ess of the
monks of St. Stefano, he was given a cell in a vacant monastery, and
here, at the age of sixteen, he started business as a sculptor on his
own account.

Before he was twenty, the youth had become a master of anatomy, which
he declared was "the secret of the art," was thoroughly versed in
literature, languages, history, poetry, mythology,--everything that
could help to make him the greatest sculptor of his age,--and had, even
then, produced works of surpassing merit.

Effort to do better was the motto of his life, and he never permitted a
day to pass without making some advance in his profession. Though often
too poor to buy the marble in which to embody his conceptions, he for
many years lived up to a resolution made about this time, never to
close his eyes at night without having produced some design.

What wonder that at twenty-five this noble youth, whose incessant toil
had perfected genius, was the marvel of his age! What wonder that his
famous group, Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur, elicited the
enthusiastic admiration of the most noted art critics of Rome! What
wonder that the little peasant boy, who had first opened his eyes, in
1757, in a mud cabin, closed them at last, in 1822, in a marble palace,
crowned with all of fame and honor and wealth the world could give! But
better still, he was loved and enshrined in the hearts of the people,
as a friend of the poor, a patron of struggling merit, a man in whom
nobility of character overtopped even the genius of the artist.

FRANKLIN'S LESSON ON TIME VALUE

Dost thou love life? Then, do not squander time, for
that is the stuff life is made of!--FRANKLIN.

Franklin not only understood the value of time, but he put a price upon
it that made others appreciate its worth.

A customer who came one day to his little bookstore in Philadelphia,
not being satisfied with the price demanded by the clerk for the book
he wished to purchase, asked for the proprietor. "Mr. Franklin is very
busy just now in the press room," replied the clerk. The man, however,
who had already spent an hour aimlessly turning over books, insisted on
seeing him. In answer to the clerk's summons, Mr. Franklin hurried out
from the newspaper establishment at the back of the store.

"What is the lowest price you can take for this book, sir?" asked the
leisurely customer, holding up the volume. "One dollar and a quarter,"
was the prompt reply. "A dollar and a quarter! Why,