Noticing that Don Filipo was gazing at him thoughtfully, he said with a smile, "I can almost guess what you are thinking." "Really ?" "You are thinking of how easily I may be mistaken," was the answer with a sad smile.

"Today I am feverish, and I am not infallible: _homo sum et nihil humani a me alienum puto_, [141] said Terence, and if at any time one is allowed to dream, why not dream pleasantly in the last hours of life?
And after all, I have lived only in dreams! You are right, it is a dream! Our youths think only of love affairs and dissipations; they expend more time and work harder to deceive and dishonor a maiden than in thinking about the welfare of their country; our women, in order to care for the house and family of God, neglect their own: our men are active only in vice and heroic only in shame; childhood develops amid ignorance and routine, youth lives its best years without ideals, and a sterile manhood serves only as an example for corrupting youth.

Gladly do I die! _Claudite iam rivos, pueri!_" [142] "Don't you want some medicine ?" asked Don Filipo in order to change the course of the conversation, which had darkened the old man's face.
"The dying need no medicines; you who remain need them.

Tell Don Crisostomo to come and see me tomorrow, for I have some important things to say to him.

In a few days I am going away.