King of Prussia and the Reichsverweser accolading each other
at Cologne at my elbow; Admiral Sir Charles Napier (in an omnibus
once), the Duke of Wellington, the immortal Goethe at Weimar, the late
benevolent Pope Gregory XVI., and a score more of the famous in this
world--the whom whenever one looks at, one has a mild shock of awe and
tremor. I like this feeling and decent fear and trembling with which a
modest spirit salutes a GREAT MAN.

Well, I have seen generals capering on horseback at the head of their
crimson battalions; bishops sailing down cathedral aisles, with downcast
eyes, pressing their trencher caps to their hearts with their fat white
hands; college heads when her Majesty is on a visit; the doctor in all
his glory at the head of his school on speech-day: a great sight and all
great men these. I have never met the late Mr. Thomas Cribb, but I have
no doubt should have regarded him with the same feeling of awe with
which I look every day at George Champion, the Cock of Dr. Birch's
school.

When, I say, I reflect as I go up and set him a sum, that he could whop
me in two minutes, double up Prince and the other assistant, and pitch
the Doctor out of window, I can't but think how great, how generous, how
magnanimous a creature this is, that sits quite quiet and good-natured,
and works his equation, and ponders through his Greek play. He might
take the school-room pillars and pull the house down if he liked. He
might close the door, and demolish every one of us, like Antar the lover
or Ibla; but he lets us live. He never thrashes anybody without a cause;
when woe betide the tyrant or the sneak!

I think that to be strong, and able to whop everybody--(not to do
it, mind you, but to feel that you were able to do it,)--would be the
greatest of all gifts. There is a serene good humor which plays about
George Champion's broad face, which shows the consciousness of this
power, and lights up his honest blue eyes with a magnanimous calm.

He is invictus. Even when a cub there was no beating this lion. Six
years ago the undaunted little warrior actually stood up to Frank
Davison,--(the Indian officer now--poor little Charley's brother, whom
Miss Raby nursed so affectionately,)--then seventeen years old, and the
Cock of Birch's. They were obliged to drag off the boy, and Frank, with
admiration and regard for him, prophesied the great things he would do.
Legends of combats are preserved fondly in schools; they have s