told that such a building
was not fit for one who had raised so many fine palaces in his writings,
he answered, that the structure of _words_ and that of _stones_ was not
the same thing. _"Che pervi le pietre, e porvi le parole, non e il
medesimo!"_ At Ferrari this house is still shown, "Parva sed apta" he
calls it, but exults that it was paid for with his own money. This was
in a moment of good humour, which he did not always enjoy; for in his
Satires he bitterly complains of the bondage of dependence and poverty.
Little thought the poet that the _commune_ would order this small house
to be purchased with their own funds, that it might be dedicated to his
immortal memory.

Cardinal Bentivoglio, the ornament of Italy and of literature,
languished, in his old age, in the most distressful poverty; and having
sold his palace to satisfy his creditors, left nothing behind him but
his reputation. The learned Pomponius Laetus lived in such a state of
poverty, that his friend Platina, who wrote the lives of the popes, and
also a book of cookery, introduces him into the cookery book by a
facetious observation, that "If Pomponius Laetus should be robbed of a
couple of eggs, he would not have wherewithal to purchase two other
eggs." The history of Aldrovandus is noble and pathetic; having expended
a large fortune in forming his collections of natural history, and
employing the first artists in Europe, he was suffered to die in the
hospital of that city, to whose fame he had eminently contributed.

Du Ryer, a celebrated French poet, was constrained to write with
rapidity, and to live in the cottage of an obscure village. His
bookseller bought his heroic verses for one hundred sols the hundred
lines, and the smaller ones for fifty sols. What an interesting picture
has a contemporary given of a visit to this poor and ingenious author!
"On a fine summer day we went to him, at some distance from town. He
received us with joy, talked to us of his numerous projects, and showed
us several of his works. But what more interested us was, that, though
dreading to expose to us his poverty, he contrived to offer some
refreshments. We seated ourselves under a wide oak, the table-cloth was
spread on the grass, his wife brought us some milk, with fresh water and
brown bread, and he picked a basket of cherries. He welcomed us with
gaiety, but we could not take leave of this amiable man, now grown old,
without tears, to see him so ill treated by f