MARION HARLAND (Mrs. Edward Payson Terhune) is credited by cyclopedias with seventy-two years of age and nearly forty titles of books. She concedes the latter, but of the former she says: "Why will my friends (and cyclopedias) persist in making a septuagenarian of a woman who never means to rise sixty? When I tell you that I went to a dinner party last night, arose this morning at 7, and have a first mail' of 142 letters; that I go this afternoon to a club tea and afterwards to another dinner; that I walk two and three miles daily and can read the daily papers without glasses, you will see how amiable I am in forgiving that 'seventy-two years of age. Mrs. Terhune has recently prepared and delivered a new lecture, with the happy title, "Looking Westward: The Fine Art of Growing Old."

999

ONE thing cannot be too strongly impressed upon the minds of every man, woman, and child who walks and talks upon the earth today, and that is to avoid talking trouble. There is sorrow and misery enough in the land without having every imaginary grievance which you possess paraded before the public view. Get away from the habit and spend your time in thinking of the bright and pleasant things of the world instead.

Why, I know of one girl who made up her mind that she would start out every morning by thinking that the weather was fine; no matter what it might really be she had a good word for it, and before long all the men and women with whom she came in contact were speaking of her pleasant manner and cheerful smile. Just think of it, and all about such a little thing as the weather, too. The man who put up the sign about "telling troubles to a policeman" may have been selfish. He undoubtedly was, but, nevertheless, he probably conferred a big boon upon humanity.

TODAY I had my audience with our Holy Father, Leo XIII, and it is under the fresh impressions of the great moment that I send this greeting to the reverend members of the Priests' Eucharistic League.

For a man ninety-three years of age, the sovereign pontiff enjoys wonderful vitality, and his brilliant eyes tell of a physical and moral vigor which men who have attained the scriptural threescore and ten seldom exhibit. His extremely white complexion, enhanced by the white cassock, is well known. Yet there is a subdued glow of health in the noble brow. The withered hands, in constant motion to emphasize the deliberate expression of his vigorous thought, make you forget that the successor of Peter is near the century mark. There is no indication of senility about the Holy Father.

His interest in the progress and welfare of the Holy Catholic Church in America is unabated, and one cannot but admire the up-to-date knowledge of affairs which his numerous questions and his intelligent appreciation of current events betray,

Bishop C. P. Maes.

THE art of growing old gracefully is one that is rarely practiced. Few persons can surrender to the infirmities of accumulating years without manifesting bitterness and regrets over their departing charms, or be willing to step aside and allow youth to take their place.

They look with envy upon the strength of the buoyant and vigorous. They forget that they have had their day and have borne the disappointments and enjoyed the victories and pleasures of life. They wish to be in evidence on all occasions, and bemoan their insufficient strength for such indulgence.

They are often at war with the world, which they decide has used them ill, since the tenure of life is so short and its struggle so sanguinary that they feel unpaid for their efforts, as they are so soon relegated to the rear. Forgetting that man was born to die they usually live in terror of the approach of death and become irritable, jealous, critical, disagreeable, and hard to please.

Mrs. John A. Logan.

VERILY now is our season of seed,

Now in our autumn; and earth discerns

Them that have served her in them that can read,
Glassing where under the surface she burns,
Quick at her wheel, while the fuel decay
Brightens the fire of renewal; and we?
Death is the word of a bovine day;

Know you the breast of the springing To-be!

MEN often remind me of pears in their way of coming to maturity: some are ripe at twenty, and must be made the most of, for their day is soon over; some come into their perfect condition late, like the autumn kinds, and they last better than the summer fruit; and some that, like the winter Nelis, have been hard and uninviting until all the rest have had their season, get their glow and perfume long after the frost and snow have done their worst with the orchards.

Holmes.