You ask, what is the origin and fate of genius ? and I reply: Genius arises from three sources. 1. It may be the culmination of an education or culture of a single set of faculties in a family for a long period of time. 2. It may be caused by the persistent exercise, by the mother (during gestation), of her mind in a given direction. 3. (a) It may be, and often has been, produced by constant magnetic operations on the unborn child, by spirits anxious to produce a given result; and (b) It may result from nervous excitability, sadness, and a bias imparted to the child ; turning the whole current of the mind into particular channels, — the voluntary or involuntary culture of special faculties. † Every genius is ticketed for misery in this life ; for there’s but an angular, one-sided, painful development. A few advantages are purchased at enormous cost: a short, brilliant, erratic career ; more kicks than praises; more flattering leeches than fast friends ; rich and joyous to-day, houseless and suffering the pangs of hell to-morrow; understood by God alone; seldom loved till dead; the victims of bad men, and constant dupes — even of themselves ! Genius is a bright bauble, but a dangerous possession. Invariably open to two worlds, they are assaulted, coaxed, flattered, led captive on all sides, and the only rest comes with death. And although measurably happy, and entirely relieved of many disabilities on the further shore, they yet have enormous tasks to do. They are compelled to train all their previously neglected faculties to something like consonance with those few wherewith they startled the world below. For instance: A man who was a great architect, musician, physiologist, painter, sculptor, poet, reasoner, must cultivate all his other faculties until he becomes rounded out, outgrows his special angularities, and be a different man altogether. It is a blessed thing to be able, as I am, to tell all such, and all the other tearful, unknown, sadhearted, weary souls; the unpitied, unappreciated wives; the struggling, honest man, who goes to the wall because he cannot pollute his soul by chicanery and low knavery, whereby coarser men find thrift, — I repeat, it is joy to me this night to be able to pen. these lines of assurance that in very truth there’s rest, and peace, and sweet sleep, and comfort, and sympathy, appreciation, and warmly yearning, loving hearts for them up there. How some of us will rest, when our year of jubilee shall come, and death shall set us free!