imitated his songs, and thought they were inspired by his winged
genius, had under them only a pair of halting, clubbed feet.

There is a class of unfortunate men and women in the world to whom
the boy and the bard have introduced us. They are not all lame:
but they all think they have cause to be dissatisfied with the
bodies God has given them. Perhaps they are simply ugly, and are
aware that no one can look in their faces with other thought than
that they are ugly. Now it is a pleasant thing to have a pleasant
face, and an agreeable form. It is pleasant for a man to be large,
well-shaped, and good-looking, and it is unpleasant for him to be
small, and to carry an ill-shaped form and an ugly face. It is
pleasant for a woman to feel that she has personal attractions for
those around her, and it is unpleasant for her to feel that no man
can ever turn his eyes admiringly upon her. A misshapen limb, a
hump in the back, a withered arm, a shortened leg, a clubbed foot,
a hare-lip, an unwieldy corpulence, a hideous leanness, a bald
head--all these are unpleasant possessions, and all these, I
suppose, give their possessors, first and last, a great deal of
pain. Then there is the taint of an unpopular blood, that a whole
race carry with them as a badge of humiliation. I have heard of
Africans who declared that they would willingly go through the
pain of being skinned alive, if, at the close of the operation,
they could become white men. There are men of genius, with plenty
of white blood in their veins--with only a trace of Africa in
their faces--whose lives are embittered by that trace; and who
know that the pure Anglo Saxon, if he follows his instincts, will
say to him: "Thus far,"--(through a limited range of relations,)--
"but no further."