Although it is now fifty, instead of “forty years on,” I indignantly disclaim the “feeble of foot,” whilst reluctantly pleading guilty to “rheumatic of shoulder.”  It is common to most people, as they advance in life, to note with a sorrowful satisfaction the gradual decay of the physical powers of their contemporaries, though they always seem to imagine that they themselves have retained all their pristine vigour, and have successfully resisted every assault of Time’s battering-ram.  The particular sentiment described in German as “Schadenfreude,” “pleasure over another’s troubles” (how characteristic it is that there should be no equivalent in any other language for this peculiarly Teutonic emotion!), makes but little appeal to the average Briton except where questions of age and of failing powers come into play, and obviously this only applies to men:  no lady ever grows old for those who are really fond of her; one always sees her as one likes best to think of her.

I have already divulged one family secret, so I will reveal another.  Some few years ago my three eldest brothers were dining together.  Each of them professed deep concern at the palpable signs of physical decay which he detected in his brethren, whilst congratulating himself on remaining untouched by advancing years.  The dispute became acrimonious to a degree; the grossest personalities were freely bandied about.  At length it was decided to put the matter to a practical test, and it was agreed (I tell this in the strictest confidence) that the three brothers should run a hundred yards race in the street then and there.  Accordingly, a nephew of mine paced one hundred yards in Montagu Street, Portman Square, and stood immovable as winning-post.  The Chairman of the British South African Chartered Company, the Chairman of the Great Eastern Railway Company, and the Secretary of State for India took up their positions in the street and started.  The Chairman of the Great Eastern romped home.  We are all of us creatures of our environment, and we may become unconsciously coloured by that environment; as the Great Eastern Railway has always adopted a go-ahead policy, it is possible that some particle of the momentum which would naturally result from this may have been subconsciously absorbed by the Chairman, thus giving him an unfair advantage over his brothers.  It is unusual for a Duke, a Chairman of an important Railway Company, and a Secretary of State to run races in a London street at ten o’clock at night, especially when the three of them were long past their sixtieth year, but I feel certain that my confidence about this little episode will be respected.