my king and companion in study
devotes himself with particular zeal."

"When he is neither drinking, nor raving, nor governing, nor wasting his
time in sacrificing and processions," interpolated Euergetes. "If I had
not been a king perhaps I might have been an Aristarchus; as it is I
am but half a king--since half of my kingdom belongs to you,
Philometor--and but half a student; for when am I to find perfect quiet
for thinking and writing? Everything, everything in me is by halves, for
I, if the scale were to turn in my favor"--and here he struck his chest
and his forehead, "I should be twice the man I am. I am my whole real
self nowhere but at high festivals, when the wine sparkles in the cup,
and bright eyes flash from beneath the brows of the flute-players of
Alexandria or Cyrene--sometimes too perhaps in council when the risk is
great, or when there is something vast and portentous to be done from
which my brother and you others, all of you, would shrink--nay perhaps
even the Roman. Aye! so it is--and you will learn to know it."

Euergetes had roared rather than spoken the last words; his cheeks were
flushed, his eyes rolled, while he took from his head both the garland
of flowers and the golden fillet, and once more pushed his fingers
through his hair.

His sister covered her ears with her hands, and said: "You positively
hurt me! As no one is contradicting you, and you, as a man of culture,
are not accustomed to add force to your assertions, like the Scythians,
by speaking in a loud tone, you would do well to save your metallic
voice for the further speech with which it is to be hoped you will
presently favor us. We have had to bow more than once already to the
strength of which you boast--but now, at a merry feast, we will not
think of that, but rather continue the conversation which entertained
us, and which had begun so well. This eager defence of the interests
which most delight the best of the Hellenes in Alexandria may perhaps
result in infusing into the mind of our friend Publius Scipio--and
through him into that of many young Romans--a proper esteem for a line
of intellectual effort which he could not have condemned had he not
failed to understand it perfectly.

"Very often some striking poetical turn given to a subject makes it,
all at once, clear to our comprehension, even when long and learned
disquisitions have failed; and I am acquainted with such an one,
written by an anonymous author, and which