"This sublime being," pursued Dionysius, "is, and cannot but be, an infinite mind; he is boundless knowledge, boundless power, and boundless goodness. The mere continuance from day to day of this universe—"
Here the Athenian suddenly stopped and looked round.
"Why, were the most beneficent human being that ever lived," exclaimed he, "able by a word to cast the universe into destruction; were it in his power to say, at any moment of wrath or disappointment, that the sun should not rise on the morrow, mankind would fall into a chronic frensy of terror."
"If," cried a shrill voice—that of the child Caligula—"if the sun shines and one cannot see, it is no use! I know what I would do with the sun to-morrow morning, unless I recover the use of my eyes."
"What?" asked Dionysius.
"I'd blow it out!" cried the dear boy, tearing off his bandage, stamping his feet, and turning toward his interrogator a face neither beautiful in feature nor mild in expression.
"The sun is in good keeping," said the Athenian.
Augustus turned, after a short, brooding look at Caligula, to Haterius, and said,
"What think you, my Quintus? Has our Athenian made good his theories?"