than Lord Nelson; but in some things he was merely an awkward, overgrown midshipman.  But then, let us remember that a locomotive engine, though excellent at running, would be a poor hand at flying. That is not its vocation.  The engine will draw fifteen heavy carriages fifty miles in an hour; and that remains as a noble feat, even though it be ascertained that the engine could not jump over a brook which would be cleared easily by the veriest screw.  We all see this.

But many of us have a confused idea that a great and clever man is (so to speak) a locomotive that can fly; and when it is proved that he cannot fly, then we begin to doubt whether he can even run.  We think he should be good at everything, whether in his own line or not.  And he is set at a disadvantage, particularly in the judgment of vulgar and stupid people, when it is clearly ascertained that at some things he is very inferior.  I have heard of a very eminent preacher who sunk considerably (even as regards his preaching) in the estimation of a certain family, because it appeared that he played very badly at bowls.  And we all know that occasionally the Premier already mentioned reverses the vulgar error, and in appointing men to great places is guided by an axiom which amounts to just this:  this locomotive can run well, therefore it will fly well.  This man has filled a certain position well, therefore let us appoint him to a position entirely different; no doubt, he will do well there too.  Here is a clergyman who has edited certain Greek plays admirably; let us make him a bishop.

It may be remarked here, that the men who have attained the greatest success in the race of life have generally carried weight. Nitor in adversum might be the motto of many a man besides Burke.  It seems to be almost a general rule, that the raw material out of which the finest fabrics are made should look very little like these, to start with.  It was a stammerer, of uncommanding mien, who became the greatest orator of graceful Greece.  I believe it is admitted that Chalmers was the most effective preacher, perhaps the most telling speaker, that Britain has seen for at least a century; yet his aspect was not commanding, his gestures were awkward, his voice was bad, and his accent frightful.  He talked of an oppning when be meant an opening, and he read out the text of one of his noblest sermons, “He that is fulthy, let him be fulthy stall.”  Yet who ever thought of these things after hearing the good man for ten minutes?  Ay, load Eclipse with what extra pounds you might, Eclipse would always be first!  And, to descend to the race-horse, he had four white legs, white to the knees; and he ran more awkwardly than racer ever did, with his head between his forelegs, close to the ground, like a pig.  Alexander, Napoleon, and Wellington were all little men, in places where a commanding presence would have been of no small value.  A most disagreeably affected manner has not prevented