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Rh

We came to a compromise upon Pheid—ippides.

This boy—she'd take him in her lap and fondle him,

And say, "Ah! when it grows up to be a man,

It shall drive horses, like its uncle Megacles,

And wear a red cloak, it shall." Then I would say,

"He shall wear a good sheep-skin coat, like his own father,

And drive his goats to market from the farm."

But there—he never would listen to me for a moment;

He's had a horse-fever always—to my ruin.

He has thought of a scheme, however, if he can but get his son to fall in with it, by which they may both be relieved from the pressure of these debts. So he awakes young Pheidippides, and takes him into his counsels. They both walk to the front; the scene shuts, and they are outside the house. The father points to another building at the wing.

That's the great Thinking-School of our new philosophers;

There live the men who teach that heaven around us

Is a vast oven, and we the charcoal in it.

And they teach too—for a consideration, mind—

To plead a cause and win it, right or wrong.

Ph. (carelessly). Who are these fellows?

Str. I don't quite remember

The name they call themselves, it's such a long one;

Very hard thinkers—but they're first-rate men.

Ph. Faugh! vulgar fellows—I know 'em. Dirty vagabonds,

Like Socrates there and Chœrephon—a low set.

Str. Pray hold your tongue—don't show your ignorance.

But, if you care at all for your old father,

Be one of them, now, do, and cut the turf.