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A young girl said to her mother just after a white-haired visitor left their home:  “If I could be such as old lady as that – so beautiful, serene, sweet, and lovable – I should not mind growing old.”

            The discerning and keen-witted mother replied, “Well, if you want to be that kind of an old lady, you had better begin making her right now.  She does not strike me as a piece of work that was done in a hurry.  If you are going to paint that sort of portrait of yourself to leave the world, you had better be mixing the colors right now.”