eer, its manly cousin, have
neither of them the old foaming tingle when you come off the water.
Yes, already, I am told, I am on the long road that leads down to the
quiet inn at the mountain foot. I am promised, to be sure, many wide
prospects, pleasant sounds of wind and water, and friendly greetings
by the way. There will be a stop here and there for refreshments, a
pause at the turn where the world shows best, a tightening of the
brake. Get up, Dobbin! Go 'long! And then, tired and nodding, at last,
we shall leave the upland and enter the twilight where all roads end.

A pleasant picture, is it not--a grandfather in a cap--yourself, my
dear sir, hugging your cold shins in the chimney corner? Is it not a
brave end to a stirring business? Life, you say, is a journey up and
down a hill--aspirations unattained and a mild regret, castles at
dawn, a brisk wind for the noontide, and at night, at best, the lights
of a little village, the stir of water on the stones, and silence.

Is this true? Or do we not reiterate a lie? I deny old age. It is a
false belief, a bad philosophy dimming the eyes of generations. Men
and women may wear caps, but not because of age. In each one's heart,
if he permit, a child keeps house to the very end. If Welsh rabbit
lose its flavor, is it a sign of decaying power? I have yet to know
that a relish for Shakespeare declines, or the love of one's friends,
or the love of truth and beauty. Youth does not view the loftiest
peaks. It is at sunset that the tallest castles rise.

My dear sir--you of seventy or beyond--if no rim of mountains
stretches up before you, it is not your age that denies you but the
quality of your thought. It has been said of old that as a man thinks
so he is, but who of us has learned the lesson?

The journey has neither a beginning nor an end. Now is eternity. Our
birth is but a signpost on the road--our going hence, another post to
mark transition and our progress. The oldest stars are brief lamps
upon our way. We shall travel wisely if we see peaks and castles all
the day, and hold our childhood in our hearts. Then, when at last the
night has come, we shall plant our second post upon a windy height
where it will be first to catch the dawn.

On the Difference Between Wit and Humor.

I am not sure that I can draw an exact line between wit and humor.
Perhaps the distinction is so subtle that only those persons can
decide who have long white beards. But even an i