of his lash in any direction, for in the
"Resuscitated Philosophers," he observes, "Philosophy says that
ridicule can never make anything worse than it is in itself, and
whatever is beautiful and good comes out with more lustre from it, and,
like gold, is rendered splendid by the strokes of the hammer."

Following this view, he makes pretty sport of the parasites, whom he
represents as forming a large and educated class. Patroclus he counts as
Achilles' parasite, and includes several philosophers, who, he says,
sponged upon Dionysius of Syracuse, "but Plato failed in the art." He
commends them in merry irony, and describes the parasite as stout and
robust--bold, with an eye full of fire and spirit. Who could venture a
bet against a parasite, whether in jesting or feasting? Who could
contribute more to the diversion of the company? A parasite is obliged
to be strict in his conduct. He has an annual salary, but is always
beaten down in it. He does not receive the same food as the chief
people, and in travelling he is put with the servants. Jokes are made at
his expense by the company, and when he receives a present of his
patron's old clothes, he has to fee the servants for them. Of
philosophers, some are poisoned, some are burned alive. None ever tell
of a parasite who came to such an end--he dies gently and sweetly,
amidst loaded dishes and flowing bowls, and should one of them come to
a violent death, it is merely from indigestion. The parasite does honour
to the rich man--not the rich man to the parasite.

Lucian's "True History" deserves especial notice as having been the
first extravagant story written under the form of a circumstantial
narration of travels. It was the precursor of "The Voyage to the Moon,"
Baron Muenchausen, and various Utopias. We must therefore allow it the
merit of originality, and it evinces talent, for mere exaggeration would
not be entertaining. The intention was to ridicule the marvellous
travellers' stories then current. Much of this history is merely florid,
and we may compare it to a waving line, in which the fable is constantly
undulating between humour and poetry.

Lucian says he is going to write about what never can be. He sets sail
on a voyage of discovery for the Western Ocean, and reaches a beautiful
island. There they find a river of wine, navigable in many places. He
could not trace the source of it, but near the place where it seemed to
rise, were several vines full of grapes