Tony Blair never tires of spelling out his vision of Britain as a "young" country. And his "people's party" certainly has a preference for young audiences. Nothing wrong with that. Indeed, from many perspectives it is an important and long-overdue development of the political process.
But the party which won the election last May is still taking no chances. As we sit in the splendour of the Old Lothian Council Chamber - the respectful hush disturbed only by the skirl of the pipes from nearby Parliament Square - it seems clear that the enduring preference is for audiences which are, above all, safe.
The invited audience - from schools, colleges and universities - is by definition young. But as we await the arrival of Chancellor Gordon Brown there is no sign of a rebel caucus ready to challenge, question or doubt "the settled will" of the Scottish people.
Mr Brown stops by a few students on his way to the podium, apologising for his late arrival, asking where they are from, telling them how delighted he is to be here, providing the requisite television pictures of informality. They exchange bemused glances as he proceeds to the formalities. But first the requisite nod in the direction of that young vision.
Mr Brown is, above all, delighted to address this audience because it betokens a Scottish parliament "which will be young and vibrant." That is what this campaign is about: "A new Scotland is emerging . . . A Scotland that is open to change, freeing itself from the exaggerated fears of yesterday, and ready for a new future."
Then to the meat. The "iron Chancellor" is often depicted as a rather cold fellow. But there is passion here, muted but no less real - as befits a man with a more solid and consistent record of support for devolution than many on Labour's front bench.
Devolution will bring government closer to the people. For too long, for too many people, government was something that happened somewhere else. The state had been hoarding power for itself - the last 20 years of government characterised "by a willingness to travel north but only to lecture, never to listen." The much vaunted flexibility of the British constitution had been a one-way street to "untrammelled and unprecedented centralisation."
Greater administrative power than ever had been concentrated in the Scottish Office. But it had never been devolved. Now a Scottish parliament would hold to account a department employing 7,000 civil servants; encompassing nine UK departments of state; initiating legislation in health, education, the social services and transport, besides criminal justice, economic development and local government; and spending £14 billion per year.
The 1980s had seen a great gulf open between what the Scots wanted done and what the government did - on the poll tax, health service privatisations and education reforms. Whitehall had shown itself ill-informed, overbearing and remote. Devolution would re-connect government to the people.
But the true measure of success would be the degree to which it improved Scottish life as a whole. Chancellor Brown believed they had to act locally "to compete globally"; 200 major investments had been made in full knowledge of Labour's proposals. And he believed that pattern would continue precisely "because we are prepared to modernise and change." Institutional innovation would enable innovation in social policies, producing government better able "to equip people for their future by understanding, debating and scrutinising their needs."
And all this would be done within the same rigorous approach to the public finances which brought Labour to power last May. The Chancellor was confident that "a Scottish parliament can make life better without instantly seeking to spend more money, but through using existing resources wisely."
For that reason he was able to "make a tax pledge on behalf of Labour; that income tax rates will not rise for five years." Every lawmaking parliament he knew had the power to vary tax. It was right in principle that the Scottish parliament should have that power.
"But the power to tax does not automatically mean the use of that power." Labour's discipline in the stewardship of the public finances would not end at the border, declared the Chancellor, seeing off Tory "tartan-tax" fears.
Then he said it - or didn't: "The Conservatives have claimed overnight tax rises. I have shown how Labour's Scottish Parliament will, for five years, maintain the pledge we made about income taxes."
In the absence of any awkward squad in the audience, it fell to us hacks to ask the Chancellor's aides if this was a new pledge - binding the Scottish parliament for the first five years of its existence. We were promptly told it was the same oft-repeated pledge for the five-year term at Westminster - applying, in effect, only to the first two years of the Scottish parliament, to be up and running in the year 2000.
But that wasn't actually what he appeared to say, we charged. No, came the agreeable response, it was badly worded - a concession, in itself, from Labour's masters of spin. But not one the awkward squad, had they existed, would have had opportunity to exploit. When he finished his speech, the Chancellor mingled some more with the audience - taking questions on "an individual" basis.