m to be turning
Glaucon-mad. All the way from Thessaly--in Boeotia, in Attica, in Megara--men
talked of him, his beauty, his prowess, his quarrel with his father, his
marriage with Hermione, the divinest maiden in Athens, and how he has gone
to the games to win both the crown and crusty Conon's forgiveness. I tell
you, every mule-driver along the way seemed to have staked his obol on
him. They praise him as 'fair as Delian Apollo,' 'graceful as young
Hermes,' and--here I wonder most,--'modest as an unwedded girl.' " Simonides
drew breath, then faced the others earnestly, "You are Athenians; do you
know him?"

"Know him?" Cimon laughed heartily; "have we not left him at the wrestling
ground? Was not Democrates his schoolfellow once, his second self to-day?
And touching his beauty, his valour, his modesty," the young man's eyes
shone with loyal enthusiasm, "do not say 'over-praised' till you have seen
him."

Simonides swelled with delight.

"Oh, lucky genius that cast me with you! Take me to him this moment."

"He is so beset with admirers, his trainers are angry already; besides, he
is still at the wrestling ground."

"But soon returns to his tents," added Democrates, instantly; "and
Simonides--is Simonides. If Themistocles and Leonidas can see Glaucon, so
must the first poet of Hellas."

"O dearest orator," cried the little man, with an arm around his neck, "I
begin to love you already. Away this moment, that I may worship your new
divinity."

"Come, then," commanded Cimon, leading off with strides so long the bard
could hardly follow; "his tent is not distant: you shall see him, though
the trainers change to Gorgons."

The "Precinct of Poseidon," the great walled enclosure where were the
temples, porticos, and the stadium of the Isthmus, was quickly behind
them. They walked eastward along the sea-shore. The scene about was brisk
enough, had they heeded. A dozen chariots passed. Under every tall pine
along the way stood merchants' booths, each with a goodly crowd. Now a
herd of brown goats came, the offering of a pious Phocian; now a band of
Aphrodite's priestesses from Corinth whirled by in no overdecorous dance,
to a deafening noise of citharas and castanets. A soft breeze was sending
the brown-sailed fisher boats across the heaving bay. Straight before the
three spread the white stuccoed houses of Cenchraea, the eastern haven of
Corinth; far ahead in smooth semicircle rose the green crests of the
Argive mou