Now, said the Professor, you don't mean to tell me that I have got to that yet? Why, bless you, I am several years short of the time when--[I knew what was coming, and could hardly keep from laughing; twenty years ago he used to quote it as one of those absurd speeches men of genius will make, and now he is going to argue from it]--several years short of the time when Balzac says that men are --most--you know--dangerous to--the hearts of--in short, most to be dreaded by duennas that have charge of susceptible females.--What age is that? said I, statistically.--Fifty-two years, answered the Professor.--Balzac ought to know, said I, if it is true that Goethe said of him that each of his stories must have been dug out of a woman's heart. But fifty-two is a high figure. Stand in the light of the window, Professor, said I.---The Professor took up the desired position.--You have white hairs, I said.--Had 'em any time these twenty years, said the Professor. --And the crow's-foot,--pes anserinus, rather.--The Professor smiled, as I wanted him to, and the folds radiated like the ridges of a half-opened fan, from the outer corner of the eyes to the temples. --And the calipers said I.--What are the calipers? he asked, curiously.--Why, the parenthesis, said I.--Parenthesis? said the Professor; what's that?--Why, look in the glass when you are disposed to laugh, and see if your mouth isn't framed in a couple of crescent lines,--so, my boy ( ).--It's all nonsense, said the Professor; just look at my BICEPS;--and he began pulling off his coat to show me his arm. Be careful, said I; you can't bear exposure to the air, at your time of life, as you could once.--I will box with you, said the Professor, row with you, walk with you, ride with you, swim with you, or sit at table with you, for fifty dollars a side.--Pluck survives stamina, I answered. The Professor went off a little out of humor. A few weeks afterwards he came in, looking very good-natured, and brought me a paper, which I have here, and from which I shall read you some portions, if you don't object. He had been thinking the matter over, he said,--had read Cicero "De Senectute," and made up his mind to meet old age half way. These were some of his reflections that he had written down; so here you have. THE PROFESSOR'S PAPER. There is no doubt when old age begins. The human body is a furnace which keeps in blast three-score years and ten, more or less. It burns about three hundred pounds of carbon a year, (besides other fuel,) when in fair working order, according to a great chemist's estimate. When the fire slackens, life declines; when it goes out, we are dead.