In the last chapter it has been said that the primary feeling
that this world is strange and yet attractive is best expressed
in fairy tales. The reader may, if he likes, put down the next
stage to that bellicose and even jingo literature which commonly
comes next in the history of a boy. We all owe much sound morality
to the penny dreadfuls. Whatever the reason, it seemed and still
seems to me that our attitude towards life can be better expressed
in terms of a kind of military loyalty than in terms of criticism
and approval. My acceptance of the universe is not optimism,
it is more like patriotism. It is a matter of primary loyalty.
The world is not a lodging-house at Brighton, which we are to
leave because it is miserable. It is the fortress of our family,
with the flag flying on the turret, and the more miserable it
is the less we should leave it. The point is not that this world
is too sad to love or too glad not to love; the point is that
when you do love a thing, its gladness is a reason for loving it,
and its sadness a reason for loving it more. All optimistic thoughts
about England and all pessimistic thoughts about her are alike
reasons for the English patriot. Similarly, optimism and pessimism
are alike arguments for the cosmic patriot.

Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing--say
Pimlico. If we think what is really best for Pimlico we shall find
the thread of thought leads to the throne or the mystic and the
arbitrary. It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in
that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Nor,
certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico: for then
it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of
it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a
transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a
man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and
golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when
she is loved. For decoration is not given to hide horrible things:
but to decorate things already adorable. A mother does not give her
child a blue bow because he is so ugly without it. A lover does not
give a girl a necklace to hide her neck. If men loved Pimlico as
mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is THEIRS, Pimlico in a
year or two might be fairer than Florence. Some readers will say that
this is a mere fantasy. I answer that th