WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR wrote his "Imaginary Conversations," picturing the love of Pericles and Aspasia, at eightyfive. Izaak Walton went a-fishing and wrote fiction about his luck at ninety; Fontenelle was as light-hearted at ninety-eight as at forty; Cornaro enjoyed better health at ninety-five than at thirty; and Sir Isaac Newton at eighty-five was still smoking the pipe that cost him his lady-love. Simon Cameron went to the Bermudas at ninety to investigate the resources of the islands.

Substantial and digestible meals at regular times.
Very little liquids at meals, if any.

Well-aired rooms and cool bedrooms.

Plenty of fresh air and cold water.
Warm but light clothing.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
A contented mind.

A cheerful disposition.

Indulgence in deeds of generosity and charity.

Plenty of genial occupation.

Such is certainly the secret of health and cheerfulness, and

the secret of beauty, which is the reflection of both.

LIVE IN THE SUNSHINE.

LIVE in the sunshine, don't live in the gloom,
Carry some gladness the world to illume.
Live in the brightness, and take this to heart,
The world will be gayer if you'll do your part.
Live on the housetop, not in the cell;
Open-air Christians live nobly and well.
Live where the joys are, and, scorning defeat,
Have a good-morrow for all whom you meet.
Live as the victor, and triumphing go

Through this queer world, beating down every foe.
Live in the sunshine, God meant it for you!
Live as the robins and sing the day through.

Margaret E. Sangster.

MRS. JENNIE DE LA M. LOZIER said she often wondered how it was that some people never grow old. She had been seeking for the reason and the recipe, but finally she believed she had discovered the secret to be enthusiasm and enthusiastic sympathy with every topic of the day. No matter what topic Mrs. Croly is confronted with, she said, she is always familiar with it. This following-up advanced thought, and always being ready to thoroughly appreciate every topic of the day has kept Mrs. Croly young. No wonder, she said, that the youngest club woman feels Mrs. Croly a companion. Only in the eyes of club women, however, will you find this true enthusiasm this never growing old.

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RECEIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE.

THREE ounces are necessary, first of patience, Then of repose and peace; of conscience

A pound entire is needful;

Of pastimes of all sorts, too,

Should be gathered as much as the hand can hold;
Of pleasant memory and of hope three good drachms
There must be at least. But they should moistened be
With a liquor made from true pleasures which rejoice the
heart.

Then of love's magic drops a few

But use them sparingly, for they may bring a flame
Which naught but tears can drown.

Grind the whole and mix therewith of merriment an

ounce

To even.

Yet all this may not bring happiness

Except in your orisons you lift your voice

To Him who holds the gift of health."

Written by Margaret of Navarre in 1500. Found in a chest in French National Library.

UNDER date of October 20, 1854, Longfellow wrote in his journal: “The Indian Summer is beginning early. A charming tradition in the mythology of the Indians, that this soft, hazy weather is made by the passionate sighs of Shawondessa, the South."

In the following year Longfellow elaborated this notion in Hiawatha as follows:

Shawondasee, fat and lazy,

Had his dwelling far to southward,
In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine,
In the never-ending summer.

He it was who sent the wood-birds,
Sent the robin, the Opechee,

Sent the blue-bird, the Owaissa,

Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow,

Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward,
Sent the melons and tobacco,

And the grapes in purple clusters.

"From his pipe the smoke ascending,
Filled the sky with haze and vapor,
Filled the air with dreamy softness,
Gave a twinkle to the water,

Touched the rugged hills with smoothness,
Brought the tender Indian Summer
To the melancholy north-land,

In the dreamy Moon of Snow-shoes."

WHAT visionary tints the year puts on When falling leaves falter through the motionless air, Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare,

As with her nectar Hebe fills

The bowl between me and the distant hills,

And smiles and shakes abroad her meshy tremulous hair;
Far distant sounds the hidden chickadee

Close at my side, far distant sound the leaves;
The field seem full of dreams where Memory
Wanders like gleaming Ruth; and as the sheaves
Of wheat and barley wavered in the eye

Of Boaz as the maiden's glow went by,

So tremble and seem remote all things the sense receives.

Lowell.

"UNCLE Hez Totterly is the oldest inhabitant, isn't he?"

"He claims to be, but there are three or four old fellers here that recollect when he was born, and they say he ain't."