Who brings his little vanity, his grave
Appeal to men's applause or wonder....
Flash o'er the graven sands a liberal wave
And let us know no more his memory or his blood.
It is not that these unconscious boys are distinctly aware how secure is their tenure, how insecure and brief is yours. That is the worst of it. A tinge of self-consciousness would imply a trace of weakness. Their demeanor is never defiant or insolent; it would be too flattering were it thus. Such a bearing would imply a certain equality; whereas there is no equality between those who possess the future and those who only hold the defined and limited past. You are not slighted as an individual, but simply superseded as a generation. There is no equality between Shakespeare's dying King Henry and the Prince Hal who tries on his crown. In the case of these college youths, disrespect would be almost complimentary; it is the supreme and absolute indifference that overwhelms. You may have your place in the world, such as it is. “Old age hath yet its honor and its toil.” They neither assert nor deny it. Why should they? They simply shoulder their way through the ranks of mature persons, triumphantly heedless, like the conquering Goths through the streets of Rome, or a party of California miners through the Louvre. “The accumulations of the past may be all very ”
