Wait, and He’ll all things give.
I don’t believe in death.
If hour by hour I die,
’Tis hour by hour to gain
A better life thereby.
Angelus Silesius, A. D. 1620.
AUNT KINDLY.
By THEODORE PARKER
Miss Kindly is aunt to everybody, and has been, for so long a time, that none remember to the contrary. The little children love her; and she helped their grandmothers to bridal ornaments threescore years ago. Nay, this boy’s grandfather found that the way to college lay through her pocket. Generations not her own rise up and call her blessed. To this man’s father her patient toil gave the first start in life. When that great fortune was a seed, it was she who carried it in her hand. That wide river of reputation ran out of the cup which her bounty filled. Now she is old, very old. The little children, who cling about her, with open mouth and great round eyes, wonder that anybody should ever be so old; or ask themselves whether Aunt Kindly ever had a mother to kiss her mouth. To them she is coeval with the sun, and, like that, an institution of the country. At Christmas, they think she is the wife of St. Nicholas himself, such an advent is there of blessings from her hand.