upon the hearts of the people; when poetry itself is no longer
the strong fire bursting through the thick, foul crust of the earth, but
is only the faint and shadowy smoke of the fire, wreathed for a moment
into ethereal shapes of fleeting grace that have neither heat enough to
burn the earth from which they come, nor strength to withstand the rough
winds of heaven by which they shall soon be scattered. For as the
evolution of the ideal from the real is life, so the final separation of
the soul from the body is death.

Almost all men have the qualities which can give moderate success. Very
few have those gifts which lead to greatness, and those who have them
invariably become great. There is no unrecognized genius; for genius
means the production of what is not only beautiful, but enduring, and
the works of man are all sooner or later judged by his fellows, and
judged fairly. But it is unprofitable to discuss these matters; for
those who are very great seldom know that they are, and those who are
not cannot be persuaded that they might not attain to greatness if
circumstances were slightly changed in their favor. Perhaps also there
is very little use in making any preamble to what I have to tell. I
remember to have been at a great meeting of American bankers at Niagara
some years ago, where, as usual at American meetings, many speeches were
made. There was an old gentleman there from the West who appeared to
have something to say, but although his voice rose to impassioned tones
and his gestures were highly effective as he delivered a variety of
ornate phrases, he did not come to the point. An irreverent hearer rose
and inquired what was the object of his distinguished friend's
discourse, which did not appear to bear at all upon the matters in hand.
The old gentleman stopped instantly in his flow of words, and said very
quietly and naturally, "I feel a little shy, and I want to speak some
before getting to the point, so as to get used to you." There was a
good-natured laugh, in which the speaker joined. But he presently began
again, and before long he was talking very well and very much to the
point. It may be doubted, however, whether any well-conditioned
chronicler needs a preliminary breather before so short a race as this
is likely to be. In these wild days there is small time for man to work
or for woman to weep, and those who would tell a tale must tell it
quickly, lest the traveler be out of hearing before the so