By Kate Gannett Wells

Old age becomes more of a problem when living in it than when viewed afar off. It is a question of economics and ethics more than of wrinkles. It is so easy not to mind it when well, rich and beloved; it is so impossible not to object to it when sick, poor and unwelcome. It creeps into almost every home and, though we try to alleviate it and succeed to a certain extent, through affection, cookery and cleanliness, the vast majority of the world does not know how to manage to live on almost nothing, and yet it is upon those of small or of no means that the support of old age presses most heavily. So love only is left, and too often not even that.

Then one wonders if one ought to refuse marriage and devote one's self to one's parents;—or, if married and children are many, and food and lodgings scant, shall one also house one's aged parents? If the ethics thereof are difficult to settle when money and space are available, it is a hideous task for decision when both are lacking.

Nowhere does the attempted settlement to remove the stigma of pauperism from the aged through legislation threaten to be more puzzling than in England, where after January 1, 1911, a workhouse inmate of above seventy years and "fairly respectable" is entitled to leave the house and receive in lieu of its shelter five shillings a week. Is acceptance of such pension outside of a workhouse more honorable than being dependent on Government for support inside the workhouse? That is the question the Old Age pensioners of England are trying to solve. Who is going to house, feed and clothe them for five shillings a week? What does that amount to, set against the care of an infirm, old, undesired relative who is not wanted either for his keep or his affection, and who will only grow older? Even as a boarder of no kin whatever to his landlady, is he likely to be as comfortable as in the workhouse? Startling have been some of the discoveries that have followed upon this apparently beneficent legislation.

Well was it that Miss Edith Sellers of England, of her own free will, visited relatives of the inmates of a London workhouse, hoping to carry back to the latter place the joyful tidings that they were wanted in families. Alas! out of 528 such inmates only 221 had any relatives, and more than half of that number knew that, if they went to their kinspeople, they would not be taken in. Some who had felt sure of a welcome were bitterly disappointed. "Old folk give no end of trouble; keeping them clean takes up all one's time. Besides they must have somewhere to sleep," was generally answered. One grown-up daughter, supporting herself, her mother and brother in two rooms, one no better than a cupboard, grieved she could not take back her father. Other sons and daughters, by blood or by law, waxed indignant at being urged to receive their kinsmen, even for the sake of the shillings. They had neither room nor food for them; each generation must care first for its own children and not take up burdens of parents, worse still of grandparents, aunts and cousins once gotten rid of; especially, if they were of the drunken variety, as was too often the case.

Fortunately Miss Sellers found a few other homes which promised to receive a pensioner for the sake of his pension, or from real affection. After all the bitter work-a-day life in these narrow homes, attics, cellars, two or three rooms at most, would have been more wretched for the pensioners to bear than their blighted hopes. "To work a bit harder," in order to take in one's aged mother, is not possible in thousands of cases. Better to remain a workhouse pauper and be sure of warmth, cleanliness and food than to wander forth uncared for or to be an unwelcome burden on an overworked child.

Therefore is it that the English Old Age Pension Act does not solve its own problem, for the infirm or sick must still be sheltered in some refuge which should have no workhouse taint of pauperism attached to it.

However much there may be among us of similar reluctance to take home aged pauper relatives, it has not yet become a matter of public investigation, though, if it were, it is possible that there would be as much unwillingness manifested here as in England. Certainly many of our almshouses and homes for the aged poor suggest that there will be the same forlorn hopes shattered, if pensions should ever be conferred instead of legal residences in almshouses.

Fortunately for us, old age is still an individual question. All the more, then, should elderly people not let themselves get crabbed. Of course, if other people would not nag one with being old, one would not be,—quite so old!

What old age, whether poor, middling or well-to-do lacks is amusement. It is lonesome to keep jolly by remembering that one's mind ought to be one's kingdom. Meditation is all very well, but so also is the circus, the "greatest value of which lies in its non-ethical quality." Even if it has its symbolism, it does not mercilessly set one to moralizing, save as a three ring circus and a "brigade of clowns" (the result of trying to make as much money as possible) incites to weariness. The real "gospel of the circus" lies in its democracy, in its revealings of the power of training on acrobats and animals through kindly persistence, and in the mutual good will and law abiding qualities of the household of a circus. Always has it belonged to the people, and even ministers have not been discounted for their attendance.

It seems a wide jump in fancy from old age to a circus, and yet to me they are intimately connected through the dear old people, poor and well to do, whom I have known, who found in it their objective base for amusement. To them the clown and his jokes were links in the spirit of human brotherhood. Alas, as a pension of five shillings a week will not permit of the circus in its glory, old age asks for the minor blessings of five cent shows, public parks, and good tobacco. Just to be out doors is rejuvenating.

All the more is amusement desirable, because legislation has undertaken to set the goal when one shall no longer work. To retire teachers, officers, workers, merely because they are sixty-five or seventy is an insult to human nature, which rejects any arbitrary limit save that of incapacity. The average of average people, though perhaps unable to earn their living after seventy, are still capable of being occupied. Therefore let the old folks work at household and woodshed drudgery as long as they can, however irritating their slowness may be to the young and merciless. Let the old serve also in semi-public ways, because of their experience, even if they are not wanted round.

It is a common saying that it is harder to resign office at seventy than at sixty, just because old age clings to occupation as its protection. But if with most of us, if not with all, as the years increase, occupation shrivels and the fads or hobbies, the solace of earlier days, cease by their very weight to be pursued,—then may there still be amusement provided for the elderly before they become "Shut Ins," dependent on Christmas and Easter cards for enjoyment.