Past meridian

Front matter

PAST MERIDIAl^

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNET.

Here, at Earth's banquet, he's the wisest guest Who gladly takes whate'er his God doth send, Keeping each instrument of joy in tune That giveth fitness for the choir of Heaven.

Preface

It is not considered polite to ask people their age, after the bloom of youth has departed. I would not willingly violate the rules of decorum, or tempt any one to hide the foot-prints of Time, as the Indian warrior covers his track with leaves. Making no invidious inquiry, let me simply whisper in the ear of those who have achieved more than half life's journey, that this book is for them. It is their own exclusive property. It is devoted heart and hand to their interests. Whoever is found reading it, may be suspected to have attained the same ripe age.

It is, therefore, a kind of confidential affair between me and my compeers — we, whose faces are toward the setting sun. To all such, I offer the right hand of fellowship. We are in the same catagory — a joint stock concern that admits no young iV PREFACE.

partners. Every camp has its watch -word. E verystate its history. Every profession its pohcy. And have not wje ours? Aye, and our rights too? Shall we not stand for them? Come let us see.

L. H. S.

Hartford, Conn.

TO

GEORGE PEABODY, ESQ.,

OF LONDON,

OF HIS NATIVE LAND

TURN ^'ITJr PRIDE AXD PLEASURE,

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

BY THE AUTHOR

Contents

Page.

Preface, • 3

The a. M's and P. M's, 9

CHAPTER I. " Ah ! what concerns it him whose way

Lies upward to the immortal dead, That a few hairs are turning gray ?

Or one more year of Hfe hath fled ? Swift years ! still teach us how to bear,

To feel, to act, with strength and skill, To reason wisely, nobly dare.

Then speed your courses as ye will : "When life's meridian toils are done.

How calm, how rich the twilight glow, The morning twilight of a sun

That shines not here on things below."

Professor Norton.

The equinoctial of human life, though vaguely defined, is not an imaginary line. Arithmetically speaking, thirty-five, as predicated on the allotted span of seventy years, is the true

10 PASTI^IERIDIAX.

zenith. Yet life's latitude can not be computed with such exactness. Of Cuvier, it was said at sixty, that he was but in the climax of his scientific powers; and Klopstock, at eighty, bore the epithet of '' the youth forever."

These instances are, indeed, but exceptions, and it must be, doubtless, admitted that the meridian of life is fully passed at fifty. It would be an exceedingly liberal construction to extend to sixty, the dividing line between the ante and the post-meridian people. Boundaries may diverge, here and there, but the characteristics and possessions of those on each side of this debatable ground are sufficiently distinct.

With the A. M.'s, are the beauty and the vigor, and the ambition of this present world. Of these distinctions they are aware and tenacious.

Yet, the P. M.'s are not utterly cyphers. This, I trust, in due time to show. If with them, there is a less inflated hope, there should be a more rational happiness; for they have winnowed the chaff from the wheat, and

THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'S. 11

tested both what is worth pursuing, and worth possessing.

Is there any antagonism between these parties ? Is one disposed to monopoHze, and the other to consider itself depreciated? Does one complain that

"Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage?"

and the other morosely withdraw from the battle of life, and its reciprocities? We will not admit any just ground for such estrangement. Rather are they differing tenses of the same verb, the verb " to love,^^ whose root is in the blessed principle that binds the universe together. Children are they of the morning and of the evening, living on the bounty of one common Father, and lighted by the beams of the same rising and setting sun, to His home in Heaven.

The duties that devolve on the P. M.'s are not often as clearly evident, or as strongly enforced as those which appertain to their predecessors. One comprise the planting, the other the garnering process. In agriculture, the necessity of preparing the soil, and sowing right seed, is apparent and imperative. The requisitions to remove weeds, and destroy noxious insects, are equally obvious. But when the objects of culture approach their final maturity, vigilance declines. Still, the careful gardener will give the perfecting peach the shelter of a wall, or the clustering grape a prop, that it may better meet the sunbeam. The laborer knows that the golden sheaf needs the vertic sun, and the boy seeks not his nuts in the forest, till the frost opens their sheath.

So, in this our mortal life, though the toils that fit for action, are more obvious and pressings yet the responsibilities of its period of repose, deserve frequent and distinct contemplation. For that richest fruit of the Creator, the sonl of man, that which survives, when all other w^orks of creation perish, goes on ripening and ripening as long as it hangs in this garden of time, and needs both earthly and divine aid to bring it happily to the eternal harvest.

It has been said that the ethics of age have been less elaborately stated than those of youth

THE A . M . ' S A X D THE P . M . ' S . 13

or maturity. Still, the most perfect philosophy, the most sublime precepts, fail, without the example of a good life. The morality of Socrates and Seneca, was beautiful, but their times furnished no illustrations. The code of Confucius was fine, but lacked vitality. How much more impressive is the theory of Addison, he who was enabled to say at last, '' Come see in what peace a Christian can die."

" I know of but one way of fortifying the mind against gloomy presages and terrors, and that is, by securing the friendship of that Being who disposes of all events, and governs futurity. He sees at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into the depths of eternity. When I lie down to sleep, I recommend myself to His care ; when I awake I give myself up to His direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to Him for help, and question not but He will avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know lieither the time, nor the manner of the death that I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it, because I am sure that he knows them both, and that He will not fail to support and comfort me under them."

A serenity thus founded and sustained, promotes the ripening of the soul's best fruits. Earthly perturbations check their full develop-

14 FAST MERIDIAN.

ment, and may cause them to fall before theii time. To pass throxigh God's world unreconciled, or in hostility to Him. is fearful arrogance To estrani^ tk>m His service the powers that He has given, or the affections that He claims is treason heightened by ingratitude.

If this has been the case with any of us. let us lay aside the weapons of our warfare. Wlien we lirst entered this pilgrimage, many paths alhired us, each bright with flower?, and birds of bopeL S<Mne we followed, till :Lf :^owers faded and die soi^ ceased. Odiers we entered, and ^•^ ?~~^ "^timced- fJiMtincr (mqIt thiHus and pitfalls. N — - aciiii^ the dose of our jobation,

fcH-

dieDi-

be with tks, until tae last, bright drop of tlis brief existence shall be eihaled

Those who have completed half a centnrr. if not Hterallv ntmibered among the aged, hare yet reached a period of great gravitT and importance. They should haye gained an ascent which discloses mnch of earth's yanity. They haye passed life's meridian- and jomney henceforth toward the gates of the west. Those who like tutelary spirits presided oyer their earhest years, and rejoiced in their blossoming promise, haye long since ceased those ministrations, or departed to their reward. For the responsibilities that remain, they must gird themselyes. and help to gird others. To a future generation they should pay the debt which they haye incurred from the past.

Time has also to them, a heightened and an increasing yalue. For should they reach threescore and ten. which it is computed that only fiye in one hundred of our race attain, or eyen far exceed the prescribed date of man. eyery year is said to gather fieetness as it approaches its goal. T::e rapidity of the tide of time has been well depicted by one of our own eloquent lecturers, the Rev. Henry Giles.

" There is no Gibeon in life, upon which we can rest for a moment, the morning or the noontide ; there is no Ajalon in our age, whereon we can force the moonlight to repose beyond its appointed hour. We can not rekindle the morning beams of childhood ; we can not recall the noontide glory of youth ; we can not bring back the perfect day of maturity ; we can not fix the evening rays of age, in the shadowy horizon ; but we can cherish that goodness which is the sweetness of childhood, the joy of youth, the strength of maturity, the honor of old age, and the bUss of saints."

The aids of philosophy to promote the comfort and dignity of advancing age have been often given, in the form of beautiful rules, or striking aphorisms. Yet these will be found frail, or rootless, unless the soul is at peace with itself and with its Maker. ''I can scarcely think that man in his right mind " said the eloquent Cicero, " who is destitute of religion."

It may be, that God's gift of life in its more protracted periods, is by certain classes of observers, undervalued, or vilified. Should it be our lot to reach any of those periods, may we do justice to the Giver's goodness. May we so

THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'S. 17

cooperate with all heavenly influences, so conform our conduct to the precepts of the Gospel, so trust in our Redeemer, that

"What is dark In us, He may illumine ; what is weak, Raise and support."

Thus, striving to prove that age, though deemed so unlovely, can be happy and holy, may we find the last note of its hymn sweetly harmonizino^ with the ano^els' welcome, " Come up hither ! "

Chapter II. ©id

" My Mariners !

Souls that have toil'd and wrought and felt with me, That ever with a simple welcome took The thunder or the sunshine, and oppos'd Free hearts, fi'ee foreheads, you and I are old. Yet age hath still his honor and his joy."

Tenntson.

Old! Can you remember how you felt, when that adjective was first coupled with your name ? Perhaps your milliner in fitting a new hat, chanced to remark, that was a ''becoming fashion for an old lady; " or some coachman, by way of recommending his carriage, might have added, it was remarkably easy for an ''old gentleman to get in and out of"

Old, indeed ! How officious and rude these common people are ! Whereupon, you have

OLD. 19

consulted your mirror, and been still more indignant at their stupidity.

But you may have been more gently helped along to this conclusion, by the circumstance of paternity. Old Mr. and Mrs., set in apposition with young Mr. and Mrs., lose much of their discordance, and become familiar household words. The satisfaction of hearing your eldest darling thus distinguished, has softened the bitterness of your own unflattering cognomen. Possibly, you have been moved magnanimously to exclaim, with the sententious Ossian, "Let the name of Morni be forgotten among the people, if they will only say, behold the father of Gaul."

Still, it is hard to have a quietus suddenly put upon long-cherished hopes and vanities. ''The baby shall not be named after me," said a young parent of his flrst-born, " for it will be old John and young John, while I am yet in my prime." ''I wish my son had not taken it into his head to marry so early," said a lady in a remarkably fine state of preservation ; " for now, I suppose, it must be old Madam, and

20 p A s T :\r E R I D I A N.

young Madam." The unmarried, whose recollections can bisect a century, are prone to be annoyed at the disposition to pry into dates, and are sure that no well-bred person would be guilty of such absurd curiosity.

Yet, to veil the traces of time, and put family records out of the way, are of little avail. There will be here and there, a memory stubbornly tenacious of chronological matters, and. whoever labors to conceal his proper date, will usually find some Argus ready to watch over and reveal it.

But, after all ! what is there so frightful in this little Saxon word old ? This collocation of three innocent letters, why do they thrill the hearts of so many fair women and brave men, with terror and aversion ?

Is everything that is old deterioated ? What do you think of old wine ? We can not, indeed, say quite as much about that, in these temperance times, as Anacreon did. But I've always understood, when physicians recommended its tonic or restorative powers in medicine, it was the old, and not the nejv. Ask the epicure to

OLD. 21

partake of new cheese. Saith he not, ''the old is better." Does any one question the correctness of his taste ? What do you say of an old friend, that best cordial of Hfe ? Blessings on his smile, and on the hearty grasp of his hand. What if he does come, leaning on his staff? There is no winter in his heart. He was brought up in times when friendship was more than a name.

'" The vine produces more grapes when it is young," says Bacon, ''but better gi^apes for wine, when it is old, because its juices are more perfectly concocted." Very true, no doubt. A wise man, was my Lord Bacon. We see everythinor is not worse for beinof old.

Is it worth while to be so much shocked at the circumstance of becoming old? Is it a mark of excommunication from our race ? On the contrary, we have a chance of finding some very good company.

So then, we to whom thrice twenty years, each with its four full seasons, fairly counted out, pressed together, and running over, have been given, will no longer resist the epithet, old. ''To this complexion we have come at last." We will not be ashamed of it. It is better to be old, than to be wicked.

Let us draw nearer together. I hold that we are not a despisable body. Similarity of position, gives community of interest. Have we not something to say, that others need not hear ? We'll say it in this book.

And first, I would whisper a proposition, that we depend not too much on sympathy from the young. Those who earnestly demand that commodity, having outlived their early associates, will stand a chance of being numbered among the repiners of old, ^' sitting in the market-place, and calling unto their fellows, we have piped unto you, and ye have not danced, we have mourned unto you and ye have not lamented."

Secondly, let us search after bright things, in the world, and among its people. " Every year of my life," says Cecil, "I grow more convinced that it is wisest and best to fix our attention on the beautiful and the good, and dwell as little as possible on the dark and the base."

Yet it is said that the past-meridians are

OLD. 23

prone to be querulous, dissatisfied, and dealers in complaints. I think I have heard a few of these. Supposing we should examine them

" The world is not what it used to he."" No. It is in a state of palpable progress. It has thrown off its seven-mile boots, and travels by steam. Those who plod after it in theh antique, lumbering stage-coaches, fail to keep in sight the smoke of its engine. We can not overtake it, and it will not stay for us. The world is in a different phase of action. It pleads guilty to this accusation. What next ?

" We do not receive the respect that was once paid to ager Perhaps we expect too much. Is not something due from us ? We think the young neglect us. Do we not owe something to the young ourselves ? Those who linger at a banquet after others are gone, should take especial pains to make themselves agreeable. If we find less courtesy than we wish, let us show more. It becomes us to be very meek and patient, to make amends for our long entertainment at life's board. ^' I had a beautiful dream," said a bright boy. ''I thought we children were all in heaven, and so happy. By and by, grandfather came in frowning, and saying, as he always does, ^ Can't these children stop their noise ? ' So we all ran away."

" People are tired of us.^^ It may be so. The guest who tarries late, is sometimes counted intrusive or burdensome. Toward those w^ho have long retained coveted honors or emoluments, there is a natural impatience for reversion. " That old lawyer has stood first at the bar, long enough," says the younger aspirant. "That old physician gets all the practice; we young doctors may starve." " That old author has been the favorite of the public an unreasonable time ; the rest of us want a fair chance." The monopoly of wealth is equally hazardous, though expectant heirs may be less frank in their expression of impatience.

The resignation at the departure of the aged and distinguished, can be readily understood. Allusions to the majority of the early summoned, may be sometimes significant. '^ Those whom the gods love, die young," said a pagan. In an age when all slow movements are

OLD. 25

unpopular, speed in departure may possibly be counted among the graces ; and in a republic, a desire for the equalization of honors, is neither peculiar nor reprehensible.

"We are not in good Uealtlir Very likely. It would be remarkable if we were. We could not expect to wear the world's harness so many years, up hill, and down hill, without some chafing. It would be a wonder if none of our senses were enfeebled. They have served us a long time. Let us be thankful for the period in which we have seen clearly, heard quickly, and moved nimbly. Many mysterious springs, and intricate chords, and delicate humors, have been kept in order to this end. We will praise the Architect of such wonderful mechanism, that it has so well served us, and that He has seen fit so long to keep the " pitcher from being broken at the fountain, or the wheel at the cistern."

" Our early friends have departed,^' Ah !

there is sadness in that sound. But on this

tenure we commenced our earthly journey.

They were to go from us, or we from them.

We linger in the deserted hall, and ought not to marvel that its flowers droop, and its lamps wane, or are extinguished. Yet our blessed ones, lost for a time on earth, are they not to be found in heaven? Only a httle in advance of us, have they forded the dark river. See we not their white garments glitter from the opposite shore? Does not their smile inspire us with courage ourselves to launch away ? We go not to a stranger's land. Is not that glorious clime of our hope, endeared by the thought that so many of those whom we best lovedhere, await us there ? that the hands which we here pressed so fondly, shall renew the love-ties, which death for a moment sundered ? that those voices which have never ceased to hnger in our hearts as a treasured melody, shall be the first to welcome us to the society of an " innumerable company of angels, and to the spirits of the just made perfect?"

Whoever persists in complaining of this mortal life, virtually admits that he desires another. Are we ready for an untried existence ? ready at a moment's warning to launch

OLD. 27

away, and return no more ? ready for its atmosphere and service of love ?

If any preparation for this change of chme is incomplete, let us address ourselves fervently to the work, without loss of time or energy, in murmuring. We might, indeed, from loneliness and morbidness, multiply complaints without end. The habit might grow with indulgence, till every breath became a claim for sympathy, or an objurgation if it were withheld.

But cui bono 1 Have not others infirmities and troubles as well as ourselves ? Why add to their load? Would it not be better to take a part of theirs? "Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." It hath been well said that '' murmuring is a black garment, and becometh none so ill as saints."

Oh friends ! let us not lose our interest in life's blessings, because we have so long enjoyed our share of them. Rather, as an eloquent writer of our own has said, will we '' arise, and throw open a window in our hearts, and let in the tone of the bird, and the breath of the violet." We will not permit that bright heart-window to be sealed, nor the hand, through our own inertness, to become paralyzed, while genial nature still spreads her charms around us, and invites us to rejoice in them, and in the God who o^ave them.

CHAPTEK III.

*' Gather earth's glory and bloom within, That the soul may be brighter when youth is past."

Mrs. Osgood.

'' The senses," says Lord Bacon, " are reporters to the mind." No wonder that they should get wearied with taking evidence, when the case is kept before the court some three or fourscore years. It is only surprising that their declension should not be expected.

Various expedients have the ingenuity of man devised, to strengthen their weakness, or supply their loss. The spectacle-maker furnishes eyes, and the dentist teeth. The worshipful fraternity of wig-fanciers, cover bald temples with hair, to any desired pattern or hue. The crutch-vender, and the cork-worker, do their

Yet, can any human power revivify the defunct ear ? If sound hath died in its mysterious temple, is there a resurrection, a second life ? Among the senses, that of hearing is prone to be the most frequently impaired, and when lost, to awaken the least sympathy. The hand is involuntarily stretched to lead the blind, or to give a seat to the lame. But, at the approach of the deaf, there is a flight, or with those who remain a sense of labor. No longconversations can be anticipated, save with the long-suffering. Deafness, more than other infirmities, repels intercourse, and cuts the links that bind man to society.

Has our ear grown w^eary? It has heard many discords in its day, without a doubt. The nerves, its ambassadors, may need repose. It is true that we are thus prevented from rendering ourselves agreeable in society. But, perhaps, when we were there, we did not do or receive any great amount of good. Possibly,

REPORTERS. 31

our oral contributions to knowledge may not be much missed, and meditation may be as serviceable to us as the taking in of new supplies. It may be our true wisdom to withdraw from the traffic of words, and cultivate a more thorough acquaintance with our own hearts, and our hearts' true friends, the angels. Perchance we have lingered long enough among earth's broken tones, and are called to reserve our listening powers for the melodies of heaven.

The eye, that keeps so fresh our blessed communion with nature, has that become dim ? Are those who '' look out at the windows, darkened? " Must the world of books be in a great measure closed to us, or perhaps, the dear faces of friends shrouded ? Then, the soul's pictures gather clearness, and memory walks in halls where is perpetual light. Thought concentrates itself, and makes its work more perfect. Should we have had the Iliad of Homer, or the greater poems of Milton, or the histories of Prescott, if the outer eye had not been " quench'd by drop serene," and the flashing of the world's torches and flambeaux shut out from the mind's sanctuary ? Hear the brave, bhnd old poet,

"So much the rather, thou Celestial Light, Shine inward, and the soul thro' all her powers Irradiate."

Good and faithful servants have the reporting senses been to us. Year after year have they spread for us the charms of nature, and brought us the music of the living world, and the odor of the rose, and the thrill of the love-kiss, and the pleasure draw^n from the essences of earth's fruits, and from that inferior creation w^hich w^as yielded to man's dominion, that the nutriment of their life might sustain his own. If any of these sentinels at length slumber at their post, if they falter or decay, we will not view it as an infliction, or an affliction, but rather as a tranquilizing pause of preparation for a state where they are no longer needed. While we rejoice that they have for many years been continued to us, we will not forget to be thankful that we have ourselves also been spared for further improvement.

KEPORTERS. 33

How many dangers have been overruled that we might be sheltered. What hosts of enemies have been trodden down that we might live. In how many nameless forms does death beset helpless infancy. From the cradle what an unending procession to the grave. The little hand falls powerless, the eye just learning to love the light, retires within its sealed fringes, the tongue that began to lisp the mother's name is mute, and she, with a sorrow that words have never told, is a weeper over a small, green mound, or, starting at midnight, stretches her empty arms in vain. Yet, from the foes that beset waking life, we have been saved.

The child at school, having surmounted the perils of earlier years, is considered comparatively safe. Who says there is safety at any age, if he has heard the funeral prayer by the pale clay so late full of vigor, and seen the school-mates move a mournful train, to the cold bed of the loved sharer in their studies and their sports.

Youth is forth, like the morning-sun, upon the green hill-tops. Its cheek is bloom ; its step, grace ; its voice, melody. No care hath touched it, and kneeling love worships it as an idol. Rose there a voice upon the saddened air, '' ashes to ashes, dust to dust ! " All is over. Perchance, it was our bosom's friend. Yet we lived, and passed onward.

The father and mother are the center of a happy circle. All their powers are in requisition to protect, to guide, to foster the children whom God hath given them. They seem essential to their welfare, not only for the '' life that now is, but for that which is to come.'' Their place is empty. Their voice is silent. To the home of their love they return no more, and the orphans go about the streets.

But, have we been permitted to see our nursery-plants grow up, and cast a fair shadow ? Have we taken a blossom from their stem, a baby grandchild upon our knee, and felt its velvet fingers moving lovingly amid our silver hairs, and new life entering into our veins from its quickly beating heart, or merry laughter ? And, was not this new affection as fond as that

REPORTEKS. 35

of young paternity, as warm with fresh hope, and perchance even more pleasant, in being freed from an anxious burden of accountabiUty?

Why should we ever forget to be thankful ? Does the soldier, standing at his own quiet door, having left most of his comrades stark and stiff on fields of warfare, feel no gratitude ? Does the sailor, whose companions sank with the Avrecked ship, view with indifference the lifeboat that rescued him from the whelming wave ?

Behold, from the battle and the storm, we have been saved. Wherefore we are thus distinguished, it is not for us to say. Yet a weight of obligation rests on us, to render, in some proportion, according to the benefits we have received, and the risks from which we have been shielded.

Are we not in life's school, the highest class ? the longest under training ? and probably the first to be dismissed? How can we best prove that our tuition has not been in vain, that He who hath granted us such a protracted term of fatherly discipline, may not pronounce ns idle scholars, or profitless stewards of his abounding mercy ? So faithfully served by his reporters, we should surely be able to present a good report at last.

Sometimes, in seasons of earnest supplication, we may have felt as if we could adopt the appeal of the endangered debtor, " Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all."