often fatal to the sons of genius, and without which
genius is little more than a splendid toy in the hands of the
possessor--perseverance, dogged perseverance, in his proper calling;
otherwise, though the grave had closed over him, he might still be living
in the admiration of his fellow-creatures. O ye gifted ones, follow your
calling, for, however various your talents may be, ye can have but one
calling capable of leading ye to eminence and renown; follow resolutely
the one straight path before you, it is that of your good angel, let
neither obstacles nor temptations induce ye to leave it; bound along if
you can; if not, on hands and knees follow it, perish in it, if needful;
but ye need not fear that; no one ever yet died in the true path of his
calling before he had attained the pinnacle. Turn into other paths, and
for a momentary advantage or gratification ye have sold your inheritance,
your immortality. Ye will never be heard of after death.

'My father has given me a hundred and fifty pounds,' said my brother to
me one morning, 'and something which is better--his blessing. I am going
to leave you.'

'And where are you going?'

'Where? to the great city; to London, to be sure.'

'I should like to go with you.'

'Pooh,' said my brother, 'what should you do there? But don't be
discouraged, I daresay a time will come when you too will go to London.'

And, sure enough, so it did, and all but too soon.

'And what do you purpose doing there?' I demanded.

'Oh, I go to improve myself in art, to place myself under some master of
high name, at least I hope to do so eventually. I have, however, a plan
in my head, which I should wish first to execute; indeed, I do not think
I can rest till I have done so; every one talks so much about Italy, and
the wondrous artists which it has produced, and the wondrous pictures
which are to be found there; now I wish to see Italy, or rather Rome, the
great city, for I am told that in a certain room there is contained the
grand miracle of art.'

'And what do you call it?'

'The Transfiguration, painted by one Rafael, and it is said to be the
greatest work of the greatest painter whom the world has ever known. I
suppose it is because everybody says so, that I have such a strange
desire to see it. I have already made myself well acquainted with its
locality, and think that I could almost find my way to it blindfold. When
I have crossed the Tiber, which, as you are aware,