At last some one mentioned it to the old grandfather of the young farmer.

He had nothing else to do,--so he stuck in some trees.

He lived long enough to drink barrels of cider made from the apples that grew on those trees.
As for myself, after visiting a friend lately,--[Do remember all the time that this is the Professor's paper.]--I satisfied myself that I had better concede the fact that--my contemporaries are not so young as they have been,--and that,--awkward as it is,--science and history agree in telling me that I can claim the immunities and must own the humiliations of the early stage of senility.

Ah! but we have all gone down the hill together.

The dandies of my time have split their waistbands and taken to high-low shoes.