"
"It is quite clear, Mr. Wolston, that, since my brothers are to be so
illustrious, I cannot be an ordinary mortal; the honor of the family
is concerned, and must be consulted. I am, therefore, resolved to
become either a great composer, like Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven; a
renowned painter, like Titian, Carrache, or Veronese; or a great poet,
like Homer, Virgil, Shakspeare, Dante, Milton, Goethe, and Racine."
"That is to say," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "that you are resolved to be
a great something or other."
"Decidedly, madam; on reflection, however, as I value my eyesight, I
must except Homer and Milton."
"But have you not determined to which of the muses you will throw the
handkerchief?"
"I thought of music at first. It must be a grand thing, said I to
myself, that can charm, delight, and draw tears from the eyes of the
multitude--that can inspire faith, courage, patriotism, devotion and
energy, and that, too, by means of little black dots with tails,
interspersed with quavers, crotchets, sharps and flats."
"Have you composed a sonata yet?"
"No, madam; I was going to do so, but it occurred to me that I should
require an orchestra to play it."
"And not having that, you abandoned the idea?"
"Exactly, madam. I then turned to poetry. That is an art fit for the
gods; it puts you on a level with kings, and makes you in history even
more illustrious than them.
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