than all, that he had ever hoped.[4]

[4] The Translator in his sixth edition replaced the next paragraph by
the following remarks:--"The case is apparently, and only apparently,
an exception to the old rule _Poeta nascitur, orator fit_--the
poet is born, the orator is made. The truth is, without exception,
that every poet is born such; and many are born such of whose poetry
the world knows nothing. Every known poet is also somewhat an
orator; and as to this part of his character, he is made. And many
are known as poets who are altogether made; they are mere
second-hand, or orator poets, and are quite intolerable unless
exceedingly well made, which is, unfortunately, seldom the case. It
would be wise in them to busy themselves as mere translators. Every
one who is born with propensities to love and wonder too strong and
deep to be worn off by repetition or continuance,--in other words,
who is born to be always young,--is born a poet. The other
requisites he has of course. Upon him the making will never be lost.
The richest gems do most honour to their polishing. But they are
gems without any. So there are men who pass through the world with
their souls full of poetry, who would not believe you if you were to
tell them so. Happy for them is their ignorance, perhaps. La
Fontaine came near being one of them. All that is artificial in
poetry to him came late and with difficulty. Yet it resulted from
his keen relish of nature, that he was never satisfied with his art
of verse till he had brought it to the confines of perfection. He
did not philosophize over the animals; he sympathized with them. A
philosopher would not have lost a fashionable dinner in his
admiration of a common ant-hill. La Fontaine did so once, because
the well-known little community was engaged in what he took to be a
funeral. He could not in decency leave them till it was over.