there were anywhere an obstinate race, who refused to be comforted, one might take some pride in giving them compulsory comfort! and, as it were, “occupying a country” with one’s gifts, instead of one’s armies?  If one could only consider it as much a victory to get a barren field sown, as to get an eared field stripped; and contend who should build villages, instead of who should “carry” them!  Are not all forms of heroism conceivable in doing these serviceable deeds?  You doubt who is strongest?  It might be ascertained by push of spade, as well as push of sword.  Who is wisest?  There are witty things to be thought of in planning other business than campaigns.  Who is bravest?  There are always the elements to fight with, stronger than men; and nearly as merciless.

The only absolutely and unapproachably heroic element in the soldier’s work seems to be—­that he is paid little for it—­and regularly:  while you traffickers, and exchangers, and others occupied in presumably benevolent business, like to be paid much for it—­and by chance.  I never can make out how it is that a knight-errant does not expect to be paid for his trouble, but a pedlar-errant always does;—­that people are willing to take hard knocks for nothing, but never to sell ribands cheap; that they are ready to go on fervent crusades, to recover the tomb of a buried God, but never on any travels to fulfil the orders of a living one;—­that they will go anywhere barefoot to preach their faith, but must be well bribed to practise it, and are perfectly ready to give the Gospel gratis, but never the loaves and fishes.

If you chose to take the matter up on any such soldierly principle; to do your commerce, and your feeding of nations, for fixed salaries; and to be as particular about giving people the best food, and the best cloth, as soldiers are about giving them the best gunpowder, I could carve something for you on your exchange worth looking at.  But I can only at present suggest decorating its frieze with pendant purses; and making its pillars broad at the base, for the sticking of bills.  And in the innermost chambers of it there might be a statue of Britannia of the Market, who may have, perhaps advisably, a partridge for her crest, typical at once of her courage in fighting for noble ideas, and of her interest in game; and round its neck, the inscription in golden letters, “Perdix fovit quae non peperit."[217] Then, for her spear, she might have a weaver’s beam; and on her shield, instead of St. George’s Cross, the Milanese boar, semi-fleeced, with the town of Gennesaret proper, in the field; and the legend, “In the best market,"[218] and her corslet, of leather, folded over her heart in the shape of a purse, with thirty slits in it, for a piece of money to go in at, on each day of the month.  And I doubt not but that people would come to see your exchange, and its goddess, with applause.

Nevertheless, I want to point out to you certain strange characters in this goddess of yours.  She differs from the great Greek and Mediaeval deities essentially in two things—­first, as to the continuance of her presumed power; secondly, as to the extent of it.