man is not seen by his contemporaries; the majesty of his form is outlined only through its recession in time. This is the awe and enchantment of distance. Men occupy themselves with the small things: their houses, trees, land. Few contemplate the mountain at whose base they live, and fewer still essay to explore it. But in the distance these small things disappear, and then the solitary beauty of the mountain is perceived. Popularity, noisy obtrusiveness, and shallow show, these superficialities rapidly disappear, and leave behind no enduring mark; whereas greatness slowly emerges from obscurity, and endures for ever.
Jewish rabbi and rabble alike saw not the divine beauty of Jesus; they saw only an unlettered carpenter. To his acquaintances, Homer was only a blind beggar, but the centuries reveal him as Homer the immortal poet. Two hundred years after the farmer of Stratford—and all that is known of him—has disappeared the real Shakespeare is discerned. All true genius is
