those who feel it excessively express
it excessively; those who dissent are silent, or unheard.

After such great matters as religion and politics, it may seem trifling
to illustrate the subject from little boys. But it is not trifling. The
bane of philosophy is pomposity: people will not see that small things
are the miniatures of greater, and it seems a loss of abstract dignity
to freshen their minds by object lessons from what they know. But every
boarding-school changes as a nation changes. Most of us may remember
thinking, 'How odd it is that this "half" should be so unlike last
"half:" now we never go out of bounds, last half we were always going:
now we play rounders, then we played prisoner's base;' and so through
all the easy life of that time. In fact, some ruling spirits, some one
or two ascendant boys, had left, one or two others had come; and so all
was changed. The models were changed, and the copies changed; a
different thing was praised, and a different thing bullied. A curious
case of the same tendency was noticed to me only lately. A friend of
mine--a Liberal Conservative--addressed a meeting of working men at
Leeds, and was much pleased at finding his characteristic, and perhaps
refined points, both apprehended and applauded. 'But then,' as he
narrated, 'up rose a blatant Radical who said the very opposite things,
and the working men cheered him too, and quite equally.' He was puzzled
to account for so rapid a change. But the mass of the meeting was no
doubt nearly neutral, and, if set going, quite ready to applaud any
good words without much thinking. The ringleaders changed. The radical
tailor started the radical cheer; the more moderate shoemaker started
the moderate cheer; and the great bulk followed suit. Only a few in
each case were silent, and an absolute contrast was in ten minutes
presented by the same elements.

The truth is that the propensity of man to imitate what is before him
is one of the strongest parts of his nature. And one sign of it is the
great pain which we feel when our imitation has been unsuccessful.
There is a cynical doctrine that most men would rather be accused of
wickedness than of gaucherie. And this is but another way of saying
that the bad copying of predominant manners is felt to be more of a
disgrace than common consideration would account for its being, since
gaucherie in all but extravagant cases is not an offence against
religion or morals, but is simply bad imi