onius of anything
but scent; and so on--and he cries out that when a fool tries to avoid a
mistake he will run to any length in the opposite direction. And Horace
had a most particular dislike for fools and bores, and has left us the
most famous description of the latter ever set down by an accomplished
observer.

By chance, he says, he was walking one morning along the Sacred Street
with one slave behind him, thinking of some trifle and altogether
absorbed in it, when a man whom he barely knew by name came up with him
in a great hurry and grasped his hand. 'How do you do, sweet friend?'
asks the Bore. 'Pretty well, as times go,' answers Horace, stopping
politely for a moment; and then beginning to move on, he sees to his
horror that the Bore walks by his side. 'Can I do anything for you?'
asks the poet, still civil, but hinting that he prefers his own
company. The Bore plunges into the important business of praising
himself, with a frankness not yet forgotten in his species, and Horace
tries to get rid of him, walking very fast, then very slowly, then
turning to whisper a word to his slave, and in his anxiety he feels the
perspiration breaking out all over him, while his Tormentor chatters on,
as they skirt the splendid Julian Basilica, gleaming in the morning sun.
Horace looks nervously and eagerly to right and left, hoping to catch
sight of a friend and deliverer. Not a friendly face was in sight, and
the Bore knew it, and was pitilessly frank. 'Oh, I know you would like
to get away from me!' he exclaimed. 'I shall not let you go so easily!
Where are you going?' 'Across the Tiber,' answered Horace, inventing a
distant visit. 'I am going to see someone who lives far off, in Caesar's
gardens--a man you do not know. He is ill.' 'Very well,' said the other;
'I have nothing to do, and am far from lazy. I will go all the way with
you.' Horace hung his head, as a poor little Italian donkey does when a
heavy load is piled upon his back, for he was fairly caught, and he
thought of the long road before him, and he had moreover the unpleasant
consciousness that the Bore was laughing at his imaginary errand, since
they were walking in a direction exactly opposite from the Tiber, and
would have to go all the way round the Palatine by the Triumphal Road
and the Circus Maximus and then cross by the Sublician bridge, instead
of turning back towards the Velabrum, the Provision Market and the
Bridge of AEmilius, which we have known an