That these voluminous and vigorous tirades, which their author evidently poured forth with perfect ease, were criticised and condemned by the fastidious we have no evidence. Certain it is that judging by the contemporary newspaper press they were exceedingly popular. Yet, in November we find Freneau in a sad state of discouragement, ready to give up forever all association with the muses. Some one, envious of his rising fame, has criticised him unmercifully. He seeks out the old Clio-Whig satires and after adapting and reshaping them he hurls them at the head of his enemy whom he designates as McSwiggen. Great Jove in wrath a spark of genius gave And bade me drink the mad Pierian wave, Hence came those rhymes with truth ascribed to me, That urge your little soul to jealousy. * * * * * Devoted mad man what inspired your rage, Who bade your foolish muse with us engage? Against a windmill would you try your might, Against a castle would a pigmy fight? The young poet had begun to realize how barren was the new world in poetic appreciation; how impossible it was for even a true poet to practice his art where few could appreciate, and none really cared: Alone I stand to meet the foul-mouthed train Assisted by no poets of the plain. He looked longingly across the water where poets were appreciated: Long have I sat on this disastrous shore, And sighing sought to gain a passage o'er To Europe's towns, where as our travellers say Poets may flourish, or perhaps they may. The poem was a valedictory. I to the sea with weary steps descend, Quit the mean conquest, that such swine must yield And leave McSwiggen to enjoy the field. In distant isles some happier scene I'll choose And court in softer shades the unwilling muse. Freneau had determined to spend the winter in the West Indies. He had become acquainted during the autumn with a West Indian gentleman by the name of Hanson, who owned large estates in the islands, and who sailed master of his own vessel. Upon his invitation Freneau became a passenger late in November for the Island of Santa Cruz. Early in the voyage the mate died, and the young poet, his education outweighing his inexperience in nautical matters, was chosen to fill his place. The study of navigation, made necessary by this step, doubtless turned the direction of his whole life. For the next two years Freneau made his home on Captain Hanson's estate on the Island of Santa Cruz. A selection from one of his letters charmingly describes the spot.