camp, has found few Cummings and Gerards for annalists, and the more
trivial aim of the pursuit diminishes the permanence of its records.
The sublime fortitude of hospitals, the bravery shown in infected
cities, the fearlessness of firemen and of sailors, these belong to
those times of peace which have as yet few historians. But we have
sought to exhibit the deep foundations and instincts of courage, and
it matters little whence the illustrations come. Doubtless, for every
great deed ever narrated, there were a hundred greater ones untold;
and the noblest valor of the world may sleep unrecorded, like the
heroes before Homer.

But there are things which, once written, the world does not
willingly let die; embalmed in enthusiasm, borne down on the
unconquerable instincts of childhood, they become imperishable and
eternal. We need not travel to visit the graves of the heroes: they
are become a part of the common air; their line is gone out to all
generations. Shakspeares are but their servants; no change of time
or degradation of circumstance can debar us from their lesson. The
fascination which every one finds in the simplest narrative of
daring is the sufficient testimony to its priceless and permanent
worth. Human existence finds its range expanded, when Demosthenes
describes Philip of Macedon, his enemy: "I saw this Philip, with
whom we disputed for empire. I saw him, though covered with wounds,
his eye struck out, his collar-bone broken, maimed in his hands,
maimed in his feet, still resolutely rush into the midst of dangers,
ready to deliver up to Fortune any part of his body she might require,
provided he might live honorably and gloriously with the rest."
Would it not be shameful, that war should leave us such memories as
these, and peace bequeathe us only money and repose? True, "peace
hath her victories, no less renowned than war." No less! but they
should be infinitely greater. _Esto miles pacificus_, "Be the
soldier of peace," was the priestly benediction of mediaeval knights;
and the aspirations of humaner ages should lead us into heroisms such
as Plutarch never portrayed, and even Bayard and Sidney only
prophesied, but died without the sight of.

[Footnote 1: It is worth mentioning, that among the deserters was
one valorous writing-master, who had previously prepared a
breastplate of two quires of his-own foolscap, inscribing thereon,
in his best penmanship,--"This is the body of J.M.; pray, give it
Ch