I have heard, how true I know not, most physicians as they grow Greater in skill, grow less in their religion; Attributing so much to natural causes, That they have little faith in that they cannot Deliver reason for: this Doctor steers Another course. MASSINGER. I forget what poet it is, who, speaking of old age, says that The Soul's dark mansion, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made; a strange conceit, imputing to the decay of our nature that which results from its maturation. As the ancients found in the butterfly a beautiful emblem of the immortality of the Soul, my true philosopher and friend looked, in like manner, upon the chrysalis as a type of old age. The gradual impairment of the senses and of the bodily powers, and the diminution of the whole frame as it shrinks and contracts itself in age, afforded analogy enough for a mind like his to work on, which quickly apprehended remote similitudes, and delighted in remarking them. The sense of flying in our sleep, might probably, he thought, be the anticipation or forefeeling of an unevolved power, like an aurelia's dream of butterfly motion. The tadpole has no intermediate state of torpor. This merriest of all creatures, if mirth may be measured by motion, puts out legs before it discards its tail and commences frog. It was not in our outward frame that the Doctor could discern any resemblance to this process; but he found it in that expansion of the intellectual faculties, those aspirations of the spiritual part, wherein the Soul seems to feel its wings and to imp them for future flight. One has always something for which to look forward, some change for the better. The boy in petticoats longs to be drest in the masculine gender. Little boys wish to be big ones. In youth we are eager to attain manhood, and in manhood matrimony becomes the next natural step of our desires. “Days then should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom;” and teach it they will, if man will but learn, for nature brings the heart into a state for receiving it. _Jucundissima est ætas devexa jam, non tamen præceps; et illam quoque in extremâ regulâ stantem, judico habere suas voluptates; aut hoc ipsum succedit in locum voluptatum, nullis egere. Quam dulce est, cupiditates fatigasse ac reliquisse!_[1] This was not Dr. Dove's philosophy: he thought the stage of senescence a happy one, not because we outgrow the desires and enjoyments of youth and manhood, but because wiser desires, more permanent enjoyments, and holier hopes succeed to them,—because time in its course brings us nearer to eternity, and as earth recedes, Heaven opens upon our prospect. [Footnote 1: SENECA.]