lackey the expected visitor.

"What does this mean, Philopoemen?" he cried, in surprise.

"Nothing," replied the general, "except that I am paying the penalty of
my ugly looks."

Philopoemen had abundant practice in the art of war. Between Arcadia
and Laconia hostility was the normal condition, and he took part in many
plundering incursions into the neighboring state. In these he always
went in first and came out last. When there was no fighting to be done
he would go every evening to an estate he owned several miles from town,
would throw himself on the first mattress in his way and sleep like a
common laborer, and rising at break of day would go to work in the
vineyard or at the plough. Then returning to the town, he would employ
himself in public business or in friendly intercourse during the
remainder of the day.

When Philopoemen was thirty years old, Cleomenes, the Spartan king,
one night attacked Megalopolis, forced the guards, broke in, and seized
the market-place. The citizens sprang to arms, Philopoemen at their
head, and a desperate conflict ensued in the streets. But their efforts
were in vain, the enemy held their ground. Then Philopoemen set
himself to aid the escape of the citizens, making head against the foe
while his fellow-townsmen left the city. At last, after losing his horse
and receiving several wounds, he fought his way out through the gate,
being the last man to retreat. Cleomenes, finding that the citizens
would not listen to his fair offers for their return, and tired of
guarding empty houses, left the place after pillaging it and destroying
all he readily could.

The next year Philopoemen took part in a battle between King Antigonus
of Macedonia and the Spartans, in which the victory was due to his
charging the enemy at the head of the cavalry against the king's orders.

"How came it," asked the king after the battle, "that the horse charged
without waiting for the signal?"

"We were forced into it against our wills by a young man of
Megalopolis," was the reply.

"That young man," said Antigonus, with a smile, "acted like an
experienced commander."

During this battle a javelin, flung by a strong hand, passed through
both his thighs, the head coming out on the other side. "There he stood
awhile," says Plutarch, "as if he had been shackled, unable to move. The
fastening which joined the thong to the javelin made it difficult to
get it drawn out, nor would any one about him venture t