'beak.' The elder Shandy would have taken him for an illustration of his famous study upon noses. A man with the beak of a falcon has to go through the world defiant, conscious that he is of a higher than the ordinary strain; ready to pounce upon the barn-door fowl, and sometimes, perhaps, mistaking an eagle for a mere overgrown carrion crow. Marmion had a falcon for his crest, with the motto, 'Who checks at me to death is dight!' Southey's might have borne the same motto. When he meets an opponent he foresees the result—the wretch is crushed, and will be remembered by posterity solely as a victim to Southey's righteous indignation. We call the quality vanity when we dislike it, and fail to observe how essential a service it renders to its possessor. Would any great thinker or great poet succeed without it? Does it not show portentous self-confidence when a Bacon or a Descartes proposes to reconstruct philosophy, or when a Dante or a Milton undertakes to give utterance to the profoundest religious thought of his age? We judge by the event; and if the man's opinion of himself turns out to be tolerably correct, we speak of his noble consciousness of genius and his fidelity to his powers. If the poor man has made a mistake, we make merry
