sembly of old men, and although in the Senate of Rome, which was the
greatest of all, the members sat for life, there was a special law
providing that no Senator, after sixty, should be summoned to attend his
duty.[76] In the past centuries active septuagenarian statesmen were
very rare, and in parliamentary life almost unknown. In our own century
there have been brilliant exceptions, but in most cases it will be
found that the true glory of these statesmen rests on what they had done
before old age, and sometimes the undue prolongation of their active
lives has been a grave misfortune, not only to their own reputations,
but also to the nations they influenced. Often, indeed, while faculties
diminish, self-confidence, even in good men, increases. Moral and
intellectual failings that had been formerly repressed take root and
spread, and it is no small blessing that they have but a short time to
run their course. In the case of men of great capacities the follies of
age are perhaps even more to be feared than the follies of youth. When
men have made a great reputation and acquired a great authority, when
they become the objects of the flattery of nations, and when they can,
with little trouble or thought or study, attract universal attention, a
new set of temptations begins. Their heads are apt to be turned. The
feeling of responsibility grows weaker; the old judgment, caution,
deliberation, self-restraint, and timidity disappear. Obstinacy and
prejudice strengthen, while at the same time the force of the reasoning
will diminishes. Sometimes, through a failing that is partly
intellectual, but partly also moral, they almost wholly lose the power
of realising or recognising new conditions, discoveries and necessities.
They view with jealousy the rise of new reputations and of younger men,
and the well-earned authority of an old man becomes the most formidable
obstacle to improvement. In the field of politics, in the field of
science, and in the field of military organisation, these truths might
be abundantly illustrated. In the case of great but maleficent genius
the shortness of life is a priceless blessing. Few greater curses could
be imagined for the human race than the prolongation for centuries of
the life of Napoleon.

In literature also the same law may be detected. A writer's best
thoughts are usually expressed long before extreme old age, though the
habit and desire of production continue. The time of repetition, of