Thus the idea of power and the types of personality which, as standing for that idea, have ascendency over us, are a function of our own changing character. At one stage of their growth nearly all imaginative boys look upon some famous soldier as the ideal man. He holds this place as symbol and focus for the aggressive, contending, dominating impulses of vigorous boyhood; to admire and sympathize with him is to gratify, imaginatively, these impulses. In this country some notable speaker and party leader often succeeds the soldier as a boyish ideal; his career is almost equally dominating and splendid, and, in time of peace, not quite so remote from reasonable aspiration. In later life these simple ideals are likely to yield somewhat to others of a more special character, depending upon the particular pursuit into which one’s energies are directed. Every occupation which is followed with enthusiasm has its heroes, men who stand for the idea of power or efficient action as understood by persons of a particular training and habit. The world of commerce and industry is full of hero-worship, and men who have made great fortunes are admired, not unjustly, for the personal prowess such success implies; while people of a finer intellectual development have their notion of power correspondingly refined, and to them the artist, the poet, the man of science, the philanthropist, may stand for the highest sort of successful action. It should be observed, however, that the simpler and more dramatic or visually imaginable kinds of power have a permanent advantage as regards general ascendency. Only a few can appreciate the power of Darwin, and those few only when the higher faculties of their minds are fully awake; there is nothing dramatic, nothing appealing to the visual imagination, in his secluded career. But we can all _see_ Grant or Nelson or Moltke at the head-quarters of their armies, or on the decks of their ships, and hear the roar of their cannons. They hold one by the eye and by the swelling of an emotion felt to be common to a vast multitude of people. There is always something of the intoxication of the crowd in the submission to this sort of ascendency. However alone our bodies may be, our imaginations are in the throng; and for my part whenever I think of any occasion when a man played a great part before the eyes of mankind, I feel a thrill of irrational enthusiasm. I should imagine, for instance, that scarcely anyone could read such a thing as “Sheridan’s Ride” without strong feeling. He witnesses the disorder, uncertainty, and dismay of the losing battle, the anxious officers trying to stay the retreat, and longing for the commander who has always led to victory. Then he follows the ride from “Winchester twenty miles away,” and shares the enthusiasm of the army when the valiant and beloved leader rides forth upon the field at last, renewing every heart by his presence and making victory out of defeat.