Let us look at another picture. You have been paying a duty call, and as you closed the door behind you, it was with a sigh of relief and a feeling of thankfulness that a disagreeable task was ended for the present. No looking back at that house. No longing for a last glimpse of an old face at a window. You had gone thither in obedience to the call of conscience and because you wanted to do right in a patient, self-sacrificing spirit, remembering your divine Master, who “pleased not Himself.” All the same it had been hard for you to listen to ceaseless complaints, expressions of self-pity, hard judgments on your neighbours, or even on some who were dear to you, to which it was very difficult not to reply so as to give offence. Then, when you had stretched your call to the utmost possible limit, you have perhaps heard words something like these: “Are you really going? So soon? It was very good of you to come at all, for you would naturally prefer more cheerful company than that of a lonely woman, who has no news to tell that is worth listening to. I have few visitors now. It was different once, but at my time of life I must expect to be lonely and neglected.” And so on. Is it wonderful that age like this should be neglected or visited as a matter of duty only, or as a task in which love and inclination have no part? The soured nature which can find voice only for complaints and repinings, that regards a smiling face almost as a personal insult, and the sight of youth and bright spirits as an aggravation of chronic grievances, can expect only neglect save from those in whom the same mind that was in Christ Jesus overcomes all selfish considerations. The most persistent grumblers are often those who have the least real cause for complaint, and who possess blessings and comforts which others might well envy. But they turn away from a heaven flooded with sunshine, and will only look at a single cloud overhead, or search the horizon on the chance of discovering others. You will agree with me that such a case as I have described is almost, if not quite, past remedy. Have I not admitted this from the very beginning of our talk about growing old? Prevention is better than cure, and I want to urge upon you to be, whilst youth is yours and life nearly all before you, what you would like to be, only in a still higher and better degree, when you reach hoar hairs. I want every one of you to live to a good old age. So you must crush out the first signs of discontent, silence the inclination to murmur and resolve to make the best of your lot. You must be cheerful, patient and gentle towards others, careful in speech so as not to give needless offence, true in word and deed, so that from your youth up you may each be looked upon as one who may be fully trusted.