is curious and
entertaining. My friend sups late; he eats some strong soup, then a
lobster, then some tart, and he dilutes these excellent varieties
with wine. The next day I call upon him. He is going to sell his
house in London, and to retire into the country. He is alarmed for
his eldest daughter’s health. His expenses are hourly increasing,
and nothing but a timely retreat can save him from ruin. All this
is the lobster. Old friendships are sometimes destroyed by toasted
cheese, and hard salted meat has led to suicide. I have come to
the conclusion that mankind consume twice too much food. According
to my computation, I have eaten and drunk, between my tenth and
seventieth year, forty-four horse-wagon loads more than was good
for me.”
The example of Ludovicus Cornaro is a very striking proof of the
advantages of abstinence. Modern physicians agree with him, that it
is particularly wise for people, as they grow older, to diminish
the quantity of _solid_ food. Little should be eaten, especially by
those who do not exercise greatly; and that little should be light
and nutritious. It is also important that food and sleep should be
taken at regular intervals.