hese wonderful transactions, to inquire among the natives
concerning the truth of the [150]story. It so happened, that, at a certain
time, he was obliged to go up the river above mentioned: and he says, that
he looked about very wistfully; yet, to his great amazement, he saw neither
amber nor poplar. Upon this he took the liberty to ask the people, who
rowed him, when he should arrive at the amber-dropping trees: but it was
with some difficulty that he could make them understand what he meant. He
then explained to them the story of Phaethon: how he borrowed the chariot
of the Sun; and being an awkward charioteer, tumbled headlong into the
Eridanus: that his sisters pined away with grief; and at last were
transformed to trees, the same of which he had just spoken: and he assured
them, that these trees were to be found somewhere upon the banks, weeping
amber. Who the deuce, says one of the boatmen, could tell you such an idle
story? We never heard of any charioteer tumbling into the river; nor have
we, that I know of, a single poplar in the country. If there were any trees
hereabouts dropping amber, do you think, master, that we would sit here,
day after day, tugging against stream for a dry groat, when we might step
ashore, and make our fortunes so easily? This affected Lucian a good deal:
for he had formed some hopes of obtaining a little of this precious
commodity; and began to think that he must have been imposed upon. However,
as Cycnus, the brother of Phaethon, was here changed to a swan, he took it
for granted that he should find a number of those birds sailing up and down
the stream, and making the groves echo with their melody. But not
perceiving any in a great space, he took the liberty, as he passed onward,
to put the question again to the boatmen; and to make inquiry about these
birds. Pray, gentlemen, says he, at what particular season is it that your
swans hereabouts sing so sweetly? It is said, that they were formerly men,
and always at Apollo's side; being in a manner of his privy council. Their
skill in music must have been very great: and though they have been changed
into birds, they retain that faculty, and, I am told, sing most
melodiously. The watermen could not help smiling at this account. Why, sir,
says one of them, what strange stories you have picked up about our
country, and this river? We have plied here, men and boys, for years; and
to be sure we cannot say that we never saw a swan: there are som