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THE STEALING ON OF AGE

MONG the letters that came to me one day lately was a communication from a woman of fifty-three who bemoaned herself because she was growing old, and who declared that the young people around her were not backward in letting her know that she had passed her meridian. Everything about youth and age is relative. There are women who never were young even in their twenties; there are women who will never grow old should they live to be ninety. To fifteen, thirty is venerable. To thirty, sixtyfive may represent old age.

Granting that there is no decay of mind or body, it is hard to say when youth ends and age begins; but fiftythree should be to a woman her glorious Indian summer of life. She ought then to have passed quite beyond the reefs and shoals that make the current difficult at an earlier period, and she should have so much genial experience, so much breadth of sympathy, such mellow tolerance for those who differ with her, such gracious kindliness and such queenly dignity that younger and older people should dearly love and gladly honor her. At fifty-three no woman can afford to be careless about her dress. She may be obliged to choose cheap material, but color and cut should be becoming. She ought not to wear frumpy hats, and she should be fastidious as to the finishings at her neck and wrists. Whether stout or thin, the season has arrived when she should take pains to adopt a style of dress suitable to her figure. More and more she should keep in touch with her world, reading the newspapers to know what is going on, and making the most of any talents or accomplishments that were hers in earlier life. The woman of fifty-three

should be a leader in church work, and a good friend to all the neighborhood.

Carlyle said, "Time wears slippers of list, and his tread is noiseless." When a woman really grows old, if she is in fair health and strength, she proves the truth of this assertion. Age does not storm at her; it steals softly onward so imperceptibly that she is often the last one to notice what is going on. If she is foolish, she may behave as did Mrs. Skewton in Dombey and Son, may dress girlishly, resort to every artifice of false hair and cosmetics, and may rob age of its real beauty by her pitiful attempts to continue childish and young. In the battle with Time, sooner or later everyone will be vanquished. It is wise to make Time a friend, to recognize his claims, and to meet him half way. To settle down too soon to armchair and footstool is as great a mistake as that of Mrs. Skewton. So far as one may, one should continue active, since early retirement may mean atrophy of one's powers.

In one of Augustus Hare's delightful biographical sketches, he mentions a visit to a country house where a Mrs. Duncan Stewart was expected. This lady was past four-score. In a large house-party every one was eagerly anticipating her arrival, and when she came she received an enthusiastic welcome from her hosts and their guests. She came in to dinner dressed in black velvet and lace. She had a word, a jest, a smile for every one. To her life was as full of interest as it had been when she was young, and the interest she felt in charming to her latest day. found the cup still sweet. the bottom of the cup."

others kept her young and Some one asked her if she "Yes," she answered, "sweet to

W

THE ART OF GROWING OLD

E may not all be growing old, but at least we are all growing older. Every day Time adds a little to the measure of our lives. Growing old should be growing lovely, growing sweet, growing rich, growing gracious and beautiful. No one should be so entirely attractive as the man or woman who has arrived at a summit in the years from whence the outlook to the Beyond is glorious and the retrospect is charming. Years filled with work well done should bring coronation to any life. Singularly, most of us fight against advancing age as if it were necessarily a foe, as if it came to defraud us of pleasure, rob us of privilege, and encumber us with infirmity. In "Rabbi Ben Ezra," Robert Browning struck a truer and deeper note:

"Grow old along with me,

The best is yet to be,

The last of life for which the first was made."

So far as age debars one from mingling in business or professional life, so far as it places one's name on the retired list and shuts one out of the engagements that have been the absorbing occupations of maturity, it may be deprecated. But there is no reason why age should do this, unless it is accompanied by some impairment of mental vigor or waste of physical energy. If mind and body continue at their best, experience counts as a valuable makeweight in the balance. Many people grow old too soon; their faculties become atrophied from disuse and are like rusty tools that have lost their sharpness. Very stupidly some of us give up active life too soon. Either we are lazy or indifferent, or lack the spur of ambition, and we con

tentedly drop out, and leave the tasks that once we loved to the care of our juniors. Once in a while one meets an elderly woman who has had the good sense and rare judgment to resign nothing in which she has ever been proficient, but has kept up her music or painting or other accomplishments by daily practice, so that she is abreast of the times. The trouble with many old people is that they are not up-to-date; they belong to yesterday, not to this day. They are sitting in the chimney corner thinking over the past, when they ought to be eager and alive over current events.

The frantic effort made by a few women to look young after youth has departed, is so futile that it provokes a pitying smile. Not long ago, a lady knocked at the door of an acquaintance who had a room in a hotel with herself. After a moment's hesitation the door was opened a wee bit, as if reluctantly, but presently a voice said, “Oh, if it's you, come right in, and don't mind how I look." Horrified, the visitor saw that her friend's face was completely covered with something that resembled a masque. Strips of plaster covered brow, nose, cheeks and chin, leaving only eyes and mouth free. "What has happened to you?" was the very natural inquiry. "Nothing," was the reply. “I am only having the wrinkles removed from my face. When these appliances are taken off, I shall look twenty years younger."

"And will the cure be permanent?" was asked.

I hate

The answer was, "Not precisely permanent, but when they come back I can have them removed again. wrinkles."

Undoubtedly wrinkles and crow's feet and deepening lines may not be agreeable to one who forgets that there is a beauty belonging to every season. Youth has its own peculiar and exquisite loveliness. Matronly middle-age is equally as beautiful in a different way, and real old age need not be dreaded as a disfigurement. There are, frankly,

old women in this land who are as beautiful in age as they were in youth, as, for instance, our queenly Julia Ward Howe.

An old face without lines lacks character. If the lines tell the story of a life spent in kindness and goodness and love to others, they are very dear to all who see them. Silver hair is far more beautiful in age than dyed tresses. An old face surmounted by artificial locks, or hair which has a sort of copper lustre, is grotesque instead of beautiful.

The great beautifier in every age is sincerity, and the twin sister of sincerity is sweetness of disposition. If you would remain young, do not be bitter or cynical. Be tolerant and tender and considerate. Take an interest in what is going on about you. Cultivate friendships, not merely with those of your own age but with younger people. No one can grow old who is in touch with youth. To be surrounded by the young, with their bright and ardent hopes, is to have an unfailing panacea for the maladies and ravages of time.