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impressing himself as others. He had the finest wit, but it was not at command; he had genius and eloquence, but an invincible awkwardness and timidity prevented the display of either when their display would have won him respect. In conversation he was like a man who has a purse of gold, but who can not produce the single silver coin which is wanted at the moment.—, "The Makers of English Prose."

(1201)

GENIUS, DISCOVERING

Two boys, mistreated by their employer, ran away, taking the road to Rome. They reached the Eternal City. Peter was taken as cook's boy in a cardinal's house, Michael could find nothing to do, so he almost despaired and almost starved. But he liked to visit the churches and gaze at the fine pictures therein.

Something stirred within him, and he took bits of charcoal and sketched pictures on the walls of Peter's attic room. One day the cardinal discovered them. The boys were frightened, and Michael declared that he would rub them all out. But he did not understand the cardinal, who was amazed at their accuracy and power. He took Michael to a drawing-master, and gave Peter a better position in his house. Michael worked diligently and became an enthusiast in his art.

His other name was Angelo. This was the humble beginning of the man who was almost a universal genius—painter, architect, sculptor and poet. (Text.)

(1202)

Genius Neglected—See. GENIUS NOT ALWAYS FORESEEN  It is not always easy to pass final judgment, or to say who will or will not become famous. The nestling's first awkward attempts to use its wings seem to contain no presage of the warbling flight that will come hereafter. Once, at a literary banquet, Aldrich reminded Dr. Holmes that he had declared he could see no poetic promise in some of Aldrich's youthful verses that were submitted to him.—New Orleans Times-Democrat. (1203)  GENIUS, PERSECUTED   The last part of Milton's life is a picture of solitary grandeur unequaled in literary history. With the Restoration all his labors and sacrifices for humanity were apparently wasted. From his retirement he could hear the bells and the shouts that welcomed back a vicious monarch, whose first act was to set his foot upon his people's neck. Milton was immediately marked for persecution; he remained for months in hiding; he was reduced to poverty, and his books were burned by the public hangman. His daughters, upon whom he depended in his blindness, rebelled at the task of reading to him and recording his thoughts. In the midst of all these sorrows we understand, in Samson, the cry of the blind champion of Israel:  Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonored, quelled, To what can I be useful? Wherein serve My nation, and the work from heaven imposed? But to sit idle on the household hearth, A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze, Or pitied object. —, "English Literature." (1204)  GENIUS, PORTRAYING   When David, the painter, was commissioned to paint his picture of Napoleon crossing the Alps, he asked the First Consul to name a day when he would sit. "Sit!" said Bonaparte; "to what good? Do you suppose the great men of antiquity sat for their portraits?" "But I paint you for your own times, for men who have known and seen you; they expect a good likeness." "A good likeness! It is not the exactitude of the features, the little wart on the nose, that makes a likeness. What ought to be painted is the character of the physiognomy. No one inquires if the portraits of great men are alike; it is quite enough if they manifest their genius."—Magazine of Art.

(1205)

GENIUS, SECOND RATE

If a man can not be a great genius, is it worth his while to be a little one? Some learned men say not. Of the poets who flourished and were famous a hundred years ago, how many are known now? Of all the bright volumes that brought fame to their authors and made the booksellers of old wealthy, how many can we find upon the shelves of the bookstores to-day? Only a few. And yet, their authors, lauded by friends and flattered by reviews, threw all their souls into their songs, and fondly dreamed of earthly immortality. The fittest survive, and the world has sorted them out with unerring judgment. From the good it has taken the best, and we are thankful.