princess, "an evening
walk must give, to a man of learning, like you, pleasures which
ignorance and youth can hardly conceive. You know the qualities and the
causes of all that you behold, the laws by which the river flows, the
periods in which the planets perform their revolutions. Every thing must
supply you with contemplation, and renew the consciousness of your own
dignity."

"Lady," answered he, "let the gay and the vigorous expect pleasure in
their excursions; it is enough that age can obtain ease. To me, the
world has lost its novelty: I look round, and see what I remember to
have seen in happier days. I rest against a tree, and consider, that in
the same shade I once disputed upon the annual overflow of the Nile,
with a friend who is now silent in the grave. I cast my eyes upwards,
fix them on the changing moon, and think, with pain, on the vicissitudes
of life. I have ceased to take much delight in physical truth; for what
have I to do with those things which I am soon to leave?"

"You may, at least, recreate yourself," said Imlac, "with the
recollection of an honourable and useful life, and enjoy the praise
which all agree to give you."

"Praise," said the sage, with a sigh, "is, to an old man, an empty
sound. I have neither mother to be delighted with the reputation of her
son, nor wife to partake the honours of her husband. I have outlived my
friends and my rivals. Nothing is now of much importance; for I cannot
extend my interest beyond myself. Youth is delighted with applause,
because it is considered, as the earnest of some future good, and
because the prospect of life is far extended; but to me, who am now
declining to decrepitude, there is little to be feared from the
malevolence of men, and yet less to be hoped from their affection or
esteem. Something they may yet take away, but they can give me nothing.
Riches would now be useless, and high employment would be pain. My
retrospect of life recalls to my view many opportunities of good
neglected, much time squandered upon trifles, and more lost in idleness
and vacancy. I leave many great designs unattempted, and many great
attempts unfinished. My mind is burdened with no heavy crime, and,
therefore, I compose myself to tranquillity; endeavour to abstract my
thoughts from hopes and cares, which, though reason knows them to be
vain, still try to keep their old possession of the heart; expect, with
serene humility, that hour which nature cannot long del