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 THE voyage of the Argo was prosperous to the end. The weather was uninterruptedly fine, while the merchant
was right, it seemed, in having no fear of the pirates. Several times, indeed, craft that had a very suspicious
appearance hove in sight; but they seemed to be satisfied by a nearer sight of the Argo. Whether it was
the number of armed men whom she could show—once or twice these were mustered for the benefit, it seemed, of
a stranger that happened to approach, or the sight of some particular emblem that she carried, and which only a
person learned in such matters could interpret, Lucius did not know. About ten days after the rescue the
merchant said to the two young people, "To-morrow at dawn, if this wind holds good, we shall be at the mouth
of the Cydnus, and from there to Tarsus is not far. Shorten your slumbers, for it will be a sight worth
The calculation was very nearly correct. The sun had but just showed itself above the horizon when the
Argo, having successfully crossed the bar of the river, anchored on the inner side. Some custom-house
formalities had then to be gone through, and a pilot, acquainted with the somewhat
 intricate channel of the river, had to be taken on board. Later in the day she pursued her course up the river
to Tarsus itself, which was distant about eight miles from the sea. The river up which they were travelling was
a clear and rapid stream, so rapid, in fact, that they were obliged sometimes to have recourse to towing from
the bank, and as clear as a mountain torrent. "The clearest and coldest in the world," said the merchant,
though Lucius was inclined to put in a word for his own Fibrenus at home. "As for its clearness, you can see
for yourself; and yet here it has received the drainage of a great city. Above Tarsus it is literally like
crystal. As for its coldness, you remember how Alexander of Macedon, plunging into it one day when heated from
a march, caught a fever which came very near to putting an end to his conquests."
Tarsus lay before them, the gilded roofs of its temples and halls glittering in the sun, and on the sky-line
behind the city towered the heights of the Taurus range, some of the loftiest summits being still tipped with
snow, though midsummer was now long past. A somewhat laborious passage of about three hours brought the
travellers to the city. Below it the river broadened out into a lake which was used as a harbor, and in which
was ranged a goodly array of trading-ships. Tarsus itself was divided into two portions by the river, a
division from which, indeed, it took its name of the wings. Handsome bridges spanned the stream, on either side
of which embankments, massively constructed of stone, furnished two splendid promenades. A constant stream of
carriages, of riders, and of pedestrians passed to and fro, for the day was now drawing towards sunset, and it
 was the hour for the rank and fashion of the city to show itself.
"'Tis one of the gayest and richest cities in the world, and, what is better, one of the most learned. Young
men come here to be taught from all Asia, ay, and from the West too. Indeed, Tarsus holds itself to be pretty
nearly as good in the way of learning as Athens itself."
The merchant, as soon as his ship had entered the river, had sent a message to the city announcing his arrival.
Hence the house which he had hired, and where he had been for some time expected, was pretty well prepared for
the reception of his party, and Lucius found himself in exceedingly comfortable quarters. His first care was to
write a long letter to his father, in which he related his adventures, described how he was situated, and asked
instructions for the future. He was of course enthusiastic about his host, though he said very little about his
host's daughter. The conclusion of his letter ran thus: "You will doubtless in any case set these circumstances
before Marcus Tullius, and ask his advice. My host advises this the more urgently because, as he says, Marcus
Tullius has intimate relations with certain great men in these parts. Nor am I without hope that as he would
have helped in Sicily, though this the Fates have forbidden, so he will help in Asia. I should be sorry to
return to Arpinum, which otherwise I should revisit with supreme delight, bringing back nothing but a tale of
misfortunes. I pray you, therefore, dearest father, yourself to lay my case before Marcus Tullius as speedily
as possible, but assuring him at the same time that I would myself have written to him if I had not feared to
make myself troublesome to him with my affairs."
 This letter written and despatched, there was nothing for it but to wait patiently for an answer, which indeed
could hardly arrive before the end of three months. "My dear young friend," said the merchant when Lucius spoke
of his delay in a tone of complaint which, to tell the truth, was just a little affected,—"my dear young
friend, what do you want? Here are you not quite eighteen, and you have gone through more adventures than many
men of eighty. I positively can't remember how many chances you have had already of being knocked on the head
or drowned. Let the Fates have a quiet time with your thread of life. If the lady with the shears has always
got them so close, she may make a mistake some day and cut it short when it is not intended. Give yourself a
rest for a time, or you will have lived out all your life before you are twenty. And mind," he added, changing
his bantering tone to one of earnest kindness, "mind, not a word of being a burden to me. Let the letters be as
tardy as they will—remember that possibly they may not be in time to catch the last ship east-ward—you will
always be welcome here. And now let us join the fashionable people by the riverside."
It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of the merchant's kind assurances, and Lucius was delighted to accept
the situation. He was far from finding the time hang heavy on his hands. For an hour or two he was accustomed
to help the merchant with his business affairs. This work was itself an education. It was like a new world
opening before him when the young Roman began to realize the vast extent of a great merchant's business. It
seemed to have branches which reached over all the dominions of the Republic, and
 even beyond them. The great man had an interest in the produce of the palm-groves of Palestine; he had
mortgages on wheat farms in Egypt and Africa. Thousands of oxen and ten thousands of sheep on the uplands of
Phrygia, if they did not actually belong to him, were in pawn for money which he had lent to their owners.
Kings were among his debtors, and very often, he used to complain, but indifferent paymasters. "Not that they
are not honest," he was wont to say, "but they seem to have every thing but money, armies of slaves, but not a
gold piece." Then he had vineyards in Campania, a marble-quarry in the Ægean, and a silver-mine in Thrace. The
varieties of merchandise in which he dealt were positively bewildering. Wheat from Egypt, dates from Syria,
silk from the far East, elephants, lions, and panthers for the shows of Rome and of the great Italian cities,
purple dye from Tyre, pearls fished out from the depths by Red Sea divers, jewels from Indian mines, works of
art from Greek cities, Persian embroideries, arrows from Scythia and swords from Damascus, were some of the
goods in which he traded.
The merchant, however, did not demand from his young friend more than a short time daily; and he took care that
he should not miss the more regular opportunities for education which the city afforded. Lucius now found his
knowledge of Greek to be of the greatest possible use. The teaching of the professors, for Tarsus was a regular
university and had teachers of the greatest eminence, was delivered in this language. At first he had some
difficulty in following them; but he had constant practice at home, and in the course of a very short time
could not only understand what
 was said with perfect ease, but could talk the language fluently if not very elegantly. It was no small help to
him that he had to rehearse all that he heard to a most enthusiastic pupil at home. The university of Tarsus
was not so far before its age as to open the doors of its class-rooms to women, and Philareté, who was a keen
student, was therefore obliged to receive her instructions second-hand. Lucius had no disposition to be idle or
inattentive; had he had it ever so strongly, he would soon have been shamed out of it by the girl's energy and
perseverance. As it was he made a progress that was most unusual, and that surprised both his teachers and his
fellow-pupils. His Roman pride had at first been grievously wounded by the contempt with which he found himself
treated. Barbarian!" he would hear his class-fellows mutter when he happened to blunder over an accent or an
idiom. He had known, of course, before that to the Greeks all races but their own were barbarians; but it
nevertheless tried his temper not a little to have this practical experience. However, he soon won a place of
distinction among his fellows. After about two months of attendance on the rhetoric class, the professor, not
perhaps without a mischievous desire to make sport of the young foreigner, proposed that he should take the
affirmative side in the discussion on one of the themes on which it was usual to practise the ingenuity of the
class. The case was thus stated:
A woman of Smyrna was accused of poisoning her husband. She did not deny the accusation, but pleaded "not
guilty" on the ground of justification. This husband, she alleged, had murdered her son born in a former
marriage. Was she deserving of death, or no?
 Lucius' first impulse was to decline the office; but Philareté strongly urged him to accept, and he was
unwilling to refuse. The side for which he was to plead was not the one which appealed to the popular
sympathies. But as a Roman he was strongly impressed with the supremacy of law, and felt that it ought to be
vindicated even against sentiments that are praiseworthy in themselves. He bestowed a great deal of pains on
his thesis, and was at the same time in no small degree indebted to the suggestions and corrections of
Philareté. His first few sentences were halting and confused; but he warmed to his subject as he went on, moved
not a little by the eager attention which Philareté, who was one of a considerable audience from without, fixed
upon him. A loud roar of applause greeted his peroration, for the Greeks were always generous in acknowledging
merit, and the "barbarian" never had to complain again of any affronts.
There were other things, perhaps more effective then, as they might be more effective now, than his rhetoric,
which made his fellow-students regard him with respect. In his own peculiar Roman exercises there was no one in
Tarsus who could approach him. His horsemanship was admirable—there was not an animal in Tarsus so unruly
that it could manage to throw him. His swimming was unmatched both for speed and distance. The young Greeks
vowed that he must be another Leander when they saw him swim out in the bay till they could no longer
distinguish him among the waves. With the quoit, the javelin, and the bow he soon rivaled the best, and though
he never learned to row as well as some, yet in the boat-races on the bay his sturdy strength
 and unfailing condition never failed to help his comrades to success.
Amidst these employments and amusements the days passed quickly enough. The young man, for such he was rapidly
growing to be, would not have been ill content, however much they had been prolonged. The consequence was, that
though he was delighted to get once more some tidings of home and friends, it was not without some misgivings
that a pleasant time was about to come to an end, that he recognized on a letter which was one day put into
this hands his father's seal. The letter had come by the last eastward-bound ship, and the rate with which it
had travelled was considered a marvel of speed. After a budget of home news which would be less interesting to
our readers than they were to Lucius, the writer went on: "I went without delay to Marcus Tullius, who,
according to his custom, was at home during the games at Rome, for as you know he does not love such
amusements, and laid your letter before him. He desired me to say that he did not regret your departure from
Sicily, even though it had been brought about in so violent a way, seeing that it had ended well; that things
are going ill in that province, and that it can be to no one's profit to be mixed up with the doings of its
governor; that he thinks he can serve you effectually by the letter of commendation herewith enclosed. At the
same time he was very urgent with me that I should accept on your behalf certain moneys, which you may
hereafter repay or no as you may think fit or find possible. This, after some demur, I accepted, deeming it to
be the duty of a generous man to accept a kindness which is generously offered. You will
 therefore receive herewith a bill of exchange for 200,000 sesterces
which I have bought of a company of knights trading to Cilicia and the parts thereabouts, for which, I do not
doubt, your host the merchant will give you money down. And that you may distinguish that which you owe to my
affection for you, and that for which you are indebted to the friendship of Marcus Tullius, I inform you that
of this sum I have furnished one-third only. Let Theron of Tarentum and Philareté his daughter know that I,
together with your mother, render them most hearty thanks. All the gods preserve you! Farewell!"
The letter enclosed was in the following words:
"Marcus Tullius Cicero to King Deiotarus greeting. I commend to you Lucius Marius of Arpinum, a friend and
fellow citizen. Know that he is of kindred not only respectable but distinguished, and that he shows himself
worthy of it by many and great virtues. He has already passed through many dangers unhurt. For this reason I
the more willingly commend him to you, knowing that you will find him not only prudent and courageous, but
also, what sometimes seems to be of more importance even than these things, fortunate. Farewell!"
"And who, pray, is King Deiotarus?" asked Lucius of his host, to whom he hastened to communicate his letters
and their contents.
"Tetrarch, or, I should rather say, king of Galatia. He has done good service to Rome, and has been well paid
for it. To be quite honest, I do not like all that I have heard of him. Still, he will be sure to deal fairly
with you, a
 Roman citizen, and coming as you do with such a recommendation. I should recommend you to go, and to go at
once; for such a letter as you have from Marcus Tullius loses much of its weight if it is not presented without
delay. You know, my dear boy, I don't want to get rid of you. You have been to me like the son whom I once
wished to have, but whom the gods never saw fit to give me. But it is the best host who speeds the parting
guest, and I see here an opening for you. There will be stirring times in Asia yet, for Mithradates is not by
any means at the end of his resources, and if I know you, you would not thank me if I were to keep you out of
what is going on. And now for your plans. There will be a caravan starting in a few days for Pessinus, which,
you should know, is the king's capital. You can't do better than go with it. It is about three hundred and
fifty miles, and you will do it before the worst of the winter comes on. Now as to money. You have got, you
say, a little gold still in your purse; well, don't take any more, but let me give you a letter of credit to a
correspondent that I have at Pessinus. You might leave a hundred thousand sesterces in my hands, to see whether
I can make any thing more of them. And you must not be offended if I settle with the master of the caravan for
your passage-money. I shall make a better bargain with him than you will; and if some day you are rich—and
there is something still to be picked up in these parts, though the times are not what they were—and I am
poor, then you shall pay me back."
When the little party met at the evening meal Lucius guessed that Philareté had heard the news. Her usual
 gayety was somewhat eclipsed, her cheeks were pale, and her eyes had something of the look of recent tears. But
she said nothing on the subject, and Lucius was equally silent. The merchant, too, was not in his usual
spirits, and all felt something like relief when the hour for separating arrived. The next day Lucius, who was
almost too excited to sleep, was early astir. Descending to the morning-room for the draught of milk and the
crust of bread with which he was accustomed to break his fast, he saw Philareté in the garden and hastened to
join her. She gave him her hand, and he noticed as he raised it to his lips that it trembled in his grasp. She
made an effort to speak in her old tone:
"So you are going to leave us and seek your fortune among the Galatians?"
"Ah, Philareté, you know I am bound to go! I must go out into the world as those before me went out. You would
be the first to blame me if I held back."
"Yes," cried the girl, with a flash of the old fire in her eyes, "go; you are not one to choose the distaff
when you may have the sword."
"And you will think of me when I am gone," said the young Roman, clasping her right hand between his own, and
gazing into her eyes as earnestly as if they held some secret which he wished to discover.
Thinking about him was just what Philareté had been doing for months past, ever since the morning, indeed, when
they rode together into Heraclea. It was what she had been doing as she lay awake more than half the night, and
had not ceased to do when, towards daybreak, she fell into a restless sleep. It was what she was certain to do
 constantly when he should have left them. But to be asked to do so! That was a different thing. The girl had
been brought up very much alone. She had had no girl companions to chatter to her about sweethearts, and if she
had begun to love she hardly knew it. Lucius was her comrade, fellow-student, friend, perhaps brother. But now
she began to have a dim consciousness that he might be, nay, that he was, something more.
"Think of you!" she said, with the instinct of concealment which a woman never seems to lose; "of course.
Father and I will think of you till we see you again."
But her eyes, wont as they were to meet his with so frank a gaze, were drooped upon the ground, and her voice
faltered. Lucius went on:
"Dearest, may I speak? Every thing between us is unequal. You are the daughter of kings that traced back their
line to Jupiter: my grandfather was a peasant. You are wealthy: I have nothing but my sword. And yet I dare to
love you. I must say it before I go. I don't ask you to answer me. Being nothing more than I am I must not
expect an answer. Still, I could not leave you without telling you something of what is in my heart. And if I
come back having done something, something more," he added with an effort to smile, "than being taken prisoner
and being shipwrecked, perhaps then I shall dare to ask you a question which I dare not ask to-day."
For a few moments he stood holding the girl's hand. He did not ask for an answer, and yet he seemed to hope
that an answer would come. Then he unloosed the clasp, and turned as if to depart. The girl joined her hands in
 gesture of appeal, lifted her eyes for a moment to her companion's face, and whispered:
"O Lucius, I will think of you; and you will come back, will you not?"
The lovers, if we may so call them, had been too much engaged with each other to notice the approach of a third
person. The merchant had something to say to Lucius, and, not finding him in the house, had come out to look
for him in the garden. A bystander would have been amused to watch the expression of astonishment, and even
dismay, that came over his face, as, standing close to the young people, but half hidden by a shrub of bay, he
listened to their conversation. When it reached the point to which we have brought it he judged it to be about
time to interfere.
"HERE'S A FINE STATE OF AFFAIRS," HE CRIED.
"Here is a fine state of affairs!" he cried, in a tone which was meant to be angry, but which was at least half
amused. "Who would have thought of a boy and a girl making all this fuss? Pray, my dear sir, how old are you
that you must be thinking of a wife, for that, I suppose, is the plain meaning of your fine language?"
"I am eighteen to-day," answered Lucius with as much dignity as he could command.
"Eighteen! truly a mature age, and fit to undertake all the responsibilities of life! And this young lady is
seventeen, if I remember right. Truly you are not disposed to let life slip by! And your means, young man? You
at least ought to have enough to buy the torches for the procession."
The young Roman stood shamefaced and confused, but after a few moments' silence he plucked up courage to
 "Oh, sir! I cannot say that I have not thought of marriage, but I have not spoken of it. I know that it is too
hopelessly far off. And I have said nothing to your daughter that I should have been unwilling for you to hear.
Not did I intend to go without asking your leave to hope."
"Hope!" said the merchant. "I can't prevent your doing that. But, to be serious, I hadn't thought of any thing
like this for my daughter. To tell you the truth, I had not noticed that she had grown up into a woman. And if
ever the thought of a husband for her has crossed my mind, it has been of a man of her own race. Still, I do
not wish to put an absolute veto on this matter. There must be no engagement. This may be a boy-and-girl
fancy. She may see, you may see, some one you like better. Ah, you may shake your wise heads and groan, but I
have known such things happen! And you must make your way in the world. I have enough for you both, it is true;
but you are not one, I am sure, that would like to live on a wife's money. You will have thought, perhaps, that
it was very base of me to talk of your means, but we merchants have a way of looking at this side of the
question. And now, mind, no more of this, for the present at all events. Come, Lucius, I have some business to
talk over with you. And you, my darling," drawing the girl to him and kissing her fondly, "get you to your
embroidery, and believe me that I am not angry with you. And," he added in a whisper, "if you must think of a
young man, I am not sure that our Lucius here is not as good a subject for your thoughts as any."