me esteem in the nullity which seeks to find place
for itself under the canopy spread for others--in the ignorance which is
ever leaning for support on another man's chair?"

Rodaja was once asked how it happened that poets are always poor; to
which he replied, "That if they were poor, it was because they chose to
be so, since it was always in their power to be rich if they would only
take advantage of the opportunities in their hands. For see how rich are
their ladies," he added; "have they not all a very profusion of wealth
in their possession? Is not their hair of gold, their brows of burnished
silver, their eyes of the most precious jewels, their lips of coral,
their throats of ivory and transparent crystal? Are not their tears
liquid pearls, and where they plant the soles of their feet do not
jasmine and roses spring up at the moment, however rebellious and
sterile the earth may previously have been? Then what is their breath
but pure amber, musk, and frankincense? Yet to whom do all these things
belong, if not to the poets? They are, therefore, manifest signs and
proofs of their great riches."

In this manner he always spoke of bad poets; as to the good ones, he was
loud in their praise, and exalted them above the horns of the moon.

Being at San Francisco, he one day saw some very indifferent pictures,
by an incapable hand; whereupon he remarked that the good painters
imitate nature, while the bad ones have the impertinence to daub her
face.

Having planted himself one day in front of a bookseller's shop with
great care, to avoid being broken, he began to talk to the owner, and
said, "This trade would please me greatly, were it not for one fault
that it has." The bookseller inquiring what that might be, Rodaja
replied, "It is the tricks you play on the writers when you purchase the
copyright of a book, and the sport you make of the author if, perchance,
he desire to print at his own cost. For what is your method of
proceeding? Instead of the one thousand five hundred copies which you
agree to print for him, you print three thousand; and when the author
supposes that you are selling his books, you are but disposing of your
own."

One of those men who carry sedan-chairs, once standing by while Rodaja
was enumerating the faults committed by various trades and occupations,
remarked to the latter, "Of us, Senor Doctor, you can find nothing amiss
to say." "Nothing," replied Rodaja, "except that you are made acqua