OLD AGE.

Many are the descriptions of old age that have been given us by poets, philosophers, and physicians; but none that excel in poetic beauty or graphic truthfulness that with which Solomon concludes the Book of Ecclesiastes. Of this we give the Authorised Version, introducing alterations of any importance adopted by the Revised Version. '

'Remember now (also) thy Creator in the days of thy youth,

While the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh,

When thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened,

Nor the clouds return after the rain:

In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble,

And the strong men shall bow themselves,

And the grinders cease because they are few.

And those that look out of the windows be darkened,

And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low,

And he (one) shall rise up at the voice of the bird.

And all the daughters of music shall be brought low;

And when (yea) they shall be afraid of that which is high,

And fears (terrors) shall be in the way,

And the almond tree shall flourish (blossom), and the

grasshopper shall be a burden,

And desire (the caper-berry) shall fail: because man goeth to his long home,

And the mourners go about the streets:

Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken,

Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was:

And the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.'

Whatever difficulty there may be in interpreting the allegorical meaning of some of the poetic figures employed in this vivid picture of advanced age, one cannot but be struck with the accurate delineation of the leading features and the truthfulness of the whole. The law of mortality is distinctly recognised, that man, like every other organised being, has a period assigned to him for his existence. He may escape the various dangers and diseases by which that period is often cut short; but sooner or later the very forces and materials by which his life is sustained and by which his frame has been developed, the slow but inevitable operation of natural laws, end in the destruction of his material organisation. His dust ' returns to the earth as it was.' Not so, however, that which never was dust; the spirit, as the Preacher knew, and does not fail to tell us, ' returns unto God who gave it,' spirit to Spirit!

The principle which we call life, with which all organised beings are endowed, and by which they are distinguished, enables them to impart the same principle to materials derived from without, even, in the case of plants, from the inorganic world, and incorporate them with the original germ, and so build up and develop the future organism. The phenomena and changes attending this process occasion continual waste and change of material, and require corresponding supply. So long as the due relation between waste and supply is maintained, nutrition and the various functions of the body are maintained. But a time comes when waste exceeds supply, and when the various elements going to constitute the different fluids, tissues and organs no longer hold their due proportion; degradation and disorganisation ensue. The principle of life itself becomes enfeebled, and its power of imparting life to new material ceases. The animal and the plant alike cease to live — they die.

What is this principle, force or agent, which we call life, and which plays so grand and marvellous a part in the universe? To this question, science, as yet, has returned no response. Will it ever?

But mysterious as is the power, or agent, that imparts life to organic beings and transmits it from generation to generation, scarcely less mysterious is the gradual diminution and ultimate failure of this power to perpetuate the edifice which has been evolved from an almost imperceptible molecule, atom by atom, step by step, till it culminates in the full-grown man, that 'wondrous piece of work,' which, however,

                                 'does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal.'

Involution succeeds to evolution, and 'the paragon of animals, the beauty of the world,' proves to be but a 'body of humiliation,' a dissolving earthly tabernacle for an inhabitant whose home 'is eternal in the heavens.' As age advances man perceives that changes are taking place in his bodily frame, rendering more and more difficult the performance of his various functions and diminishing his needed strength. It may be long ere any of the more ordinary signs of disease are manifested, but at last, even in the absence of such signs, 'Senectus ipsa est morbus.'¹ Henceforth each day, each hour, is marked by continuous incessant steps in the process of destruction by which the individual lapses into the universal.

The unity of our organisation is as remarkable as its complexity. Not only is there a close interdependence between the various organs and functions of our inner life, but also a mutual relation between these and our intelligence, and our life of relation to others and the outer world. In the absence of any of the ordinary causes of disease, it will depend on a variety of circumstances in what organ or function the first symptoms of decay manifest themselves.

Not infrequently the first indications of impairment of vitality are such as are connected with the mind and nervous system, with which the Preacher begins his description. The brain and nerves undergo important changes in their physical constitution, the due supply of healthy blood requisite for the maintenance of mental and nervous functions begins to fail, the containing vessels become rigid, congestion and rupture ensue, or the brain wastes, softens, or becomes hard. But ere many of these changes are manifested, weariness of mind and somnolency betoken enfeebled mental power, and then 'The evil days come and the years draw nigh,' when a man has no pleasure in them. The scenes and occupations of this life cease to charm. Even for 'Age that melts in unperceived decay,' if there are no pains, earthly pleasures are few and fleeting. Memory fails to recall even past joys, 'when the children were about us.' The nerves cease to vibrate in response to new impressions, and even care and anxieties no longer exercise their corroding influence.

The figurative terms in verse 2 have been differently interpreted. Impaired sight being referred to subsequently, it has been held that general mental obtuseness, impairment of the intellectual faculties and perceptive powers, are intended to be indicated by the darkening of the heavenly bodies. Even mental aberration, so frequent in very advanced age, it has been thought, is here signified. This appears to have been Mead's view, who says, ' Wisdom and understanding are frequently called light in the sacred Scriptures, and privation of reason darkness and blindness. Hence God is styled the Father of lights. Thus the virtues of the mind decaying may be compared to the luminaries of the world overcast.' Certainly this image of the darkening of the sun and moon and stars may be supposed to denote the gloom and sadness too often attending old age, whilst the return of the clouds after rain may very well typify the recurring troubles of the aged. If such views of verses 1 and 2 be accepted, they would be confined to the description of the mental characteristics of old age, those of the body being taken up in the following verses.

'The day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves,' indicates the time when the nutritive powers are no longer equal to the supply of material necessary to replace the waste that is constantly going on. Consequently the muscles shrivel and perish. The instruments of bodily strength and activity are unequal to anything beyond the moderate and regulated movements of common daily life. Muscular vigour required for defence no longer exists, and at length what is needed for sustaining the body erect fails. 'The strong men bow themselves/ and the gait becomes uncertain and tottering; the keepers, or protectors, of the tenement tremble, in their feeble efforts to ward off danger. The solid framework of the house, the bones, become fragile, so as to break on any sudden or extra bodily effort. The character of the locomotion is altogether changed — 'the child runs, the young man jumps, the adult marches, but the old man drags himself along.' The bolt shot from the bow bent by the young man's vigorous arm carries death to the enemy, but proves 'telum imbelle sine ictu,' when sent by the old man's hand.

' The grinders cease because they are few.' It is not necessary that we should confine the term grinders in this passage to the double or grinding teeth, though it is by these chiefly that the food is masticated and undergoes the finst process in preparation for the other organs of digestion. There are several ways by which the number of the teeth is diminished in old age. They may decay and fall away piecemeal, or they may drop out from changes going on in the jaw and gums. As they are gradually lost, or become useless for their office, the sound of the grinding necessarily becomes low, when performed by the gums alone. The shutting of the street door, in association with the cessation of the sound of the mill, seems to indicate that the mouth is typified by the street door, for the opening and shutting of which there is less occasion when little food is taken, and when the sense of taste is blunted or lost. That failure of sight is meant by the darkening of ' those that look out of the windows.' we can have no doubt. Changes in the physical conformation of the eye, altering its character as an optical instrument, are among the very earliest indications of advancing life, requiring the artificial aid of glasses. But more serious effects ensue when the crystalline lens becomes opaque and gives rise to cataract. Then the house indeed becomes dark. Nor is this the only form of blindness met with in the aged. The function of the optic nei-ve itself may be lost, so that it no longer is influenced by light (amaurosis).

'All the daughters of music are brought low,' when the auditory nerve no longer responds to aerial vibrations. And this is the case when that chain of delicate and beautiful apparatus imbedded in the bony cavity of the internal ear is rendered immobile and unfitted for its office by ossification or other changes. But while entire loss of hearing is comparatively rare, merely as the result of senile change, impaired hearing is one of the commonest indications of advanced life, and with this is often associated a morbid irritation of the auditory nerve, giving rise to false sounds and leading the person to imagine that he hears noises, or persons speaking, startling or waking him up when no sounds have been heard. This singing in the ears (tinnitus aurium) may perhaps be what is implied by 'rising up at the voice of the bird,' though more probably this depicts the light and imperfect sleep of the aged. Old Barzillai says to David, ' Can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women?'

'They shall be afraid of that which is high, and terrors shall be in the way.' As fearlessness characterises the youth, and courage the strong man, so does timidity the aged. Mental vigour is often maintained when bodily strength is lost through age; but the brain, as the organ through which the mind acts, no longer being duly nourished, at length fails to answer the behests of the will. The mysterious union of the corporeal with the mental then is made manifest, that union which man cannot comprehend, but which nevertheless, as Augustine says, constitutes him man.²

The spirit may still be willing, but the flesh weak. There are no longer the insulated unbroken wires to transmit the electric current. We speak of imagination, invention, memory, and other intellectual faculties failing, when, for aught that we know, it is only the material instruments for their manifestation that have become unavailing. In certain forms of disease we know that this is the case. There are instances of cerebral disease attended by what is termed aphasia (loss of speech), not from any defect of power in the organs and muscles employed in articulation, nor from any mental incapacity to take in or respond to ideas. The intellect is unimpaired, but the mandates of the will are interrupted in their passage to the organs that should and could give expression to them, had they received the mandates. Even in health and in every period of life we have evidence of the mysterious laws that regulate the interdependence of the physical and the psychical, though it is in extreme old age that we have the saddest illustrations.

'The almond tree shall blossom (or flourish), and the grasshopper shall be a burden.' There is great difficulty in interpreting the meaning of these words. Mead thinks that as all the other senses have been mentioned, it is not likely that the sense of smell would be omitted, and endeavours to find here inability to derive pleasure from agreeable odours of plants and flowers. The common interpretation, which supposes that the almond blossom represents the grey hairs of the aged, cannot, I think, be supported. For, in the first place, the almond blossom is not white, but pink, and grey hair is by no means confined to old age, nor in the next place can either grey hair or baldness be said to indicate blossoming or flourishing or ripening of age. If the words would be more correctly rendered,³ ' the almond occasions loathing,' i. e. ' this delicate fruit gives no pleasure to the old man, whilst the locust, which every one else can eat, is a burden or disgust to him,' the passage may be supposed to refer both to the sense of smell and taste. The locust and the grasshopper are both Gryllidœ, and the former, it is well known, is eaten in the East both in the fresh and dry state.

'And desire (the caper-berry) shall fail, because man goeth to his long home.' If the word which the A.V. translates 'desire' is correctly rendered by the LXX κάππαρις, and by the R. V. caper-berry, we can only assume that this berry, so frequently used as a condiment and stimulant, is to be taken as the representative of the various agents had recourse to in order to rouse the failing appetite, or desire, for all forms of sensual enjoyment, because man is going to his long home.⁴

The loosening of the silver cord may with tolerable certainty be taken as descriptive of the impaired function of the spinal cord and its accessories, which is the essential cause of many of the infirmities of the aged.

The remaining figures Mead characterises as true enigmas requiring an Œdipus to solve them, and his own attempts are certainly not successful. It is true that the circulation of the blood was unknown in Solomon's time, but the heart was known to be a receptacle or fountain of blood, and that in some way or other it was connected with machinery for distribution of its contents. The broken pitcher and wheel are, at all events, fit emblems, in the present day, to describe the heart's failure and the feeble and deranged circulatory powers which are so often the immediate precursors of the final stopping of the wheel of life. The cranium, as containing so important an organ as the brain, may fitly be termed 'the golden bowl,' and the more important paralytic affections of the aged we know are associated with disease of the cerebral vessels and disorganisation of the brain substance.

The Psalmist tells us that ' the days of our years are threescore years and ten, and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow.'⁵

It is a question that has been discussed, whether in the present day of advanced science and civilization and improved hygienic rules, the normal duration of human life has, or has not, been prolonged beyond the limits laid down by the Psalmist. But there can be no question that it is incumbent on the aged to recognise the necessity for observing those laws and precepts which are established by both science and experience. 'Peu de gens savent etre vieux' was a saying of La Rochefoucauld. No doubt the lesson is one often difficult to learn, and both science and religion impress on us the need we have to pray, ' So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.' This wisdom in regard to the past and the present, as well as to the future, it behoves the aged to acquire. For them the injunction 'Know thyself implies, 'I have been young, and now am old,' and not less certainly that even the present hour is not for them what once it was. 'Jam non tua.'

1) Terence, Phormio, Act iv. Sc. 1.

2) Modus quo corporibus adhserent spiritus, . . . omnino mirus est, nee comprehendi ab homine potest; et hoc ipse homo est.' De Civit. Dei, xxi. 10.

3) Annotated Par. Bible (R. T. S.) in loco.

4) Capers were held by the Arabians to be aphrodisiacal, and are, I believe, so considered by the Jews in the present day. Vide Paulus Ægineta, Adams, Syd. Soc. Trans., vol. iii. p. 156, and references to Rhases and Avicenna In Syria this berry is of a much more acrid and stimulant character than as cultivated in this country.

5) Psalm xc. 10.