All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store and overplus,— M… - Austin Dobson

Old books, old wine, old Nankin blue;—
All things, in short, to which belong
The charm, the grace that Time makes strong,—
All these I prize, but (entre nous)
Old friends are best.

A retrospect of the Eighteenth-Century Essayists subsequent to the ',' ',' and ',' only serves to confirm the supremacy of Addison and Steele. Some of their successors approached them in serious writing; others carried the lighter kinds to considerable perfection; but none (Goldsmith alone excepted) really rivaled them in that happily mingling of the lively and severe, which Johnson envied but could not emulate.

Love comes unseen,—we only see it go.