little store by the precedent of the deeds of the Trojan war. It tells
the English patriot that the "one jolly Englishman" of the old rhyme is
not the easy vanquisher of the "two froggy Frenchmen and one Portugee"
which tradition would have him believe. He is thus enabled to steer a
middle course between arrant conceit and childish fright. History tells
him the actual facts: history is to the patriot what "form" is to the
racing man.

In the case of the English (Heaven be praised!) history opens up a
boundless vista for the patriotic. The Englishman seldom realises how
much he has to be proud of in his history, or how loudly the past cries
upon him to be of good cheer. One hears much nowadays of England's
peril, and it is good that the red signals of danger should sometimes be
displayed. But let every Englishman remember that history can tell him
of greater perils faced successfully; of mighty armies commanded by the
greatest generals the world has ever known, held in check year after
year, and finally crushed by England; of vast fleets scattered or
destroyed by English sailors; of almost impregnable cities captured by
British troops. "There is something very characteristic," writes
Professor Seeley,[1] "in the indifference which we show towards the
mighty phenomenon of the diffusion of our race and the expansion of our
state. We seem, as it were, to have conquered and peopled half the world
in a fit of absence of mind."

[Footnote 1: 'The Expansion of England,' p. 10.]

The history of England, and later of the British Empire, constitutes a
tale so amazing that he who has the welfare of the nation as a whole at
heart--that is to say, the true patriot--is justified in entertaining
the most optimistic thoughts for the future. He should not be