THE SOUTH CHURCH. I «!) 



Mr. Mortimer A. Warren, of Greenwicli, Conn., writes feel- 

 ingly on the subject of growing old : 



"I remember very well, liow, as a cliild, I went one evening with 

 mother to see the foimdalion walls of brick of tlie new old Soiith 

 Church building. That must have been in tlie summer, they say, of 

 1841, but I think there must be some mistake about tlie date. It was 

 onl}'- a little while ago. 



" Can it be that we are growing old? I saw a sunset last evening. 

 It was just like the sunsets of my boyhood. I didn't see any improve- 

 ment. It didn't show any marks of age. When I go to New Britain 

 I am a boy again. I go about the streets or climb Walnut Hill; and I 

 am a boy again, — but not quite a boy. There is something the matter. 

 Things are different, yet the same. The old Normal Scliool building 

 is not half so tall, nor half so grand as it used to be. The new South 

 Church is no longer painted white with green blinds. Walnut Hill is 

 not such a very big hill. The boys and girls look like middle aged 

 men and women. And some of them are crazy. 



"Let me give you an instance. A little while ago I was passing 

 through the village — New Britain, I mean — when an old schoolmate 

 came into the train. I greeted her cordially, as why shouldn't I? It 

 was only a few years ago that we were at school together. She had a 

 a little girl with her. Speaking of the child, I said: ' Your daughter, 

 I presume?' 'Yes,' was the reply, ' my grand-daughter!' Yet this 

 old school-mate of mine seemed .sane enough on all other subjects. Be- 

 ware of one temptation. Beware of thinking, or feeling, or fearing, 

 that you are growing old ! You are just a boy, with a little more of ex- 

 perience than you had once." 



The Rev. William M. Browm, president of Tillotson Institute, 

 Austin, Texas, writes appreciatively of old friends and former 

 days: 



" The longing to go to Connecticut comes over me very strongly, 

 but the hindrances in the way seem quite insurmountable. I am sure 

 the anniversary will be a pleasant one. Not many will be present who 

 remember Mr. Rockwell and the old 'meeting-house'; nor the melo- 

 deon at which Mrs. George Rockwell presided, and the bass viol from 

 which Mr. Booth drew most lugubrious tones. It certainly will not 

 be a repetition of the time when grey-haired men wept at the reco^ 

 lection of the former house and its glory. 



" For myself, I can say that I have never known happier days than 

 when I used to scramble for a front seat in the infant schoolroom, so 

 as to be as near as possible to Mrs. North, whom I adored. And now 



