upon you. Xenophanes, my townsman of Samosata, was resolved to
buy a new horse: he had tried him, and liked him well enough. I asked
him why he wished to dispose of his old one, knowing how sure-footed
he was, how easy in his paces, and how quiet in his pasture. 'Very
true, O Lucian,' said he; 'the horse is a clever horse; noble eye,
beautiful figure, stately step; rather too fond of neighing and of
shuffling a little in the vicinity of a mare; but tractable and good
tempered.' 'I would not have parted with him then,' said I. 'The fact
is,' replied he, 'my grandfather, whom I am about to visit, likes no
horses but what are _Saturnized_. To-morrow I begin my journey: come
and see me set out.' I went at the hour appointed. The new purchase
looked quiet and demure; but _he_ also pricked up his ears, and gave
sundry other tokens of equinity, when the more interesting part of his
fellow-creatures came near him. As the morning oats began to operate,
he grew more and more unruly, and snapped at one friend of Xenophanes,
and sidled against another, and gave a kick at a third. 'All in play!
all in play!' said Xenophanes; 'his nature is more of a lamb's than a
horse's.' However, these mute salutations being over, away went
Xenophanes. In the evening, when my lamp had just been replenished for
the commencement of my studies, my friend came in striding as if he
were still across the saddle. 'I am apprehensive, O Xenophanes,' said
I, 'your new acquaintance has disappointed you.' 'Not in the least,'
answered he. 'I do assure you, O Lucian! he is the very horse I was
looking out for.' On my requesting him to be seated, he no more
thought of doing so than if it had been in the presence of the Persian
king. I then handed my lamp to him, telling him (as was true) it
contained all the oil I had in the house, and protesting I should be
happier to finish my Dialogue in the morning. He took the lamp into my
bedroom, and appeared to be much refreshed on his return.
Nevertheless, he treated his chair with great delicacy and
circumspection, and evidently was afraid of breaking it by too sudden
a descent. I did not revert to the horse: but he went on of his own
accord. 'I declare to you, O Lucian! it is impossible for me to be
mistaken in a palfrey. My new one is the only one in Samosata that
could carry me at one stretch to my grandfather's.' 'But _has_ he?'
said I, timidly. 'No; he has not yet,' answered my friend. 'To-morrow,
then, I am afraid