A quarter of an hour later the boy returned with his treasure in his possession, having paid its ransom thus: "Adieu, adieu, poor snuff-box mine; Adieu; we ne'er shall meet again: Nor pains, nor tears, nor prayers divine Will win thee back; my efforts are in vain! Adieu, adieu, poor box of mine; Adieu, my sweet crowns'-worth of bane; Could I with money buy thee back once more, The treasury of Plutus I would drain.
But ah! not he the god I must implore; To have thee back, I need Apollo's vein.

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'Twixt thee and me how hard a barrier-line, To ask for verse! Ah! this is all my strain! Adieu, adieu, poor box of mine; Adieu; we ne'er shall meet again!" Arouet was still a child when a friend of his family took him to see Mdlle.

Ninon de l'Enclos, as celebrated for her wit as for the irregularity of her life.

"Abbe Chateauneuf took me to see her in my very tender youth," says Voltaire; "I had done some verses, which were worth nothing, but which seemed very good for my age.