Ah, said I, but I was meaning to ask you, Ischomachus, whether you include in your system ability to conduct a prosecution and defence, in case you have to appear in the courts? Why, Socrates, he answered, do you not see IV. viii. 4. that this is just what I am constantly practising—showing my traducers that I wrong no man and do all the good I can to many? And do you not think that I practise myself in accusing, by taking careful note of certain persons who are doing wrong to many individuals and to the state, and are doing no good to anyone?

But tell me one thing more, Ischomachus, I said; do you also practise the art of expounding these matters? Why, Socrates, he replied, I assiduously practise the art of speaking. For I get one of the servants to act as prosecutor or defendant, and try to confute him; or I praise or blame someone before his friends; or I act as peace-maker between some of my acquaintances by trying to show them that it is to their interest to be friends rather than enemies.

I assist at a court-martial and censure a soldier, or take turns in defending a man who is unjustly blamed, or in accusing one who is unjustly honoured. We often sit in counsel and speak in support of the course we want to adopt and against the course we want to avoid.

I have often been singled out before now, Socrates, and condemned to suffer punishment or pay damages.By whom, Ischomachus? I asked; I am in the dark about that!’ By my wife, was his answer. And, pray, how do you plead? said I. Pretty well, when it is to my interest to speak the truth. But when lying is called for, Socrates, I can’t make the worse cause appear the better—oh no, not at all. Perhaps, Ischomachus, I commented, you can’t make the falsehood into the truth!

But perhaps I am keeping you, Ischomachus, I continued, and you want to get away now? Oh no, Socrates, he answered; I should not think of going before the market empties.

To be sure, I continued; you take the utmost care not to forfeit your right to be called a gentleman! For I daresay there are many things claiming your attention now; but, as you have made an appointment with those strangers, you are determined not to break it. But I assure you, Socrates, I am not neglecting the matters you refer to, either; for I keep bailiff’s on my farms.

And when you want a bailiff, Ischomachus, do you look out for a man qualified for such a post, and then try to buy him—when you want a builder, I feel sure you inquire for a qualified man and try to get him—or do you train your bailiff’s yourself?

Of course I try to train them myself, Socrates. For the man has to be capable of taking charge in my absence; so why need he know anything but what I know myself? For if I am fit to manage the farm, I presume I can teach another man what I know myself.

Then the first requirement will be that he should be loyal to you and yours, if he is to represent you in your absence. For if a steward is not loyal, what is the good of any knowledge he may possess?None, of course; but I may tell you, loyalty to me and to mine is the first lesson I try to teach.

And how, in heaven’s name, do you teach your man to be loyal to you and yours?By rewarding him, of course, whenever the gods bestow some good thing on us in abundance.

You mean, then, that those who enjoy a share of your good things are loyal to you and want you to prosper?Yes, Socrates, I find that is the best instrument for producing loyalty.

But, now, if he is loyal to you, Ischomachus, will that be enough to make him a competent bailiff? Don’t you see that though all men, practically, wish themselves well, yet there are many who won’t take the trouble to get for themselves the good things they want to have?

Well, when I want to make bailiffs of such men, of course I teach them also to be careful.Pray how do you do that?

I was under the impression that carefulness is a virtue that can’t possibly be taught.True, Socrates, it isn’t possible to teach everyone you come across to be careful.