him, and
a large one before Dionysius. He thereupon took up his fish and placed
it to his ear. Dionysius asked him why he did so, to which he replied
that he was writing a poem, called "Galataea," and wanted to hear some
news from the kingdom of Nereus. "The fish given to him," he added,
"knew nothing about it, because it had been caught so young; but no
doubt that set before Dionysius would know everything." The tyrant, we
are told, laughed and sent him his mullet. As might have been
anticipated, he soon greatly offended Dionysius, who actually sent him
to work in the stone-quarries; but the cause of his misfortune is
uncertain. Athenaeus attributes it to his falling in love with a
favourite "flute-girl" of Dionysius, and says that in his "Galataea," he
caricatured his rival as the Cyclops. According to another account, his
disgrace was owing to his having, when asked to revise one of Dionysius'
poetical compositions, crossed out the whole of it from beginning to
end. He was, however, restored to favour, and seated once more at the
royal table; but, unfortunately, the tyrant had again been perpetrating
poetry, and recited some of his verses, which were loudly applauded by
all the courtiers. Philoxenus was called upon to join in the
commendation, but instead of complying, he cried out to the guards,
"Take me back to the quarries." Dionysius, took the joke and pardoned
him. He afterwards left the Syracusan Court, and went to his native
place, Cythera; and it was characteristic of his bluntness and wit,
that, on being invited by the tyrant to return, he replied by only one
letter of the alphabet signifying "NO."

And now a most grotesque figure stands before us--it is that of
Diogenes, who was a youth at the time of Aristophanes' successes, and
was, no doubt by many, classed with those rude idlers of the
market-place of whom we have already spoken. Some people have questioned
his claim to be regarded as a philosopher. He does not appear to have
been learned, or deeply read; but he was meditative and observant, and
that which in an anchorite, or hermit, would have been a mere sentiment,
and in an ordinary man a vague and occasional reflection, expanded in
his mind into a general and practical view of life. Observing that the
things we covet are not only difficult of attainment, but unsatisfactory
in possession, he thought to solve the problem of life by substituting
contempt for admiration. He was, probably, somewhat influ