"I am going to school," replied the lad, "to study, when I had rather a thousand times be at play; and sit on a bench with a book in my hand while I long to be sporting in the fields. But never mind, I shall be a man soon, and then I shall be free as the air." Saying this, he skipped away merrily, in the hope of soon being a man.
"It is thus you play upon the inexperience of youth," said Memory, reproachfully.
Passing onward, they met a beautiful girl, pacing slow and melancholy behind a party of gay young men and maidens, who walked arm in arm with each other, and were flirting and exchanging all those little harmless courtesies, which nature prompts on such occasions. They were all gaily dressed in silks and ribbons; but the little girl had on a simple frock, a homely apron, and clumsy thick-soled shoes.
"Why don't you join yonder group," asked Hope, "and partake in their gaiety, my pretty little girl?"
"Alas!" replied she, "they take no notice of me. They call me a child. But I shall soon be a woman, and then I shall be so happy!" Inspired by this hope, she quickened her pace, and soon was seen dancing along merrily with the rest.
In this manner they wended their way, from nation to nation, and clime to clime, until they had made the circuit of the universe. Wherever they came, they found the human race, which at this time was all young—it being not many years since the first creation of mankind—repining at the present, and looking forward to a riper age for happiness. All anticipated some future good, and Memory had scarce any thing to do but cast looks of reproach at her young companion. "Let us return home," said she, "to that delightful spot where I first drew my breath. I long to repose among its beautiful bowers; to listen to the brooks that murmured a thousand times more musically; to the birds that sung a thousand times sweeter; and to the echoes that were softer than any I have since heard. Ah! there is nothing on earth so enchanting as the scenes of my earliest youth."
Hope indulged himself in a sly, significant smile, and they proceeded on their return home. As they journeyed but slowly, many rears elapsed ere they approached the spot whence they had departed. It so happened one day they met an old man, bending under the weight of years, and walking with trembling steps, leaning on his staff. Memory at once recognized him as the youth they had seen going to school, on their first outset in the tour of the world. As they came nearer, the old man reclined on his staff, and looking at Hope, who, being immortal, was still a blithe young boy, sighed as if his heart was breaking.
"What aileth thee, old man?" asked the youth.
"What aileth me," he replied, in a feeble, faltering voice—"What should ail me, but old age. I have outlived my health and strength; I have survived all that was near and dear; I have seen all I loved, or that loved me, struck down to the earth like dead leaves in autumn, and now I stand like an old tree withering alone in the world, without roots, without branches and without verdure. I have only just enough of sensation to know that I am miserable, and the recollection of the happiness of my youthful days, when careless and full of blissful anticipation, I was a laughing, merry boy, only adds to the miseries I now endure."
"Behold!" said Memory, "the consequence of thy deceptions," and she looked reproachfully at her companion.