perhaps, favoured with some little forcing apparatus, or which, at
least, is backed by the warmth of a southern wall; or that fruit of
slower growth, as to which nature works without assistance, on which
the sun operates in its own time,--or perhaps never operates if some
ungenial shade has been allowed to interpose itself? The world, no
doubt, is in favour of the forcing apparatus or of the southern wall.
The fruit comes certainly, and at an assured period. It is spotless,
speckless, and of a certain quality by no means despicable. The owner
has it when he wants it, and it serves its turn. But, nevertheless,
according to my thinking, the fullest flavour of the sun is given to
that other fruit,--is given in the sun's own good time, if so be that
no ungenial shade has interposed itself. I like the smack of the
natural growth, and like it, perhaps, the better because that which
has been obtained has been obtained without favour.

But the hobbledehoy, though he blushes when women address him, and
is uneasy even when he is near them, though he is not master of his
limbs in a ball-room, and is hardly master of his tongue at any
time, is the most eloquent of beings, and especially eloquent among
beautiful women. He enjoys all the triumphs of a Don Juan, without
any of Don Juan's heartlessness, and is able to conquer in all
encounters, through the force of his wit and the sweetness of his
voice. But this eloquence is heard only by his own inner ears, and
these triumphs are the triumphs of his imagination.

The true hobbledehoy is much alone, not being greatly given to social
intercourse even with other hobbledehoys--a trait in his character
which I think has hardly been sufficiently observed by the world at
large. He has probably become a hobbledehoy instead of an Apollo,
because circumstances have not afforded him much social intercourse;
and, therefore, he wanders about in solitude, taking long walks, in
which he dreams of those successes which are so far removed from his
powers of achievement. Out in the fields, with his stick in his hand,
he is very eloquent, cutting off the heads of the springing summer
weeds, as he practises his oratory with energy. And thus he feeds an
imagination for which those who know him give him but scanty credit,
and unconsciously prepares himself for that latter ripening, if only
the ungenial shade will some day cease to interpose itself.

Such hobbledehoys receive but little petting, unless