the boy sat down, and the Philosopher lit his pipe.

"Do you live far from here?" said he.

"Not far," said the boy. "You could see my mother's house from this
place if you were as tall as a tree, and even from the ground you can
see a shape of smoke yonder that floats over our cottage."

The Philosopher looked but could see nothing.

"My eyes are not as good as yours are," said he, "because I am getting
old."

"What does it feel like to be old?" said the boy.

"It feels stiff like," said the Philosopher.

"Is that all?" said the boy.

"I don't know," the Philosopher replied after a few moments' silence.
"Can you tell me what it looks like to be young?"

"Why not?" said the boy, and then a slight look of perplexity crossed
his face, and he continued, "I don't think I can."

"Young people," said the Philosopher, "do not know what age is, and old
people forget what youth was. When you begin to grow old always think
deeply of your youth, for an old man without memories is a wasted life,
and nothing is worth remembering but our childhood. I will tell you some
of the differences between being old and young, and then you can ask me
questions, and so we will get at both sides of the matter. First, an old
man gets tired quicker than a boy."

The boy thought for a moment, and then replied:

"That is not a great difference, for a boy does get very tired."

The Philosopher continued:

"An old man does not want to eat as often as a boy."

"That is not a great difference either," the boy replied, "for they both
do eat. Tell me the big difference."

"I do not know it, my son; but I have always thought there was a big
difference. Perhaps it is that an old man has memories of things which a
boy cannot even guess at."

"But they both have memories," said the boy, laughing, "and so it is not
a big difference."

"That is true," said the Philosopher. "Maybe there is not so much
difference after all. Tell me things you do, and we will see if I can do
them also."

"But I don't know what I do," he replied.

"You must know the things you do," said the Philosopher, "but you may
not understand how to put them in order. The great trouble about any
kind of examination is to know where to begin, but there are always two
places in everything with which we can commence--they are the beginning
and the end. From either of these points a view may be had which
comprehends the entire period. So we will begin with the things you d