But _what, where, who_, is Elkanah Brewster's world?
While we stand reasoning, he has gone. In New York, his friend Graves
assisted him to a place in the studio of an artist, whose own works
have proved, no less than those of many who have gathered their most
precious lessons from him, that he is truly a master of his art. But
what are masters, teachers, to a scholar? It's very fine boarding at
the Spread-Eagle Hotel; but even after you have feed the waiter, you
have to chew your own dinner, and are benefited, not by the amount you
pay for it, but only by so much of all that with which the bounteous
mahogany is covered as you can thoroughly masticate, easily contain,
and healthily digest. Elkanah began with the soup, so to speak. He
brought all his Cape-Cod acuteness of observation to bear on his
profession; lived closely, as well he might; studied attentively and
intelligently; lost no hints, no precious morsels dropping from the
master's board; improved slowly, but surely. Day by day he gained in
that facility of hand, quickness of observation, accuracy of memory,
correctness of judgment, patience of detail, felicity of touch, which,
united and perfected and honestly directed, we call genius.
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