"Poor Auffredy," said Elionore, somewhat contemptuously, as he departed; "he has seen a wolf and has lost the use of speech; let him go, we have many a young poet who can well replace him." The admired favourite of a capricious beauty accordingly returned to La Rochelle, changed in heart and depressed in spirits.

"And this, then," he mused, "is the reward which the world offers to genius, taste, truth, and feeling! and this is all the value set on qualities which excite admiration, enthusiasm, rapture!--a brief season suffices to weary the most zealous and devoted--a few months, and that which was deemed wit and talent, and wisdom and grace, is looked upon as flat, tame, and unworthy attention.

As long as vanity is pleased, and novelty excites new ideas, the poet is welcomed and followed; but, let sadness or sorrow overtake him, of all his admirers not one friend remains! How childish is the thirst for such trivial fame as that a poet gains! It is like the pursuit of the gossamer, which the least breath sweeps away.

I will sing no more.

I will forget the brilliant scenes that have bewildered me too long; but to what do I now return?
Alas! I have no longer a relish for that which interested me before--to what end do I seek to gain wealth?
for whom should I hoard treasure?
I shall in future take no interest in my successes; all appears a blank to me, and my existence a cold, monotonous state of being.