Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus now? There would be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are alike here, no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I thought so shabby before passes muster here as well as royal purple; the darkness hides both alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you?

Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you say?

Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four.

It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting.

Bring them up, Tisiphone. Hermes, you call out their names as they are wanted.

Rhadamanthus, as you love your father Zeus, have me up first for examination.

Why?

There is a certain shade whose misdeeds on earth I am anxious to denounce. And if my evidence is to be worth anything, you must first be satisfied of my own character and conduct.

Who are you?

Cyniscus, your worship; a student of philosophy.

Come up for judgement; I will take you first. Hermes, summon the accusers.

If any one has an accusation to bring against Cyniscus here present, let him come forward.

No one stirs!

Ah, but that is not enough, my friend. Off with your clothes; I must have a look at your brands.

Brands? Where will you find them?

Never yet did mortal man sin, but he carried about the secret record thereof, branded on his soul.

Well, here I am stripped. Now for the ‘brands.’

Clean from head to heel, except three or four very faint marks, scarcely to be made out. Ah! what does this mean? Here is place after place that tells of the iron; all rubbed out apparently, or cut out. How do you explain this, Cyniscus? How did you get such a clean skin again?

Why, in old days, when I knew no better, I lived an evil life, and acquired thereby a number of brands. But from the day that I began to practise philosophy, little by little I washed out all the scars from my soul,—thanks to the efficiency of that admirable lotion.

Off with you'then to the Isles of the Blest, and the excellent company you will find there. But we must have your impeachment of the tyrant before you go.—Next shade, Hermes!

Mine is a very small affair, too, Rhadamanthus; I shall not keep you long. I have been stripped all this time; so do take me next.

And who may you be?

Micyllus the cobbler.

Very well, Micyllus. As clean as clean could be; not a mark anywhere. You may join Cyniscus. Now the Tyrant.

Megapenthes, son of Lacydes, wanted! Where are you off to? This way! You there, the Tyrant! Up with him, Tisiphone, neck and crop.

Now, Cyniscus, your accusation and your proofs. Here is the party.