_Dem._ Then, what luck is yours! But cast your right eye now towards Caria--there-- And fix your left on Carthage,--both at once. _B.-P.-S._ Be blest if I shan’t squint--if that’s good luck.” The Black-pudding-man is modest, and doubts his own qualifications for all this preferment. Demosthenes assures him that he is the very man that is wanted. “A rascal--bred in the forum,--and with plenty of brass;” what could they wish for more? Still, the other fears he is “not strong enough for the place.” Demosthenes begins to be alarmed: modesty is a very bad symptom in a candidate for preferment; he is afraid, after all, that the man has some hidden good qualities which will disqualify him for high office. Possibly, he suggests, there is some gentle blood in the family? No, the other assures him: all his ancestors have been born blackguards like himself, so far as he knows. But he has had no education--he can but barely spell. The only objection, Demosthenes declares, is that he has learnt even so much as that. “The only harm is, you can spell at all; Our leaders of the people are no longer Your men of education and good fame; We choose the illiterate and the blackguards, always.” Demosthenes proceeds to tell him of a prophecy, found amongst the stolen scrolls, in which, after the enigmatical fashion of such literature, it is foretold that the great tanner-eagle shall be overcome by the cunning serpent that drinks blood. The tanner-eagle is plainly none other than this Paphlagonian hide-seller; and as to his antagonist, what can be plainer? It is the resemblance of Macedon to Monmouth. “A serpent is long, and so is a black-pudding; and both drink blood.” So Demosthenes crowns the new-found hero with a garland, and they proceed to finish the flagon of wine to the health of the conqueror in the strife that is to come. Nor will allies be wanting:-- “Our Knights--good men and true, a thousand strong,-- Who hate the wretch, shall back you in this contest; And every citizen of name and fame, And each kind critic in this goodly audience, And I myself, and the just gods besides. Nay, never fear; you shall not see his features; For very cowardice, the mask-makers Flatly refused to mould them. Ne’ertheless, He will be known,--our friends have ready wits.” At this moment the dreaded personage comes out from the house in a fury. The Black-pudding-man takes to flight at once, leaving his stock-in-trade behind him, but is hauled back by Demosthenes, who loudly summons the “Knights” to come to the rescue,--and with the usual rhythmical movement, and rapid chant, the Chorus of Knights sweep up through the orchestra.