MIDDLE AGE THE BEST TIME OF LIFE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2840, 19 August 1908, Page 87

MIDDLE AGE THE BEST TIME OF LIFE.

(Papers on the question by Aorere, Boy, and Harry.) By Aorere. Middle age. i think, is the best time of life. It don't say that it is the liappie=t, because in middle age so\ne people have many troub'es. People usually do their important life work between the ages of 20 and 40. They have passed the happy, rollicking days of youth, and have started to think of the time when they must provide for themselves. Also they are healthier — their health is generally a+ its best, and health and strength mean happiness. Middle age Ls called the prime of life, for life is at its best. At middle age one has started the real business of life, with a determination to succeed in everything. The middle-aged are more disposed to be contented, and many a thing that is not agTeeable is passed by without a word. They have a better idea of what the most important things in life are, and tluey do not distress themselves about trifles. Middle age is really the summer of life, the time of storing up for th-e autumn and winter. Tha time of youth and splendour* ifl pasßC-d, and the promises of youth are fulfilled. Autmn is still fax away — too far to Bpoil the sunshine and happiness of summer. It is a beautiful time of life, and although the midd'e-aged. have to strive and work hard, they go on without a word. Most great people have dpr.e their life work between the ages of 20 and 40. It is a time, too, to be careful, for those who are too fond cf splendour might find themselves in a bad position when they are too old '.o work. But we must remember that a middleaged person is net a fxowsy, dry person;, who cannot crack a joke with any of his younger friends. No, indeed ; he is qxiite us ready to play a trick on anyone as a boy. He puts pll his heairt into his work, but when work is o\er he romps with his sons ard daughters as if he had not a care in the world. Middle-aged men are fond of sport. Many of our footballers and cricketers have long passed their twentieth birthday. It is very, very seldom that you see a nuddle-aged person grumbling and complaining- I say leave that to a man who has pa=sed his fortieth birthday and who is stiff with rheumatics. By Boy. Follow the path of the sun as he climbs up and up. When is he brightest? Midway; at neon. Bend to the earth, and witness this truth unfolded in a flower. Midway between birth and death there is a maximum of beauty and of weetness.

Scramble with me to the box seat of our lumbering mail coach, and sit tight. The driver gathers his reins together, his whip goes to and fro, the long lash sings through the air, and with a jerk we axe off. A pretty pace, indeed! The roud is flying, and the lights axe dancing upon the flitting telegraph poles. Grack! crack! swish! "Driver, you have a very last turn-out!" "They haven't warmed yet." And crack! crack! swish! the angry lash is curling over the heaving flanks of the bay. Faster and faster the roadside fences fly past us in the glcom, like ghosts coming from nowhere, and fading back again. We strain the eye to catch th© next gaunt, -wire-burdened pole; brighter and brighter it gleams; it reaches the midway; we nod past it, and gradually it is lost again in the darkness. We axe now fairly flying. "How fax, driver?" "Just halfway." Crack! crack! swash! and on we go. But now the pace is beginning to tell. The greys are bearing it nobly, but the bay has lost his vim, and his ears aare set back as if in expectation of his master's angry remonstrance. It comes — crack! crack! swish! "Stand up, you brute!" "What's the mat lex with the bay?" "He's past his prime." Aha! the midway again! Crack! crack! swish! The whip goes faster than ever, but the shadows dance past less and less quickly. At ]a.st the lights of the scattered country town appear. The driver puts all his energy into ia last appeal. ' Crack! crack! and as we pull up the leader is lost in a cloud of steam. We hop nimbly down, g>lad to sferetch our legs a.fter the tension of the last hour, rocking and rolling over culverts and gutters. As we " plume our ruffled feathers " and ha.lt a moment on the sidewalk preparatory to saying " good-night," the inside passengiers alight. Down comes/ a sturdy young squatter, disdaining to use the step, and vanishes into the gloom; then another. Our friend this time, however, is not so eager to be off — he has luggage. A moment he stands and throws out his arm 3 as if the old caravan was still clinging oppressively about his ears. "Home at last! Well, it was worth living for!" There is a stir within the coach, and he suddenly remembers his luggage. " Right you are«, Moll, chuck out the kids!" and in amx»ther minute he is a- living ladder. Then he is as suddenly transformed into a human Xmias tree, judging by the numerous parcels freely distributed about his person. Poor five minutes the clatter continues, and then they glide — truly a merry family — into the giloom. Well, good-night. — 'but wait, a groan proceeds from the body od the coach — it- ia not yet emptied of all its human freight. We stand and watch, and presently, amid grunts and gir.oaiis and smothered grumblings, a rheumaticky kg is poked out the back of the oaxavan, and goes painfully back and forwamd feeling for the step. "Thanks!" At last we've landed him fairly on the sidewaJk. " I'm not so young as I used to beT I'll soon have to be carried like a kid! again ; it's tihis plaguey rheumatic " But we've heard enough of that sort of thing before j we vianieh! Good-night! P.S.The old roan sighs fox youth again, The- boy a, man w,ould be; But I hiave found that life is prime And best ait twenty- three I By , Habry. At this distance, I am not at present aware of the proposed demarcation of the various periods, but as the Dunedin Club some time back held a- debate on this subject, I take it for granted that it will be decided at your end to accept the demarcation on the same lines, practically, as 'we did. Such matter, however, must be discussed and decided between the leaders. In the meantime I shall consider middle age in the- sense that we ordinarily consider it, and maintain this evening that such is the best period, urging in support the following reasons: — In the first place, man is of most service to his fellow-creatures while he is in middle age. Youth has been called the age of experiment; old age that of precept. "Youth," saya a great and wise writer, "is raw ■and un-sweet. It dreams and is ambitious. It does not learn by the experience of others. We shall find a way where all else have failed." Youth sets out on the journey of life with glorious visions, problematical theories, endeavouring to realise such. But, as time goes on. and he advances toward^ middle age, these "dissolve in dripping mist," and he comes face to face with the stem realities of life, -when, along with hosts of others, he must take the world as he finds it His ideals, which he had fondly hugged, he is forced to adopt the=e as distant beacons f.o guide his oft-erring footsteps ; his theories, he can only consider them but as a background to his hopes. Old age. on the other hand, is the age oS precept, of advice. Its fighting days are done and it rests now on laurels won. "In the urare days of old." as you know, it was the cuptom of the Romans to elect old men to the Senate, realising that being merely onlookers to the game of life, they could j better hold the guiding reins, while the I others dreamt or fought. j But now let us consider midd'e age. Tho ' man has passed the bounds of youth He ' se+s his teeth, and goes into the battle of ' life for (himself. He vj-ees the need of i struggling humanity ; sees how much misery can be alleviated ; sees in what way he can best help other stragglers to surmount their difficulties. Youth is too prone 'o selfishness, concerned mostly with self and present enjoyment 0 man. while in thy early years, How prodigal oi time ! Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youth f ul prime! I Alternate- follies take the sway, Licentious passions burn. Which tenfo'd force- gives IC-af lire's law That man was made to mourn. And then Burns goes on to say, referring to "manhood's active might": — "Man then, is useful to his kind, Supported in his right. ' I maintain, therefore, that on the argument 1 have advanced and. the statement quoted, middle age is certainly the best period of life — best, for the reason that man then is of most use to mankind. I have thus far endeavoured to prove that. | because rnaddle age is the. period at whichi ' man is of most service to his fellow-men, therefore it is the best period. Now let us 'ook at the matter ir a more — shall we say selfish aspect. "Youth is raw and unsweet. It dreams and is ambitious. It is never satisfied, , with this or with that, but must make con- ' tinual experiments, oft fuhle, rarely successful. Indeed youth can I>2 said -with truth to bo but one long experiment. Old age, on the other hand, is either looking backward with regiet or forward with misgivings, rarely otherwise. It. too is to a greater oar lesser degree unhappy. In manliood's prime, however — i c., in middle age — man enjoys the greatest iamoiint of true happiness, which comes as one natural result of my first argument, fox, mind you, true happiness never comes to the man who pursues it. Those who do pursue it realise the truth of Bxirns's words: — I

"Pleasures are like poppies spread — You seize the flower, £r>j> bloom is shed 1 ; Or like the snowflake on the xivex — One moment white, then gone foxevex." On the othex hand, s.e all moralists avex, that man who does most to help and uplift his fellow-beings is most truly blest with happiness. And because in middle age a) man does most practically to help others, it naturally follows that he is much, the happiest. He has passed beyond the dissatisfaction of youfh, and finds pleasure in doing what he conceives to be his duty. That,, then, is my second reason. Man in middle age is happier ami more contented than in either youth or old age, therefor© middle age is the beet period. Again, man is in the fulness of his powers when he reaches middle age. Man, then, has passed beyond the instability of youth, and has settled once and for all his conviotions. Critics aver that poetry and prose, written in youthful days, while perhaps hopeful and aspiring, are ofttimes -written in false perspective, and lack the -maturity of that written in manhood's years. Most novelists and poets have penned their best and their most lasting works while they «vexe in middle a S e - And the same rule applies to those holding very responsible billets. Is it not & fact that these responsible positions "'are not attained by sudden fright" (if I may be permitted to apply, or misapply. Longfellow's famous words)? They have to b e won slowly, step by step, as obstacles axe surmounted — boy, ordinary seaman, able seaman, officer, commander; engine-cleaner, fireman, driver; porter, guard, foreman, station master, and so on. ad infinitum. Why aTe matters thus, aa-ve that it is recognised that man is in the zenith of his powers when he is in middle age? He has definitely decided, once and for all, what aire to be his aims, and he pursues the same, deviating neither to the right nor to the left. I consider, therefore, that, because man is in the fulness of his powers in middle age, it is the beat period. For these reasons, therefore. I contend that middle age is the best period of a man's life.