em out from their latent state--lastly, a power of expansion and
varied repetition--such as would be naturally imparted both by the
education and the practice of an intelligent Athenian, but would rarely
be found in any other Grecian city. The energy and judgment displayed by
Xenophon in the retreat were doubtless not less essential to his
influence than his power of speaking; but in these points we may be sure
that other officers were more nearly his equals.

The important public proceedings above described not only restored the
influence of Xenophon, but also cleared off a great amount of bad
feeling, and sensibly abated the bad habits, which had grown up in the
army. A scene which speedily followed was not without effect in
promoting cheerful and amicable sympathies. The Paphlagonian prince
Korylas, weary of the desultory warfare carried on between the Greeks
and the border inhabitants, sent envoys to the Greek camp with presents
of horses and fine robes, and with expressions of a wish to conclude
peace. The Greek generals accepted the presents, and promised to submit
the proposition to the army. But first, they entertained the envoys at a
banquet, providing at the same time games and dances, with other
recreations amusing not only to them but also to the soldiers generally.
[Xenophon thus describes them--"As soon as the libations were over, and
they had sung the paean, two Thracians rose up and danced in full armor,
to the sound of a pipe;[92] they leaped very high, and with great
agility, and wielded their swords; and at last one struck the other, in
such a manner that every one thought he had killed him. He fell,
however, artfully, and the Paphlagonians cried out; the other having
stripped him of his arms, went out singing; while other Thracians
carried off the man as if he had been dead; though indeed he had
suffered no hurt. Afterward some others stood up and danced what they
called the Carpaean dance[93] in heavy arms. The nature of the dance was
as follows: one man having laid aside his arms, sows, and drives a yoke
of oxen, frequently turning to look back as if he were afraid. A robber
then approaches, and the plowman when he perceives him, snatches up his
arms and runs to meet him, and fights with him in defence of his oxen
(and the dancers acted all this, keeping time to the music); but at last
the robber binding the ox driver, leads him off with his oxen.
Sometimes, however, the plowman binds the robber, an