jump with his story--namely, that the young priests have houses on
the river, painted of divers colours, all of them empty.

Then the priest, at my desire, brought me to one of the temples,
that I might seek out all things concerning Herodotus the

Halicarnassian, from one who knew. Now this temple is not the
fairest in the city, but less fair and goodly than the old temples,

yet goodlier and more fair than the new temples; and over the roof
there is the image of an eagle made of stone--no small marvel, but a

great one, how men came to fashion him; and that temple is called
the House of Queens. Here they sacrifice a boar once every year;

and concerning this they tell a certain sacred story which I know
but will not utter.

Then I was brought to the priest who had a name for knowing most
about Egypt, and the Egyptians, and the Assyrians, and the

Cappadocians, and all the kingdoms of the Great King. He came out
to me, being attired in a black robe, and wearing on his head a

square cap. But why the priests have square caps I know, and he who
has been initiated into the mysteries which they call "Matric"

knows, but I prefer not to tell. Concerning the square cap, then,
let this be sufficient. Now, the priest received me courteously,

and when I asked him, concerning Herodotus, whether he were a true
man or not, he smiled and answered "Abu Goosh," which, in the tongue

of the Arabians, means "The Father of Liars." Then he went on to
speak concerning Herodotus, and he said in his discourse that

Herodotus not only told the thing which was not, but that he did so
wilfully, as one knowing the truth but concealing it. For example,

quoth he, "Solon never went to see Croesus, as Herodotus avers; nor
did those about Xerxes ever dream dreams; but Herodotus, out of his

abundant wickedness, invented these things."
"Now behold," he went on, "how the curse of the Gods falls upon

Herodotus. For he pretends that he saw Cadmeian inscriptions at
Thebes. Now I do not believe there were any Cadmeian inscriptions

there: therefore Herodotus is most manifestly lying. Moreover,
this Herodotus never speaks of Sophocles the Athenian, and why not?

Because he, being a child at school, did not learn Sophocles by
heart: for the tragedies of Sophocles could not have been learned

at school before they were written, nor can any man quote a poet
whom he never learned at school. Moreover, as all those about

Herodotus knew Sophocles well, he could not appear to them to be
learned by showing that he knew what they knew also." Then I

thought the priest was making game and sport, saying first that
Herodotus could know no poet whom he had not learned at school, and

then saying that all the men of his time well knew this poet, "about
whom everyone was talking." But the priest seemed not to know that

Herodotus and Sophocles were friends, which is proved by this, that
Sophocles wrote an ode in praise of Herodotus.

Then he went on, and though I were to write with a hundred hands
(like Briareus, of whom Homer makes mention) I could not tell you

all the things that the priest said against Herodotus, speaking
truly, or not truly, or sometimes correctly and sometimes not, as

often befalls mortal men. For Herodotus, he said, was chiefly
concerned to steal the lore of those who came before him, such as

Hecataeus, and then to escape notice as having stolen it. Also he
said that, being himself cunning and deceitful, Herodotus was easily

beguiled by the cunning of others, and believed in things manifestly
false, such as the story of the Phoenix-bird.

Then I spoke, and said that Herodotus himself declared that he could
not believe that story; but the priest regarded me not. And he said

that Herodotus had never caught a crocodile with cold pig, nor did
he ever visit Assyria, nor Babylon, nor Elephantine; but, saying

that he had been in these lands, said that which was not true. He
also declared that Herodotus, when he travelled, knew none of the

Fat Ones of the Egyptians, but only those of the baser sort. And he
called Herodotus a thief and a beguiler, and "the same with intent

to deceive," as one of their own poets writes. And, to be short,
Herodotus, I could not tell you in one day all the charges which are

now brought against you; but concerning the truth of these things,
YOU know, not least, but most, as to yourself being guilty or

innocent. Wherefore, if you have anything to show or set forth
whereby you may be relieved from the burden of these accusations,

now is the time. Be no longer silent; but, whether through the
Oracle of the Dead, or the Oracle of Branchidae, or that in Delphi,

or Dodona, or of Amphiaraus at Oropus, speak to your friends and
lovers (whereof I am one from of old) and let men know the very

truth.
Now, concerning the priests in the City of the Ford of the Ox, it is

to be said that of all men whom we know they receive strangers most
gladly, feasting them all day. Moreover, they have many drinks,

cunningly mixed, and of these the best is that they call Archdeacon,
naming it from one of the priests' offices. Truly, as Homer says

(if the Odyssey be Homer's), "when that draught is poured into the
bowl then it is no pleasure to refrain."

Drinking of this wine, or nectar, Herodotus, I pledge you, and pour
forth some deal on the ground, to Herodotus of Halicarnassus, in the

House of Hades.
And I wish you farewell, and good be with you. Whether the priest

spoke truly, or not truly, even so may such good things betide you
as befall dead men.

LETTER--Epistle to Mr. Alexander Pope
From mortal Gratitude, decide, my Pope,

Have Wits Immortal more to fear or hope?
Wits toil and travail round the Plant of Fame,

Their Works its Garden, and its Growth their Aim,
Then Commentators, in unwieldy Dance,

Break down the Barriers of the trim Pleasance,
Pursue the Poet, like Actaeon's Hounds,

Beyond the fences of his Garden Grounds,
Rend from the singing Robes each borrowed Gem,

Rend from the laurel'd Brows the Diadem,
And, if one Rag of Character they spare,

Comes the Biographer, and strips it bare!
Such, Pope, has been thy Fortune, such thy Doom.

Swift the Ghouls gathered at the Poet's Tomb,
With Dust of Notes to clog each lordly Line,

Warburton, Warton, Croker, Bowles, combine!
Collecting Cackle, Johnson condescends

To INTERVIEW the Drudges of your Friends.
Thus though your Courthope holds your merits high,

And still proclaims your Poems POETRY,
Biographers, un-Boswell-like, have sneered,

And Dunces edit him whom Dunces feared!
They say, "what say they?" Not in vain You ask;

To tell you what they say, behold my Task!
"Methinks already I your Tears survey"

As I repeat "the horrid Things they say." {2}
Comes El-n first: I fancy you'll agree

Not frenzied Dennis smote so fell as he;
For El-n's Introduction, crabbed and dry,

Like Churchill's Cudgel's {3} marked with LIE, and LIE!
"Too dull to know what his own System meant,

Pope yet was skilled new Treasons to invent;
A Snake that puffed himself and stung his Friends,

Few Lied so frequent, for such little Ends;
His mind, like Flesh inflamed, {4} was raw and sore,

And still, the more he writhed, he stung the more!
Oft in a Quarrel, never in the Right,