e will strike down the game, transfix everywhere the
heart of the matter; triumph everywhere, as he proves that he
shall and must do? To your astonishment, it turns out oftenest
No. The cloudy-browed, thick-soled, opaque Practicality, with no
logic-utterance, in silence mainly, with here and there a low
grunt or growl, has in him what transcends all logic-utterance:
a Congruity with the Unuttered! The Speakable, which lies atop,
as a superficial film, or outer skin, is his or is not his: but
the Doable, which reaches down to the World's centre, you find
him there!

The rugged Brindleys has little to say for himself; the rugged
Brindley, when difficulties accumulate on him, retires silent,
'generally to his bed;' retires 'sometimes for three days
together to his bed, that he may be in perfect privacy there,'
and ascertain in his rough head how the difficulties can be
overcome. The ineloquent Brindley, behold he _has_ chained seas
together; his ships do visibly float over valleys, invisibly
through the hearts of mountains; the Mersey and the Thames, the
Humber and the Severn have shaken hands: Nature most audibly
answers, Yea! The man of Theory twangs his full-bent bow:
Nature's Fact ought to fall stricken, but does not: his logic-
arrow glances from it as from a scaly dragon, and the obstinate
Fact keeps walking its way. How singular! At bottom, you will
have to grapple closer with the dragon; take it home to you, by
real faculty, not by seeming faculty; try whether you are
stronger or it is stronger. Close with it, wrestle it: sheer
obstinate toughness of muscle; but much more, what we call
toughness of heart, which will mean persistance hopeful and even
desperate, unsubduable patience, composed candid openness,
clearness of mind: all this shall be 'strength' in wrestling
your dragon; the whole man's real strength is in this work, we
shall get the measure of him here.

Of all the Nations in the world at present we English are the
stupidest in speech, the wisest in action. As good as a 'dumb'
Nation, I say, who cannot speak, and have never yet spoken,--
spite of the Shakspeares and Miltons who skew us what
possibilities there are!--O Mr. Bull, I look in that surly face
of thine with a mixture of pity and laughter, yet also with
wonder and veneration. Thou complainest not, my illustrious
friend; and yet I believe the heart of thee is full of sorrow,
of unspoken sadness, seriousness,--profound