Dic. You miss the mark a hundred miles in beggar,,
Eur. I reach you: 'twas the robe worn by Bellerophon
Dic. 'Twas one, in truth, of the same stamp: lame, beg.
garly,-

A man that had large gift of speech and tongue.

Eur. 'Tis Telephus of Mysia.

Dic. Thou hast hit it.

Thou wouldst not do the thing might cross my ends:

The loan of those same sorry rags I beg you.

Eur. (to his servant). Reach them, and crown his wishes, boy-they lie

Above the Thyestean rags, midway

"Twixt them and Ino's.

Serv. (to Dicaopolis). Sir, you are possess'd
Of all you wish.

Dic. (dressing himself). Now Jove (and as the god
Of loop'd and window'd raggedness I pray you)
Your sacred blessing, while I try to garb me
In plight most miserable. Thou hast done me
Most timely grace, Euripides:—wouldst win
My whole affection? add a loan (it were
Not fitting to divorce it from these rags),
And cast upon my head a Mysian bonnet.
I must put on the beggar, and dislikening
The truth, be what I am, and seem what I
Am not-possessing the spectators here
Of my true bearing, while the Chorus gape,
Unweeting who it is that speaks, and bearing
All taunts and jeers I choose to put upon them.

Eur. Thou show'st a teeming wit-want shall not fool it (giving a bonnet).

Dic. For thee, heaven prosper thee;-for Telephus

Befall what lies within my thoughts: I have

A pregnant wit, and words flow plentifully.

But softly, I must have a beggar's staff.

Eur. Here's one unto your hand, take it, and let

Your back cast shadow on these doors.

Dic. Seest, my soul,

That we must fain divorce us from this gate?
And yet my needs still ask a world of tire;
Rub oil upon thee, soul;-twist, wriggle, crouch,
Till he do crown thy wishes. Good Euripides,

Favor me with a beggar's basket; 'tis
No matter though a torch have singed it.
Eur. What's thy need on't?

Dic. None-beyond the wish to have it.

Eur. Away, and quit my doors: thou breedest trouble.
Dic. (aside). A pestilence upon thee! (Aloud) Happy bar!,
Heaven fortune thee, as erst thy lady mother!

Eur. Will thou begone?

Dic. Not till I have my craving:

One little cup, so please you; one whose lip
Hath lost its wholeness-

Eur. Take it and begone:

Your presence breeds disturbance.

Dic. But, sweet Euripides! I fain would have

A pipkin with a cleanly sponge to wipe it.

Eur. The man will rob me of a tragedy complete.

Content your wish with this; and now away (giving a pipkin).
Dic. I have an ear to your request: one thing

Remains that one not granted me—I am

A ruin'd man ;-crown it, and I am gone

For ever. Telephus bore leaves and herbs;

A scantling of the same within my basket.

Eur. The man will be my ruin; see, 'tis granted (giving him leaves):

A whole play lost, as I'm a living man.

Dic. This timely grace completes me: I retire—

It is too plain my presence breeds offence.

These eyes know not to turn their view discreet

On mighty men and pay them terms of honor

A plague upon't, was ever such a wretch!

I have forgot the primest thing of all.

(Addressing Euripides) Thou dearest, best of men-I pray

thee now

With most petitionary vehemence—

Crown but this one, one longing; if I ask

Aught more, all plagues and maladies light on me!

Throw for the tender mercy one small potherb

Thou canst not lack,-thy mother will supply thee.*

Eur. Most frontless impudence! shut-to the door, boy.

* The enemies of Euripides said that his mother had been a seller of potherbs.

MENANDER.

THOUGH there are but few fragments of the comedies of Menander, he has elicited high praise both from ancient and modern critics. These fragments show, more than other Greek writings, the modern spirit. As Aristophanes was the leader of the Attic Old, or Political Comedy, so Menander was the leader of the New Comedy, or comedy of private life and manners. He wrote more than a hundred comedies, not one of which survives. Latin adaptations of them were made by Terence, who thus won greater fame than his original. The great Cæsar, who was a keen critic, pronounced the Roman writer but a "semi-Menander." These Latin plays became models for later Europe whenever the drama revived. Menander was born in 342 B.C. and died in 291. His writings show the influence of the philosopher Epicurus, whom he describes as rescuing Greece "from unreason as Themistocles had rescued her from slavery."

MAN'S LIFE.

SUPPOSE Some god should say, "Die when thou wilt,
Mortal, expect another life on earth;

And, for that life make choice of all creation,

What thou wilt be-dog, sheep, goat, man or horse;

For live again thou must, it is thy fate;

Choose only in what form-there thou art free."

So help me, Crato, I would fairly answer,

Let me be all things, anything but man!

He only of all creatures feels affliction.
The generous horse is valued for his worth,
And dog by merit is preferred to dog;
The warrior cock is pampered for his courage,
And awes the baser brood--But what is man?
Truth, virtue, valor,-how do they avail him?
Of this world's good the first and greatest share
Is flattery's prize; the informer takes the next,
And barefaced knavery garbles what is left:
I'd rather be an ass than what I am,

And see these villains lord it o'er their betters.

IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?

THE lot of all most fortunate is his,

Who, having stayed just long enough on earth
To feast his sight with the fair face of Nature,
Sun, sea, and clouds, and heaven's bright starry fires,
Drops without pain into an early grave.

For what is life, the longest life of man,

But the same scene repeated o'er and o'er?

A few more lingering days to be consumed

In throngs and crowds, with sharpers, knaves and thieves;
From such the speediest riddance is the best.

THE PROPER USE OF WEALTH.

WEAK is the vanity that boasts of riches,
For they are fleeting things; were they not such,
Could they be yours to all succeeding time,
'Twere wise to let none share in the possession;
But, if whate'er you have is held of Fortune;
And not of right inherent, why, my father,
Why, with such niggardly jealousy engross
What the next hour may ravish from your grasp,
And cast into some worthless favorite's lap?
Snatch then the swift occasion while 'tis yours;

Put this unstable boon to noble uses;

Foster the wants of men, impart your wealth,

And purchase friends; 'twill be more lasting treasure,
And when misfortune comes, your best resource.

PHILEMON.

PHILEMON, though inferior to Menander, was a great favorite with the Athenians, and often defeated his rival in the dramatic contests. Though born at Soli, in Cilicia, he spent most of his life in Athens, where he had been admitted to citizenship. He began to exhibit plays about 330 B.C., and is said to have composed altogether ninety-seven, yet only a few fragments of them remain. His favorite subjects were love intrigues, as was usually the case in the New Comedy, which he inaugurated. He is said to have died in the theatre, during the performance of one of his own compositions.

THE HONEST MAN.

ALL are not just, because they do no wrong,
But he, who will not wrong me when he may,
He is the truly just. I praise not them,
Who, in their petty dealings pilfer not,
But him, whose conscience spurns a secret fraud,
When he might plunder and defy surprise:
His be the praise, who, looking down with scorn
On the false judgment of the partial herd,
Consults his own clear heart, and boldly dares
To be-not to be thought-an honest man.

THE HIGHEST GOOD.

PHILOSOPHERS consume much time and pains
To seek the sovereign good; nor is there one
Who yet hath struck upon it. Virtue some,
And Prudence some contend for, whilst the knot
Grows harder by their struggles to untie it.
I, a mere clown, in turning up the soil,
Have dug the secret forth-All-gracious Jove!
'Tis Peace, most lovely, and of all beloved;
Peace is the bounteous goddess who bestows
Weddings and holidays and joyous feasts,
Relations, friends, health, plenty, social comforts,
And pleasures which alone make life a blessing.

ON TEARS.

IF tears could medicine human ills, and give
The o'ercharged heart a sweet restorative,
Gold, jewels, splendor, all we reckon dear,
Were mean and worthless to a single tear.
But ah! nor treasures bribe, nor raining eyes,
Our firm, inexorable destinies;

Weep we or not, as sun succeeds to sun,
In the same course our fates unpitying run.
Tears yet are ours, whene'er misfortunes press,
And though our weeping fails to give redress,
Long as their fruits the changing seasons bring,
Those bitter drops will flow from Sorrow's spring.