who have obtained one day's leave of absence from the Shades below to avenge themselves on their libeller.
THE RESUSCITATED PROFESSORS.
Socrates. Pelt the wretch! pelt him with volleys of stones,—throw clods at him,—oyster-shells! Beat the blasphemer with your clubs—don't let him escape! Hit him, Plato! and you, Chrysippus! and you!—Form a phalanx, and rush on him all together! As Homer says—"Let wallet join with wallet, club with club!" He is the common enemy of us all, and there is no man among ye whom he has not insulted. You, Diogenes, now use that staff of yours, if ever you did! Don't stop! let him have it, blasphemer that he is! What! tired already, Epicurus and Aristippus? You aught not to be:—
Be men, professors! summon all your pluck!"
Aristotle, do run a little faster!—That's good! we've caught the beast! We've got you, you rascal! You shall soon find out who you've been abusing! Now what shall we do with him? Let us think of some multiform kind of death, that may suffice for all of us—for he deserves a separate death from each.
Philosopher A. I vote that he be impaled.
Phil. B. Yes—but be well scourged first.
Phil. C. Let his eyes be gouged out.
Phil. D. Ay —but his tongue should be cut out first.
Soc. What think you, Empedocles?
Empedocles. He should be thrown down the crater
