I insist thus emphatically on the importance of genius, and the necessity of allowing it to unfold itself freely both in thought and in practice, being well aware that no one will deny the position in theory, but knowing also that almost everyone, in reality, is totally indifferent to it. Mill, indeed, had much to say about the conditions under which the exceptional individual contributes to social change and progress, which bears immediately upon the education of highly exceptional children. Bearing further upon the persecution to which genius is often subject as a penalty for nonconformity, Havelock Ellis (5) after studying a large number of British men of genius says: It is practically impossible to estimate the amount of persecution to which this group of preëminent persons has been subjected, for it has shown itself in innumerable forms, and varies between a mere passive refusal to have anything to do with them or their work and the active infliction of physical torture and death. There is, however, at least one form of persecution, very definite in character, which it is easy to estimate, since the national biographers have probably in few cases passed over it. I refer to imprisonment. I find that at least 160, or over 16 per cent, of our 975 eminent men were imprisoned, once or oftener, for periods of varying length, while many others only escaped imprisonment by voluntary exile. This is a conclusion reached by one investigating the condition of genius among what are probably the most liberal people in the world--the British, a nation of protestants. Another condition of genius frequently alleged is that of personal isolation. Shaw makes Saint Joan say, "I was always alone." Schopenhauer (14) says: "It is often the case that a great mind prefers soliloquy to the dialogue he may have in the world." Hirsch (7) dwells at some length upon isolation: The genius is constantly forced to solitude, for he early learns from experience that his kind can expect no reciprocation of their generous feelings. . . . Solitude can best be defined as the state in which friends are lacking or absent, rather than as the opposite of sociability. . . . Solitude is but a refuge of genius, not its goal. Time after time one detects, from the lives or writings of genius, that solitude is not its destiny but only a retreat; not the normal fruition of its being, but an empty harbor sheltering it from the tortures, griefs, and calumnies of the world. . . . It is a grievous error to credit the genius with an innate inclination to shun men. But in his youth he learns by experience that solitude is preferable to suffocation, stupefaction, or surrender. Alger (1) sees isolation as a necessary corollary of the insistence upon perfection and accuracy which characterizes genius: