"Once more I was partially successful. Once again, boys, I began to dream dreams of greatness, and once again my dreams worked my ruin.
"My art was praised by some, my verses were said by others to have about them the ring and rhythm of the born bard. I forgot or neglected art for poesy, and soon found myself penniless and without work itself.
"Ambition, lads, is a grand thing; but it must be guided by a steady hand at the tiller, or it is a ship that will never sail into the haven of success.
"I need not tell you all, nor any of my wild adventures for the next eight years of my life by sea or land. You have heard the mythological tale of the man who prayed that everything he touched might turn into gold, and how the gods granted his prayer, and how his very food became gold as he tried to lift it to his lips, so that he died of starvation. Nothing I touched turned to gold, but, like Dead-sea fruit, every scheme of mine turned to dust in my attempt to grasp it.
"At last, in a fight with lions in the forests of Africa, I was seized and carried away by a man-eater. The monster was wounded, and, though he lacerated me fearfully, he laid down and died at my side. My companions soon followed and found me, and after a weary time I recovered a tithe, but not more, of my former life and spirit.
"The adventure had made almost an old man of me, and in my weakness and debility I had but one wish, one desire—to return to my native land and die!
"I did return. Providence was good to me, and the sea had in some measure restored me a portion of my pristine strength.
"I visited my Highland home and my mother's grave. Then an irresistible longing stole over me to visit this little wild glen.
"I stood one day on the very hill-top where well-nigh twenty years ago I had dreamt of nought save glory.
"All seemed the same on this sweet summer's day, the sea, the hills, the rocks, the wee whitewashed houses standing among the greenery of the waving birches, and the blue smoke trailing over the trees.