amazed by the unusual,
springing out of flat commonplaces; we are spellbound by the luminous
speck shining in the wonted darkness. We admire; and, failing to
understand whence came those glorious harvests in this one or in that,
we say of them: "They have the gift."

A goatherd amuses himself by making combinations with heaps of little
pebbles. He becomes an astoundingly quick and accurate reckoner without
other aid than a moment's reflection. He terrifies us with the conflict
of enormous numbers which blend in an orderly fashion in his mind, but
whose mere statement overwhelms us by its inextricable confusion. This
marvelous arithmetical juggler has an instinct, a genius, a gift for
figures.

A second, at the age when most of us delight in tops and marbles, leaves
the company of his boisterous playmates and listens to the echo of
celestial harps singing within him. His head is a cathedral filled with
the strains of an imaginary organ. Rich cadences, a secret concert heard
by him and him alone, steep him in ecstasy. All hail to that predestined
one who, some day, will rouse our noblest emotions with his musical
chords. He has an instinct, a genius, a gift for sounds.

A third, a brat who cannot yet eat his bread and jam without smearing
his face all over, takes a delight in fashioning clay into little
figures that are astonishingly lifelike for all their artless
awkwardness. He takes a knife and makes the briar root grin into all
sorts of entertaining masks; he carves boxwood in the semblance of a
horse or sheep; he engraves the effigy of his dog on sandstone. Leave
him alone; and, if Heaven second his efforts, he may become a famous
sculptor. He has an instinct, a gift, a genius for form.

And so with others in every branch of human activity: art and science,
industry and commerce, literature and philosophy. We have within us,
from the start, that which will distinguish us from the vulgar herd.
Now to what do we owe this distinctive character? To some throwback of
atavism, men tell us. Heredity, direct in one case, remote in another,
hands it down to us, increased or modified by time. Search the records
of the family and you will discover the source of the genius, a mere
trickle at first, then a stream, then a mighty river.

The darkness that lies behind that word heredity! Metaphysical science
has tried to throw a little light upon it and has succeeded only in
making unto itself a barbarous jargon, leaving obscu