sdom, of duty, and of honor, he knows full well by the persuasion
within,--by conviction, the fortifier of the reason, though not by
sight, the assurance of demonstration. Only a man capable of incurring
a disaster like that at Teneriffe could rise to the level of daring,
which, through hidden perils, sought and wrought the superb triumph of
Aboukir Bay. Such is genius, that rare but hazardous gift, which
separates a man from his fellows by a chasm not to be bridged by
human will. Thus endowed, Nelson before the walls of Bastia showed,
though in a smaller sphere, and therefore with a lighter hazard, the
same keen perception, the same instant decision, the same unfaltering
resolve, the same tenacity of purpose, that, far over and beyond the
glamour of mere success, have rendered eternally illustrious the days
of St. Vincent, of the Nile, and of Copenhagen.

Of the spirit which really actuated him, in his unwavering support of
Lord Hood's inclination to try the doubtful issue, many interesting
instances are afforded by his correspondence. "I feel for the honour
of my Country, and had rather be beat than not make the attack. If we
do not try we can never be successful. I own I have no fears for the
final issue: it will be conquest, certain we will deserve it. My
reputation depends on the opinion I have given; but I feel an honest
consciousness that I have done right. We must, we will have it, or
some of our heads will be laid low. I glory in the attempt." "What
would the immortal Wolfe have done?" he says again, refreshing his own
constancy in the recollection of an equal heroism, crowned with
success against even greater odds. "As he did, beat the enemy, if he
perished in the attempt." Again, a fortnight later: "We are in high
health and spirits besieging Bastia; the final event, I feel assured,
will be conquest." When the siege had already endured for a month, and
with such slight actual progress as to compel him to admit to Hood
that the town battery had been "put in such a state, that firing away
many shot at it is almost useless till we have a force sufficient to
get nearer," his confidence remains unabated. "I have no fears about
the final issue," he writes to his wife; "it will be victory, Bastia
will be ours; and if so, it must prove an event to which the history
of England can hardly boast an equal." Further on in the same letter
he makes a prediction, so singularly accurate as to excite curiosity
about its source