[Footnote 1:  Cf. loc. cit., p. 428.]

[Footnote 2:  Let me refer the reader, if he is interested in the subject, to the volume already cited, chapter 37.]

If the chief feature of the earlier half of life is a never-satisfied longing after happiness, the later half is characterized by the dread of misfortune.  For, as we advance in years, it becomes in a greater or less degree clear that all happiness is chimerical in its nature, and that pain alone is real.  Accordingly, in later years, we, or, at least, the more prudent amongst us, are more intent upon eliminating what is painful from our lives and making our position secure, than on the pursuit of positive pleasure.  I may observe, by the way, that in old age, we are better able to prevent misfortunes from coming, and in youth better able to bear them when they come.

In my young days, I was always pleased to hear a ring at my door:  ah! thought I, now for something pleasant.  But in later life my feelings on such occasions were rather akin to dismay than to pleasure:  heaven help me! thought I, what am I to do?  A similar revulsion of feeling in regard to the world of men takes place in all persons of any talent or distinction.  For that very reason they cannot be said properly to belong to the world; in a greater or less degree, according to the extent of their superiority, they stand alone.  In their youth they have a sense of being abandoned by the world; but later on, they feel as though they had escaped it.  The earlier feeling is an unpleasant one, and rests upon ignorance; the second is pleasurable—­for in the meantime they have come to know what the world is.

The consequence of this is that, as compared with the earlier, the later half of life, like the second part of a musical period, has less of passionate longing and more restfulness about it.  And why is this the case Simply because, in youth, a man fancies that there is a prodigious amount of happiness and pleasure to be had in the world, only that it is difficult to come by it; whereas, when he becomes old, he knows that there is nothing of the kind; he makes his mind completely at ease on the matter, enjoys the present hour as well as he can, and even takes a pleasure in trifles.

The chief result gained by experience of life is clearness of view.  This is what distinguishes the man of mature age, and makes the world wear such a different aspect from that which it presented in his youth or boyhood.  It is only then that he sees things quite plain, and takes them for that which they really are:  while in earlier years he saw a phantom-world, put together out of the whims and crotchets of his own mind, inherited prejudice and strange delusion:  the real world was hidden from him, or the vision of it distorted.  The first thing that experience finds to do is to free us from the phantoms of the brain—­those false notions that have been put into us in youth.