Just a trifle too light in weight, too boyish and callow.

The Princess must have youth, but it should be mighty youth, the youth of a Napoleon or a Caesar.

He reflected that the Great Montrose, for whom he had a special veneration, might have filled the bill.

Or young Harry with his beaver up?
Or Claverhouse in the picture with the flush of temper on his cheek?
The meditations of the match-making Dickson came to an abrupt end.

He had been riding negligently, his head bent against the wind, and his eyes vaguely fixed on the wet hill-gravel of the road.