CHAPTER XVII 



CHESTNUTS BY THE WAY 



at sixty,&quot; said the Doctor, &quot; is apt 

 to find himself opening an account with 

 life. He starts a set of books in his con 

 sciousness and begins a debit and credit account, 

 striking daily balances. Owe so much to sleep ; 

 paid out so much to a late supper ; borrowed of 

 enthusiasm ; lost by last night s emotions, etc. 

 He becomes the banker of his own blood, trying 

 by hoarding his supplies to keep himself in cir 

 culation. It is the first stage of an insidious de 

 crepitude to take care of one s self. He has lost 

 the divine gift of heedless enthusiasms ; those 

 noble impulses that lifted him headlong over 

 every barrier with an aerated optimism that 

 winged him with a godlike recklessness. I have 

 a great admiration for the superb animality of 

 youth. Every man of sixty has.&quot; 



&quot; I do not see why he should have,&quot; I ven- 

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