ished, but they were not even noticed in the multitude of similar
productions.

After having vegetated four or five years at Bagdad, without obtaining
anything but weak encouragement given by wise men, (who are without
influence because they are wise,) poor Osmyn began to lose the brilliant
hopes that formerly had dazzled him. However, by dint of eating the
pastilles, he at last attracted some notice. If it requires time for
genius to emerge from obscurity, no sooner is it known than recompense
is made for slow injustice. It is sought after not for itself, but for
the sake of vanity. Envy often avails itself of it as a fit instrument
subservient to its own purposes. Soon, in fact, the works of Osmyn only
were spoken of, and after languishing a long time unnoticed, he saw
himself at once raised to the pinnacle, without having passed the steps
which lead from misery to fortune, from obscurity to glory.

The Caliph desired to see so great a genius, and to possess him at his
court. Osmyn was overwhelmed with favours; he sung the praises of the
Caliph with a delicacy that other poets were far from being able to
imitate. The Caliph admired delicate praise the more because it is rare
at court.

So much merit and favour besides, soon created the jealousy of other
poets, and likewise of the courtiers. Even those, who had showed
themselves the most enthusiastic admirers of Osmyn's talents, feared to
see themselves eclipsed by this new comer, and resolved to destroy the
idol they had raised so much higher than they wished.

One of the poets, Osmyn's enemy, was employed to compose a satire
against the Caliph, and it was agreed that this should be circulated
under the favourite's name. From that time the avenger of the common
cause never quitted Osmyn, nor ceased to load him with praises and
caresses.

One day when Osmyn delivered an extempore poem before the Caliph, his
rival, after having warmly applauded him, cast down his eyes by
accident, and saw shining on the floor one of the pastilles that Osmyn,
who was led away by the vivacity of his declamation, had let fall by
mistake. The traitor snatched it up, and put it mechanically in his
mouth.

The pastille produced its effect; the poet felt a sudden inspiration,
left the hall and flew to compose the projected satire. He was surprised
at his own aptitude; the verses cost him no trouble, but flowed of
themselves. The bitterest expressions escaped from his pen without his
se