admits, may possibly be true enough, yet not meet to be told to mortal hearers. And then the oracles, worse than vague, positively deceptive—witness those notorious productions of Apollo's about the empire which Crœsus was to destroy by crossing the Halys, and the sons of women who were to meet their fate at Salamis. No marvel if, when the gods are so remiss in their duties, men begin to grow tired of worshipping them.
Jupiter protests against such ribald language. He quotes his Demosthenes to the effect that it is much more easy to abuse and to find fault than to offer suggestions under difficulties.
Then Neptune asks leave to say a few words. He lives, indeed, at the bottom of the sea, and is not in the habit of interfering much in affairs on land, but he strongly advises that this Damis shall be silenced at once—by lightning, or some such irresistible argument. But Jupiter replies, very fairly, that this would only be a tacit admission on the part of the gods that they had no other kind of argument to offer. Apollo gives it as his opinion that the fault lies in Timocles himself, who, though a very sensible man, has not the knack of putting an argument clearly. Upon which Momus remarks that the recommendation of clearness and perspicuity certainly comes with a curious kind of propriety from Apollo, considering the style of his own oracular utterances. He invites him to give them an oracle now,—which of the two disputants will get the better in this contest? Apollo tries to excuse himself, on the ground that he has no tripod or incense, or other appliances at hand, and
