trampling down the crowd and trumpeting.
Pyrrhus kept in the rear, trying to guard his men through the streets,
when an Argive slightly wounded him, and as he was rushing to revenge the
blow, the mother of the man, who was looking down from her window above,
threw down a tile, hoping to save him, and struck Pyrrhus on the back of
the neck. He fell down stunned, and a soldier cut off his head, and
carried it to Antigonus, who turned away in tears at the sight of this
sad remnant of the ablest captain in Greece, and caused Pyrrhus' body to
be honourably buried in the temple of Ceres. Pyrrhus was only forty-six
years old when he was thus slain in the year 272.

There is a story of a conversation between Pyrrhus and a philosopher
named Kineas, just as he was setting off for Italy. "What shall you do
with these men?" asked Kineas. "Overcome Italy and Rome," said Pyrrhus.
"And what next?" "Then Sicily will be easily conquered." "Is that all?"
"Oh no; Carthage and Lybia may be subdued next." "And then?" "Then we
may secure Macedon and Greece." "And then?" "Then we may eat and drink
and discourse." "And pray," said Kineas, "why should we not do so at
once?"

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CHAP. XXXIV. ARATUS AND THE ACHAIAN LEAGUE. B.C. 267.

Antigonus Gonatas was now quite the most powerful person left in Macedon
or Greece, and though Sparta and Athens tried to get the help of Egypt
against him, they could do nothing to shake off his power.

There were twelve little cities in the Peloponnesus, which were all
united together in one league, called the Achaian, each governing itself,
but all joining together against any enemy outside. In the good old
times they had sent men to the wars as allies of Sparta, but they had
never had a man of much mark among them. In the evil times, Sicyon, a
city near Achaia, fell under the power of a tyrant, and about the time
that Pyrrhus was killed, Clinias, a citizen of Sicyon, made a great
attempt to free his townsmen, but he was found out, his house attacked,
and he and his family all put to death, except his son Aratus, a little
boy of seven years old, who ran away from the dreadful sight, and went
wandering about the town, till by chance he came into the house of the
tyrant's sister. She took pity on the poor boy, hid him from her brother
all day, and at night sent him to Argos to some friends of his father, by
whom he was brought up.

W