that is, till having reached the summit, the man has the felicity to find himself an accomplished ass. The poet, immediately afterwards, applies this unlucky hieroglyphic to himself and his journey to Rome, to congratulate Leo X. on his accession to the triple crown. His services, expectations, and disappointments, while a worshipper of that golden calf of literary idolatry (whose rites have not yet ceased), are humorously but vindictively recapitulated. Illustrative of these, he introduces another fable in his own free and easy manner. La Fontaine himself might have borrowed from Ariosto the idea of that simple yet facetious style which distinguishes his fables. To the disgrace of both, the Frenchman seems likewise to have borrowed from the Italian the model, as well as some of the materials, for his profligate tales. "My hope," says the forlorn satirist, "came with the first leaves and blossoms of spring, but withered without waiting for September. It came on the day when the church was given for a spouse to Leo, when I saw so many of my friends clad in scarlet at the nuptials. It came with the calends, and fled with the ides: remembering this, I can never again put confidence in man. My silly hope shot up to heaven, and spread over unknown lands, when the holy father took me by the hand and kissed me on the cheeks; but high as it rose, so low it fell, and oh! in how short space of time!" "There was a gourd which grew so lustily, That in few days its foliage over-ran The loftiest branches of a neighbouring pear-tree. One morn, the latter, opening wide its eyes After a long sound nap, beheld new fruits Clustering luxuriantly around its head. 'Holla!' it cried; 'who _are_ you? and how _came_ you? Where _were_ you when these wretched eyes of mine To slumber I resign'd?' The gourd replied Frankly; declared its name and kindred; show'd How it was planted at his honour's foot, And in three months had thriven to that height. 'And I,' the pear-tree answer'd, 'hardly climb'd To this pre-eminence, through heat and cold, And wars with all the winds, in thirty years! But you, who in the twinkling of an eye Have sprung to heaven, shall, with the self-same speed As you have risen, down dwindle to the root.'"