'Dear youth, I am Statuary--the art which you yesterday began to
learn, and which has a natural and a family claim upon you. Your
grandfather' (naming my mother's father) 'and both your uncles
practised it, and it brought them credit. If you will turn a deaf ear
to this person's foolish cajolery, and come and live with me, I
promise you wholesome food and good strong muscles; you shall never
fear envy, never leave your country and your people to go wandering
abroad, and you shall be commended not for your words, but for your
works.

'Let not a slovenly person or dirty clothes repel you; such were the
conditions of that Phidias who produced the Zeus, of Polyclitus who
created the Hera, of the much-lauded Myron, of the admired Praxiteles;
and all these are worshipped with the Gods. If you should come to be
counted among them, you will surely have fame enough for yourself
through all the world, you will make your father the envy of all
fathers, and bring your country to all men's notice.' This and more
said Statuary, stumbling along in a strange jargon, stringing her
arguments together in a very earnest manner, and quite intent on
persuading me. But I can remember no more; the greater part of it has
faded from my memory. When she stopped, the other's turn came.

'And I, child, am Culture, no stranger to you even now, though you
have yet to make my closer acquaintance. The advantages that the
profession of a sculptor will bring with it you have just been told;
they amount to no more than being a worker with your hands, your whole
prospects in life limited to that; you will be obscure, poorly and
illiberally paid, mean-spirited, of no account outside your doors;
your influence will never help a friend, silence an enemy, nor impress
your countrymen; you will be just a worker, one of the masses,