Here is another nice point to decide between Dionysos here and Herakles. Both are bronze; their workmanship is the same, for both are by Lysippos; and, most vital point of all, they are equals by birth, being alike sons of Zeus. Which of them is to have precedence? They are wrangling about it, as you see.

We are wasting time, Hermes. We should have got to business long ago. Let them sit down now anyhow, each where he likes. By-and-by we will hold an assembly to debate these questions, and then I shall know how their ranks ought to be assigned.

Good heavens, what a din they make, crying out, in plain every-day language, "Rations!" and "Where is the nectar?" and "The ambrosia is giving out!" and "Where are the hecatombs?" and "The sacrifices are common property!"

Call them to order, Hermes. Make them stop this nonsense and hear why they were convened.

But, Zeus, they do not all understand Greek, and I am no polyglot to deliver an announcement to Scythians and Persians and Thracians and Celts all at once. I think I should do best to enjoin silence by dumb show.

Very well.

There! Behold them reduced to the silence of the sophists. Now is your time to address them. See, they are looking towards you already, awaiting your speech.

Hermes, you are my son, and I don't mind telling you just how I feel. You know what aplomb and magniloquence I have always shown in our assemblies?

Indeed I do. I was always frightened when I heard you speak, particularly when you would threaten to let down that golden rope and drag from their foundations the earth and the sea and the gods with them.

But this time, my child, whether it is the greatness of the impending dangers or of the audience-for the meeting is well attended, as you see my presence of mind has utterly deserted me, and I am trembling with nervousness and my tongue seems tied. And, most absurd of all, I have forgotten the opening of my speech, which I had prepared with a view to making as agreeable a first impression as possible.

You have spoiled everything. Your silence is making them suspicious already, and the more you delay the more overwhelmingly bad news do they expect.

Do you think, then, that I might begin to recite to them that introduction of Homer's?

What one?

"Hearken now, ye gods, and every goddess, hearken."

Stuff! You have recited those opening lines often enough in your cups already. But, if you like, give up this tiresome business of poetry, and piece together any you choose of Demosthenes's orations against Philip, altering them a little. That is the way most speaking is done now, anyhow.

That is a good idea-a sort of abridged rhetoric or oratory made easy for the embarrassed.