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Page 16
The Olympians only smiled at this. They told Jupiter that as he was the
father it would be better if he left in other hands the making of
thunderbolts. Vulcan undertook the task. Soon his furnaces glowed with
bolts of two kinds; one that hits its mark with a deadly unerring--and
that is the sort which any of the Olympian gods will hurl; whilst the
other sort was that which becomes scattered on its course and does
damage only to the mountain tops, or perchance is even lost on the way.
It is this kind of thunderbolt that Jupiter sends. His fatherly heart
permits him to use no other.
XXII
EDUCATION
(BOOK VIII.--No. 24)
Once upon a time there were two dogs, one named Lurcher and the other
C�sar. They were brothers; handsome, well-built, and plucky, and
descended from dogs who were famous in their day. These two brothers,
falling into the hands of different masters, found their destinies
likewise in different spheres; for whilst one haunted the forests, the
other lurched about a kitchen.
The names to which they now answered were not, however, the names that
were first given them. The influence of each one's career upon his
nature brought about a new name and a new reputation; for C�sar's nature
was improved and strengthened by the life he led, whilst Lurcher's was
made more and more despicable by a degraded existence. A scullion named
him Lurcher; but the other dog received his noble name on account of his
life of high adventure. He had held many a stag at bay, killed many a
hare, and otherwise risen to the position of a C�sar among dogs. Care
was taken that he should not mate indiscriminately, so that his
descendants' blood should not degenerate. On the other hand, poor
Lurcher bestowed his affections wherever he would and his brood became
populous. He was the progenitor of all turn-spits in France; a variety
which became common enough to form at last a race in themselves. They
show more readiness to flee than to attack, and are the very antipodes
of the C�sars.
We do not always follow our ancestors, nor even resemble our fathers.
Want of care, the flight of time, a thousand things, cause us to
degenerate.
Ah! how many, C�sars, failing to cultivate their best nature and their
gifts, become Lurchers!
XXIII
DEMOCRITUS AND THE PEOPLE OF ABDERA
(BOOK VIII.--No. 26)
How I have always hated the opinions of the mob! To me, a mob seems
profane, unjust, and rash, putting false construction on all things, and
judging every matter by a mob-made standard.
Democritus had experience of this. His countrymen thought him mad.
Little minds! But then, no one is a prophet in his own country! The
people themselves were mad, of course, and Democritus was the wise man.
Nevertheless the error went so far that the city of Abdera[6] sent a
messenger to the great physician Hippocrates, requesting him both by
letter and by spoken word to come and restore the sage's reason.
"Our citizen," said the spokesman with tears in his eyes, "has lost his
wits, alas! Study has corrupted Democritus. If he were less wise we
should esteem him much more. He will have it that there is no limit to
the number of worlds like ours and that possibly they are inhabited with
numberless Democrituses. Not satisfied with these wild dreams, he talks
also of atoms--phantoms born only in his own empty brain. Then,
measuring the very heavens, though he remains here below to do it, he
claims to know the universe; yet admits that he does not know himself.
Time was when he could control debates, now he mutters only to himself.
So come, thou divine mortal, for the patient's case is a bad one."
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