on his
cook; and the dexterous Leo insensibly acquired the trust and management
of his household. After the patient expectation of a whole year, he
cautiously whispered his design to Attalus, and exhorted him to
prepare for flight in the ensuing night. At the hour of midnight, the
intemperate guests retired from the table; and the Frank's son-in-law,
whom Leo attended to his apartment with a nocturnal potation,
condescended to jest on the facility with which he might betray his
trust. The intrepid slave, after sustaining this dangerous raillery,
entered his master's bedchamber; removed his spear and shield; silently
drew the fleetest horses from the stable; unbarred the ponderous gates;
and excited Attalus to save his life and liberty by incessant diligence.
Their apprehensions urged them to leave their horses on the banks of the
Meuse; they swam the river, wandered three days in the adjacent forest,
and subsisted only by the accidental discovery of a wild plum-tree. As
they lay concealed in a dark thicket, they heard the noise of horses;
they were terrified by the angry countenance of their master, and they
anxiously listened to his declaration, that, if he could seize the
guilty fugitives, one of them he would cut in pieces with his sword, and
would expose the other on a gibbet. A length, Attalus and his faithful
Leo reached the friendly habitation of a presbyter of Rheims, who
recruited their fainting strength with bread and wine, concealed them
from the search of their enemy, and safely conducted them beyond the
limits of the Austrasian kingdom, to the episcopal palace of Langres.
Gregory embraced his grandson with tears of joy, gratefully delivered
Leo, with his whole family, from the yoke of servitude, and bestowed on
him the property of a farm, where he might end his days in happiness and
freedom. Perhaps this singular adventure, which is marked with so many
circumstances of truth and nature, was related by Attalus himself, to
his cousin or nephew, the first historian of the Franks. Gregory
of Tours was born about sixty years after the death of Sidonius
Apollinaris; and their situation was almost similar, since each of them
was a native of Auvergne, a senator, and a bishop. The difference of
their style and sentiments may, therefore, express the decay of Gaul;
and clearly ascertain how much, in so short a space, the human mind had
lost of its energy and refinement.

We are now qualified to despise the opposite, a