It is the triumph of nature over art; it is the voice of the angel which is yet within us.

Nor is this all: the tenderness of age is twice blessed,--blessed in its trophies over the obduracy of encrusting and withering years, blessed because it is tinged with the sanctity of the grave; because it tells us that the heart will blossom even upon the precincts of the tomb, and flatters us with the inviolacy and immortality of love..