No More Learning

_Just_. Hail, Pan; chief of Satyrs in dance and song, and most
gallant of Athens' soldiers!

_Pan_. But what brings you here, Hermes?

_Her_. Justice will explain; I must be off to the Acropolis on
my errand.

_Just_. Zeus has sent me down, Pan, to preside in the law-
court. --And how do you like Athens?

_Pan_. Well, the fact is, I am a good deal disappointed: they
do not treat me with the consideration to which I am entitled,
after repelling that tremendous barbarian invasion. All they do is
to come up to my cave two or three times a year with a particularly
high-scented goat, and sacrifice him: I am permitted to look on
whilst they enjoy the feast, and am complimented with a perfunctory
dance. However, there is some joking and merrymaking on the
occasion, and that I find rather fun.

_Just_. And, Pan,--have they become more virtuous under the
hands of the philosophers?

_Pan_. Philosophers? Oh! people with beards just like mine;
sepulchral beings, who are always getting together and jabbering?

_Just_. Those are they.

_Pan_. I can't understand a word they say; their philosophy is
too much for me. I am mountain-bred; smart city-language is not in
my line; sophists and philosophers are not known in Arcadia. I am a
good hand at flute or pipe; I can mind goats, I can dance, I can
fight at a pinch, and that is all. But I hear them all day long,
bawling out a string of hard words about virtue, and nature, and
ideas, and things incorporeal. They are good enough friends when
the argument begins, but their voices mount higher and higher as
they go on, and end in a scream; they get more and more excited,
and all try to speak at once; they grow red in the face, their
necks swell, and their veins stand out, for all the world like a
flute-player on a high note. The argument is turned upside down,
they forget what they are trying to prove, and finally go off
abusing one another and brushing the sweat from their brows;
victory rests with him who can show the boldest front and the
loudest voice, and hold his ground the longest. The people,
especially those who have nothing better to do, adore them, and
stand spellbound under their confident bawlings. For all that I
could see, they were no better than humbugs, and I was none too
pleased at their copying my beard. If there were any use in their
noise, if the talking did any good to the public, I should not have
a word to say against them: but, to tell you the plain unvarnished
truth, I have more than once looked out from my peep-hole yonder
and seen them--

_Just_. Hush, Pan: was not that Hermes making the
proclamation?

_Pan_. I thought so.

_Her. Be it known to all men that we purpose on this seventh day
of March to hold a court of justice, and Fortune defend the right!
All litigant parties to assemble on Areopagus, where Justice will
assign the juries and preside over the trials in person. The juries
to be taken from the whole Athenian people; the pay to be sixpence
for each case; the number of jurors to vary with the nature of the
accusation. Any parties who had commenced legal proceedings and
have died in the interim to be sent up by Aeacus. Any party
doubting the justice of his sentence may appeal; the appeal to he
heard by Zeus. _

_Pan_. Talk about noise! how they shout! And what a hurry they
are in to get here! See how one hales another up the hill! Here
comes Hermes himself. Well, I leave you to your juries and your
evidence; you are accustomed to it. I will return to my cave, and
there play over one of those amorous ditties with which I love to
upbraid Echo. As to rhetoric and law-pleadings, I hear enough of
those every day in this very court of Areopagus.

_Her_. We had better summon the parties, Justice.

_Just_. True. Only look at the crowd, bustling and buzzing
about the hilltop like a swarm of wasps!

_First Ath_. I've got you, curse you.

_Second Ath_. Pooh! a trumped-up charge.

_Third Ath_. At last! you shall get your deserts this time.

_Fourth Ath_. Your villany shall be unmasked.

_Fifth Ath_. My jury first, Hermes.

_Sixth Ath_. Come along: into court with you, rascal.

_Seventh Ath_. You needn't throttle me.

_Just_. Do you know what I think we had better do, Hermes? Put
off all the other cases for to-morrow, and only take to-day the
charges brought by Arts, Professions, and Philosophies. Pick me out
all of that kind.

_Her_. Drink _v_. the Academy, _re_ Polemon,
kidnapped.

_Just_. Seven jurors.

_Her_. Porch _v_. Pleasure. Defendant is charged with
seducing Dionysius, plaintiff's admirer.

_Just_. Five will do for that.

_Her_. Luxury _v_. Virtue, _re_ Aristippus.

_Just_. Five again.

_Her_. Bank _v_. Diogenes, alleged to have run away from
plaintiff's service.

_Just_. Three only.

_Her_. Painting _v_. Pyrrho. Desertion from the ranks.

_Just_. That will want nine.

_Her_. What about these two charges just brought against a
rhetorician?

_Just_. No, those can stand over; we must work off the arrears
first.

_Her_. Well, these cases are of just the same kind. They are
not old ones, it is true, but they are very like those you have
taken, and might fairly be heard with them.

_Just_. That looks rather like favouritism, Hermes. However,
as you like; only these must be the last; we have got quite enough.
What are they?

_Her_. Rhetoric _v_. a Syrian [Footnote: i. e. Lucian. See
Volume I, Introduction, Section I, Life. ], for neglect; Dialogue
_v_. the same, for assault.

_Just_. And who is this Syrian? There is no name given.

_Her_. That is all: the Syrian rhetorician; he can have a jury
without having a name.

_Just_. So! here on Areopagus I am to give juries to outsiders, who
ought to be tried on the other side of the Euphrates? Well, give
him eleven, and they can hear both cases.

_Her_. That's right; it will save a lot of expense.

_Just_. First case: the Academy _versus_ Drink. Let the
jury take their seats. Mark the time,' Hermes. Drink, open the
case. . . . Not a word? can you do nothing but nod? --Hermes, go and
see what is the matter with her.

_Her_. She says she cannot plead, she would only be laughed
at; wine has tied her tongue. As you see, she can hardly stand.

_Just_. Well, there are plenty of able counsel present, ready
to shout themselves hoarse for sixpence; let her employ one of
them.

_Her_. No one will have anything to do with such a client in
open court. But she makes a very reasonable proposal.

_Just_. Yes?

_Her_. The Academy is always ready to take both sides; she
makes a point of contradicting herself plausibly. 'Let her speak
first on my behalf,' says Drink, 'and then on her own. '

_Just_. A novel form of procedure. However, go on, Academy;
speak on both sides, if you find it so easy.

_Acad_. First, gentlemen of the jury, let me state the case
for 16 Drink, as her time is now being taken.

My unfortunate client, gentlemen, has been cruelly wronged: I have
torn from her the one slave on whose loyalty and affection she
could rely, the only one who saw nothing censurable in her conduct.
I allude to Polemon, whose days, from morning to night, were spent
in revel; who in broad daylight sought the publicity of the Market
in the company of music--girls and singers; ever drunk, ever
headachy, ever garlanded. In support of my statements, I appeal to
every man in Athens to say whether he had ever seen Polemon sober.
But in an evil hour for him, his revels, which had brought him to
so many other doors, brought him at length to my own. I laid hands
on him, tore him away by brute force from the plaintiff, and made
him my own; giving him water to drink, teaching him sobriety, and
stripping him of his garlands. He, who should have been sitting
over his wine, now became acquainted with the perverse, the
harassing, the pernicious quibbles of philosophy. Alas! the ruddy
glow has departed from his cheek; he is pale and wasted; his songs
are all forgotten; there are times when he will sit far on into the
night, tasting neither meat nor drink, while he reels out the
meaningless platitudes with which I have so abundantly supplied
him. I have even incited him to attack the character of my client,
and to utter a thousand base insinuations against her good fame.

The case of Drink is now complete. I proceed to state my own. Let
my time be taken.

_Just_. What will the defendant have to say to that, I wonder?
Give her the same time allowance.

_Acad_. Nothing, gentlemen of the jury, could sound more
plausible than the arguments advanced by my learned friend on her
client's behalf. And yet, if you will give me your favourable
attention, I shall convince you that the plaintiff has suffered no
wrong at my hands. This Polemon, whom plaintiff claims as her
servant, so far from having any natural connexion with her, is one
whose excellent parts entitle him to claim kinship and affinity
with myself. He was still a boy, his powers were yet unformed, when
plaintiff, aided and abetted by Pleasure--ever her partner in
crime--seized upon him, and delivered him over into the clutches of
debauchery and dissipation, under whose corrupt influence the
unfortunate young man utterly lost all sense of shame. Those very
facts that plaintiff supposed to be so many arguments in her favour
will be found, on the contrary, to make for my own case. From early
morning (as my learned friend has just observed) did the misguided
Polemon, with aching head and garlanded, stagger through the open
market to the noise of flutes, never sober, brawling with all he
met; a reproach to his ancestors and his city, a laughing-stock to
foreigners. One day he reached my door. He found it open: I was
discoursing to a company of my disciples, as is my wont, upon
virtue and temperance. He stood there, with the flute-girl at his
side and the garlands on his head, and sought at first to drown our
conversation with his noisy outcry. But we paid no heed to him, and
little by little our words produced a sobering effect, for Drink
had not entire possession of him: he bade the flute-girl cease,
tore off his garlands, and looked with shame at his luxurious
dress. Like one waking from deep sleep, he saw himself as he was,
and repented of his past life; the flush of drunkenness faded and
vanished from his cheek, and was succeeded by a blush of shame; at
last, not (as plaintiff would have you believe) in response to any
invitation of mine, nor under any compulsion, but of his own free
will, and in the conviction of my superiority, he renounced his
former mistress there and then, and entered my service. Bring him
into court. You shall see for yourselves, gentlemen, what he has
become under my treatment. Behold that Polemon whom I found drunk,
unable to speak or stand upright, an object of ridicule: I turned
him from his evil ways; I taught him sobriety; and I present him to
you, no longer a slave, but a decent and orderly citizen, a credit
to his nation. In conclusion let me say that the change I have
wrought in him has won me the gratitude not only of Polemon himself
but of all his friends. Which of us has been the more profitable
companion for him, it is now for the jury to decide.

_Her_. Come, gentlemen, get up and give your votes. There is
no time to be lost; we have other cases coming on.

_Just_. Academy wins, by six votes to one.

_Her_. I am not surprised to find that Drink has one adherent.
Jurors in the case of Porch _v_.
Pleasure _re_ Dionysius take
their seats! The lady of the frescoes [Footnote: See _Poecile_ in
Notes. ] may begin; her time is noted.

_Porch_. I am not ignorant, gentlemen, of the attractions of
my adversary. I see how your eyes turn in her direction; she has
your smiles, I your contempt, because my hair is close-cropped, and
my expression stern and masculine. Yet if you will give me a fair
hearing, I fear her not; for justice is on my side. Nay, it is with
these same meretricious attractions of hers that my accusation is
concerned: it was by her specious appearance that she beguiled the
virtuous Dionysius, my lover, and drew him to herself. The present
case is in fact closely allied with that of Drink and the Academy,
with which your colleagues have just dealt. The question now before
you is this: are men to live the lives of swine, wallowing in
voluptuousness, with never a high or noble thought: or are they to
set virtue above enjoyment, and follow the dictates of freedom and
philosophy, fearing not to grapple with pain, nor seeking the
degrading service of pleasure, as though happiness were to be found
in a pot of honey or a cake of figs? These are the baits my
adversary throws out for fools, and toil the bugbear with which she
frightens them: her artifices seldom fail; and among her victims is
this unfortunate whom she has constrained to rebel against my
authority. She had to wait till she found him on a sick-bed; never
while he was himself would he have listened to her proposals. Yet
what right have _I_ to complain? She spares not even the Gods;
she impugns the wisdom of Providence; she is guilty of blasphemy;
you have a double penalty to impose, if you would be wise. I hear
that she has not even been at the pains of preparing a defence:
Epicurus is to speak for her! She does not stand upon ceremony with
you, gentlemen. --Ask her what Heracles would have been, what your
own Theseus would have been, if they had listened to the voice of
pleasure, and shrunk back from toil: their toils were the only
check upon wickedness, which else must have overrun the whole
Earth. And now I have done; I am no lover of long speeches. Yet if
my adversary would consent to answer a few questions, her
worthlessness would soon appear. Let me remind you, gentlemen, of
your oath: give your votes in accordance with that oath, and
believe not Epicurus, when he tells you that the Gods take no
thought for the things of Earth.

_Her_. Stand down, madam. Epicurus will now speak on behalf of
pleasure.

_Epi_. I shall not detain you long, gentlemen of the jury;
there is no occasion for me to do so. If it were true, as the
plaintiff asserts, that Dionysius was her lover, and that my client
by means of drugs or incantations had constrained him to withdraw
his affections from the plaintiff and transfer them to herself,--if
this were true, then my client might fairly be accused of
witchcraft, nor could her wicked practices upon her rival's
admirers escape condemnation. On the other hand, if a free citizen
of a free state, deciding for himself in a matter where the law is
silent, takes a violent aversion to this lady's person, concludes
that the blessedness with which she promises to crown his labours
is neither more nor less than moonshine, and accordingly makes the
best of his way out of her labyrinthine maze of argument into the
attractive arms of Pleasure, bursts the bonds of verbal subtlety,
exchanges credulity for common sense, and pronounces, with great
justice, that toil is toilsome, and that pleasure is pleasant,--I
ask, is this shipwrecked mariner to be excluded from the calm haven
of his desire, and hurled back headlong into a sea of toil? is this
poor suppliant at the altar of Mercy--in other words of Pleasure--
is he to be delivered over into the power of perplexity,--and all
on the chance that his hot climb up the steep hill of Virtue may be
rewarded with a glimpse of that celebrated lady on the top, and his
life of toil followed by a hereafter of happiness? We could
scarcely ask for a better judge of the matter than Dionysius
himself. He was as familiar with the Stoic doctrines as any man,
and held at one time that virtue was the only Good: but he
presently discovered that toil was an evil: he then chose what
seemed to him the better course. He would no doubt observe that
those philosophers who had so much to say on the subject of
patience and endurance under toil were secretly the servants of
Pleasure, carefully abiding by her laws in their own homes, though
they made so free with her name in their discourses. They cannot
bear to be detected in any relaxation, or any departure from their
principles: but, poor men, they lead a Tantalus life of it in
consequence, and when they _do_ get a chance of sinning without
being found out, they drink down pleasure by the bucketful. Depend
on it, if some one would make them a present of Gyges's ring of
invisibility, or Hades's cap, they would cut the acquaintance of
toil without further ceremony, and elbow their way into the
presence of Pleasure; they would all be Dionysiuses then. As long
as Dionysius was well, he thought that there was some good in all
this talk about endurance; but when he fell ill, and found out what
pain really was, he perceived that his body was of another school
than the Porch, and held quite other tenets: he was converted,
realized that he was flesh and blood, and from that day ceased to
behave as if he were made of marble; he knew now that the man who
talks nonsense about the iniquity of pleasure

But toys with words: his thoughts are bent elsewhither.

And now, gentlemen, I leave you to your vote.

_Porch_. Not yet! Let me ask him a few questions.

_Epi_. Yes? I am ready.

_Porch_. You hold toil to be an evil?

_Epi_. I do.

_Porch_. And pleasure a good?

_Epi_. Unquestionably.

_Porch_. Do you recognize the distinction between
_differentia_ and _indifferentia_? between
_praeposita_ and _rejecta_?

_Epi_. Why, certainly.

_Her_. Madam, this discussion must cease; the jury say they do
not understand word-chopping. They will now give their votes.

_Porch_. Ah; I should have won, if I could have tried him with
my third figure of _self-evidents_.

_Just_. Who wins?

_Her_. Unanimous verdict for Pleasure.

_Porch_. I appeal to Zeus.

_Just_. By all means. Next case, Hermes.

_Her_. Luxury _v. _ Virtue, _re_ Aristippus;
Aristippus must appear 23 in person.

_Vir_. I ought to speak first. Aristippus is mine; his words
and his deeds alike proclaim him mine.

_Lux_. On the contrary, any one who will observe his garlands
and his purple robes and his perfumes will agree that he is mine.

_Just_. Peace! This suit must stand over, until Zeus has
decided the appeal _re_ Dionysius. The cases are similar. If
Porch wins her appeal, Aristippus shall be adjudged to Virtue: if
not, Luxury must have him. Bring the next case. By the way, those
jurors must not have their fee; they have not earned it.

_Her_. So the poor old gentlemen have climbed up all this way
for nothing!

_Just_. Well, they must be content with a third. Now go away,
all of you, and don't be cross; you shall have another chance.

_Her_. Diogenes of Sinope wanted! Bank, it is for you to
speak. 24

_Diog_. Look here, Madam Justice, if she doesn't stop bothering, I
shall have assault and battery to answer for before long, instead
of desertion; my stick is ready.

_Just_. What is the meaning of this? Bank has run away, and
Diogenes after her, with his stick raised. Poor Bank! I am afraid
she will be roughly handled. Call Pyrrho.

_Her_. Here is Painting, but Pyrrho has never come up. 25 I
knew how it would be.

_Just_. And what was his reason?

_Her_. He holds that there is no such thing as a true
decision.

_Just_. Then judgement goes against him by default. Now for
the Syrian advocate. The indictments were only filed a day or two
ago; there was no such hurry. However--. We will first take the
case in which Rhetoric is plaintiff. How people crowd in to hear
it!

_Her_. Just so: the case has not had time to get stale, you
see; it has the charm of novelty, the indictment, as you say,
having only been filed yesterday. The prospect, too, of hearing the
Syrian defend himself against two such plaintiffs as Rhetoric and
Dialogue, one after the other, is a great attraction. Well,
Rhetoric, when are you going to begin?

_Rhet_. Before all things, men of Athens, I pray the Gods that
you may listen to me throughout this trial with feelings not less
warm than those that I have ever entertained towards my country and
towards each one of you, my countrymen. And if, further, I pray
them so to dispose your hearts that you will suffer me to conduct
my case in accordance with my original intention and design,
without interruption from my adversary, I shall be asking no more
than justice. When I listen to the defendant's words, and then
reflect upon the treatment I have received from him, I know not how
I am to reconcile the two. You will presently find him holding a
language scarcely distinguishable from my own: yet examine into his
conduct, and you will see, from the lengths to which he has already
gone, that I am justified in taking steps to prevent his going yet
further. But enough of preamble: I am wasting time that might be
better employed in accusing my adversary.

Gentlemen, the defendant was no more than a boy--he still spoke
with his native accent, and might at any moment have exhibited
himself in the garb of an Assyrian--when I found him wandering up
and down Ionia, at a loss for employment. I took him in hand; I
gave him an education; and, convinced of his capabilities and of
his devotion to me (for he was my very humble servant in those
days, and had no admiration to spare for any one else), I turned my
back upon the many suitors who sought my hand, upon the wealthy,
the brilliant and the high-born, and betrothed myself to this
monster of ingratitude; upon this obscure pauper boy I bestowed the
rich dowry of my surpassing eloquence, brought him to be enrolled
among my own people, and made him my fellow citizen, to the bitter
mortification of his unsuccessful rivals. When he formed the
resolution of travelling, in order to make his good fortune known
to the world, I did not remain behind: I accompanied him
everywhere, from city to city, shedding my lustre upon him, and
clothing him in honour and renown. Of our travels in Greece and
Ionia, I say nothing: he expressed a wish to visit Italy: I sailed
the Ionian Sea with him, and attended him even as far as Gaul,
scattering plenty in his path.

For a long time he consulted my wishes in everything, was unfailing
in his attendance upon me, and never passed a night away from my
side. But no sooner had he secured an adequate provision, no sooner
did he consider his reputation established, than his countenance
changed towards me: he assumed a haughty air, and neglected, nay,
utterly abandoned me; having conceived a violent affection for the
bearded old person yonder, whom you may know from his dress to be
Dialogue, and who passes for a son of Philosophy. With this
Dialogue, in spite of the disparity of age, he is now living; and
is not ashamed to clip the wings of free, high-soaring eloquence,
and submit himself to the comedian's fetters of bald question and
answer. He, whose thoughts should have found utterance in
thundering oratory, is content to weave a puny network of
conversation. Such things may draw a smile from his audience, a
nod, an unimpassioned wave of the hand, a murmur of approbation:
they can never hope to evoke the deafening uproar of universal
applause. And this, gentlemen, is the fascination under which he
looks coldly upon me; I commend his taste! They say, indeed, that
he is not on the best of terms even with his beloved Dialogue;
apparently I am not the only victim of his overweening pride. Does
not such ingratitude as this render him liable to the penalties
imposed by the marriage-laws? He leaves me, his lawful wife, to
whom he is indebted alike for wealth and reputation, leaves me to
neglect, and goes off in pursuit of novelty; and that, at a time
when all eyes are turned upon me, when all men write me their
protectress. I hold out against the entreaties of countless
suitors: they knock, and my doors remain closed to them; they call
loudly upon my name, but I scorn their empty clamours, and answer
them not. All is in vain: he will not return to me, nor withdraw
his eyes from this new love. In Heaven's name, what does he expect
to get from him? what has Dialogue but his cloak?

In conclusion, gentlemen: should he attempt to employ my art in his
defence, suffer him not thus unscrupulously to sharpen my own sword
against me; bid him defend himself, if he can, with the weapons of
his adored Dialogue.

_Her_. Now there, madam, you are unreasonable: how can he
possibly make a dialogue of it all by himself? No, no; let him
deliver a regular speech, just the same as other people.

_Syrian_. In view, gentlemen, of the indignation that plaintiff has
expressed at the idea of my employing her gift of eloquence in
order to maintain my cause at large, I shall confine myself to a
brief and summary refutation of her charges, and shall then leave
the whole matter to your discernment.

Gentlemen, all that the plaintiff has said is true. She educated
me; she bore me company in my travels; she made a Greek of me.
She has each of these claims to a husband's gratitude. I have
now to give my reasons for abandoning her, and cultivating the
acquaintance of Dialogue: and, believe me, no motive of self-
interest shall induce me to misrepresent the facts. I found,
then, that the discreet bearing, the seemly dress, which had
distinguished her in the days of her union with the illustrious
demesman of Paeania [Footnote: Demosthenes. ], were now thrown aside:
I saw her tricked out and bedizened, rouged and painted like a
courtesan. My suspicions were aroused, and I began to watch the
direction of her eyes. To make a long story short, our street was
nightly infested with the serenades of her tipsy gallants, some of
whom, not content with knocking at our doors, threw aside all
restraint, and forced their way into the house. These attentions
amused and delighted my wife: she was commonly to be seen leaning
over the parapet and listening to the loose ditties that were
bawled up from below; and when she thought she was unobserved, she
would even open the door, and admit the gallant to her shameless
embraces. Such things were not to be endured: I was loth to bring
her into the divorce-court, and accordingly sought the hospitality
of Dialogue, who was my near neighbour.

Such, gentlemen, are the grievous wrongs that plaintiff has
suffered at my hands. Even had the provocation I have described
been wanting, my age (I was then nearly forty years old) called
upon me to withdraw from the turmoil of the law-courts, and suffer
the 'gentlemen of the jury' to rest in peace. Tyrants enough had
been arraigned, princes enough been eulogized: it was time to
retreat to the walks of Academy or the Lyceum, there to enjoy, in
the delightful society of Dialogue, that tranquil discourse which
aims not at noisy acclamations. I might say much more, but I
forbear: you, gentlemen, will give your votes in accordance with
the dictates of conscience. _Just_. Who wins?

_Her_. The Syrian has all votes but one.

_Just_. And that one a rhetorician's, I suppose. Dialogue will
now address the same jury. Gentlemen, you will remain and hear this
second case, and will receive a double fee.

_Dia_. If I had had my choice, gentlemen, I should have
addressed you in the conversational style to which I am accustomed,
instead of delivering a long harangue. However, I must conform to
the custom of the law-courts, though I have neither skill nor
experience in such matters. So much by way of exordium: and now for
the outrage committed on me by the defendant. In former days,
gentlemen, I was a person of exalted character: my speculations
turned upon the Gods, and Nature, and the _Annus Magnus_; I
trod those aerial plains wherein Zeus on winged car is borne along
through the heights. My flight had actually brought me to the
heavenly vault; I was just setting foot upon the upper surface of
that dome, when this Syrian took it upon himself to drag me down,
break my wings, and reduce me to the common level of humanity.
Whisking off the seemly tragic mask I then wore, he clapped on in
its place a comic one that was little short of ludicrous: his next
step was to huddle me into a corner with Jest, Lampoon, Cynicism,
and the comedians Eupolis and Aristophanes, persons with a horrible
knack of making light of sacred things, and girding at all that is
as it should be. But the climax was reached when he unearthed a
barking, snarling old Cynic, Menippus by name, and thrust
_his_ company upon me; a grim bulldog, if ever there was one;
a treacherous brute that will snap at you while his tail is yet
wagging. Could any man be more abominably misused? Stripped of my
proper attire, I am made to play the buffoon, and to give
expression to every whimsical absurdity that his caprice dictates.
And, as if that were not preposterous enough, he has forbidden me
either to walk on my feet or to rise on the wings of poesy: I am a
ridiculous cross between prose and verse; a monster of incongruity;
a literary Centaur.

_Her_. Now, Syrian: what do you say to that?

_Syrian_. Gentlemen of the jury, I am surprised. Nothing could
be more unexpected than the charge Dialogue has brought against me.
When I first took him in hand, he was regarded by the world at
large as one whose interminable discussions had soured his temper
and exhausted his vitality. His labours entitled him to respect,
but he had none of the attractive qualities that could secure him
popularity. My first step was to accustom him to walk upon the
common ground like the rest of mankind; my next, to make him
presentable, by giving him a good bath and teaching him to smile.
Finally, I assigned him Comedy as his yokefellow, thus gaining him
the confidence of his hearers, who until then would as soon have
thought of picking up a hedgehog as of venturing into the thorny
presence of Dialogue.

But I know what the grievance is: he wants me to sit and discourse
subtle nothings with him about the immortality of the soul, and the
exact number of pints of pure homogeneous essence that went to the
making of the universe, and the claims of rhetoric to be called a
shadow of a fraction of statecraft, or a fourth part of flattery.
He takes a curious pleasure in refinements of this kind; it tickles
his vanity most deliciously to be told that not every man can see
so far into the ideal as he. Evidently he expects _me_ to
conform to his taste in this respect; he is still hankering after
those lost wings; his eyes are turned upwards; he cannot see the
things that lie before his feet. I think there is nothing else he
can complain of. He cannot say that I, who pass for a barbarian,
have torn off his Greek dress, and replaced it with one like my
own: that would have been another matter; to deprive him of his
native garb were indeed a crime.

Gentlemen, I have made my defence, as far as in me lies: I trust
that your present verdict will confirm the former one.

_Her_. Well I never! All ten are for you again. Only one
dissentient, and he the same one as before. True to his envious
principles, he must ever give his vote against his betters. The
jurors may now leave the court. The remaining cases will come on
to-morrow.