His sister covered her ears with her hands, and said: “You positively hurt me! As no one is contradicting you, and you, as a man of culture, are not accustomed to add force to your assertions, like the Scythians, by speaking in a loud tone, you would do well to save your metallic voice for the further speech with which it is to be hoped you will presently favor us. We have had to bow more than once already to the strength of which you boast--but now, at a merry feast, we will not think of that, but rather continue the conversation which entertained us, and which had begun so well. This eager defence of the interests which most delight the best of the Hellenes in Alexandria may perhaps result in infusing into the mind of our friend Publius Scipio--and through him into that of many young Romans--a proper esteem for a line of intellectual effort which he could not have condemned had he not failed to understand it perfectly. “Very often some striking poetical turn given to a subject makes it, all at once, clear to our comprehension, even when long and learned disquisitions have failed; and I am acquainted with such an one, written by an anonymous author, and which may please you--and you too, Aristarchus. It epitomizes very happily the subject of our discussion. The lines run as follows: “Behold, the puny Child of Man Sits by Time’s boundless sea, And gathers in his feeble hand Drops of Eternity. “He overhears some broken words Of whispered mystery He writes them in a tiny book And calls it ‘History!’ “We owe these verses to an accomplished friend; another has amplified the idea by adding the two that follow: “If indeed the puny Child of Man Had not gathered drops from that wide sea, Those small deeds that fill his little span Had been lost in dumb Eternity. “Feeble is his hand, and yet it dare Seize some drops of that perennial stream; As they fall they catch a transient gleam-- Lo! Eternity is mirrored there! “What are we all but puny children? And those of us who gather up the drops surely deserve our esteem no less than those who spend their lives on the shore of that great ocean in mere play and strife--” “And love,” threw in Eulaeus in a low voice, as he glanced towards Publius.