Moral courage is rare enough, no doubt,--probably the rarer quality
of the two, as it is the nobler; but they are things diverse, and
not necessarily united. There have been men, and still are such,
leaders of their age in moral courage, and yet physically timid. This
is not as it should be. God placed man at the head of the visible
universe, and if he is to be thrown from his control, daunted by a
bullet, or a wild horse, or a flash of lightning, or a lee shore,
then man is dishonored, and the order of the universe deranged. No
matter what the occasion of the terror is, a mouse or a martyrdom,
fear dethrones us. "He that lives in fear of death," said Caesar,
"at every moment feels its tortures. I will die but once."

Having claimed thus much, we can still readily admit that we cannot
yet estimate the precise effect upon physical courage of a state of
permanent national peace, since indeed we are not yet within sight
of that desirable consummation. Meanwhile, let us attempt some
slight sketch and classification of the different types of physical
courage, as already existing, among which are to be enumerated the
spontaneous courage of the blood,--the courage of habit,--magnetic
or transmitted courage,--and the courage inspired by self-devotion.

There is a certain innate fire of the blood, which does not dare
perils for the sake of principle, nor grow indifferent to them from
familiarity, nor confront them under support of a stronger will,--but
loves them for their own sake, without reference to any ulterior
object. There is no special merit in it, for it is a matter of
temperament. Yet it often conceals itself under the finer names of
self-devotion and high purpose,--as George Borrow convinced himself
that he was actuated by evangelical zeal to spread the Bible in Spain,
though one sees, through every line of his narrative, that it was
chiefly the adventure which allured him, and that he would as
willingly have distributed the Koran in London, had it been equally
contraband. No surplices, no libraries, no counting-house desks can
eradicate this natural instinct. Achilles, disguised among the
maidens, was detected by the wily Ulysses, because he chose arms,
not jewels, from the travelling merchant's stores. In the most
placid life, a man may pant for danger; and we know quiet,
unobtrusive men who have confessed to us that they never step into a
railroad-car without the secret hope of a collision.

This is the courage