Human Longevity.

The possibility of long life, illustrated in the first number of this Journal, may easily be corroborated by referring to numerous examples; but the fact that the nobler qualities of human nature are the most efficient promoters of longevity is our most important lesson, and it is illustrated by the superior longevity of women. He is a misanthrope who does not recognize their superior virtue, and he is a poor statesman who does not wish to see that virtue imparted to our political life, and who does not recognize the importance of giving to woman the most perfect intellectual and industrial education, that she may be self supporting. The British census show that there are 948,000 more women than men in Great Britain. The St. James Gazette says:—

“Prof. Humphry of Cambridge has prepared a series of tables which contain some interesting information about centenarians. Of 52 persons whom he mentions, at least 11—2 males and 9 females—actually attained the age of 100. Others attained very nearly to the hundred years. Only one of the persons reached 108 years, while one died at the alleged age of 106. Of the 52 persons, 36 were women and 16 men. Out of the 36 women 26 had been married, and 11 had borne large families. Of the 26 who had been wives, 8 had married before they were 20, 1 at 16, and 2 at 17.

“Twelve of the fifty-two centenarians were discovered to have been the eldest children of their parents. This fact, adds Dr. Humphry, does not agree with popular notions that first children inherit a feebleness of constitution, nor with the opinion of racing stables, which is decidedly against the idea that ‘firstlings’ are to be depended on for good performances on the course. The centenarians generally regarded were of spare build. Gout and rheumatism were as a rule, absent. ‘It seems,’ says Prof. Humphry, ‘that the frame which is destined to great age needs no such prophylactics, and engenders none of the peccant humors for which the finger joints (as in gout) may find a vent.’

“Of the fifty-two aged people, twenty-four only had no teeth, the average number of teeth remaining being four or five. Long hours of sleep were notable among these old people, the period of repose averaging nine hours; while out-of-door exercise in plenty and early rising are to be noted among the factors of a prolonged life. One of the centenarians ‘drank to excess on festive occasions:’ another was a ‘free beer drinker,’ and ‘drank like a fish during his whole life.’ Twelve had been total abstainers for life or nearly so, and mostly all were ‘small meat eaters.’”

The oldest woman in Austria at this time is Magdalene Ponza, who is 112. “She was born at Wittingau, Bohemia, in 1775, when Maria Theresa sat on the Austrian throne. George III. had then been but 15 years King of England, Louis XVI. who had ruled a little more than a twelvemonth in France, was still in the heyday of power, the Independence of the United States of America had not yet been declared, Napoleon and Arthur Wellesley were as yet but six years old. Magdalene Ponza retains full possession of her mental faculties. Unfortunately she can only speak the Czech language, and she can neither read nor write. However, she answers questions briskly enough through the youngest of her surviving grandchildren, herself a woman of 60. Magdalene Ponza’s age is authenticated by the outdoor relief certificate of the Viennese Municipality.”

Of American centenarians we have a number, some of whom are still living. Harrisonville, New Jersey, has two, Michael Potter and Bartholomew Coles. Polly Wilcox of Hope Valley, R. I., celebrated her centennial last year; so did Jane Wilcox of Edgecomb, Maine, while she had a sister 94, and a daughter 81. Old Auntie Scroggins, of Forsyth Co., Georgia, is now 104 years old, and is still one of the most effective shouters of the Methodist Church to which she has belonged 94 years.

Miss Phebe Harrod, of Newburyport, Mass., celebrated her centennial last year. She still takes a lively interest in passing events.

Grandmother Sarah Drew, at Halifax, celebrated her centennial a year ago. Her constant companion is an old Bible which has been in the Drew family for 250 years.

Mrs. Triphene Bevans, of Danbury, Mass., held a lively centennial reception in the parlors of the West Street Church, April 14, 1886. Her health, hearing and speech were good, and her step brisk. She attributes her age and good health to good habits and allowing nothing to trouble or worry her. She has always been a strict church member.

William Waterman, of Oshkosh, Wisconsin, is said to be 109 years old. It is said he “is a Methodist, uses liquor and tobacco, and finds no fault with the world.”

Joseph O’Neal of Barnesville, Georgia, might have been living still if he had not been frozen to death last winter, at the age of 107, in a sudden blizzard. He was a negro, and had over 200 descendants.

Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas, of Reading, Penn., who had lived a century, might be still living if she had not been killed last year, while walking on the railroad track.

Of those who overrun the century, we might mention further, Simon Harras, who died in Putnam Co., Indiana, last January, aged 109. His memory was good to the last.

Mrs. Elizabeth Small, relict of Dr. Samuel Small, at Lewiston, Maine, had passed her hundredth birthday a few weeks, when she died of apoplexy; and Mrs. Susan Phillips, of Wilson Creek, N. C., died last year just as she finished her century.

Nathan, formerly slave of Benj. W. Bodie, died last year in Mississippi, Talbot Co., aged 107.

Christopher Mann, of Independence, Missouri, died last year, aged 111.

The oldest of all, and probably the oldest minister in the world, is Rev. Thos. Tenant, of Vineyard Township, Arkansas, an itinerant Methodist preacher, born in 1771, now in his 116th year.

Mr. Edward Gentry told a more remarkable story at Indianapolis, last July. He was at the governor’s office, and gentlemen were guessing at his age. None supposed him over fifty; but he said he had a son fifty-two years old, and was himself seventy-eight. He added: “My doctor has given me a fifty years’ longer lease on my life, barring accidents. My father is 128 and is still living. My mother died at the age of 117, and her mother lived to the same age.” Mr. Gentry is of English birth.

Perhaps the best specimen of family health is that of the Atkinson family of Gloucester, Mass. Nine children were born, and all lived. The first death in the family was a few weeks ago, when John Atkinson died, aged eighty-four. When he died the ages of the nine amounted to 703 years.

Aunt Dinah John, the oldest Indian at the Onondaga reservation died in May, 1884, aged 109.

About ten years ago, when Governor Seymour was about to make an address at an Indian fair on the Onondaga reservation, Aunt Dinah walked upon the platform and asked to be introduced to him.

Mr. Gardner said, “Governor Seymour, this is Aunt Dinah, who wants to become acquainted with you.”

“Oh, no; him get acquainted with me,” Aunt Dinah explained. “Me know him before he know anybody. Many years ago me go to Pompey Hill, his father’s grocery. Governor’s father say: ‘My squaw very sick.’ I ask, ‘What matter?’ His father say, ‘Go in and see for yourself.’ He go into a room; see a little pappoose about a foot long.” Then moving toward Governor Seymour, and pointing her finger at him, she said: “That pappoose was you, Governor Seymour, born that night.”

Aunt Dinah called frequently at Mr. Seymour’s and took especial delight in rocking the cradle and showering caresses in her native fashion upon the future Governor of the State.

About three years ago she became blind, and has since been kept at her home on the Onondaga reservation. She retained her faculties to the last. Her husband died thirty years ago. Her dying request was that the pagan ceremony be first observed and afterward the Christian ritual.

What are we to reckon, says the Home Journal, as the declining period of man’s existence? The point at which old age taps us on the shoulder, and says it comes to keep us company, varies with every individual. It depends a great deal on circumstances, which are hardly the same in any two cases. Some writers have said that a man is old at forty-five, others have set down seventy as the normal standard. Dr. John Gardner, who has written on “Longevity,” remarks: “Long observation has convinced me that sixty-three is an age at which the majority of persons may be termed old, and as a general rule we may adopt this as the epoch of the commencing decline of life.”

Suppose then we agree to call no man old till he is past sixty-three. Let us set down the names of some of the illustrious people of the world who have prolonged their days of usefulness after that age. We shall make a table of them, and begin it with those who have died at seventy,—that is to say, with those in whom the springs of life have not stood still till they have had at least seven years of old age. It will be found, however, to be far from exhaustive, and every reader may find pleasure in adding to it from his own stock of information:

Age at Death.

It may be said that they were exceptional in living so long, but if what the best authorities say be true, the exceptions ought to be the people who died young, and not those who prolong their lives and carry on their work till they are old. Few of us may find ourselves, like Lord Palmerston, in our greatest vigor at seventy, or be able, like Thiers, to rule France at eighty, or have any spirit for playing the author, like Goethe and Victor Hugo, when over eighty; or for playing the musician, like Handel and Haydn, when over seventy; but by good management we may do wonders.

The wisest men and the best have been conspicuous for working to the end, not taking the least advantage of the leisure to which one might think they were entitled. They have found their joy in pursuing labors which they believed useful either to themselves or to others. John Locke began a “Fourth Letter on Toleration” only a few weeks before he died, and “the few pages in the posthumous volume, ending in an unfinished sentence, seem to have exhausted his remaining strength.” The fire of Galileo’s genius burned to the very end. He was engaged in dictating to two of his disciples his latest theories on a favorite subject, when the slow fever seized him that brought him to the grave. Sir Edward Coke spent the last six years of his life in revising and improving the works upon which his fame now rests. John Wesley only the year before he died wrote: “I am now an old man, decayed from head to foot…. However, blessed be God! I do not slack my labors; I can preach and write still.” Arnauld, one of the greatest of French theologians and philosophers, retained, says Disraeli, “the vigor of his genius and the command of his pen to his last day, and at the age of eighty-two was still the great Arnauld.” It was he who, when urged in his old age to rest from his labors, exclaimed, “Rest! Shall we not have the whole of eternity to rest in?”

A healthy old age cannot be reached without the exercise of many virtues. There must have been prudence, self-denial, and temperance at the very least. According to the proverb, he that would be long an old man must begin early to be one, and the beginning early just means taking a great many precautions commonly neglected till it is too late. More people would be found completing their pilgrimage at a late date if it were not that, as a French writer puts it, “Men do not usually die; they kill themselves.” It is carelessness about the most ordinary rules of healthy living.

The enjoyment of old age may be looked on then as a reward, and the aged may pride themselves on being heirs to a rich inheritance, assigned to forethought and common sense. Many years are an honor. They are an honor even in the case of the worldly, and a great deal more so when life has been regulated by motives higher than any the world can show. “The hoary head,” says Solomon, “is a crown of glory;” but he adds this qualification, “if it be found in the way of righteousness.” Old people form a natural aristocracy, and to be ranked among them may be recommended to all who have an ambition to close their lives well up in the world.

For a picture of an old man in this enviable state of mind take Cornaro. In his eighty-third year we find him congratulating himself that in all probability he “had still a series of years to live in health and spirits and to enjoy this beautiful world, which is indeed beautiful to those who know how to make it so.” Even at ninety-five he wrote of himself as “sound and hearty, contented and cheerful.” “At this age,” he says, “I enjoy at once two lives: one terrestrial, which I possess in fact; the other celestial, which I possess in thought; and this thought is equal to actual enjoyment, when founded on things we are sure to attain, as I am sure to attain that celestial life, through the infinite mercy and goodness of God.”

Jeremy Bentham, who lived to be eighty-five, retained to the last the fresh and cheerful temperament of a boy. John Wesley, who died when he was eighty-eight, also had a happy disposition. “I feel and grieve,” he says, “but by the grace of God I fret at nothing.” Goethe, who reached his eighty-third year, is another good example. Then there is Boerhaave, one of the most celebrated physicians of modern times, who held that decent mirth is the salt of life. Indeed in the case of most old people, we believe it will be found that cheerfulness is one of their leading characteristics.

The recent death of Mr. Beecher, who with his splendid constitution ought to have lived twenty years longer, illustrates the principles of hygiene which he blindly disregarded. For years he was threatened with the form of death that seized him, and came near a fatal attack some years ago in Chicago while delivering a lecture. Men of a strong animal nature, hearty eaters, and restless workers, making great use of the brain, are liable to such attacks. If Mr. Beecher had observed ordinary prudence, and had a little scientific magnetic treatment, he would never have had an apoplectic attack; but he was commonplace in thought. He went the old way, and died as short-sighted men die. He had read my “Anthropology,” and told me he kept it in his library, but its thought did not enter into his life.