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 that, but there are probably ten thousand who will think the opposite; and, by his own rule, their judgments are as good as his.

But even Socrates feels some compunction in thus attacking the theories of a dead philosopher who cannot defend himself.

"If he could only" (he says) "get his head out of the world below, he would give both of us a sound drubbing —me for quibbling, and you for accepting my quibbles—and be off and underground again in a twinkling."—J.

Then comes a break in the main argument, and Socrates wanders off into a digression, in which he draws a striking contrast between the characters of the lawyer and philosopher—the former always in a hurry, with the water-clock urging him on—busy and preoccupied, the slave of his clients,—keen and shrewd, but narrow-minded, and from his early years versed in the crooked paths of deceit: while the philosopher is a gentleman at large, master of his own time, abstracted and absorbed in thought, seeing nothing at his feet, and knowing nothing of the scandals of the clubs or the gossip of the town—hardly even acquainted with his next-door neighbour by sight—shy, awkward, and too simple-minded to retaliate an insult, or understand the merits of a long pedigree.