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just had his coffee； and the waiter is serving him with his petit
verre。 Most of my readers know very well what a petit verre is； but
there may be here and there a virtuous abstainer from alcoholic
fluids； living among the bayberries and the sweet ferns； who is not
aware that the words； as commonly used； signify a small glassa very
small glassof spirit； commonly brandy； taken as a chasse…caf？； or
coffee…chaser。 This drinking of brandy； 〃neat；〃 I may remark by the
way； is not quite so bad as it looks。 Whiskey or rum taken unmixed
from a tumbler is a knock…down blow to temperance； but the little
thimbleful of brandy； or Chartreuse； or Maraschino； is only； as it
were； tweaking the nose of teetotalism。
Well；to go back behind our brackets；the guest is calling to the
waiter； 〃Garcon！ et le bain de pieds！ 〃Waiter！ and the foot…bath！
The little glass stands in a small tin saucer or shallow dish； and
the custom is to more than fill the glass； so that some extra brandy
rung over into this tin saucer or cup…plate； to the manifest gain of
the consumer。
Life is a petit verre of a very peculiar kind of spirit。 At seventy
years it used to be said that the little glass was full。 We should
be more apt to put it at eighty in our day； while Gladstone and
Tennyson and our own Whittier are breathing； moving； thinking；
writing； speaking； in the green preserve belonging to their children
and grandchildren； 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 considerable regard for him。 Now； if the world of
readers hates anything it sees in print； it is apology。 If what one
has to say is worth saying； he need not beg pardon fur saying it。 If
it is not worth saying I will not finish the sentence。 But it is so
hard to resist the temptation； notwithstanding that the terrible line
beginning 〃Superfluous lags the veteran〃 is always repeating itself
in his dull ear！
What kind of audience or reading parish is a man who secured his
constituency in middle life； or before that period； to expect when he
has reached the age of threescore and twenty？ His coevals have
dropped away by scores and tens； and he sees only a few units
scattered about here and there； like the few beads above the water
after a ship has gone to pieces。 Does he write and publish for those
of his own time of life？ He need not print a large edition。 Does he
hope to secure a hearing from those who have come into the reading
world since his coevals？ They have found fresher fields and greener
pastures。 Their interests are in the out…door； active world。 Some
of them are circumnavigating the planet while he is hitching his
rocking chair about his hearth…rug。 Some are gazing upon the
pyramids while he is staring at his andirons。 Some are settling the
tariff and fixing the laws of suffrage and taxation while he is
dozing over the weather bulletin； and going to sleep over the
obituaries in his morning or evening paper。
Nature is wiser than we give her credit for being； never wiser than
in her dealings with the old。 She has no idea of mortifying them by
sudden and wholly unexpected failure of the chief servants of
consciousness。 The sight； for instance； begins to lose something of
its perfection long before its deficiency calls the owner's special
attention to it。 Very probably； the first hint we have of the change
is that a friend makes the pleasing remark that we are 〃playing the
trombone；〃 as he calls it； that is； moving a book we are holding
backward and forward； to get the right focal distance。 Or it may be
we find fault with the lamp or the gas…burner for not giving so much
light as it used to。 At last； somewhere between forty and fifty； we
begin to dangle a jaunty pair of eye…glasses； half plaything and half
necessity。 In due time a pair of sober； business…like spectacles
bestrides the nose。 Old age leaps upon it as his saddle； and rides
triumphant； unchallenged； until the darkness comes which no glasses
can penetrate。 Nature is pitiless in carrying out the universal
sentence； but very pitiful in her mode of dealing with the condemned
on his way to the final scene。 The man who is to be hanged always
has a good breakfast provided for him。
Do not think that the old look upon themselves as the helpless；
hopeless； forlorn creatures which they seem to young people。 Do
these young folks suppose that all vanity dies out of the natures of
old men and old women？ A dentist of olden time told me that a good…
looking young man once said to him； 〃Keep that incisor presentabl