You linger for a moment when the primary school has been dismissed. For a little while the stream of youthful humanity flows sluggishly as between the banks of a canal, but once beyond the school limits it returns to nature. It is a bright, foaming torrent. Not a moment is wasted. The little girls are at once exchanging confidences, and the little boys are in Valhalla, where the heroes make friends with one another by indulging in everlasting assault and battery, and continually arise "refreshed with blows." There is no question about their being all alive and actively interested in one another. All the natural reactions are exhibited in the most interesting manner.
Then you get into a street car, invented by an ingenious misanthropist to give you the most unfavorable view possible of your kind. On entering you choose a side, unless you are condemned to be suspended in the middle. Then you look at your antagonists on the opposite side. What a long, unrelenting row of humanity! These are the grown-ups. You look for some play of emotion, some evidence of curiosity, pleasure, exhilaration, such as you might naturally expect from those who are taking a little journey in the world.
Not a sign of any such emotion do you discern. They are not adventuring into a wonder-world. They are only getting over the ground. One feels like putting up a notice: "Lost, somewhere on the road between infancy and middle age, several valuable faculties. The finder will find something to his advantage."
I have no quarrel with Old Age. It should be looked upon as a reward of merit to be cheerfully striven for.
Old Age hath still his honor and his toil.
Nor do I object to the process of growth. It belongs to the order of nature. Growing is like falling,—it is all right so long as you keep on; the trouble comes when you stop.
What I object to is the fatalistic way in which people acquiesce in the arrest of their own mental development. Adolescence is exciting. All sorts of things are happening, and more are promised. Life rushes on with a sweet tumult. All things seem possible. It seems as if a lot of the unfinished business of the world is about to be put through with enthusiasm. Then, just as the process has had a fair start, some evil spirit intervenes and says: "Time's up! You've grown all you are to be allowed to. Now you must settle down,—and be quick about it! No more adolescing; you are adults!"
Poor adults! Nature seems to have been like an Indian giver, taking away the gifts as soon as they are received,—
The gifts of morn