forth in moments volumes of gathered wisdom. It is not the master of fiction alone who has drawn a picture of such majesty in age and renovation in decay, nor imagination only that has dipped its pencil in these colors. It is reality. It is the Master of nature and man, the Framer of these bodies and Father of these spirits. It is He who hath said, "Even to your old age, I am He; and even to hoary hairs will I carry you." It was a feature of antiquity, of ancient literature and manners, to inculcate uniform respect for the aged. Its declension in these latter days, is among the melancholy signs of the times. Once it was not only a disgrace but a crime, to fail of deference and respect to age. Now, is it not a common, and held to be a venial offence? Is it not creeping into that dearest and holiest of earthly relations-parent and child? And in all other relations, in all common cases, is not any high degree of respect, from the young to the old, more unusual and noticeable, than the want of it? Is it inculcated as it was formerly in our own land? Is it made, as it should be, a part of education, essential to good manners and good morals? If it be not, we may have cause to remember the sad declaration, "Their is a generation that curseth their father, and doth not bless their mother." There is reason for the strong language of one, now oppressed by the infirmity but full of the peace of a good old age-"We may judge in some measure of the state of morals in any country, from the manner in which age is treated by youth. Where they, who are advanced in life, receive affection and respect, there decency is found, purity is not unknown, and the passions and appetites are under some restraints."* Let me press the importance of this duty. Let me urge it upon those, who have the office, or in any way the control, of education. Let me press it particularly upon the regard of the young themselves. Honor the aged. Look upon age as entitled of itself to your deference. Pay it every attention, render it every service in your power. Bear with its frailties, as belonging to its condition, and coming, it may be, upon you. Let those frailties never, in their presence or their absence, be the subject of your ridicule or amusement, or that of any around you if your rebuke can silence it. Regard it as an offence against nature, decency, manners and principle. Regard the opposite, habitual respect for age, as belonging essentially to the character of a man, a gentleman, and above all, a Christian. Remember the emphatic * Dr. Freeman, of Boston. word of the Lord to his chosen people ;-"Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God." Remember the terrible judgment visited upon those, who jeered at the "bald head." Be not impious mockers, but reverent helpers, of the aged. Delight to be a staff to their failing limbs, an enlivener of their solitary hours, a comforter of their sorrows. Help them to forget, not to remember, their deprivations and weaknesses. And if you are permitted to watch those weaknesses as they grow with the weight of years, to witness the decay of noble powers and the apparent withering of warm affection, if you see the inlets of knowledge and sources of common enjoyment one after another closing, if it be your privilege to walk by the aged step by step as they descend the vale-rejoice, that you can be both disciples and teachers of their waning wisdom; that you can be eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, feet to the lame, ministers to the darkened but still eager mind, and messengers of life to the dying. * * Powerful indeed is the appeal which comes in the broken voice of age, turning as it leaves the world to rebuke or animate those from whom it is parting forever. Most responsible the influence thus possessed, beautiful the religious use of it, melan choly beyond expression its thoughtless or corrupt abuse. But what, (my friends of every age,) though this influence be all perverted, and the warning lost ?— What though all lips were still and all lives voiceless? Is there not a tongue in every form that flits before us, in every change that is witnessed, in every breeze that ruffles the surface, and every storm that tosses the billows, of life's ocean? Has not life itself always a tongue, when it comes in tremulous breathings, when it passes swifter than a post, when it vanisheth away like vapor ? Do not days speak, though their possessors be dumb? And the multitude of years, shall it not of itself teach wisdom? Look upon the aged— consider what they have been, and bear in mind, that if your most flattering hopes are granted, the change that has come upon them will come upon you, if a more fearful change come not first. A change you will experience, not in your bodies only, but in your minds, your views of life, your thoughts of death, your pursuits, passions, aspirations. Doubt not this, though you may strive to doubt all things else. The decree is fixed. The change is inevitable. Nature whom you may worship, has written it in every frame. History, which you trust, has told it in the swelling voice of six thousand years. Philosophy and science, in which you glory, have covered the earth with monuments to its truth. Time is already tracing it, though now perhaps with playful fingers, in your changing form and features. Every planet that flies its round, every leaf that drops, every pulse that beats at your wrist, every hair that falls from your head, tells of its coming, sure fulfilment. And before to-morrow's light lingers on the western hills, Death may inscribe it with his cold hand upon your senseless clay. "Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return." AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY. BY THE REV. JAMES D. KNOWLES. THE morning shines in all the pride of May, All nature hath assumed her bright array, And wake her living choir their concert loud. While on the deck now throng the busy crowd, The smile of pleasure brightening every brow; The sails on all unfurled, the streamers proud Sport in the breeze, and gay as childhood, now We skim the silver wave, which sparkles round our prow. |
