man in that mob had been as well
armed as they, and have resisted till they were overpowered by mere
numbers. You felt, I am sure, that there was something in the
hearts and spirits of those soldiers which there was not in the
hearts of the mob; that though the mob might be boiling over with
the greediest passions, the fiercest fury, while the soldiers were
calm, cheerful, and caring for nothing but doing their duty, yet
that there was a thought within them which was stronger than all the
rage and greediness of the thousands whom they faced; that, in
short, the seeming miracle was a moral and a spiritual miracle.

What, then, is this wonder-working thought which makes the soldier
strong?

Courage, you answer, and the sense of duty. True; but what has
called out the sense of duty? What has inspired the courage? There
was a time, perhaps, when each of those soldiers was no braver or
more steady than the mob in front of them. Has it never happened to
you to know some young country lad, both before and after he has
become a soldier? Look at him in his native village (if you will
let me draw for you the sketch of a history, which, alas! is the
history of thousands), perhaps one of the worst and idlest lads in
it--unwilling to work steadily, haunting the public-house and the
worst of company; wandering out at night to poach and caring for
nothing but satisfying his gross animal appetites; afraid to look
you in the face, hardly able to give an intelligible, certainly not
a civil answer; his countenance expressing only vacancy, sensuality,
cunning, suspicion, utter want of self-respect.

It is a sad sight, but how common a sight, even in this favoured
land!

At last he vanishes; he has been engaged in some drunken affray, or
in some low intrigue, and has fled for fear of the law, and enlisted
as a soldier.

A year or two passes, and you meet the same lad again--if indeed he
is the same. For a strange change has come over him: he walks
erect, he speaks clearly, he looks you boldly in the face, with eyes
full of intelligence and self-respect; he is become civil and
courteous now; he touches his cap to you 'like a soldier;' he can
afford now to be respectful to others, because he respects himself,
and expects you to respect him. You talk to him, and find that the
change is not merely outward, but inward; not owing to mere
mechanical drill but to something which has been going on in his
heart; and ten to one, the