Jonathan reported at the bar that the old gentleman was all right again.
One would like here to pause, while our worthy ancient feeds, and indulge in a short essay on Habit, to show what a sacred and admirable thing it is that makes flimsy Time substantial, and consolidates his triple life.

It is proof that we have come to the end of dreams and Time's delusions, and are determined to sit down at Life's feast and carve for ourselves.

Its day is the child of yesterday, and has a claim on to-morrow.

Whereas those who have no such plan of existence and sum of their wisdom to show, the winds blow them as they list.

Consider, then, mercifully the wrath of him on whom carelessness or forgetfulness has brought a snap in the links of Habit.