ce toss over and discuss the most elaborate of all
works! How many myriads of such creatures would be insufficient to
furnish intellect enough for any single paragraph in them! Yet '_we
think this_', '_we advise that_', are expressions now become so
customary, that it would be difficult to turn them into ridicule. We
must pull the creatures out while they are in the very act, and show
who and what they are. One of these fellows said to Caius Fuscus in my
hearing, that there was a time when it was permitted him to doubt
occasionally on particular points of criticism, but that the time was
now over.

_Timotheus._ And what did you think of such arrogance? What did you
reply to such impertinence?

_Lucian._ Let me answer one question at a time. First: I thought him a
legitimate fool, of the purest breed. Secondly: I promised him I would
always be contented with the judgment he had rejected, leaving him and
his friends in the enjoyment of the rest.

_Timotheus._ And what said he?

_Lucian._ I forget. He seemed pleased at my acknowledgment of his
discrimination, at my deference and delicacy. He wished, however, I
had studied Plato, Xenophon, and Cicero, more attentively; without
which preparatory discipline, no two persons could be introduced
advantageously into a dialogue. I agreed with him on this position,
remarking that we ourselves were at that very time giving our sentence
on the fact. He suggested a slight mistake on my side, and expressed a
wish that he were conversing with a writer able to sustain the
opposite part. With his experience and skill in rhetoric, his long
habitude of composition, his knowledge of life, of morals, and of
character, he should be less verbose than Cicero, less gorgeous than
Plato, and less trimly attired than Xenophon.

_Timotheus._ If he spoke in that manner, he might indeed be ridiculed
for conceitedness and presumption, but his language is not altogether
a fool's.

_Lucian._ I deliver his sentiments, not his words: for who would read,
or who would listen to me, if such fell from me as from him? Poetry
has its probabilities, so has prose: when people cry out against the
representation of a dullard, _Could he have spoken all that?_
'Certainly no,' is the reply: neither did Priam implore, in harmonious
verse, the pity of Achilles. We say only what might be said, when
great postulates are conceded.

_Timotheus._ We will pretermit these absurd and silly men: but, Cousin
Lucian! Cousi