Still, I was oppressed and paralyzed by the sphere of his presence.

I felt puny and weak beside him, and unhappy because I was not gifted with equal power.
It so happened that a work of mine, upon which the maker's name was not stamped--work done with a purpose of good--was spoken of and praised by one who did not know me as the handicraftsman.
"It is tame, dull, and commonplace," said the brilliant one, in a tone of contempt; and there were many present to agree with him.
Like the strokes of a hammer upon my heart, came these words of condemnation.

"Tame, dull, and commonplace!" And was it, indeed, so?
Yes; I felt that what he uttered was true.

That my powers were exceedingly limited, and my gifts few.

Oh, what would I not have then given for brilliant endowments like those possessed by him from whom had fallen the words of condemnation?
"You will admit," said one--I thought it strange at the time that there should be even one to speak a word in favor of my poor performance--"that it will do good ?" "Good!" was answered, in a tone slightly touched by contempt.