III.

THE SHIPWRECK,
(7rom Diputus. Translated by PLaurus.]

“Tuat was a terrible storm we had last night, my
man,” said Deemones to his slave Sceparnio.

“True, master,’ replied Sceparnio; “I never
knew a worse. It has made more windows in the
poor old cottage than the builder ever meant there
to be.”

“Yes, indeed,’ Daemones went on. “And look
at the roof! It has as many holes in it as a sieve.”

Dzmones was a worthy Athenian who, though he
had not a single vice, had contrived to ruin himself
as effectually as if he had been the veriest spend-
thrift in the city. Nobody was more generous, and
nobody more unlucky. At last things came to such
a pass that he was obliged to leave Athens, and
settle down, with the few pounds that he had been
able to save out of the wreck, on a little farm which
a kinsman had left him near Cyrene. He was now
ruefully contemplating the damage which had been
done to the old farmhouse by the wind. Looking
round he saw a handsomely dressed young man, who

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