Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 419

Chambers's Edinburgh Journal,
No. 419, New Series, January 10,
1852

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Title: Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 419, New Series, January 10,
1852
Author: Various
Release Date: December 28, 2004 [EBook #14502]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL ***

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CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS,

EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,'
'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.
No. 419. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, JANUARY 10, 1852. PRICE
1-1/2 d.

THE LOST AGES.
My friends, have you read Elia? If so, follow me, walking in the
shadow of his mild presence, while I recount to you my vision of the
Lost Ages. I am neither single nor unblessed with offspring, yet, like
Charles Lamb, I have had my 'dream-children.' Years have flown over
me since I stood a bride at the altar. My eyes are dim and failing, and
my hairs are silver-white. My real children of flesh and blood have
become substantial men and women, carving their own fortunes, and
catering for their own tastes in the matter of wives and husbands,
leaving their old mother, as nature ordereth, to the stillness and repose
fitted for her years. Understand, this is not meant to imply that the
fosterer of their babyhood, the instructor of their childhood, the guide
of their youth, is forsaken or neglected by those who have sprung up to
maturity beneath her eye. No; I am blessed in my children. Living apart,
I yet see them often; their joys, their cares are mine. Not a Sabbath
dawns but it finds me in the midst of them; not a holiday or a festival of
any kind is noted in the calendar of their lives, but Grandmamma is the
first to be sent for. Still, of necessity, I pass much of my time alone;
and old age is given to reverie quite as much as youth. I can remember
a time--long, long ago--when in the twilight of a summer evening it
was a luxury to sit apart with closed eyes; and, heedless of the talk that
went on in the social circle from which I was withdrawn, indulge in all
sorts of fanciful visions. Then my dream-people were all full-grown
men and women. I do not recollect that I ever thought about children
until I possessed some of my own. Those waking visions were very
sweet--sweeter than the realities of life that followed; but they were
neither half so curious nor half so wonderful as the dreams that
sometimes haunt me now. The imagination of the old is not less lively
than that of the young: it is only less original. A youthful fancy will
create more new images; the mind of age requires materials to build
with: these supplied, the combinations it is capable of forming are
endless. And so were born my dream-children.

Has it never occurred to you, mothers and fathers, to wonder what has
become of your children's lost ages? Look at your little boy of five
years old. Is he at all, in any respect, the same breathing creature that
you beheld three years back? I think not. Whither, then, has the sprite
vanished? In some hidden fairy nook, in some mysterious cloud-land
he must exist still. Again, in your slim-formed girl of eight years, you
look in vain for the sturdy elf of five. Gone? No; that cannot be--'a
thing of beauty is a joy for ever.' Close your eyes: you have her there!
A breeze-like, sportive, buoyant thing; a thing of breathing, laughing,
unmistakable life; she is mirrored on your retina as plainly as ever was
dancing sunbeam on a brook. The very trick of her lip--of her eye; the
mischief-smile, the sidelong saucy glance,
'That seems to say, I know you love me, Mr Grey;'
is it not traced there--all, every line, as clear as when it brightened the
atmosphere about you in the days that are no more? To be sure it is;
and being so, the thing must exist--somewhere.
I never was more fully possessed with this conviction than once during
the winter of last year. It was Christmas-eve. I was sitting alone, in my
old armchair, and had been looking forward to the fast-coming
festival-day with many mingled thoughts--some tender, but regretful;
others hopeful, yet sad; some serious, and even solemn. As I laid