Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 June 1888 — Middle Age. [ARTICLE]

Middle Age.

There is not much fun in being a middle-aged woman, look at it in any ■way you like, says a ■writer for the Toronto Globe. The morning of one’s days is fresh and dewy, and there is ineffable sweetness and mystery in the shades of twilight; but how mercilessly the midday sun lights up the jugged road that is traveled by the middle-aged woman. The rose tints ■of morning and evening are not for her. She looks at life in a hard, com-mon-sense way, and she calls some things by their wrong names. That is to say, she calls sentiment sentimentality, and enthusiasm gush, and love foolishness, and tenderness weakness, and she doesn’t seem to be interested in much outside of her home and neighborhood and favorite philanthropic hobby. Her opinions of this mundane existence is summed up in the cheerless words: “Life is a constant chore. ” This, I admit, is painting the mid-dle-aged woman at her worst, but in view of the possibility of such a fate overtaking sweet young girls, and still sweet older ones, I feel like urging all women who are young, still young, or “getting on,” to join with me in an ironclad resolve never to be middleaged. All in favor of the motion will sig Not quite so much enthusiasm, please! No need to stand on the benches and wave both arms. The reason why it is a great mistake ever to be middle-aged is shown in the anecdote told of a so-called elderly gentleman and a thoughtless youth. “You are old, Father William,” the young man said. “No,” replied the other meditatively, “no, I am not old, ” “Why,” said the boy in astonishment, “your face is wrinkled, your back is bent, you walk with a cane, and in fact I know you to be nearly 80.” The other glanced at his trembling hands and feeble knees. “My body is old,” said he, “but that is only the house that I live in; lam not old.” The house he lived in! That was all his body was to him, and within its poor decaying wall dwelt a .divine occupant, dowered with immortal youth. The girlish affectations of some mature matrons deceive no one and are sure to waken pity or contempt in the observer. Instead of affecting the appearance of youth, why not retain the spirit of youth, which is full of unselfishness, and gladness, and hope, and lofty endeavor ? Crows’ feet near the eyes are not to be dreaded so much as a hard, middle-aged look in the eyes themselves. Wrinkles about the mouth cannot begin to be as disagreeable as a discontented middle-aged droop in the corners of it, and a faded complexion is a blessing compared with the expressions of a face which convey no higher intelligence to your mind than that life is a constant chore.