ammon too; Banks-of-England, Credit-Systems, worldwide
possibilities of work and traffic; and applaud and admire them.
Mammon is like Fire; the usefulest of all servants, if the
frightfulest of all masters! The Cliffords, Fitzadelms and
Chivalry Fighters 'wished to gain victory,' never doubt it: but
victory, unless gained in a certain spirit, was no victory;
defeat, sustained in a certain spirit, was itself victory. I say
again and again, had they counted the scalps alone, they had
continued Chactaws, and no Chivalry or lasting victory had been.
And in Industrial Fighters and Captains is there no nobleness
discoverable? To them, alone of men, there shall forever be no
blessedness but in swollen coffers? To see beauty, order,
gratitude, loyal human hearts around them, shall be of no moment;
to see fuliginous deformity, mutiny, hatred and despair, with the
addition of half a million guineas, shall be better? Heaven's
blessedness not there; Hell's cursedness, and your half-million
bits of metal, a substitute for that! Is there no profit in
diffusing Heaven's blessedness, but only in gaining gold?--If so,
I apprise the Mill-owner and Millionaire, that he too must
prepare for vanishing; that neither is _he_ born to be of the
sovereigns of this world; that he will have to be trampled and
chained down in whatever terrible ways, and brass-collared safe,
among the born thralls of this worrd! We cannot have _Canailles_
and Doggeries that will not make some Chivalry of themselves:
our noble Planet is impatient of such; in the end, totally
intolerant of such!

For the Heavens, unwearying in their bounty, do send other souls
into this world, to whom yet, as to their forerunners, in Old
Roman, in Old Hebrew and all noble times, the omnipotent guinea
is, on the whole, an impotent guinea. Has your half-dead
avaricious Corn-Law Lord, your half-alive avaricious Cotton-Law
Lord, never seen one such? Such are, not one, but several; are,
and will be, unless the gods have doomed this world to swift dire
ruin. These are they, the elect of the world; the born
champions, strong men, and liberatory Samsons of this poor world:
whom the poor Delilah-world will not always shear of their
strength and eyesight, and set to grind in darkness at _its_ poor
gin-wheel! Such souls are, in these days, getting somewhat out
of humour with the world. Your very Byron, in these days, is at
least driven mad; flatly refuses fealty to the