Yesterday is as much our past as the bygone century, and sheltering in it from an uncongenial present, we are lost to our morrow.

Thus things slid gently back with him into their old grooves.

An era of blessedness had vanished, but was not lost; it was added to his life, gathered up into his being; it was dissolved into his consciousness, and interpenetrated his activity.

Where there is no ground of regret, or shame, or self-reproach, new joy casts not out the old; and now that the new joy was old, the older joys came softly trooping back to their attendance.

Nor was this all.