requires something more than imperturbability. It requires brains and speed. Had Longstreet these? His work as an independent commander suggests some doubt. Intelligence of a certain order, the solid, firm, Dutch grasp of a situation, and common sense in the handling of it, can never be denied him. But quick insight, long penetration, the sudden conception of what is daring to be done and not too daring,—in short, a brain like Jackson's, I do not think he had. As to speed there will be less question. Even Lee is said to have remarked, "Longstreet is the hardest man to move in my army." In every case the general was able to give a good reason for not arriving in time. But Jackson, when at his best, arrived in time in spite of good reasons.
Both these defects and many of Longstreet's excellences are intimately bound up with one strongly marked trait which is often an excellence but runs into a defect too easily; I mean a singular, an unfailing, an almost unlimited self-confidence. Self-confidence does nearly all the great things that are done in the world. "Trust thyself," says Emerson; " every heart vibrates to that iron string." Doubt of one's powers, doubt of one's nerve, dread of responsibility—these weaknesses will paralyze the keenest perceptions, the finest intelligence. But self-confidence, to achieve the highest, must be tempered with insight and sympathy. A man must trust himself, but he must trust others. Before he decides, resolves.
