DYING at the age of seventy, to the last Madame de Sevigne bore the burden of her years lightly. Madame de Scudery, Bussy's friend, who had seen her several years before, was surprised to find her still beautiful. She always seemed young to her friends. We have her last letters, and there is nothing in them to suggest her age; they are as graceful, as witty, as piquant and full of life as the rest. In the one she wrote a fortnight before her death, she deplores the loss of the young Marquis de Blanchefort, son of the Marshal de Crequy, with a touching affection, which proves that, despite her years, her heart had remained without a wrinkle. This was a rare good fortune, and she must have known better than any one else how to value it. Never, surely, was her stubborn optimism better vindicated; and then, most of all, she had reason to say that she was contented with her lot. To live on without growing old, to feel alive and whole to the last, to preserve in maturity what is best in youth, vigor of mind and freshness of feeling, then, when the end has come, to find in the depths of the soul the beliefs of early years, and to fall softly asleep with a sure hope, is not this, for beings who live like us amid darkness and uncertainty, an enviable lot?

Gaston Boissier.

THE "Grinding Young" is a very curious sign at Harold's Cross, Dublin. The subject is taken from the old ballad of the "Miller's Maid Grinding Old Men Young," commencing:

Come, old, decrepit, lame, or blind,

Into my mill to take a grind."

It is also a favorite subject on old chap-prints, which represent a kind of hand-mill, into the funnel-shaped top of which various decrepit-looking old men creep by a ladder, most of them glass in hand, greatly elated at the prospect of a renewal of youth. Meanwhile, a young maid is turning the handle of the mill, from the bottom of which the patients come out, quite young and new if not better men. Pretty girls stand at the side, ready — to receive the rejuvenated creatures and walk off with them, their arms affectionately twined round their necks, and evidently preparing to play the old game over again, for "the cordial drop of life is love alone."

It is in vain to expect universal civilization or religion until rational laws are known and observed by which men come into life with sound bodies and learn early how to keep them in health. One whole half of the force of human life is squandered by reason of weakness and sickness.

As an old lady, Miss Mitford was as lovely as a winter rose, retaining her vivacity and enthusiasm. She said: "I love poetry and people as well at sixty as I did at sixteen." Mrs. Browning wrote of her:

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Dear friend, in whose dear writings drop the dew, And blow the natural airs - thou who art next To nature's self in cheering the world's view."

THE AFTER-GLOW.

So live that when the sun
Of your existence smiles in night
Memories sweet of mercies done
May shrine your name in memory's light;
And the best seeds you scattered, bloom
A hundred-fold in days to come.

Sir John Bowring.

PROBABLY the oldest musician in the world is Manuel

Garcia, now aged ninety-eight years. He has given up teaching and lives in a villa in northwest London. His memory is still excellent, his wit sparkling, and he is proud of having recently learned how to play "bridge.” His hundredth birthday is due on March 17, 1905.

PRAEGER, who visited Wagner when the composer was sixty years old, has a capital story to relate of his buoyant, active temperament, which years had not lessened.

They were sitting on an ottoman, in the dining-room, when the composer of Tristan and the Meistersinger" suddenly rose and stood upon his head upon the ottoman. Just then the door opened and Madame Wagner entered. Seeing her husband in this curious position, she hastened forward exclaiming, "Aber! Lieber Richard! Lieber Richard!" Quickly resuming his natural position Wagner explained to her that he was not insane but was merely proving to his friend Ferdinand that he could stand on his head at sixty.

ANOTHER great advantage of getting decently old is the acquisition of the privilege of loafing without compunctions. In these days, provided a man has fairly filled his granary during the heat and labor of his day of strength, old age is the time for him to travel, to own a farm, to collect books and china images, to read many novels and frivolous books, to have a yacht, if his accumulations will stand it, and to work just so much as will increase his contentment and no more. He ought to have income enough left to play with, and life enough left to play. If he hasn't it is not the fault of old age, but of himself; or possibly it is his misfortune.

Cousin Anthony and I.

THE organs of man are like the works of a clock. If they are not used, they rust; and when, after a period of rest, it is attempted to set them in motion again, the chances are that the human machine will work badly, or not at all.

Therefore, wind up your clock always and regularly and it will keep going. This does not apply only to your bodily clock, but to your mental one as well.

Persons who work regularly, and, above all, in moderation, especially those who maintain the activity of their physical and mental faculties, live longer than those who abandon active life at the approach of old age.

Do not stop taking bodily exercise, go on having your walk and your ride, go on working steadily, go on even having your little smoke, if you have always been used to it without ever abusing it; in fact, if your constitution is good, forget that you are advancing in age, go on living exactly as you have always lived, only doing everything in more and more moderation. Busy people live much longer than idle ones. Sovereigns who lead a very active life live long.

Yes, so long as the human machine is kept well oiled and regularly wound up it goes. And not only do active bodies and minds who go on working live long, but they live happily and die peacefully, and they also make happy all those who live with them.