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Rh their respective claims to the master whose stewardship they are contending for. So both knock loudly at Demus's door; and the impersonation of the great Athenian Commons comes out—not in very good case as regards dress and personal comforts, as may be gathered from the dialogue which follows; his majordomo has not taken over-good care of him, after all.

The rival claimants seize him affectionately by either arm, and profess their attachment; while he eyes them both with a divided favour, like in our comic opera. "I love you," says the Paphlagonian: "I love you better," says the other. "Remember, I brought you the Spartans from Pylos." "A pretty service," says the Black-pudding-man,—"just like the mess of meat once I stole which another man had cooked.""Call a public assembly, and decide the matter, then," says Cleon. "No—not in the assembly—not in the Pnyx," begs the other; "Demus is an excellent fellow at home, but once set him down at a public meeting, and he goes wild!"

To the Pnyx, however, Demus vows they must all go; and to that place the scene changes. There the contest is renewed: but the interest of the political satire with which it abounds has passed away, in great measure, with the occasion. Some passages in this battle of words are more generally intelligible, as depending less upon local colour, but they are not such good specimens of the satirist's powers. The new aspirant