After this, little more is said of Kuros’ boyhood. He is next introduced as a man of twenty-six, just put into command of a Persian expedition to help Media against the Assyrians.[726] Henceforth Xenophon’s object is no longer to point a moral, but to instruct budding generals and princes in strategy and government. The remaining books are a “Handbook of Tactics, with hints on the proper treatment of inferiors”; so they fitly begin with a long lecture by Kuros’ father on the whole duty of a general.[727] There is, however, a good deal of moral advice and occasional allegory interspersed amid the tactics. For instance, a certain Gobruas came to dine with the Persian army. “Seeing how plain the food was, he regarded the Persians as rather _bourgeois_. But then he observed what good manners the guests had. No educated Persian would allow himself to be seen staring at a dish, or helping himself hurriedly, or acting at table without proper deliberation. For they think it piggish to be excited by the presence of food or drink. He noticed, too, that they never asked one another questions which might cause pain, that their jests were never malicious nor their wit rude, that everything that they did was in the best taste, and that they never lost their tempers with one another.” And so on. “Manners for men,” we might call it, by Xenophon. A curiously interesting case of allegory, which well shows how imaginary most of the history is, may be found in the third book.[728] The son of the king of Armenia had had for a companion and tutor a certain Sophist, of whose wisdom he was very proud. But his father condemned the Sophist for corrupting[729] the boy. When he was being led to execution, the man showed what a saint and hero he was by calling the boy and saying, “Do not be angry with your father for putting me to death. For it is no wicked purpose which makes him do it, but only ignorance. All sins which men commit in ignorance I rank as involuntary errors.” Later, the father confesses that he put the Sophist to death for stealing away his son’s affections, “for I feared that my boy might love him more than he loved me.” Kuros admits that such jealousy is an explanation and regards it as pardonable. The analogy to Sokrates is obvious to any one. The half-apology for the Athenian people is very interesting in the mouth of the old Socratic companion Xenophon.