brought down Hegio's wrath upon him, plead on his behalf. Tyndarus is dragged off to the quarries, preserving his calmness of demeanour to the last.
Well—death will come—thy threats can reach no further;
And though I linger to a long old age,
Life's span of suffering is but brief.—Farewell!
I might find plea to curse thee—but—farewell!
The dénouement comes rapidly. There is a long supposed interval between the third and the two last brief acts of the drama,—which in a modern play would be rather termed scenes. Philocrates returns from Elis, and brings with him Hegio's son Philopolemus, whom he has ransomed from captivity. But he has not forgotten his faithful Tyndarus, and has come in person to insure his liberation. But this is not all. He has also met with the runaway slave who, twenty years ago, had stolen from his home the younger son of Hegio. When this man is now cross-examined by his old master, it is discovered that he had fled to Elis, and there sold the child to the father of Philocrates, who had made a present of him to his own boy, as was not unusual, to be a kind of live toy and humble playfellow. It is this very Tyndarus, who now stands before his father loaded with chains and haggard with suffering of that father's infliction. The noble nature displayed by the captive is explained by his noble blood.
No one will deny that it is a pretty little drama, with a good deal of quiet pathos in it. But (if we have the piece complete, which may be doubtful) whatever pathos a modern audience would find in these last
