till he had by a cruel discipline gradually taught his
adversaries how to resist him.

It was idle to repeat the names of great battles won, in the
middle ages, by men who did not make war their chief calling;
those battles proved only that one militia might beat another,
and not that a militia could beat a regular army. As idle was it
to declaim about the camp at Tilbury. We had indeed reason to be
proud of the spirit which all classes of Englishmen, gentlemen
and yeomen, peasants and burgesses, had so signally displayed in
the great crisis of 1588. But we had also reason to be thankful
that, with all their spirit, they were not brought face to face
with the Spanish battalions. Somers related an anecdote, well
worthy to be remembered, which had been preserved by tradition in
the noble house of De Vere. One of the most illustrious men of
that house, a captain who had acquired much experience and much
fame in the Netherlands, had, in the crisis of peril, been
summoned back to England by Elizabeth, and rode with her through
the endless ranks of shouting pikemen. She asked him what he
thought of the army. "It is," he said, "a brave army." There was
something in his tone or manner which showed that he meant more
than his words expressed. The Queen insisted on his speaking out.
"Madam," he said, "Your Grace's army is brave indeed. I have not
in the world the name of a coward, and yet I am the greatest
coward here. All these fine fellows are praying that the enemy
may land, and that there may be a battle; and I, who know that
enemy well, cannot think of such a battle without dismay." De
Vere was doubtless in the right. The Duke of Parma, indeed, would
not have subjected our country; but it is by no means improbable
that, if he had effected a landing, the island would have been