ngs death, not life. By Esculapius! life and
hope! you choke me, Agellius. Life and hope! you are beyond three
Anticyras. Life and hope! if you were old, if you were diseased, if you
were given over, and had but one puff of life left in you, then you might
be what you would, for me; but your hair is black, your cheek is round,
your limbs are strong, your voice is full; and you are going to make all
these a sacrifice to Hecate! has your good genius fed that plump frame,
ripened those goods looks, nerved your arm, bestowed that breadth of
chest, that strength of loins, that straightness of spine, that vigour of
step, only that you may feed the crows? or to be torn on the rack,
scorched in the flame, or hung on the gibbet? is this your gratitude to
nature? What has been your price? for what have you sold yourself? Speak,
man, speak. Are you dumb as well as dement? Are you dumb, I say, are you
dumb?"

"O Jucundus," cried Agellius, irritated at his own inability to express
himself or hold an argument, "if you did but know what it was to have the
Truth! The Christian has found the Truth, the eternal Truth, in a world of
error. That is his bargain, that is his hire; can there be a greater? Can
I give up the Truth? But all this is Punic or Barbar to you."

It certainly did pose Jucundus for half a minute, as if he was trying to
take in, not so much the sense, as the words of his nephew's speech. He
looked bewildered, and though he began to answer him at once, it took
several sentences to bring him into his usual flow of language. After one
or two exclamations, "The truth!" he cried, "_this_ is what I understand
you to say,--the truth. The _truth_ is your bargain; I think I'm right, the
truth; Hm; what is truth? What in heaven and earth do you mean by truth?
where did you get that cant? What oriental tomfoolery is bamboozling you?
The truth!" he cried, staring at him with eyes, half of triumph, half of
impatience, "the truth! Jove help the boy!--the truth! can truth pour me
out a cup of melilotus? can truth crown me with flowers? can it sing to
me? can it bring Glyceris to me? drop gold into my girdle? or cool my
brows when fever visits me? Can truth give me a handsome suburban with
some five hundred slaves, or raise me to the duumvirate? Let it do this,
and I will worship it; it shall be my god; it shall be more to me than
Fortune, Fate, Rome, or any other goddess on the list. But _I_ like to
see, and touch, and feel, and handl