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180ARIADNE.mortals live and die without ever even comprehending.Be not thankless;genius is consolation.""For all but one thing," she said very low;andher eyelids were wet.And indeed after all there is nothing morecruel than the impotence of genius to hold andkeep those commonest joys and mere naturalaffections which dullards and worse than dullardsrejoice in at their pleasure;the common humanthings, whose loss makes the great possessionsof its imperial powers all valueless and vain asharps unstrung, or as lutes that arebroken."It is very beautiful, and it is very great,"Isaid to her, and said but barren truth." It is himself," she answered." AVhat willyou callit ? "" Only— a poet."" You wiUlet it go out to the world, surely ? "" Yes, that he may see it."" You think he will come toyou? "She shrank alittle, as ifone had stung her"No: he will not comeback; no. But perhapshe willremember a little, and drive the asps