_Menippus. Chiron_
_Me_. I have heard that you were a god, Chiron, and that you died of
your own choice?
_Chi_. You were rightly informed. I am dead, as you see, and might have
been immortal.
_Me_. And what should possess you, to be in love with Death? He has no
charm for most people.
_Chi_. You are a sensible fellow; I will tell you. There was no further
satisfaction to be had from immortality.
_Me_. Was it not a pleasure merely to live and see the light?
_Chi_. No; it is variety, as I take it, and not monotony, that
constitutes pleasure. Living on and on, everything always the same;
sun, light, food, spring, summer, autumn, winter, one thing following
another in unending sequence,—I sickened of it all. I found that
enjoyment lay not in continual possession; that deprivation had its
share therein.
_Me_. Very true, Chiron. And how have you got on since you made Hades
your home?
_Chi_. Not unpleasantly. I like the truly republican equality that
prevails; and as to whether one is in light or darkness, that makes no
difference at all. Then again there is no hunger or thirst here; one is
independent of such things.
_Me_. Take care, Chiron! You may be caught in the snare of your own
reasonings.
_Chi_. How should that be?
_Me_. Why, if the monotony of the other world brought on satiety, the
monotony here may do the same. You will have to look about for a
further change, and I fancy there is no third life procurable.
_Chi_. Then what is to be done, Menippus?
_Me_. Take things as you find them, I suppose, like a sensible fellow,
and make the best of everything.