themselves in perpetual holidays?--spend days at the banquet?--ransack
earth and sea for dainties and for perfumes?--and shall they be the
equals of us men, who, from the age of seven to that of sixty, are
wisely taught to make life so barren and toilsome, that we may well
have no fear of death? I hate these sleek and merry feast-givers; they
are a perpetual insult to our solemn existence."

There was a strange mixture of irony and passion in the Spartan's
voice as he thus spoke, and Thrasyllus looked at him in grave
surprise.

"There is nothing to envy in the woman-like debaucheries of the
Ionian," said he, after a pause.

"Envy! no; we only hate them, Thrasyllus Yon Eretrian tells me rare
things of the East. Time may come when we shall sup on the black broth
in Susa."

"The Gods forbid! Sparta never invades. Life with us is too precious,
for we are few. Pausanias, I would we were well quit of Byzantium. I
do not suspect you, not I; but there are those who look with vexed
eyes on those garments, and I, who love you, fear the sharp jealousies
of the Ephors, to whose ears the birds carry all tidings."

"My poor Thrasyllus," said Pausanias, laughing scornfully, "think you
that I wear these robes, or mimic the Median manners, for love of the
Mede? No, no! But there are arts which save countries as well as those
of war. This Gongylus is in the confidence of Xerxes. I desire to
establish a peace for Greece upon everlasting foundations. Reflect;
Persia hath millions yet left. Another invasion may find a different