prepared for them. I was told, a long time ago, the saying of an
ancient philosopher which I have never forgotten.

ARG. What was it?

SCA. That if the father of a family has been away from home for ever
so short a time, he ought to dwell upon all the sad news that may
greet him on his return. He ought to fancy his house burnt down, his
money stolen, his wife dead, his son married, his daughter ruined;
and be very thankful for whatever falls short of all this. In my
small way of philosophy, I have ever taken this lesson to heart; and
I never come home but I expect to have to bear with the anger of my
masters, their scoldings, insults, kicks, blows, and horse-whipping.
And I always thank my destiny for whatever I do not receive.

ARG. That's all very well; but this rash marriage is more than I can
put up with, and it forces me to break off the match I had intended
for my son. I have come from my solicitor's to see if we can cancel
it.

SCA. Well, Sir, if you will take my advice, you will look to some
other way of settling this business. You know what a law-suit means
in this country, and you'll find yourself in the midst of a strange
bush of thorns.

ARG. I am fully aware that you are quite right; but what else can I
do?

SCA. I think I have found something that will answer much better. The
sorrow that I felt for you made me rummage in my head to find some