e original from which the like fairy
tales of Europe drew many a suggestion. Probably Apuleius himself was
indebted to still earlier Greek sources.

Scarcely any Latin production was more widely known and studied from the
beginning of the Italian Renaissance to the middle of the seventeenth
century. In its style, however, it is far from classic. It is full of
archaisms and rhetorical conceits. In striving to say things finely, the
author frequently failed to say them well. This fault, however, largely
disappears in the translation; and whatever may be the literary defects
of the novel, it offers rich compensation in the liveliness, humor, and
variety of its substance.

In addition to 'The Golden Ass,' the extant writings of Apuleius include
'Florida' (an anthology from his own works), 'The God of Socrates,' 'The
Philosophy of Plato,' and 'Concerning the World,' a treatise once
attributed to Aristotle. The best modern edition of his complete works
is that of Hildebrand (Leipzig, 1842); of the 'Metamorphoses,' that of
Eyssenhardt (Berlin, 1869). There have been many translations into the
modern languages. The best English versions are those of T. Taylor
(London, 1822); of Sir G. Head, somewhat expurgated (London, 1851); and
an unsigned translation published in the Bohn Library, which has been
drawn on for this work, but greatly rewritten as too stiff and prolix,
and in the conversations often wholly unnatural. A very pretty edition
in French, with many illustrations, is that of Savalete (Paris, 1872).

THE TALE OF ARISTOMENES, THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER

From 'The Metamorphoses'

I am a native of AEgina, and I travel in Thessaly, AEtolia, and Boeotia to
purchase honey of Hypata, cheese, and other articles used in cookery.
Having heard that at Hypata, the principal city of Thessaly,
fine-flavored new cheese was for sale cheap, I made the best of my way
there to buy it all up. But as usual, happening to start left foot
foremost, which is unlucky, all my hopes of profit came to nothing; for
a fellow named Lupus, a merchant who does things on a big scale, had
bought the whole of it the day before.

Weary with my hurried journey to no purpose, I was going early in the
evening to the public baths, when to my surprise I espied an old
companion of mine named Socrates. He was sitting on the ground, half
covered with a rag-tag cloak, and looking like somebody else, he was so
miserably wan and thin,--in fact, just like a street