at a time, would even change places with them.
The old discreetly hold their tongues and accept the sort of supremacy thus forced upon them.
So long as they say nothing, the mistaken impression stands.
Sir Robert Walpole
, who lived to be nearly eighty, remarked of his coeval, Lord Tyrawley, “Tyrawley and I have been dead for two years, but we don't tell anybody.”
Long before reaching that point it occurs to most persons that, after all, the world belongs to the young, and not to those who seem to control it; the elders have still the nominal ownership, but they are only, as the phrase is, tenants by the courtesy, and in a few days or hours the whole governing body will be essentially different.
In some persons this causes a languid indifference to a world so soon to slip from their grasp; in others it creates an almost excessive eagerness for handling the tools of thought or action to the last.
But in either case they are brought to the same conclusion, that the really interesting people are the youngsters, and not themselves.
The curious thing is that, while the elders are thus meditating, the young people are looking forward with fear and solicitude, and wondering how they shall ever be able to fill the