Greek chorus. He could "talk horse" with any jockey in the land; yet who
like him could utter tender poetry and deep philosophy? He had no rival
in following the hounds, or scouring the country in breakneck races; and
none so careered over every field of learning. He angled in brooks and
books, and landed many a stout prize. He would pick up here and there
a "fly in amber," and add it to his stores. He was the easy victor in
every foot-race, and took the Newdigate prize for poetry, in 1806. He
burned the midnight oil, and looked through ruddy wine at the small
hours chasing each other over the dial. For hours, almost whole days,
he would sit silent at the helm of his boat on the Isis, his rapt
eye peopling the vacant air with unutterable visions. He swam like
a dolphin, rode like a Centaur, and De Quincey called him the best
unprofessional male dancer he had ever seen. Three times he was
vanquished by a huge shoemaker,--so the story goes,--champion of the
"Town": at the fourth meeting, the Gentleman Commoner proved himself
the better man, knocked his antagonist out of time, and gave him twenty
pounds. Another professor of the manly art of self-defence, who had
ventured to confront the young Titan, and was unexpectedly laid low,
said in astonishment,--"You can be only one of the two: you are either
Jack Wilson or the Devil." He proved himself to be the former, by not
proclaiming, "_Voe victis_!" and by taking his prize of war to the
nearest alehouse, and then and there filling him with porter. Sotheby
said it was worth a journey from London to hear him translate a Greek
chorus; and, at a later day, the brawny Cumberland men called him "a
varra bad un to lick."

Never were such "constitutionals" known, even at old Oxford. He would
wander away alone, sometimes for many days, tramping over the country
leagues and leagues away, making the earth tremble with his heavy tread,
and distancing everything with his long, untiring stride. Then, on his