Part 10

The dame made no answer. Her heart was too full to speak; but, throwing her arms round her husband, she showed that she shared in his sentiment. And from that hour, by practising a careful abstinence from offence, or a temperate sufferance of its appearance, they became the most united couple in the county. But it must be said, that their comfort was not complete till they had seen each other, in safety, over the perilous anniversary of St. Mark’s Eve.

* * * * *

The moral this story conveys is one which might prove a useful monitor to us all, if we could keep it in daily remembrance. Few, indeed, are so coarse in their manifestations of ill-temper as this Kentish couple are described; but we all indulge, more or less, in unreasonable fretfulness, and petty acts of selfishness, in the relations of husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters,--in fact, in all the relations of life. It would help us greatly to be kind, forbearing, and self-sacrificing toward neighbors, friends, and relatives, if it were always present to our minds that death may speedily close our intercourse with them in this world.--L. M. C.

WHAT THE OLD WOMAN SAID.

One summer eve, I chanced to pass, where, by the cottage gate, An aged woman in the town sat crooning to her mate. The frost of age was on her brow, its dimness in her eye, And her bent figure to and fro rocked all unconsciously. The frost of age was on her brow, yet garrulous her tongue, As she compared the “_doings now_,” with those when _she_ was young. “When _I_ was young, young gals were meek, and looked round kind of shy; And when they were compelled to speak, they did so modestly. They stayed at home, and did the work; made Indian bread and wheaten; And only went to singing-school, and _sometimes_ to night meetin’. And _children_ were obedient _then_; they had no saucy airs; And minded what their mothers said, and learned their hymns and prayers. But _now-a-days_ they know enough, before they know their letters; And young ones that can hardly walk will contradict their betters. Young women _now_ go kiting round, and looking out for beaux; And scarcely one in ten is found, who makes or mends her clothes! But then, I tell my daughter, Folks don’t do as they’d ought’-ter.

When _I_ was young, if a man had failed, he shut up house and hall, And never ventured out till night, if he ventured out at all; And his wife sold all her china plates; and his sons came home from college; And his gals left school, and learned to wash and bake, and such like knowledge; They gave up cake and pumpkin-pies, and had the plainest eatin’; And never asked folks home to tea, and scarcely went to meetin’. The man that was a Bankrupt called, was kind’er shunned by men, And hardly dared to show his head amongst his town folks _then_. But _now-a-days_, when a merchant fails, they say he makes a penny; The wife don’t have a gown the less, and his daughters just as many; His sons they smoke their choice cigars, and drink their costly wine; And _she_ goes to the opera, and _he_ has folks to dine! He walks the streets, he drives his gig; men show him all civilities; And what in _my_ day we called _debts_, are now his _lie_-abilities! They call the man unfortunate who ruins half the city,-- In my day ’twas his _creditors_ to whom we gave our pity. But then, I tell my daughter, Folks don’t do as they’d ough’-ter.”

FROM THE OLIVE BRANCH.

THE SPRING JOURNEY.

O, green was the corn as I rode on my way, And bright were the dews on the blossoms of May, And dark was the sycamore’s shade to behold, And the oak’s tender leaf was of emerald and gold.

The thrush from his holly, the lark from his cloud, Their chorus of rapture sung jovial and loud; From the soft vernal sky to the soft grassy ground, There was beauty above me, beneath, and around.

The mild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill, And yet, though it left me all dripping and chill, I felt a new pleasure, as onward I sped, To gaze where the rainbow gleamed broad overhead.

O such be _life’s_ journey! and such be our skill To lose in its blessings the sense of its ill; Through sunshine and shower may our progress be even, And our tears add a charm to the prospect of heaven.

BISHOP HEBER

MORAL HINTS.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

Probably there are no two things that tend so much to make human beings unhappy in themselves and unpleasant to others, as habits of fretfulness and despondency; two faults peculiarly apt to grow upon people after they have passed their youth. Both these ought to be resisted with constant vigilance, as we would resist a disease. This we should do for our own sakes, and as a duty we owe to others. Life is made utterly disagreeable when we are daily obliged to listen to a complaining house-mate. How annoying and disheartening are such remarks as these: “I was not invited to the party last night. I suppose I am getting to be of no consequence to anybody now.” “Yes, that is a beautiful present you have had sent you. Nobody sends _me_ presents.” “I am a useless encumbrance now. I can see that people want me out of their way.” Yet such observations are not unfrequently heard from persons surrounded by external comforts, and who are consequently envied by others of similar disposition in less favorable circumstances.

No virtue has been so much recommended to the old as cheerfulness. Colton says: “Cheerfulness ought to be the viaticum of their life to the old. Age without cheerfulness is a Lapland winter without a sun.”

Montaigne says: “The most manifest sign of wisdom is continued cheerfulness.”

Dr. Johnson says: “The habit of looking on the best side of every event is worth more than a thousand pounds a year.”

Tucker says: “The point of aim for our vigilance to hold in view is to dwell upon the brightest parts in every prospect; to call off the thoughts when running upon disagreeable objects, and strive to be pleased with the present circumstances surrounding us.”

Southey says, in one of his letters: “I have told you of the Spaniard, who always put on his spectacles when about to eat cherries, that they might look bigger and more tempting. In like manner, I make the most of my enjoyments; and though I do not cast my eyes away from my troubles, I pack them in as little compass as I can for myself, and never let them annoy others.”

Perhaps you will say: “All this is very fine talk for people who are naturally cheerful. But I am low-spirited by temperament; and how is that to be helped?” In the first place, it would be well to ascertain whether what you call being naturally low-spirited does not arise from the infringement of some physical law; something wrong in what you eat or drink, or something unhealthy in other personal habits. But if you inherit a tendency to look on the dark side of things, resolutely call in the aid of your reason to counteract it. Leigh Hunt says: “If you are melancholy for the first time, you will find, upon a little inquiry, that others have been melancholy many times, and yet are cheerful now. If you have been melancholy many times, recollect that you have got over all those times; and try if you cannot find means of getting over them better.”

If reason will not afford sufficient help, call in the aid of conscience. In this world of sorrow and disappointment, every human being has trouble enough of his own. It is unkind to add the weight of your despondency to the burdens of another, who, if you knew all his secrets, you might find had a heavier load than yours to carry. You find yourself refreshed by the presence of cheerful people. Why not make earnest efforts to confer that pleasure on others? You will find half the battle is gained, if you never allow yourself to _say_ anything gloomy. If you habitually try to pack your troubles away out of other people’s sight, you will be in a fair way to forget them yourself; first, because evils become exaggerated to the imagination by repetition; and, secondly, because an effort made for the happiness of others lifts us above ourselves.

Those who are conscious of a tendency to dejection should also increase as much as possible the circle of simple and healthy enjoyments. They should cultivate music and flowers, take walks to look at beautiful sunsets, read entertaining books, and avail themselves of any agreeable social intercourse within their reach. They should also endeavor to surround themselves with pleasant external objects.

Our states of feeling, and even our characters, are influenced by the things we habitually look upon or listen to. A sweet singer in a household, or a musical instrument played with feeling, do more than afford us mere sensuous pleasure; they help us morally, by their tendency to harmonize discordant moods. Pictures of pleasant scenes, or innocent objects, are, for similar reasons, desirable in the rooms we inhabit. Even the paper on the walls may help somewhat to drive away “blue devils,” if ornamented with graceful patterns, that light up cheerfully. The paper on the parlor of Linnæus represented beautiful flowering plants from the East and West Indies; and on the walls of his bedroom were delineated a great variety of butterflies, dragon-flies, and other brilliant insects. Doubtless it contributed not a little to the happiness of the great naturalist thus to live in the midst of his pictured thoughts. To cultivate flowers, to arrange them in pretty vases, to observe their beauties of form and color, has a healthy effect, both on mind and body. Some temperaments are more susceptible than others to these fine influences, but they are not entirely without effect on any human soul; and forms of beauty can now be obtained with so little expenditure of money, that few need to be entirely destitute of them.

Perhaps you will say, “If I feel low-spirited, even if I do not speak of it, I cannot help showing it.” The best way to avoid the intrusion of sad feelings is to immerse yourself in some occupation. Adam Clarke said: “I have lived to know that the secret of happiness is never to allow your energies to stagnate.” If you are so unfortunate as to have nothing to do at home, then, the moment you begin to feel a tendency to depression, start forth for the homes of others. Tidy up the room of some helpless person, who has nobody to wait upon her; carry flowers to some invalid, or read to some lonely old body. If you are a man, saw and split wood for some poor widow, or lone woman, in the neighborhood. If you are a woman, knit stockings for poor children, or mend caps for those whose eyesight is failing; and when you have done them, don’t send them home, but take them yourself. Merely to have every hour of life fully occupied is a great blessing; but the full benefit of constant employment cannot be experienced unless we are occupied in a way that promotes the good of others, while it exercises our own bodies and employs our own minds. Plato went so far as to call exercise a cure for a wounded conscience; and, provided usefulness is combined with it, there is certainly a good deal of truth in the assertion; inasmuch as constant helpful activity leaves the mind no leisure to brood over useless regrets, and by thus covering the wound from the corrosion of thought, helps it to become a scar.

Against that listless indifference, which the French call _ennui_, industry is even a better preservative than it is against vain regrets. Therefore, it seems to me unwise for people in the decline of life to quit entirely their customary occupations and pursuits. The happiest specimens of old age are those men and women who have been busy to the last; and there can be no doubt that the decay of our powers, both bodily and mental, is much hindered by their constant exercise, provided it be not excessive.

It is recorded of Michael Angelo, that “after he was sixty years 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.