panegyric of Orestes and Pylades, your art were to fail you in your
country's need.

_Tox_. I honour you for your disinterested encouragement:
apparently you are under no uneasiness as to the loss of your
tongue, in the event of my winning. Well, I will begin: and you
will get no flowery language from me; it is not our Scythian way,
especially when the deeds we handle dwarf description. Be prepared
for something very different from the subjects of your own eulogy:
here will be no marryings of ugly and dowerless women, no five-
hundred-pound-portionings of friends' daughters, nor even
surrenderings of one's person to gaolers, with the certain prospect
of a speedy release. These are very cheap manifestations; the
lofty, the heroic, is altogether wanting. I have to speak of blood
and war and death for friendship's sake; you will learn that all
you have related is child's-play, when compared with the deeds of
the Scythians. After all, it is natural enough: what should you do
but admire these trifles? Living in the midst of peace, you have no
scope for the exhibition of an exalted friendship, just as in a
calm we cannot tell a good pilot from a bad; we must wait till a
storm comes; then we know. We, on the contrary, live in a state of
perpetual warfare, now invading, now receding, now contending for
pasturage or booty. There is the true sphere of friendship; and
there is the reason that its ties among us are drawn so close;
friendship we hold to be the one invincible, irresistible weapon.

But before I begin, I should like to describe to you our manner of
making friends. Friendships are not formed with us, as with you,
over the wine-cups, nor are they determined by considerations of
age or neighbourhood. We wait till we see a brave man, capable of