The pamphleteers who recommended the immediate and entire disbanding of the army had an easy task.  If they were embarrassed, it was only by the abundance of the matter from which they had to make their selection.  On their side were claptraps and historical commonplaces without number, the authority of a crowd of illustrious names, all the prejudices, all the traditions, of both the parties in the state.  These writers laid it down as a fundamental principle of political science that a standing army and a free constitution could not exist together.  What, they asked, had destroyed the noble commonwealths of Greece?  What had enslaved the mighty Roman people?  What had turned the Italian republics of the middle ages into lordships and duchies?  How was it that so many of the kingdoms of modern Europe had been transformed from limited into absolute monarchies?  The States General of France, the Cortes of Castile, the Grand Justiciary of Arragon, what had been fatal to them all?  History was ransacked for instances of adventurers who, by the help of mercenary troops, had subjugated free nations or deposed legitimate princes; and such instances were easily found.  Much was said about Pisistratus, Timophanes, Dionysius, Agathocles, Marius and Sylla, Julius Caesar and Augustus Caesar, Carthage besieged by her own mercenaries, Rome put up to auction by her own Praetorian cohorts, Sultan Osman butchered by his own Janissaries, Lewis Sforza sold into captivity by his own Switzers.  But the favourite instance was taken from the recent history of our own land.  Thousands still living had seen the great usurper, who, strong in the power of the sword, had triumphed over both royalty and freedom.  The Tories were reminded that his soldiers had guarded the scaffold before the Banqueting House.  The Whigs were reminded that those same soldiers had taken the mace from the table of the House of Commons.  From such evils, it was said, no country could be secure which was cursed with a standing army.  And what were the advantages which could be set off against such evils?  Invasion was the bugbear with which the Court tried to frighten the nation.  But we were not children to be scared by nursery tales.  We were at peace; and, even in time of war, an enemy who should attempt to invade us would probably be intercepted by our fleet, and would assuredly, if he reached our shores, be repelled by our militia.  Some people indeed talked as if a militia could achieve nothing great.  But that base doctrine was refuted by all ancient and all modern history.  What was the Lacedaemonian phalanx in the best days of Lacedaemon?  What was, the Roman legion in the best days of Rome?  What were the armies which conquered at Cressy, at Poitiers, at Agincourt, at Halidon, or at Flodden?  What was that mighty array which Elizabeth reviewed at Tilbury?  In the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries Englishmen who did not live by the trade of war had made war with success and glory.  Were the English of the seventeenth century so degenerate that they could not be trusted to play the men for their own homesteads and parish churches?