that he can do this kind of thing in much better style at Colophon or at Delphi. At last, urged by Jupiter to prove his art, and so put a stop to the jeers of Momus, he proceeds, with same apology for extempore versifying, to deliver an utterly incomprehensible oracle, which fully justifies the criticisms of his brother deity. Hercules offers to pull down the whole portico on the head of Damis, if the controversy should seem to be taking a turn unfavourable to the Olympian interests.
But now a messenger arrives from earth, no other than the brazen statue of Hermagoras—Mercury of the Forum—who stands in front of the Pœcile at Athens. He comes to announce—adopting the new fashion of heroics set by Jupiter—that the duel of the philosophers has been renewed. The gods agree to go down to see the battle, and the scene of the dialogue is supposed to change at once to Athens. There Timocles is trying to argue with his infidel opponent. He wonders, he says, that men do not stone him for his impious assertions. Damis does not see why men should take that trouble: the gods, if gods they be, can surely take their own part; they hear him, and yet they do not strike. But they will, replies Timocles; their vengeance is sure though slow. They are otherwise occupied, retorts the sceptic—gone out to dinner, perhaps, with those "blameless Ethiopians"—they often do, according to Homer; possibly, sometimes, even without waiting for an invitation. In vain does his opponent argue from the harmony and order of creation, and from the general consent of mankind: the very diversities of national worship, the many
