Stepping-stones to happiness

Front matter

Chap.^^. Copyright No...

SheltsfilL..

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Chapter I

The Use of the Present — On a Texas Prairie — A Mirage — The Present Time — The Uses of This World — Advancing Years — Looking Backward — Disenchantment — Illusions — Idle Regrets.

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..17

Chapter II

Going Over Dry Shod — Perpetual Hope — An Ideal World — A Child's Discovery — The Surprise — Mrs. Mulgrave's Story.

Chapter III

A Pause By the Way — Self -Reliance and Self -Reverence— St. Augustine's Dream — The Spiritual Mind — Reticence — Real Troubles — The Armor of Patience — A Mutual Dependence — Man's Majesty — The Happy Warrior — Miss Moggaridge's Provider.

Chapter IV

A Family Tree — Household Association — Plutarch's Advice — The Story of Xerxes and Ariamenes — Love of Ancestors — The Coat of Arms.

8 CONTENTS.

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Chapter V 99

A Heme in Town — Owning the House — The Sense of Permanence — Moving — Inside the House — The Vacation — Advantages of Town Life — City Children — Music at Home — The Piano-forte — Music Abroad — The Opera — Shopping — In the Street Car— The Cheery Town— The City Parlor —Old China— The Spinning Wheel in the Parlor— The Distaff— The Spinster — The Adventures of a Pound of Cotton — Society — The Gay Season — City Window Gardens — Louise Forester's Story.

The House in the Country — Necessary Foresight — The Piazza — In the Furnishing — The Parlor — The Library — The Rosillon House.

Chapter IX 216

The Health of the Home — Old Water-courses in Town — Rock and Gravel — The Cellar — The Prevention That is Better than Cure — The Only Curse on the House — We or Providence to Blame — Children's Diseases — Disinfectants — The Scarlet Fever

CONTENTS. 9

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—The Children of the Poor— The Lively Fly— At Autumn Time — The Birds When the Days Shorten — Light-Hearted October — By the Hearth.

Chapter X 243

The Light of the House— The Mother— The Ideal Mother— The Everyday Mother — The Story of Old Margaret and Her Boy.

Chapter XI 260

A Well-Spring of Joy— The Baby— The Care of the Baby— The Moral Growth of the Child — Help From the Great Educators — Froebel — The Kindergarten — The Gifts in Froebel's System — School Another World — On Visiting a Kindergarten — John Wesley's Mother— Slojd — The Happy Result — The Scory of the Hurricane Light.

Chapter XII 306

Other Children — Medicine Rather Than Punishment — Heredity — Sparing the Rod — Loving Children — They Who Really Love Children — Troublesome Children — Keeping Silence — Amusing the Small People — With Pencil and Paper — A New Game — Another Game — The Story of Laddy's Burglar.

Chapter XIII 343

Angels Unawares — What a Boy Thought of His Grandmother — Old Age — Growing Old Gracefully — The Satisfactions of Age —The Refinement of Old Age— The Town "Lady"— Ailments in the Family — The Right Sleep — The Grandmother's Charm — Delight in Poetry — The Story of a Perpetual Thanksgiving.

.o CONTEXTS.

PAGE.

Chapter XIV 376

About Pets — Poor Dog- Tray — Famous L gs — The Dog in Literature — Harmless Xecessary Cat — The Cat's Beauty — The Cat's Virtues — The Cat a Fireside Ornament — The Little Egyptian Cat — The Cat's Usefulness — The Norway Rat — The Bird in the Cage — Pretty Poll — The Children and the Parrot — Famous Parrots — A Kerry Cow — Advantages of the Cow — Pegasus — The Woman Who Used To Drive — The Woman Who Drives Xow.

Chapter XV 395

The Household Conduct — The Ideal Household — Managing and Ruling — Tyranny and its Result in Cunning — Working Together — Daily Cares — The Hired Housekeeper — The Strong- Box — A Vacation — Schools For Cooks — A Radical Procedure — Old Cookery Books — Ancient Feasts — The Peacock at Banquets — A Battle at Table — Some Economies — The Englishwoman's Economy — Saving On a Small Scale — Old Dishes — Different Kitchens — Undreamed Dishes — The Mushroom — The Story of Sylvia Dexte.

Chapter XVI 429

Work — Mrs. Browning's Word — The Value of Work to Character — All Creation Works — Conscience in the Work — Work Here and Abroad — Love of Art Equaling Conscience — Those Who Are Down On Their Luck— Rest After Work— The Rest of Travel— The Mind in Travel— The Reader in Travel- Travel in Our Own Land.

CONTEXTS.

Chapter XVII

Love of Others — Associated Charities — Transmission of Initiated Organisms — Extremes of Wealth and Poverty — Giving at the Door — Lovely Examples — A Degrading Ccurse — The Poor a Benison — What the Poor Have Done — The Story of Anstress.

ii

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■449

Chapter XVIII

The Genial Temper — An Unpleasant Idiosyncrasy — Love of Injury — Fancied Slights — Quid Pro Quo— The Undisciplined Temper — The Sinners Themselves — The Sulky Soul — A Remedy — The Perfecting of the World— Protoplasm and Dust — Right and Light — Transmuting Clay — Self-Forgetfulness — The Child's Troubles— Another World To Complete This— Changing Our Condition For Another's — Rejoicing in Another's Joy — The Golden Time For Love — On Tranquil Heights — Hand in Hand With Angels — The Riches of Angels — True Happiness At Last — Matthew Arnold's Wish.

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

The Journey 1 8

Bells Ring Love's Story Song 19

As We Rolled on Through This Marvelous Landscape 20

Herd of Cattle Coming Down to Drink 22

Solitude 25

Truly We Are Not of Their Number 27

At Morning We Used to Feel It Was Going to Be Morning All Day. ... 28 The Illusion that Surrounds the Dead with a Halo Is Certainly a Blessed

One : 30

The Home of Childhood 32

The Contemptuous Stare of Somebody in a Paris Hat ^^

Dripping that Wears the Stone 34

Expectancy a much more Emphatic Thing than Hope 35

The Bright Drapery of Dreams and Pleasant Fancies 37

Never Birds Sang as I Heard Them 39

In the Wave- Washed Sand 41

The Ship that Is Coming into Harbor 42

If It had Been the Queen a-Commg In 44

You Couldn't Shut a Drawer 46

That Sea View Would Be Good as a Picture 47

I Was the Most Unhappy Woman 49

Dwelling upon the Spiritual 53

The Sweet Influence of a Loving Sympathy 57

A Happy Face Does a Service to Humanity 59

We Are Most of Us Inclined to Sympathize 61

ILLUSTRATIONS. 13

PAGE.

The Good Are Lifting Up the Bad 67

To Every Earnest, Striving Soul 69

A Letter Came to Miss Ann 76

The Ship Went to Pieces '. 80

Bonds of Blood Relationship 87

The Same Mother's Knee 89

Reverence of the Young for the Old 91

The Stiff, Prim Likeness cf Some Grandam 93

Tenderness for Those Dead and Gone 95

The Possession of a Home 97

Industry 1 00

On the Wing 102

Sunshine of Pleasant Faces 104

Steamer Trips 107

Professors Find Their Support in Cities 109

The Music-room Conservatory in

Music's Largest Audiences in the Town 113

Shopping 115

Satchel-bearing Suburbans 116

The Distaff 124

The Spinning-wheel 127

Rude as the Spinning-wheel Seems to Us Now 129

Flock of Sheep . 131

(From a Painting by Anton Mauve.)

Always a Gay Season in Town 134

John Ruskin 137

(Bust by Sir Edgar Boehm, R. A.)

Bowers of Loveliness 138

Flowers 139

Flowers the Only Comfort that I Had 140

So Still and Dark and Solemn 143

A Box out of Every Window in the House 144

I Came Home with Ladies' Tresses 145

The Corner of My Dear Wild Flowers 146 i 4 ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE.

This Place of Enchantment 150

You Must Have Known I Loved You 152

The Sweet Look that Nature Wears 154

The Loneliness of Rural Regions 157

A Sewing Circle 158

Some Lovely Landscape 161

Mountains Lifting Their Heads into Heaven 162

White and Innocent Fields 1 63

A Luxury of Life Is Theirs in the Spring 164

The Dark Shadow of the Branch -hung Stream 166

The Twilight Hour : 168

Every Man Loves His Garden 171

The Modest Kitchen Garden 173

Title Page of Poor Richard's Almanack for 1733 177

Who Owns an Apple-tree and Does not Wish for Two? 180

The Harvest of the Grain Field 182

Making Grow Where Nothing Grew Before 185

A Picturesque Object in the Landscape 187

(Painted by Jules Breton. )

Itself Draped with Vines 200

Such a Place Should be Made Attractive 212

Unable to Look a Man in the Face 217

Reeled and Fell Backward 220

Looking Down at Him 222

He Remembered the Place 224

Mother's Devotion 248

Sitting and Playing His Banjo 250

Practicing for a Long Migration 256

What a Singular Charm There Is about the First Fire of Wood 263

Rock Me to Sleep, Mother 268

She Spells out the Lesson with Her Child 274

Beauty and Glcry of Motherhood 276

Helpless Morsel of Humanity 286

ILLUSTRATIONS.

J 5

PAGE.

The Child Will Have a Love of Work 288

The Little Face Lies Near Her Own 290

The Hurricane Light-House 293

Love Lines of the Kindergarten Methods 308

Not to Fail in Exhaustless Gentleness 310

Little Merchants 312

The Young Expanding Intellect 315

Reprimanded 317

The Opening Soul of Childhood 319

Necessary that the Little Things Should Be Made Happy 321

Love of the Child for Drawing 323

Monument at New Plymouth to the Pilgrim Fathers 325

A Way cf Making It a Charming Amusement 327

He Saw the Club Roll By 331

Laddy Slipped Out of Bed 33$

The Sweet Serenity of Silver-haired Age 345

That Tenderness Felt for the Old 347

Gayeties of Her Grandchildren 349

Gentle and Well Bred, and that Is the Whole Lady 353

Drawing and Sculpture During the Palaeolithic Epoch 364

Her Few Letters Were Spasmodic and Brief 366

That Turkey will be Looking Like a Big Heathen God 373

Net the Sole Constituents of the Family 377

Cats Are a Part of the Lares and Penates 382

The Ideal Household 399

Banquet of Vitellius 407

Look at the Jewels. Oh, What a Glitter! 42 2

From One Sick-bed to Another 425

Inundation of the Nile 439

Ascent of Mont Blanc 441

Dryburgh Abbey from the East - 443

Kenilworth Castle 445

The Switzer Trail, Sierra Madre Mountains, California 447

16 ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE.

More Agreeable if We could Sit down at Our Fancy Work 455

The Most We Can Do for the Poor is but a Debt We Owe 457

Love Is a Potent Shield against Many Troubles 479

It Is not Easy to Think It Is not as Fine as It Can Be 481

To Go to Bed Just as the Lamps are Lighted 488

Rolling by in Her Luxurious Coach 490 wx

STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS.

CHAPTER FIRST. One Stepping Stone— The Use of the Present

OW good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy !

— Browning.

Remember that man's life lies all within this present, as 'twere but a hair's breadth of time ; as for the rest, the past is gone, the future yet unseen.

— Marcus Aurelius.

Now is the accepted time.

■St. Paul.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last.

— Cowley.

Catch, then, oh catch the transient hour.

Winter.

Count them by sensation and not by calendars, and each moment is a day

-Disraeli.

O last regret, regret can die

Tennyson.

i8

STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS.

THE JOURNEY.

On a Texas Prairie.

It was in one of the long journeys across Texas that the train stopping at a water-tank was boarded by a half-dozen children of the village that had grown up about the station, children to whom the train came like a herald and messenger from the great outside world. I sat at the end of the observation car, looking out over the wide prairie whose ineffable green under an immense arch cf dazzling blue sky billowed away into the low horizon. The gentlemen had stepped down to look at some curiosity near by, and being mistress of the occasion I allowed the children the liberty of the car, which they enjoyed to the utmost. "I thought I would give you fifty dollars, if you would let me ride in this car," said one adventurous and

STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS.

J 9 bare-footed little damsel, who had never seen fifty cents in the world, although her father was rich in lands and herds.

"Why did you want to ride in this car?"

I asked.

'Oh, I thought it would be such happiness!" she cried. "But I reckon I would like the burro best."

Her dream of happiness! To ride in the car. And mine so opposite — to be out of it.

And then the porter came in his august plenitude of power and shooed the children off, and the gentlemen returned from their call upon the people who summered and wintered a dozen years in their tent, and we presently went our way again.

As we rolled on through the marvelous landscape, its great dells and dingles of live oak, its streams outlined by ribbons of white lilies, where the duck rose and skimmed away, its blazes of scarlet phlox, its coverts where the deer started at our coming, and its stretches where the wild horses galloped ; there suddenly rose in the distance the vision of a river blue as blue crystal, mirroring trees hung with long wreaths of swaying moss, a herd of cattle coming down to drink there, and behind it the dim but gilded domes and spires of a city shone, the whole bathed in a soft atmosphere like that light which never was on sea or shore.

BELLS RING LOVE S STORY SONG.

A Mirage.

It was a mirage that hung there before us for a little while, like reality, and then as we would have approached, it vanished.

"It is like happiness," I said to myself, "the little girl's, or mine, or another's. It is always before us; it disappears as we think we approach. No rapture is so sweet as its anticipation was. Happiness is a mirage." And an old verse came to mind: For here we have no abiding city.

Well, then, I thought, that mirage, at any rate, represents something to which we wish to attain. It is an image of that abiding city elsewhere; and every day of our lives there are stepping-stones for us to use in reach-

STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS.

-

AS WE ROLLED ON THROUGH THIS MARVELOUS LANDSCAPE.

jp^ If the mirage vanishes as we

W^ draw near, we have always in

the present the measure cf happiness that comes with brave endurance; in the future that comes with expectancy ; and one day we reach the great goal. Let us be content then, day by day, with the stepping-stones.

The Present Time.

It is a singular thing that the present is something which most of us are always scouting. The past lies in an inwrapping mist that hides all pettiness, all daily annoyance, and leaves only the salient facts of pleasure or displeasure apparent, and has about it in our fancy some of the sacred character with which we surround the dead. The future, too, wears a halo rimmed with joyous expectancy, and is a Delectable Land gilded in a sunlight of possibility. But the present — the here and now — is our every-day life, is dull and commonplace, and worth little. What we might have done in the past we regard with a certain fondness ; what we may do in the future, with eager anticipation; what we can do in the present, with doubt and disgust. Never do to-day what you can put off till to-morrow, is a reversal of the ancient maxim that goes to the heart of many of us. We are too apt to have that contempt for to-day which we have for all familiar things, and we disregard its opportunities, just as we think, in piping times of peace, that we could have done so much better if we had been born in a stirring era ; or in war times, that we ' ' should have come to something" if we had had the opportunities that peace affords; just as we think, if our surname is a common one, that it would have been very different with us if we had been born Montmorencys or Grosvenors; if we are poor, that with wealth we could have sprung upward as the vaulter flies with the upward impulsion of the spring-board; if we are rich, that perhaps poverty would have spurred us to a worthy exertion.

There are f ew of us that willingly take to-day as a stepping-stone, few of us who think cf it as a stepping-stone at all. Yet if we so frequently fail to avail ourselves now of the opportunities of the moment, when to-morrow is to-day shall we regard it as any better worth, or do anymore wisely with the new possession? And yet we all know that if we are going to do anything with to-morrow we must be making ready to-day. When to-morrow comes rising over us it may be as full of opportunities as the cloud is of lightnings, but if we have not our kite ready to fly, we shall draw none of those lightnings down.

But while, on the one hand, this disregard and waste of the present is loss to ourselves, on the other hand, it involves a peculiar selfishness, a sort of psychological anomaly, that is seldom guessed or considered. We delay the disagreeable duty, put off the laborious effort, till to-morrow, for what reason? Because to-morrow is another country, another climate, an unknown region, and because the person of to-morrow is quite another person from the person cf to-day — so very much another that the person of to-day saves himself all the difficulty and trouble possible by pushing it over to the person of to-morrow. It is only another form of that selfishness which we exhibit when we indulge ourselves in any license, in any pleasure of the present, for which we know to-morrow will bring in a heavy price and penalty to be paid. The person of to-day is to have the license and the pleasure, the person of tc-morrow must pay the penalty. It is indeed only another form of that terrible selfishness which allows the parent to practice a self-indulgence which shall some day ruin the child, who does not inherit any share of the pleasure cf that self-indulgence, but only the ruin of its penalty.

But the selfishness of this evasion of the present rises into more metaphysical regions. The folly ot it is something that even the simplest thinker can hardly fail to see. For the present is all that we certainly have, and to let it slip by unimproved is to make ourselves so much the poorer, since the mo-

HERD OF CATTLE COMING DOWN TO DRINK.

ment that we improve is ours forever, but the moment that we do not seize, do not improve, escapes us, has nothing to do with us, never enriches us, never was, indeed, so far as we are concerned, and our life is by that much more a blank. The present is as safe as time; to-morrow is as vague as eternity. Eternity may have its own uses; we know nothing about them; it is among infinite things, and we are among finite. The uses of time we know well, and that one of them is to make ourselves round and complete as a star for our course through that infinity.

"Ages past the soul existed; f

Here an age tis resting merely,

And hence fleets again for ages."

The Uses of This World.

The poet Browning, in some of his verses, speaks of this world and this life as something that sets the scene, as one might say, of this particular portion of the drama of our soul's existence; and that act incompletely rendered, the whole drama fails of perfection. Suppose, for instance, it were the stage set merely for the love scene of the drama; were that lost, then the whole thing would want point and meaning, and the soul be by that much the more barren.

"Else it loses what it lived for, And eternally must lose it; Better ends may be m prospect, Deeper blisses, if you choose it, But this life's end and this love bliss Have been lost here."

It would be but a poor and material supposition, though, to conjecture that the world were only the resting-place for spirits on the wing, pausing but long enough for that one experience, however great, however beautiful, it may be. To the young it might possibly seem a charming fancy; they do not give the world for love, but have an idea, indeed, that the world was given them for love, and in that view they certainly cannot be accused of not improving the present, which is the world. But love, the love of man and woman, is merely one wondrous phase of our soul's existence, like the ray that sparkles in the brilliant jet of some special color as the crystal takes the light. Love of another kind, the love of fellow-men, the love of man and God, is the very medium, indeed, that surrounds us and gives us communication, atom by atom, with the universe, that will accompany us forever, it is to be hoped. And there are far other purposes apparent in life than the wedding of twin souls. For, since this love is the to-day of youth and the yesterday of age, it can not be the present of any other era, and one era deserves as much of fate as the other. But whatever the present be, whether the time to love or the time to hate, the time to weep or the time for rejoicing, it is only those that live in it that can do anything with it. And they who forget all its claims, and live only in the future, live only to and for the future Even those who make a religious point of it, as if the future were a thing any dearer to the Creator than the present, are quite as unwise as they who risk everything on the sea of the passing moment. "This world is all a fleeting show, ' ' says the one side. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," says the other. And the one side forgets that God lives in His world, and that it is not theirs to contemn it or to deride a portion of His work, and the other s-ide forgets that this mortal shall put on immortality.

Of a truth it befits us to make the most of the present; for there comes at last to most of us a season when all at once we wake to the fact that we are no longer young - , and something angry with fate, with ourselves, with the laws of the universe, and with those that observe them in relation to us, we experience surprise and indignation, as if we were the only ones who ever grew old.

Advancing Years.

Any trifle will scratch the match, but it kindles a great fire, in which the dreams and hopes of youth begin to dissipate in smoke and vapor. Someone incidentally speaks of us as ' ' middle-aged, " whereas our mothers hardly seem to us to have passed that meridian, the boundary line of a different 1 and from youth; but after a fair debate with facts and the looking-glass, we have had tc yield the point.

The daughter of our old schoolmate, married on or about her graduationday, who has now grown up and come before us to replace her mother in some mysterious way, receives our embrace as a "good motherly kiss, " and arouses us to the circumstance that whatever we have been thinking of her as our contemporary, she has been thinking of us as her mother's contemporary.

We have never given the subject a thought before, it has been one of the things taken for granted with us that of course we are young, just as the sky is blue or the earth round, because we always have been young — that, in truth, all people are young till they feel old. But what are the facts? For the first time we consider them. As far as years goto make up the count, we must admit that we have crossed the median line, perhaps: our years are no longer the years of romance and poetry. As far as looks go — well, it is true there are silver threads among the gold; we had regarded them as accidents, but they were not accidents — they were necessities ; there are wrinkles round the eye?, more or less, which have no longer the firm young muscle to hold them full; some teeth are missing, or the dazzle of the enamel is gone; there is the suspicion of a horrid hollow on the cheek; under the best conditions, and however attractive the face may remain, the rosy roundness there is gone. So far as feelings go — well, it has seemed to us till now only as if life deepened and enriched itself each year. Then we begin to look about us, peradventure to see how the thing strikes the rest of the world. We have spent years in listening, in learning, in making ourselves companionable and possibly entertaining; we see the veriest chit, with her luscious flesh and color, ignorant of life and of everything else but her own senses, preferred before us. Ah! then other people found out long ago what has just been revealed to us: we are old, and have been making fools of ourselves in masquerading as young. We declare

STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS.

to our self- investigation, then, that we do not care for the successes of the pretty girl; it may be that we had as much in our day, we do not find it in our heart to envy her; perhaps we pity her that the beam in which she sports so soon must fade. Then suddenly we see that we are pitying the young; truly we are not of their number ! And if we had no sensation of the sort before, henceforth we acknowledge that we have one foot in the grave. Then, by slow access of meditation, we are aware that much of the freshness of feeling is gone, much of that which once gave us rapture, our power of joyous appreciation, our fullness of enthusiasm ; we are not again rapt by the spell of any great painting into fairy-land, as the case has been with us, when all the lovely hues and aerial distances seemed to be portions of the region to which we traveled, that region into which the coming years were sure to bring us; no single dash of color in the sky fills us with unspeakable delight and longing after the unknown; we do not lean out into the star-lit nights with conscious companionship of the spirits of the stars and the deeps and the dark — we are a little afraid of the damps and draughts and rheumatism; we remember all these things ; we do not feel them afresh.

Nor do the same books please us,

SOLITUDE

we find, that once we read and re-read ; the poems that we ruined with our pencil marks and underscoring- have ceased to charm, and the volumes that in the days of those pencil-marks we would have scorned, now attract us at first sight; the bread-and-butter novel moves us to derision ; we feel sufficient acquaintance with life and its passions and subtle motives and secret springs to read the books of darker dealings. Dancing does not seem to us, either, the pleasantest way in the world in which to spend time. We do not think a youth of twenty-one or twenty-two the ideal being for whom the heavens and earth were created. Possibly we prefer lamp-light and people to all the moonlight and solitude in the world. What then? It seems that middle age has its pleasures, which it would not exchange for those of youth ; why will we persist in looking back so regretfully on those of youth, which we would no longer enjoy if we had them ?

Looking Backward.

If we do not wish to dance, why do we envy those who do? If a dried date does not taste to us now rich with all spicy flavors of unknown lands, but like a commonplace sweetmeat, compensation comes in the fact that we have no craving for the date. And yet it seems to be insufficient compensation : we wish we had that craving, remembering the pleasure of its satisfaction. We are not like the old proverb's dog in the manger, that neither wants a thing himself nor is willing that another should have it; on the contrary, we are much more like the little boy who eats his cake and wants it, too. Nothing would induce us to forego the various happinesses of the period to which we have arrived, the calmness and repose, the clear-headed comprehension of vexed problems, the wealth of memory, the power of looking out on the world and not only seeing as in youth, but of summarizing and philosophizing on what we see. Yet, for all that, we remember how round was the cheek of youth, how delicious was life at the dawning; and here is the shadow of the unknown future beginning to fall over us, and full soon shall we feel the breath of the dark river; and we see fresh meaning in the words of the old preacher: "Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun, but if a man live many years and rejoice in them all, yet let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many." As the monarch considers a demand for the surrender of his sceptre, so do we hate to lay down our sovereignty, to retreat as the new generation becomes regnant, to become not only the mere commoners and superannuaries of the present, but the pensioners of the past, to feel, perhaps, a passing remembered and reflected thrill of the keen, quick joy at the fragrance of a wind, at bell notes on the evening air, at