and
Bancroft is keeping watch of the gamekeeper in the distance. But,
returning resolutely to the petit verre, I am willing to concede that all
after fourscore is the bain de pieds,--the slopping over, so to speak, of
the full measure of life. I remember that one who was very near and dear
to me, and who lived to a great age, so that the ten-barred gate of the
century did not look very far off, would sometimes apologize in a very
sweet, natural way for lingering so long to be a care and perhaps a
burden to her children, themselves getting well into years. It is not
hard to understand the feeling, never less called for than it was in the
case of that beloved nonagenarian. I have known few persons, young or
old, more sincerely and justly regretted than the gentle lady whose
memory comes up before me as I write.

Oh, if we could all go out of flower as gracefully, as pleasingly, as we
come into blossom! I always think of the morning-glory as the loveliest
example of a graceful yielding to the inevitable. It is beautiful before
its twisted corolla opens; it is comely as it folds its petals inward,
when its brief hours of perfection are over. Women find it easier than
men to grow old in a becoming way. A very old lady who has kept
something, it may be a great deal, of her youthful feelings, who is
daintily cared for, who is grateful for the attentions bestowed upon her,
and enters into the spirit of the young lives that surround her, is as
precious to those who love her as a gem in an antique setting, the
fashion of which has long gone by, but which leaves the jewel the color
and brightness which are its inalienable qualities. With old men it is
too often different. They do not belong so much indoors as women do.
They have no pretty little manual occupations. The old lady knits or
stitches so long as her eyes and fingers will let her. The old man
smokes his pipe, but does not know what to do with his fingers, unless he
plays upon some instrument, or has a mechanical turn which finds business
for them.

But the old writer, I said to The Teacups, as I say to you, my readers,
labors under one special difficulty, which I am thinking of and
exemplifying at this moment. He is constantly tending to reflect upon
and discourse about his own particular stage of life. He feels that he
must apologize for his intrusion upon the time and thoughts of a
generation which he naturally supposes must be tired of him, if they ever
had any cons