Again, youth is extravagant; spends with both hands, cannot hear of economy; burns the candle at both ends; eats the corn while it is green; trades upon the future; gives bills at long dates without hesitation, and while the golden flood rolls past takes what it wants and sends out its sons to help themselves.  Why should youth make provisions for the sons of youth?  The world is young; the riches of the world are beyond counting; they belong to the young; let us work, let us spend; let us enjoy, for youth is the time for work and for enjoyment.

In youth, again, one is careless about little things; they will right themselves:  persons of the baser sort pervert the freedom of the country to their own uses; they make ‘corners’ and ‘rings’ and steal the money of the municipality; never mind; some day, when we have time, we will straighten things out.  In youth, also, one is tempted to gallant apparel, bravery of show, a defiant bearing, gold and lace and colour.  In cities this tendency of youth is shown by great buildings and big institutions.  In youth, there is a natural exaggeration in talk:  hence the spread-eagle of which we hear so much.  Then everything which belongs to youth must be better—­beyond comparison better—­than everything that belongs to age.  In the last century, if you like, youth followed and imitated age; it is the note of this, our country, that youth is always advancing and stepping ahead of age.  Even in the daily press the youth of the country shows itself.  Let age sit down and meditate; let such a paper as the London Times—­that old, old paper—­give every day three laboured and thoughtful essays written by scholars and philosophers on the topics of the day.  It is not for youth to ponder over the meaning and the tendencies of things; it is for youth to act, to make history, to push things along; therefore let the papers record everything that passes; perhaps when the country is old, when the time comes for meditation, the London Times may be imitated, and even a weekly collection of essays, such as the Saturday Review or the Spectator, may be successfully started in the United States.  Again, youth is apt to be jealous over its own pretensions.  Perhaps this quality also might be illustrated; but, for obvious reasons, we will not press this point.  Lastly, youth knows nothing of the time which came immediately before itself.  It is not till comparatively late in life that a man connects his own generation—­his own history—­with that which preceded him.  When does the history of the United States begin—­not for the man of letters or the professor of history—­but for the average man?  It begins when the Union begins:  not before.  There is a very beautiful and very noble history before the Union.  But it is shared with Great Britain.  There is a period of gallant and victorious war—­but beside the colonials marched King George’s red-coats.  There was a brave struggle for supremacy, and the French were victoriously driven out—­but it was by English fleets and with the help of English soldiers.  Therefore, the average American mind refuses to dwell on this period.  His country must spring at once, full armed, into the world.  His country must be all his own.  He wants no history, if you please, in which any other country has also a share.