arful that he has worried his mind up to that pitch, that he cannot
bear the idea of showing himself again to the world until he shall
have struck some blow, and that it is this hope that is now making him
run about, half frantic, in quest of adventure. That such unparalleled
perseverance and true valour should thus evaporate in air is truly
melancholy."

What balderdash to write about a man ablaze with reasoning energy and
genius of the highest order! The noble Lord is disillusioned on his
arrival in Portsmouth, and writes again in another a strain: "He
(Nelson) was received in town almost as a conqueror, and was followed
round by the people with huzzas. So much for a great and good name
most nobly and deservedly acquired"! The previous letter indicates the
mind of a fireside colossus, and shows how dangerously a big man's
reputation may be at the mercy of a little one or a coterie of them.
One can only describe them as portentous human snipes, whose
aggressive mediocrity spreads like an attack of infectious fever,
until the awful will of Heaven, for the safety of humanity, lays hands
on their power for mischief. The popularity of a public servant is
always in danger of a tragical end if he lives long enough. One slip
of inevitable misfortune seals his doom when the pendulum swings
against him. And it is generally brought by a rhetorical smiling Judas
who can sway a capricious public. The more distinguished a popular man
may be, the greater is the danger that the fame and reputation for
which he strove may be swiftly laid low.

"Who has lived as long as he chose?
Who so confident as to defy
Time, the fellest of mortals' foes
Joints in his armour who can spy?
Where's the foot will not flinch or fly?
Where's the heart that aspires the fray?
His battle wager 'tis vain to try--
Everything passes, passes away."

The gallant and strenuous patriot whose fame will pass on to distant
ages is now summoned to fulfil his destiny. He owns that he needs one
more rest, but his "duty was to go forth." He "expected to lay his
weary bones quiet for the winter," but he is "proud of the call," and
all gallant hearts were proud to own him as their chieftain. He
bargains for one of the _Victory's_ anchors to be at the bows before
he arrives at Portsmouth. All his belongings are sent off on the 5th
October. Lord Barham, an aged man of eighty-two years, asks him with
pride to select his own officers. "Cho