in an old friend, in old wine, in an old pedigree." "I venerate old
age," says the great and good poet Longfellow; "and I love not the man
who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of
evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of
twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding." "It is only
necessary to grow old to become more indulgent," writes Goethe; "I see
no fault committed that I have not committed myself." "An aged
Christian," says Chapin, beautifully enlarging on Goldsmith's and Dr.
Donne's ideas, "with the snow of time on his head, may remind us that
those points of earth are whitest which are nearest heaven."
[Illustration: OLD AGE.
"Age is the outer shore against which dashes an eternity." Page 401.]
"LIKE A MORNING DREAM,"
again says Richter, "life becomes more and more bright the longer we
live, and the reason of everything appears more clear. What has puzzled
us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter
as we approach the end." "Time has laid his hand upon my heart gently,"
says Longfellow, "not smiting it; but