But, after all, what shall they do?--“Die at once,” says the despondent Nicias--“drink bull’s blood, like Themistocles.” “Drink a cup of good wine, rather,” says his jovial comrade. And he sends Nicias to purloin some, while their hated taskmaster is asleep. Warming his wits under its influence, Demosthenes is inspired with new counsels. The oracles which this Paphlagonian keeps by him, and by means of which he strengthens his influence over their master, must be got hold of. And Nicias--the weaker spirit--is again sent by his comrade upon the perilous service of stealing them from their owner’s possession while he is still snoring.[10] He succeeds in his errand, and Demosthenes (who has paid great attention to the wine-jar meanwhile) takes the scrolls from his hands and proceeds to unroll and read them, his comrade watching him with a face of superstitious eagerness. The oracles contain a prophetic history of Athens under its successive demagogues. First there should rise to power a hemp-seller, secondly a cattle-jobber, thirdly a dealer in hides--this Paphlagonian, who now holds rule in Demus’s household. But he is to fall before a greater that is to come--one who plies a marvellous trade. Nicias is all impatience to know who and what this saviour of society is to be. Demosthenes, in a mysterious whisper, tells him the coming man is--a Black-pudding-seller! “Black-pudding-seller! marvellous, indeed! Great Neptune, what an art!--but where to find him?” Why, most opportunely, here he comes! He is seen mounting the steps which are supposed to lead from the city, with his tray of wares suspended from his neck. The two slaves make a rush for him, salute him with the profoundest reverence, take his tray off carefully, and bid him fall down and thank the gods for his good fortune. “_Black-P.-Seller._ Hallo! what is it? _Demosth._ O thrice blest of mortals! Who art nought to-day, but shall be first to-morrow! Hail, Chief that shall be of our glorious Athens! _B.-P.-S._ Prithee, good friend, let me go wash my tripes, And sell my sausages--you make a fool of me. _Dem._ Tripes, quotha! tripes? Ha-ha!--Look yonder, man--(_pointing to the audience._) You see these close-packed ranks of heads? _B.-P.-S._ I see. _Dem._ Of all these men you shall be sovereign chief, Of the Forum, and the Harbours, and the Courts, Shall trample on the Senate, flout the generals, Bind, chain, imprison, play what pranks you will. _B.-P.-S._ What,--I? _Dem._ Yes--you. But you’ve not yet seen all; Here--mount upon your dresser there--look out! (_Black-Pudding-Seller gets upon the dresser, from which he is supposed to see all the dependencies of Athens, and looks stupidly round him._) You see the islands all in a circle round you? _B.-P.-S._ I see. _Dem._ What, all the sea-ports, and the shipping? _B.-P.-S._ I see, I tell ye.