when age shall have somewhat tempered her emotional
susceptibilities she will shine with the steady light of a
planet, reaching her perihelion and taking a permanent place in
the firmament of letters.

Sounds something like a Johnsonian epitaph, but wasn't it great?

I visited his adopted mother at Roslyn, Long Island, and they took me
to a Sunday dinner with Bryant at "Cedarmere," a fitting spot for a
poet's home. The aged poet was in vigorous health, mind and body.
Going to his library he took down an early edition of his
_Thanatopsis_, pointing out the nineteen lines written some time
before the rest. Mottoes hung on the wall such as "As thy days so
shall thy strength be." I ventured to ask how he preserved such
vitality, and he said, "I owe a great deal to daily air baths and the
flesh brush, plenty of outdoor air and open fireplaces." What an
impressive personality; erect, with white hair and long beard; his
eyebrows looked as if snow had fallen on them. His conversation was
delightfully informal. "What does your name mean?" he inquired, and I
had to say, "I do not know, it has changed so often," and asked, "What
is the origin of yours?" "Briant--brilliant, of course." He told the
butler to close the door behind me lest I catch cold from a draught,
quoting this couplet:

When the wind strikes you through a hole,
Go make your will and mind your soul;

and informing me that this advice was found in every language, if not
dialect, in the world. He loved every inch of his country home, was
interested in farming, flowers, the water-view and fish-pond, fond of