But, by Hercules! it is the vine more particularly to which she has accorded these medicinal properties, as though she were not contented with her generosity in providing it with such delicious flavours, and perfumes, and essences, in its omphacium, its œnanthe, and its massaris, preparations upon which we have already[1] enlarged. "It is to me," she says, "that man is indebted for the greater part of his enjoyments, it is I that produce for him the flowing wine and the trickling oil, it is I that ripen the date and other fruits in numbers so varied; and all this, not insisting, like the earth, on their purchase at the cost of fatigues and labours. No necessity do I create for ploughing with the aid of oxen, for beating out upon the threshing-floor, or for bruising under the millstone, and all in order that man may earn his food at some indefinite time by this vast expenditure of toil. As for me, all my gifts are presented to him ready prepared: for no anxieties or flatigues do they call, but, on the contrary, they offer them- selves spontaneously, and even fall to the ground, if man should be too indolent to reach them as they hang." Vying even with herself, Pomona has done still more for our practical advantage than for the mere gratification of our pleasures and caprices.