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But age, as he used to saywith a smile of immortal youth, is a matter of
feeling, not of years. We used to call it a Western town in theheart of the
civilization of New England.
Anger is an expensive luxury, in which only men of
acertain income can indulge. How glad I am that I can now look at her through
my spectacles. Really, they wereelectroplate, and the glass was plain (for the
poor fellows eyes wereexcellent).
That young lady was afterwards mygrandmother
Titbottom. I grew cold and hard, almost morose;people seemed to me blind and
unreasonable. It was past midnight, and our guest arose to go. But one was a
well ofcool, deep water, and looking suddenly in, one day, I saw the stars.
But
I was bent withfrenzy upon my purpose.
The eastern profile isthe portrait of
the statesman Franklin, the western of Poor Richard.
You may believe that I was
especially curious to look at that oldlover of hers, through my glasses. The
hours were not enough for the wild romances which I ravedin her ear. When
heappeared in the front of the house, I retired to my sanctissimum andmy
dressing-gown. There were but a few of them, and mostlytraders from the
neighboring island.
Shecame nearer and nearer, a graceful spectre in the
dazzling morning. Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and
dignity, andsimplicity? I had seen her, already, and now I saw him. In despair
I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him toemploy me.
Instinctively I put them on, and looked at my grandfather.
He had orders never
to show himself at that window.
A warm, mellow atmosphere bathed thewhole.
Enough to do, and all so real and so grand!
I grew cold and hard, almost
morose;people seemed to me blind and unreasonable.
A violent passion of
grieffor his loss was no more possible than for the pensive decay of theyear.
Of course I could not value highly theordinary standards of success and
excellence. They called green, yellow; and black, white.
I did not findthose I
came to clearer sighted than those I had left behind.
A warm, mellow atmosphere
bathed thewhole. There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said,
thatI will not occupy the time.
Pictures of the Madonna have not her rare and
pensive beauty. There are but many varieties of a few types.
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