THE MILLENARIAN.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 165, 14 August 1886, Page 1

THE MILLENARIAN.

I ha ye just been reading James Whitcomb Rileys response to the *f Old Man" at the annual dinner of the Indianapolis Literary Club, and his reference to Methuselah has awakened in my foind many recollections and reminiscences of that grand, o'<J man. We firstj meet Methuselah in the , capacity of a eon. At the age of 65 Enoch arose, one night and telephoned his family physician to come over and assist him in meeting Methuselah., Day at last dawned upon Enoch's happy home, and its first red rays lit up the still redder surface of the, little stranger. For 300 years Enoch and Methuselah jogged along together in the capacity of father and son. Then Enoch was suddenly cut down. It was at this time that little Methuselah first realised what it vras to be an orphan. . He could not at first realise that his father was dead. He could not understand why Enoch, with no inherited disease, should be shuffled out at the age of 365 years. But the doctor said { to Methuselah : "My son, you are indeed fatherless. I have done all I could, but it is useless. I told Enoch many a time that if he went in swimming before the ice was out of the creek it would finally drown him, but he thought he knew better than I did. He was a headstrong man, Enoch was. He sneered at me and alluded to me as a fresh young gosling, because he was 300 years older than I was. He has received the reward of the wilful, and verily the doom of the smart Aleck is his." Methuselah now cast about him for some occupation which would take up his attention and assuage his wild, passionate grief over the loss of hia father. He entered into j the walks of men and learned their ways. It was at this time that he learned the pernicious habit of using tobacco. We cannot I wcnder at it when we remember that he : was now fatherless. He was at the morcy ! of the coarae, rough world. Possibly he learned to use tobacco when he went away to attend business after the death^ of j his father. Be that as it may, the noxiou weed certainly hastened his death, for 600 years after this -we. find him a corps© ! Death is ever a surprise, even at the end of a long illness and after a ripe old age. To those who aTe near it seems abrupt ; so to his grand-children, some of whom survived him, his children having died of old age, the death of Methuselah came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Methuselah succeeded in cording up more of a record, such as it was, than any other man of whom history informs us. Time, the tomb-builder andamateur mower, came and leaned over the front yard, and looked at Methuselah, and ran his thumb over the jagged edge of his scythe, and went away whistling a low refrain. He kept up this refrain business forjnearly ten centuries, -while Methuselah continued to stand out amid the general wreck of men and nations. Even as the young, strong mower going forth with his mower for to mow the tall and dignified drab hornet's nest and passeth by on the outer Bide, so Time, with his Waterbury hour-glass and his overworked hay-knife over his shoulder, and his long Mormon whiskers and his high, sleek dome of thought, with its grey lambrequin of hair around the base of it, mowed all around Methuselah, and then paßsed on. Methuselah decorated the graves of those who perished in a dozen different wars. He did not enlist himself for over 900 years of . his life ; he was exempt. He would go to the enlisting place and offer his services, and the officer would tell him to go home and encourage his grandchildren to go. Then Methuselah would sit around Noah's steps, and smoke and criticise the conduct of che war, also the conduct of the enemy. It is said of Methuselah that he never was the same man after his son Lamech died; He was greatly attached to Lamech, and when he woke up one night to find his son purple in the face with membraneous croup, he could hardly realise that he might lose hi .v.. v . The idea of losing a boy who had just rounded the glorious morn of his seven hundred and seventy-seventh year had never occurred to him. But death loves a shining mark, and he garnered the Lammie and left Methuselah to moan and mourn on for a couple more centuries without him. Methuselah finally got so that he couldn't sleep any after 4 o'clock in the morning, and he didn't see how anyone else could. The older he got, and the less valuable his time became, the earlier he would rise, so that he could get an early start. As the centuries filed slowly by, Methuselah got where all he had to do was to shuffle into his loose-fitting clothes, and rest his gums on the top of a large sleek-headed cane and mutter up the chimney, and then groan and extricate himself from his clothes again and retire. He rose earlier and earlier in the morning, and muttered more and more about the young folks sleeping away the best of the day, and said that he had no doubt but that sleeping and snoring till breakfast time helped to carry off Lam. But one day Old Father Time came along with a new soythe, and he drew the whetstone across it a few times, and rolled the sleeves of his red flannel under garment up over his swarthy elbows.and Mr Methuselah passed on to that undiscovered country with a ripe experience and a long, clean , record. We can almost fancy how the physicians who had disagreed about his case all the way through came and insisted on a postmortem examination to ptoVe which was right, and what was really the matter with him. We can' imagine how people went by shaking their heads and regretting that ■ Methuselah should have tampered with tobacco when he knew that it affected his heart. \ ' t But he 13 gone. He lived to see his own promissory notes riae, flourish, acquire interest, pine away"at last, and finally outla vr. He acquired a large farm iri the very heart of the county seat, and refused te move or to plot' ib and call i '.'"Methuselah's addition. He came out in spring regularly for 900 years-after he got too old to work out his poll* tax, pn th<j road, and put in his time telling 1 the rising generation how to make 'a good road. Meantime,* other- old peopled, who were > almost "lOO^ears of age, moved away and went West, where" they would attract, attention and command { respect, There - was • actually no pleasure in getting old around where Methuselah was, and being ordered- about 'and scolded and kept in the background by him. '

So, at la9t when' he died, people sighed , aiad said: "Well, it' is better for him'td' die before he got childish. It is best 'that he should die at a time when he knew ib[ all. We can't help thinking what an ac- r quieition Methuselah' would be on the evergreen shore when he gets there with all his ripe experience and habits of early rising." ' > And the next morning after the funeral Methuselah'a family did not gat out of bed ' till 9 o'clock. - Bill Nye in the "Boston, Globe."