him; and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind; else you would not
all be so shadowy, in the blaze of his Thanksgiving fire.

How strangely the Past is peeping over the shoulders of the Present!
To judge by my recollections, it is but a few moments since I sat in
another room; yonder model of a vessel was not there, nor the old
chest of drawers, nor Susan's profile and mine, in that gilt frame;
nothing, in short, except this same fire, which glimmered on books,
papers, and a picture, and half discovered my solitary figure in a
looking-glass. But it was paler than my rugged old self, and younger,
too, by almost half a century. Speak to me, Susan; speak, my beloved
ones; for the scene is glimmering on my sight again, and as it
brightens you fade away. O, I should be loath to lose my treasure of
past happiness, and become once more what I was then; a hermit in the
depths of my own mind; sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes, and anon
a scribbler of wearier trash than what I read; a man who had wandered
out of the real world and got into its shadow, where his troubles,
joys, and vicissitudes were of such slight stuff, that he hardly knew
whether he lived, or only dreamed of living. Thank Heaven, I am an old
man now, and have done with all such vanities!

Still this dimness of mine eyes! Come nearer, Susan, and stand before
the fullest blaze of the hearth. Now I behold you illuminated from
head to foot, in your clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of
gray hair across your forehead, and a quiet smile about your mouth,
while the eyes alone are concealed, by the red gleam of the fire upon
your spectacles. There, you made me tremble again! When the flame
quivered, my sweet Susan, you quivered with it, and grew indistinct,
as if melting into the warm light, that my last glimpse of you might
be as visionary as the first was, full many a year since. Do you