SHORT RIDES IN AN AUTHOR'S OMNIBUS. OLD AGE. "VESPASIAN, the Roman Emperor, was so tired during the process of his triumphal procession, that he often reproached himself that, being an old man, he was engaged in such an empty and tedious show. And Charles V., in his declining age, preferred the shade of a cloister before the splendour of the Empire. But old age is attended with other and vicious inclinations. Old men are usually querulous, impatient, discontented, suspicious, vainly fearful of contempt or want: and from thence, or some other secret cause, are covetous and sordid in sparing, against all the rules of reason and religion. Covetousness is styled by the apostle, the root of all evil; and as the root in winter retains the sap, when the branches have lost their leaves and verdure, so in old age (the winter of life), covetousness preserves its vigour, when other vices are fallen off. Usually, the nearer men approach to the earth, they are more earthly-minded; and, which is strange to amazement, at the sunset of life are providing for a long day."-Dr. Bate's Works, p. 339-published in 1723. That The tree of deepest root is found, Least willing still to quit the ground, and that the veritable earth-clinging arbor vitæ is man, has been observed in all ages. Not less general and just has been the remark that old age is usually querulous, impatient, and discontented; but it is, indeed, strange to amazement, unless upon the principle of a living dog being better than a dead lion, that this grumbling animal should cling to existence with the greatest tenacity when it would seem to possess the least attractions. Either the alleged wretchedness of life must be false, or the life-loving graybeards who assert it must prefer the endurance of misery to the escape from it. Man is the only animal that knows he is to die; yet would he hardly wish to exchange the knowledge which is pain, for the ignorance which would be comparative bliss-so irrational does his reason make him! As to our becoming more attached to riches the nearer we are to their final surrender, may it not be that at the close of life we love them better because we are often left with little else to love? Avarice is naturally "an old gentlemanly vice;" one easy to be explained, and not difficult to be excused. The accumulation of wealth is an everpresent sense of increasing power when all other influence is passing away from us; it is a pursuit when we have outlived all our previous occupations and interests; it procures us homage and respect when, having worn out our other claims to distinction, we might perhaps be considered worth nothing, were we not known to be worth money. In some cases it may be valued as the sole remaining good, a feeling that may enhance our appreciation of life itself. 66 You have an incurable disease," said a chaplain to a poorhouse patient. "You are old, friendless, and penniless; why, then, do you attach so much importance to life?" SHORT RIDES IN AN AUTHOR'S OMNIBUS. OLD AGE. "VESPASIAN, the Roman Emperor, was so tired during the process of his triumphal procession, that he often reproached himself that, being an old man, he was engaged in such an empty and tedious show. And Charles V., in his declining age, preferred the shade of a cloister before the splendour of the Empire. But old age is attended with other and vicious inclinations. Old men are usually querulous, impatient, discontented, suspicious, vainly fearful of contempt or want: and from thence, or some other secret cause, are covetous and sordid in sparing, against all the rules of reason and religion. Covetousness is styled by the apostle, the root of all evil; and as the root in winter retains the sap, when the branches have lost their leaves and verdure, so in old age (the winter of life), covetousness preserves its vigour, when other vices are fallen off. Usually, the nearer men approach to the earth, they are more earthly-minded; and, which is strange to amazement, at the sunset of life are providing for a long day."-Dr. Bate's Works, p. 339-published in 1723. That The tree of deepest root is found, Least willing still to quit the ground, and that the veritable earth-clinging arbor vitæ is man, has been observed in all ages. Not less general and just has been the remark that old age is usually querulous, impatient, and discontented; but it is, indeed, strange to amazement, unless upon the principle of a living dog being better than a dead lion, that this grumbling animal should cling to existence with the greatest tenacity when it would seem to possess the least attractions. Either the alleged wretchedness of life must be false, or the life-loving graybeards who assert it must prefer the endurance of misery to the escape from it. Man is the only animal that knows he is to die; yet would he hardly wish to exchange the knowledge which is pain, for the ignorance which would be comparative bliss-so irrational does his reason make him! As to our becoming more attached to riches the nearer we are to their final surrender, may it not be that at the close of life we love them better because we are often left with little else to love? Avarice is naturally "an old gentlemanly vice;" one easy to be explained, and not difficult to be excused. The accumulation of wealth is an everpresent sense of increasing power when all other influence is passing away from us; it is a pursuit when we have outlived all our previous occupations and interests; it procures us homage and respect when, having worn out our other claims to distinction, we might perhaps be considered worth nothing, were we not known to be worth money. In some cases it may be valued as the sole remaining good, a feeling that may enhance our appreciation of life itself. "You have an incurable disease," said a chaplain to a poorhouse patient. "You are old, friendless, and penniless; why, then, do you attach so much importance to life?" "Because it is the only thing left to me," was the reply. Young tells us that "all men think all men mortal but themselves;" equally true is it that we all love life in our own persons, and all think the weakness truly ridiculous in others. Like the generality of kings and conquerors, Frederick the Great had a most philosophic indifference to death-in others. In one of his battles, a battalion of veterans having taken to their heels, he galloped after them, bawling out, "Why do you run away, you old blackguards? Do you want to live for ever?" FAS EST ET AB HOSTE DOCERI. As all good Christians, towards the close of the fourteenth century, looked upon the heathen of every nation as their natural enemies, they might have done well to realize our motto, by taking a lesson of toleration from the celebrated Tamerlane, whose opinion upon the subject of religious belief is thus recorded in "Knolles's History of the Turks," published in 1638, p. 211. 66 Disliking of no man for his religion whatsoever, so as he did worship but one only God, creator of Heaven and Earth, and of all that therein is, he was of himself of opinion that God in essence one, and in himself immutable, without change or diversity, yet for the manitesting of his omnipotency and power, as he had created in the world. sundry kinds of people, much differing both in nature, manners, and condition, and yet all framed to the image of himself, so was he also contented to be of them diversly served, according to the diversity of their natures and manners, so that they worship none other gods but him alone, the creator and maker of all things, which was the cause that he suffered the use of all religions within the countries subject to his obedience, were they not mere atheists, idolaters, or worshippers of strange and vain gods." The writer of these notices, several years ago, embodied nearly the same thought in verse, without dreaming that he was committing a plagiarism upon Tamerlane the Tartar. "Man, like the other plants of earth, All to one glorious source address'd, The vast orchestra of the earth, Millions of instruments displays; The gems of soul that God hath set Tinged by their tegument of clay, DUPLICATE POETS. Ir is a remarkable fact, and one perhaps not very generally known, that there have been three poets of the respective names of Walter Scott, Samuel Rogers, and James Grahame, before the excellent authors of "Marmion," "The Pleasures of Memory," and "The Sabbath." Specimens of their published works may be found in Mr. Southey's Later English Poets;" and they all three existed (we cannot say flourished) between the latter part of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries-the very dark ages of English poetry. Walter Scott was the author of the "History of the Right Honourable Name of Scott," often quoted by his greater clansman, Sir Walter; but his verses are very humble. Mr. Samuel Rogers was a parson, and published in 1782, two volumes of ordinary familiar epistles; but they trod very closely, in point of time only, upon our venerable contemporary's first work, the "Epistle to a Friend." Mr. James Grahame the first, was a Scotchman, like the author of "The Sabbath," and being such, his whole works are preserved in Dr. Anderson's collection of the poets; but, although the following passage be not a fair specimen of them, we may venture to say that they will never be read again. The poet supposes it to be debated in Heaven how to reward the distinguished virtue of Archibald Hamilton, Esq. "Shall he at once our happy mansions tread, 'Tis fix'd; and who shall question Heaven's award? It is certainly singular that Nature should have "tried her 'prentice hand" on these three dull Walter Scotts, Samuel Rogerses, and James Grahames, before she could at last turn out such poets as our dear Sir Walter; our venerable friend, the Right Samuel Rogers; and the toolittle-known, but original poet, James Grahame. We may be pretty sure that Nature has now broken these moulds of names; at least they have been conjured with; and a good conjurer never repeats a successful trick. *For this curious article we are indebted to the "Common Place Book" of a literary friend. |