(Cato the Roman,(758) however,—how he wore his beard I do not know,(759) but he deserves to be praised in comparison with anyone of those who pride themselves on their temperance and nobility of soul and on their courage above all,—he, I say, once visited this populous and luxurious and wealthy city; and when he saw the youths in the suburb drawn up in full array, and with them the magistrates, as though for some military display, he thought your ancestors had made all those preparations in his honour. So he quickly dismounted from his horse and came forward, though at the same time he was vexed with those of his friends who had preceded him for having informed the citizens that Cato was approaching, and so induced them to hasten forth. And while he was in this position, and was slightly embarrassed and blushing, the master of the gymnasium ran to meet him and called out “Stranger, where is Demetrius?” Now this Demetrius was a freedman of Pompey, who had acquired a very large fortune; and if you want to know the amount of it,—for I suppose that in all that I am now telling you are most anxious to hear this,—I will tell you who has related the story. Damophilus of Bithynia has written compositions of this sort, and in them, by culling ancedotes from many books, he has produced tales that give the greatest delight to anyone who loves to listen to gossip, whether he be young or old. For old age usually revives in the elderly that love of gossip which is natural to the young; and this is, I think, the reason why both the old and the young are equally fond of stories. Well then, to return to Cato. Do you want me to tell you how he greeted the master of the gymnasium? Do not imagine that I am slandering your city; for the story is not my own.(760) If any rumour has come round, even to your ears, of the man of Chaeronea,(761) who belongs to that worthless class of men who are called by impostors philosophers,—I myself never attained to that class though in my ignorance I claimed to be a member of it and to have part in it,—well he, as I was saying, related that Cato answered not a word, but only cried aloud like a man stricken with madness and out of his senses, “Alas for this ill‐fated city!” and took himself off.)