Jupiter declares he will not behave towards Timon as those execrable sycophants have done. He has not forgotten the "many hind-quarters of beef and mutton, the delicious smell whereof I have still in my nostrils." He bids Mercury take Plutus, the god of riches, with him, and instal him with all speed in Timon's dwelling. As to the flatterers and ungrateful companions of his days of prosperity,—

*

"they shall smart for it as soon as I can get my thunderbolt repaired; for the two great rays of it were broken, and the whole of its edge got blunted, when I launched it a little too furiously at the head of Anaxagoras, who wanted to persuade his scholars that we gods did not exist. I missed him, because Pericles held his hand over him, and the lightning was almost broken to shatters against a huge block of marble."

Plutus is very surly about obeying Jupiter's order, and says that Timon has insulted him, so he will not go to

him.

66

"Do you suppose he will ever cease from pouring me into a basket full of holes? I am persuaded that he will act just as if I poured water into the tubs of the Danaids." Jupiter, however, insists. 'Go, I say, once more. Do as I bid you. And, Mercury, do you, on your way back, bring the Cyclops from Etna, that they may repair and point my lightning for me as sharp as possible, as I shall soon have occasion for it."

On the way, the two travellers engage in a conver

* There is nothing new under the sun. Did the ingenious authors of the parody before alluded to, know that Lucian had preceded them in the idea of sending Jupiter's thunderbolts to the blacksmith? In Act I., Sc. 2, of "La Belle Hélène," Calchas enters, saying, "And the thunderbolt? Have they brought back the thunderbolt?" "Not yet." "What! not yet? We can't do without it to-day. It is going to be very hot. I must have my thunderbolt. The blacksmith Euthycles promised it me faithfully-but here he comes." Euthycles enters with a roll of sheet-iron which represents the thunderbolt, and begins shaking it about. "Will you leave off," cries Calchas. "People will think it is Jupiter. This kind of effect must be used sparingly."

sation full of meaning: Mercury pities Plutus for being both blind and lame, to which Plutus answers :—

"I am not always lame, Mercury, but only when I am sent by Jupiter on an errand to somebody. Then, I know not why, but all at once it feels as if I had no bones in my legs: I halt on both feet, and walk so slowly that he who is waiting for me is grown an old man before I arrive. Whereas, on taking my departure, you would suppose I had wings, and I fly quicker than a bird."

As to his blindness, that, he acknowledges, is complete, so that he often makes a mistake when Jupiter sends him to enrich some one, and arrives at a wrong destination.

"I stroll up and down, groping to and fro, till by chance I meet somebody, who, without more ado, takes me home with him, and offers up a thankoffering to you, Mercury, for the unexpected good fortune."

This time, in order that no mistake may arise, Mercury says to him, "Lay hold of the skirts of my coat, and stick fast till I have discovered Timon's solitary retreat."

The celestial messengers alight in Attica. The allegory, of which Plutus is the principal figure, is completed by a circle of abstract personages, such as Poverty, Labour, Patience, Wisdom, Courage, etc., who surround the misanthrope. When Poverty sees Plutus coming, she says, "I have nothing further to do here. Do you, Wisdom and Labour, follow me." Timon, on his side, begins by picking up stones with which to pelt the new arrivals; but Mercury stops him :—

"No nonsense of that kind, Timon!... Hate mankind, who have so injured you, if you like; but why hate the gods, who are ready to relieve you? Hold out your hand, good Timon, and accept your good fortune. The gifts sent by Jupiter are not thus to be rejected."

But Timon is not easily convinced; he has learnt to mistrust Plutus, who "was the cause of all his ills," while Poverty on the contrary acted generously and wisely

towards him. Mercury, however, persuades him to comply and to become rich again, suggesting, as a final inducement, that "at least he will have the pleasure of seeing his fawning dissemblers burst with envy." This said, he flies back to heaven. Plutus, now left alone with Timon, bids him "Dig away! strike deeper in!" in order to find Thesaurus, the god of gold, hidden in the earth. . . . Behold him! Thesaurus shines resplendent in the sunlight.

The discovery of the treasure fills Timon with joy, but in no way alters his misanthropy. Far from being softened, the hatred he has sworn to all mankind expresses itself more fiercely than ever :—

"Should I see a man ready to perish by fire, and implore me to extinguish the flames, I will with all my might extinguish them— with oil and pitch: and if a furious wintry flood should be overwhelming a man before my eyes, and he should call to me with outstretched arms for help, I will just shove his head down so that he shall never raise it again from the water. Only in this way can I retaliate their behaviour to me. This law has Timon, the son of Echecratides, of the Colyttean district, decreed and published; and the said Timon, having united the president and the community in his sole person, has ratified the same."

The

Meantime, the news flies far and wide that Timon has again become rich; flatterers, parasites, false friends, getting scent of his wealth, betake themselves to his cave. The same thing happens in Shakespeare's tragedy; and Timon, both in Lucian and in Shakespeare, receives his visitors with blows and showers of stones. most amusing flatterer of the misanthrope newly crowned with riches is Demeas, the orator, whose profession has taught him to delight in fine phrases, and to take the inventions of his own eloquence for realities. The conversation between him and Timon is a capital piece of comedy.

"Dem. Health to you, Timon! the great ornament of your race, the pillar of Athens, and bulwark of all Greece! Both of the councils

and the whole corporate assembly have been long anxiously waiting for your return. But, first of all, listen to the decree which I have proposed in your favour: 'Forasmuch as Timon, the son of Echecratides, of the commonalty of Colyttos,-a man who, whether for probity, politeness, or sagacity, has no equal in all Greece,-has constantly and in various ways rendered conspicuous services to the commonwealth; and has, moreover, signalized himself by gaining the prize in one day at Olympia, in boxing, in wrestling, in running, and in driving both with a pair of horses and with four-in-hand

Tim. I who have never seen the Olympian games in all my life! Dem. What matters that? You will see them some day or other. The more you insert of this sort in a decree the better. Moreover, he fought with great gallantry last year for the republic against the Acharnensians, and cut to pieces two whole battalions of the Peloponnesian troops

Tim. What! I, who never carried arms, and was never inscribed upon the muster-roll!

Dem. . . . For all which considerations it has been thought fit and decreed by the council and the people, in the first place, to cause to be erected a golden statue of the said Timon, and, further, to crown him with seven golden crowns.' . . . Thus runs my decree. I intend to present my son to you, whom I have called Timon after you.

Tim. How is that, Demeas? Since to my knowledge you have never been married.

Dem. No, but I hope to marry next year, so good luck betide me, and to have a family of children; and my eldest born, who is sure to be a son, I shall call Timon.

Tim. [Aiming a blow with his spade at him.] Whether this may help on your marriage, my fine fellow, I cannot say.

Dem. Mercy on me! What is that for? Do you think to play the tyrant of Athens, by beating free people? You, whose free birth and citizenship are questionable, to say the least. But depend upon it, I will be even with you. You shall smart for this, and for setting the Acropolis on fire, too!

Tim. The Acropolis never has been set on fire, you sycophant!" Towards the end of the dialogue, Apemantus, under the name of Thrasycles, appears. The cynic's enmity to men, and to the goods and pleasures of life, is a shallow pretence. He is simply a humbug, as may be guessed from his advice to Timon:

"If you will hearken to good counsel, throw incontinently all your

gold into the sea, as unnecessary and useless to a good man, to whom all the treasures of wisdom are open. You need not go out far into the sea, only just step knee-deep into the water, close to the shore, when there is nobody by but me."

The satire, it must be confessed, is a little thickly laid on. It is not in his dialogue of 'Timon' that Lucian has given us his most vivid picture of the cynic; for this we must turn to "The Sale of the Philosophers," in which the philosophical sects of every kind and species are sold by auction. The sale takes place by Jupiter's order, and Mercury plays the part of auctioneer, crying up the value of his wares and knocking each down to the highest bidder.

When it comes to Diogenes' turn, Mercury calls out: "There, gentlemen, I present to you a brave man, an excellent man, a well-bred free man. Who buys?"

A purchaser comes forward and inquires of Diogenes what he can teach, and what he is good for.

"Well," says Diogenes, "your chief acquirements will be these: you must be audacious and insolent, blurt out the most saucy speeches in the face of every one, from the prince to the beggar, for that will attract attention and procure you a reputation for intrepidity. Your speech must be quaint, the tone of your voice snarling and doggish; your expression must be scowling and surly, and your manner suited to your face; in one word, in everything be brutal and churlish. You must bid farewell to all shame, modesty, and decency, and blush at nothing. Frequent the most populous places, but when there, walk as if alone in the midst of the crowd, and acknowledge nobody as your friend. . . . Perform boldly before all the world what everybody else would blush to do even in secret."

"Fie! Fie!" exclaims the buyer in disgust, "I call all this infamous and beastly."

Dio. It is at any rate very easy, and within the power of every one. You need no learning, nor reasoning, nor any such nonsense; and you take the shortest way to glory. Be you ever such a blockhead, a tanner, a costermonger, a blacksmith, or a money-broker, nothing will prevent you from becoming a wonder in the eyes of the gazing multitude, if only you have impudence enough and are quick and ready with insolent repartees.