PATER'S CHATS WITH THE BOYS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2130, 20 December 1894, Page 48

PATER'S CHATS WITH THE BOYS.

Seasonable WiaUes. The compliments of the season to you, my friends, young and old, and may old age come to you as it came, so the classic says, to the Greek muse, only to look into your face aud forget its errand. But at the same time may be spare you the pitiable, deathlees existence pictured by Swift in that book of mad imagination, "Gulliver's Travels." Do you remember reading some months aeo a telegram notifyirg the death of the celebrated German BCientist, Dr Hoffmann 1 He was one of the few who bad learned the great art of bow to grow old. When the professor was attending a banquet tendered to him on his professional jubilee, in responding to the toaet drunk in his honour, he said, in a speech brilliant and witty— "When people get old they (should try to make their lives as much aa possible like one of Weber's overtures turned upside down. These overtures begin with a soft adagio, and end with a victorious crescendo. Thus the beginnirg of life should be a quick flight upwaids, and its end should be the gentle and peaceful deccant which is called the wisdom of old age and calm introspection. For ray part, when people meet me with the customary 'How do you do?' I reply, •The road leads down hill, but comfortably.' " May you all live to a good oia age, and may the road leading down the hill be a comfortable one to you.

And when you get to the bottom may you find the future more than fully meet your anticipation*, and may your dreams of the Great Unknown meet your views of happiness a little more than the dreams of an old Sootch woman I read of in Lord Cockburn's "Memoirs." Oa one of her friends asking her not long before her death how she was getting on, she said: "Vera weel ; vera weel. But, eh, I had a dismal dream last nicht I— a fearf u' dream I " " Aye I I'm sorry for that. What was it ? " " Oul What d'ye think 1 Of a' places i' the warld, I dreamed I was in heeven I And what d'ye think I saw there I— dell ha<j'fc— but thoosand» and ten thoosands upon ten thoosands o' stark waked weans 1 That wad be a dreadfu' tbiog I for ye ken I ne'er could bide bairns a' my days 1 " May you get a corner in heaven — I'm not speaking lightly— that will suit your peculiar temperament, but I hope you will have more sympathy for bairns than the old maid. Perhaps she was soured because she had never had any of her own to tell to "cuddle doon."

It is just that there are a few of my readers who, when reading this, will have darkened the school door as a gcholar for the last time. Bat don't think your education is finished. Yon haven't passed the alphabet of life yet. Have you read Hugh Miller's 11 My Schoolß and Schoolmasters " 1 If you haven't, and if you are inclined to be studious and Btaid, get it. His schools and schoolmasters were the teachings and experiences of life rather than any specially built four walls enclosing hopefuls and gerund-grinding tawte-wielders. The world ia a stern teacher, and its punishments are not thrown off as lightly an the dominie's. An old Scotchwoman once asked a boy to go a message for her, but he excused himself, telling her he wouldn't know his lessons, to which she retorted, " Hoot man 1 what o' that 1 It's only het, hips, and awa' again." Many of ns wish that life's punishments were only "het, hips, and awa' again." Unfortu-nar<-ly, and yet perhaps fortunately, they last loneer than that.

Now, I know yon don't want anything solid from mo to-day, for most of you without doubt will want to road the taleß spun for your Christmas reading, so a good Christmas pudding and Christmas fare, and may yoar digestions be equal to tho occasion and give you pleasant dreams. And — well put in good wisheß for yourselves to suit your tastes, and they are mine to you. What more would you desire 1