intellectual dignity, remember that "calvi,
prompti," ready are the bald—an invaluable
quality in the affairs of life. As a rule, the
harder we fogies try to convert ourselves
into boyish cupids, the less do we succeed.
There is great truth in Alphonse Karr's
remark, that modern men are ugly, because
they don't wear their beards. Take a fine
man of forty, with a handsome round
Medicean beard (not a pointed Jew's beard);
look at him well, so as to retain his portrait
in your mind's eye; and then shave him
close, leaving him, perhaps, out of charity, a
couple of mutton-chop whiskers, one on each
cheek, and you will see the humiliating
difference. And if you select an old man of
seventy for your experiment, and convert a
snowy-bearded head that might sit for a
portrait in a historical picture, into a close-
scraped weazen-faced visage, like an
avaricious French peasant on his way to haggle
for swine at a monthly franc-marché, the
descent from the sublime to the ridiculous
is still more painfully apparent. Beard or
no beard, must remain at present an open
question in England; there are social
difficulties of a practical nature in the way,
however we may decide as to the theory. A
servant would hardly be allowed to consider
his beard as his own. A bearded tradesman
might be thought by many customers to be
giving himself airs and to be assuming undue
consequence. Many find fault with beards,
as too aristocratic, too vulgar, too foreign, too
philosophic, too symptomatic of Socialism, in
short, too they-don't-quite-know- what;
forgetting all the while that the beard was
planted on the chin of man by the same
Power that adorned the lion with his mane,
and the peacock with his plumes. But,
certainly, it is the artistic interest of us elderlies,
as far as our own personal appearance is
concerned, that beards should at least be
tolerated.

Perfumes are better altogether discarded
by well-dressed gentlemen who are past the
age of dandihood. Extreme personal
cleanliness is the most judicious cosmetic we
can use. Our money is more wisely laid out
on Windsor soap and huckaback towels than
on eau de Cologne and essence of millefleurs.
False teeth are permissible, or not, according
to their object and their animus. An
accidental deserter from an otherwise even
and goodly set may have a substitute bought
for him without reasonable blame. Teeth
that really and truly help either to eat or to
articulate, are no more than the natural tools
to carry on the business of life. But if you
cause your two or three remaining stumps to |
be extracted, in order to make room for a
complete set of pearly ivories, both top and
bottom, with patent spring hinges, which you
want to display as your own at the opera
while you smile at the girls in the boxes, or
ogle the dancers on the stage through your
binocular glass,—  then, you are no better than
a foolish old fellow; and do not forget the
true proverb, " There is no fool like an old
fool."

I take it for granted that you have made
your will. Many elderlies (who grow older and
older every day, whether they know it, and
like it, or not) look upon will-making as an
unpleasant or painful operation of the same
class as bleeding or tooth-drawing. They
will submit to it under the influence of
chloroform; not otherwise. I assure you
they are mistaken, having tried it myself
and found it a very comfortable anodyne
against several uneasy sensations. Of course,
to have that healing virtue the last will and
testament must be a fair and just one, with
nothing set down in malice or caprice. People
will sometimes avenge themselves in their
wills of affronts, little or great, real or
fancied, that have been put on them. People
also often repent of the harsh resolutions
they may have made; now, if personal
reconciliation has taken place, or even if the
offending party is only forgiven in the secret
chamber of the complainant's heart, the
record of estrangement in black and white
ought not to remain uncancelled a single
hour. Death may step in, without previously
sending in his card, and may convert a free
pardon into a vindictive sentence, thus
baffling the dilatory testator, who thought
and meant to have made his peace with all
men before departing hence. A merciful
change of mind may come too late to be
carried into execution —a strong reason for not
fixing on parchment any unmerciful resolution
in black and white. At the last death-
bed at which I was present, others had
retired, and I was left alone with the sinking-
patient. Consciousness and intellect remained
clear to the last; but, as strength ebbed
away, the eyes alone remained eloquent,
while the lips continued to move in the
attempt to speak, without the faculty of
uttering a sound. I guessed pretty nearly
what the moribund person was wishing to
say; at least I felt sure of the tenor of it,
because the previous conversation, while
speech was possible, had been an expression
of thanks and blessings, with good advice
and judicious observations. But, I thought,
had those unutterable last words been,
instead of what they were, an unavailing
expression of forgiveness, a desire to restore
some young offender to his suspended rights,
now forfeited for ever—what an awful
struggle must take place in the mind of
him who feels himself quitting earthly
things under such conditions, the result
of his own hasty harshness or his tardy
tenderness!