They think as much of that once-a-year ceremony of opening their courts as they think of the even justice that they dispense; somehow they feel that the justice depends on the ceremony.
This moss that has grown all over their lives (some of it very pretty and most of it very comfortable--it's soft and warm) is of no great consequence--except that they think they'd die if it were removed.

And this state of mind gives us a good key to their character and habits.
What are we going to do with this England and this Empire, presently, when economic forces unmistakably put the leadership of the race in our hands?
How can we lead it and use it for the highest purposes of the world and of democracy?
We can do what we like if we go about it heartily and with good manners (any man prefers to yield to a gentleman rather than to a rustic) and throw away--gradually--our isolating fears and alternate boasting and bashfulness.

"What do we most need to learn from you ?" I asked a gentle and bejewelled nobleman the other Sunday, in a country garden that invited confidences.

"If I may speak without offence, modesty." A commoner in the company, who had seen the Rocky Mountains, laughed, and said: "No; see your chance and take it: that's what we did in the years when we made the world's history.".

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