250 PHILEMON,

to become yours or your son’s. When we plough it,
the oxen cannot get through five furrows without
dying. The wine gets rotten before it is ripe. Sow
corn, and you'll get just a third of it back.”

Phil. “Ah! that should be just the place to sow
bad habits.”

Stas. “Every one to whom that field has belonged
has come to a bad end. Some have been banished;
others are dead and gone; some have hanged them-
selves. The man to whom it now belongs is utterly
ruined,”

Phil, “Vl have nothing to do with it.”

Stas. “Ah! you would say that if you knew all.
Every other row of trees is struck with lightning.
The sows die of suffocation. The sheep get scabby;
they are as smooth as my hand. And as for
men, the Syrians, who, as you know, are the hardi-
est labourers there are, can live there only six
months. Now don’t say that I told you, but the
fact is that my master wants to get rid of the
place.”

Phil. “Well, I promise you it shall never be
mine.”

Stas. (aside). “Ah! I’ve frightened the old gen-
tleman off. How in the world we should have lived
without that farm is more than I can say.”

Phil. “How about our matter, Lesbionicus?”

Les. “What was that fellow talking to you
about ?”