A German writer has said that it is a miserable temper that cares only to discover the blemishes in the character of great men or great periods.

Let us rather judge them with the charity of Bolingbroke, who, when reminded of one of the alleged weaknesses of Marlborough, observed,--"He was so great a man that I forgot he had that defect." Admiration of great men, living or dead, naturally evokes imitation of them in a greater or less degree.

While a mere youth, the mind of Themistocles was fired by the great deeds of his contemporaries, and he longed to distinguish himself in the service of his country.

When the Battle of Marathon had been fought, he fell into a state of melancholy; and when asked by his friends as to the cause, he replied "that the trophies of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep." A few years later, we find him at the head of the Athenian army, defeating the Persian fleet of Xerxes in the battles of Artemisium and Salamis,--his country gratefully acknowledging that it had been saved through his wisdom and valour.
It is related of Thucydides that, when a boy, he burst into tears on hearing Herodotus read his History, and the impression made upon his mind was such as to determine the bent of his own genius.
And Demosthenes was so fired on one occasion by the eloquence of Callistratus, that the ambition was roused within him of becoming an orator himself.

Yet Demosthenes was physically weak, had a feeble voice, indistinct articulation, and shortness of breath--defects which he was only enabled to overcome by diligent study and invincible determination.
But, with all his practice, he never became a ready speaker; all his orations, especially the most famous of them, exhibiting indications of careful elaboration,--the art and industry of the orator being visible in almost every sentence.
Similar illustrations of character imitating character, and moulding itself by the style and manner and genius of great men, are to be found pervading all history.