vast system of commerce brings the products of the whole world to our doors; and it is almost appalling to think of the millions of toiling hands and busy brains which must pass all their days in unceasing toil, in order that the humblest citizen may find his daily wants supplied.  To give only one example:  how vast and tremendous is the machinery which must be set at work before a single letter or post-card can reach its destination!  This multiplication of needs, and endless subdivision of labour, too often results in stunting and crippling the development of the individual, so that it becomes harder, as time advances, to find a complete man, with all his faculties matured by equable and harmonious growth.

Very different were the conditions of life in the Homeric age.  Then the wealthy man’s house was a little world in itself, capable of supplying all the simple wants of its inhabitants.  The women spun wool and flax, the produce of the estate, and wove them into cloth and linen, to be dyed and wrought into garments by the same skilful hands.  On the sunny slopes of the hills within sight of the doors the grapes were ripening against the happy time of vintage, when merry troops of children would bring them home with dance and song to be trodden in the winepress.  Nearer at hand was the well-kept orchard, bowing under its burden of apples, pears, and figs; and groves of grey olive-trees promised abundance of oil.  In the valleys waved rich harvests of wheat and barley, which were reaped, threshed, ground, and made into bread, by the master’s thralls.  Herds of oxen, and flocks of sheep and goats, roved on the broad upland pastures, and in the forest multitudes of swine were fattening on the beech-mast and acorns.

And the owner of all these blessings was no luxurious drone, living in idleness on the labour of other men’s hands.  He was, in the fullest sense of the word, the father of his household.  His was the vigilant eye which watched and directed every member in the little army of workers, and his the generous hand which dealt out bountiful reward for faithful service.  If need were he could take his share in the hardest field labour, and plough a straight furrow, or mow a heavy crop of grass from dawn till sunset without breaking his fast.  Nothing was too great or too little to engage his attention, as the necessity arose.  He was a warrior, whose single prowess might go far in deciding the issue of a hard-fought battle—­an orator, discoursing with weighty eloquence on grave questions of state—­a judge, whose decisions helped to build up the as yet unwritten code of law.  Descending from these high altitudes, he could take up his bow and spear, and go forth to hunt the boar and the stag, or wield the woodman’s axe, or the carpenter’s saw and chisel.  He could kill, dress, and serve his own dinner; and when the strenuous day was over, he could tune the harp, discourse sweet music, and sing of the deeds of heroes and gods.