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Plato Profile Directory 10
Page 06
Perhaps he married somebody's daughter. If a man would get hold of the public ear, he must pay, marry, or fight. I have never understood that AEschylus was a man of means, and the fighters do not write poetry, so I suppose he must have married a theatrical manager's daughter, and got his plays brought out that way. The ear of any age or country is like its land, air, and water; it seems limitless but is really limited, and is already in the keeping of those who naturally enough will have no squatting on such valuable property. It is written and talked up to as closely as the means of subsistence are bred up to by a teeming population. There is not a square inch of it but is in private hands, and he who would freehold any part of it must do so by purchase, marriage, or fighting, in the usual way--and fighting gives the longest, safest tenure. The public itself has hardly more voice in the question who shall have its ear, than the land has in choosing its owners. It is farmed as those who own it think most profitable to themselves, and small blame to them; nevertheless, it has a residuum of mulishness which the land has not, and does sometimes dispossess its tenants. It is in this residuum that those who fight place their hope and trust.
This wild Rabbit has been startled by some noise, and the next moment she may be scampering away to her burrow, with the little bunnies, at the top of their speed, and crouch there until all is quiet again. Rabbits usually select, if possible, a sandy soil overgrown with furze, in which to make their burrows, as such a soil is easily removed, and the dense prickly furze hides their retreat, whilst it affords them a wholesome and never-failing food. These furze bushes are constantly eaten down, as far as the rabbits can reach standing on their hind legs, and consequently present the appearance of a solid mass with the surface even and rounded. These animals retire into their burrows by day to rest, and come out only in the twilight to obtain food.
As soon as the armies were quartered for the winter, the Romans sent an embassy to Pyrrhus to negotiate the ransom or exchange of prisoners. The embassadors were received by Pyrrhus in the most distinguished manner; and his interviews with C. Fabricius, who was at the head of the embassy, form one of the most famous stories in Roman history. Fabricius was a fine specimen of the sturdy Roman character. He cultivated his farm with his own hands, and, like his contemporary Curius, was celebrated for his incorruptible integrity. The king attempted in vain to work upon his cupidity and his fears. He steadily refused the large sums of money offered by Pyrrhus; and when an elephant, concealed behind him by a curtain, waved his trunk over his head, Fabricius remained unmoved. Such respect did his conduct inspire, that Pyrrhus attempted to persuade him to enter into his service and accompany him to Greece. The object of the embassy failed. The king refused to exchange the prisoners; but, to show them his trust in their honor, he allowed them to go to Rome in order to celebrate the Saturnalia, stipulating that they were to return to Tarentum if the Senate would not accept the terms which he had previously offered through Cineas. The Senate remained firm in their resolve, and all the prisoners returned to Pyrrhus, the punishment of death having been denounced against those who should remain in the city.
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