Chapter XXVIII: Book IX: CALLIOPE.--Defeat of the Persians at Platæa--defeat at the (1)

promontory of Mycale, and their complete retreat within their own territories.

THE CROCODILE.

(_By Herodotus._)

The following are the peculiarities of the crocodile: During the winter months they eat nothing; they are four-footed, and live indifferently on land or in the water. The female lays and hatches her eggs ashore, passing the greater portion of the day on dry land, but at night retiring to the river, the water of which is warmer than the night-air and the dew. Of all known animals this is the one which from the smallest size grows to be the greatest, for the egg of the crocodile is but little bigger than that of the goose, and the young crocodile is in proportion to the egg, yet when it is full grown, the animal measures frequently seventeen cubits, and even more. It has the eyes of a pig, teeth large and tusk-like, of a size proportioned to its frame; unlike any other animal, it is without a tongue; it can not move its under-jaw, and in this respect, too, it is singular, being the only animal in the world which moves the upper-jaw but not the under. It has strong claws and a scaly skin, impenetrable upon the back. In the water it is blind, but on land it is very keen of sight. As it lives chiefly in the river, it has the inside of its mouth constantly covered with leeches, hence it happens that, while all the other birds and beasts avoid it, with the trochilus it lives at peace, since it owes much to that bird, for the crocodile, when he leaves the water and comes out upon the land, is in the habit of lying with his mouth wide open, facing the western breeze; at such times the trochilus goes into his mouth and devours the leeches. This benefits the crocodile, who is pleased, and takes care not to hurt the trochilus.

The crocodile is esteemed sacred by some of the Egyptians, by others he is treated as an enemy. Those who live near Thebes, and those who dwell around Lake Moeris, regard them with especial veneration. In each of these places they keep one crocodile in particular, who is taught to be tame and tractable. They adorn his ears with ear-rings of molten stone or gold, and put bracelets on his fore-paws, giving him daily a set portion of bread, with a certain number of victims; and, after having thus treated him with the greatest possible attention while alive, they embalm him when he dies and bury him in a sacred repository. The people of Elephantine, on the other hand, are so far from considering these animals as sacred that they even eat their flesh.

The modes of catching the crocodile are many and various. I shall only describe the one which seems to me most worthy of mention. They bait a hook with a chine of pork and let the meat be carried out into the middle of the stream, while the hunter upon the bank holds a living pig, which he belabors. The crocodile hears its cries and, making for the sound, encounters the pork, which he instantly swallows down. The men on the shore haul, and when they have got him to land, the first thing the hunter does is to plaster his eyes with mud. This once accomplished, the animal is dispatched with ease, otherwise he gives great trouble.

ARTABANUS DISSUADES XERXES.

(_By Herodotus._)

The other Persians were silent, for all feared to raise their voice against the plan proposed to them. But Artabanus, the son of Hystaspes, and uncle of Xerxes, trusting to his relationship, was bold to speak: "O King," he said, "it is impossible, if no more than one opinion is uttered, to make choice of the best; a man is forced then to follow whatever advice may have been given him, but if opposite speeches are delivered, then choice can be exercised. In like manner pure gold is not recognized by itself, but when we test it along with baser ore, we perceive which is the better. I counseled thy father, Darius, who was my own brother, not to attack the Scyths, a race of people who had no town in their own land. He thought, however, to subdue those wandering tribes, and would not listen to me, but marched an army against them, and ere he returned home lost many of his bravest warriors. Thou art about, O King, to attack a people far superior to the Scyths, a people distinguished above others both by land and sea. 'Tis fit, therefore, that I should tell thee what danger thou incurrest hereby. Thou sayest that thou wilt bridge the Hellespont, and lead thy troops through Europe against Greece.

"Now, suppose some disaster befall thee by land or sea, or by both. It may be even so, for the men are reputed valiant. Indeed one may measure their prowess from what they have already done; for when Datis and Artaphernes led their huge army against Attica, the Athenians singly defeated them. But grant they are not successful on both elements. Still, if they man their ships, and, defeating us by sea, sail to the Hellespont, and there destroy our bridge--that, sire, were a fearful hazard. And here 'tis not by my own mother wit alone that I conjecture what will happen, but I remember how narrowly we escaped disaster once, when thy father, after throwing bridges over the Thracian Bosphorus and the Ister, marched against the Scythians, and they tried every sort of prayer to induce the Ionians, who had charge of the bridge over the Ister, to break the passage. On that day, if Histiæus, the King of Miletus, had sided with the other princes, and not set himself to oppose their views, the empire of the Persians would have come to naught. Surely a dreadful thing is this even to hear said, that the King's fortunes depended wholly on one man.

"Think, then, no more of incurring so great a danger when no need presses, but follow the advice I tender. Break up this meeting, and when thou hast well considered the matter with thyself, and settled what thou wilt do, declare to us thy resolve. I know not of aught in the world that so profits a man as taking good counsel with himself; for even if things fall out against one's hopes, still one has counseled well, though fortune has made the counsel of no effect: whereas, if a man counsels ill and luck follows, he has gotten a windfall, but his counsel is none the less silly. Seest thou how God with His lightning smites alway the bigger animals, and will not suffer them to wax insolent, while those of lesser bulk chafe Him not? How likewise His bolts fall ever on the highest houses and the tallest trees? So plainly does He love to bring down everything that exalts itself. Thus oft-times a mighty host is discomfitted by a few men, when God in His jealousy sends fear or storm from heaven, and they perish in a way unworthy of them. For God allows no one to have high thoughts but Himself. Again, hurry always brings about disasters, from which huge sufferings are wont to arise; but in delay lie many advantages, not apparent (it may be) at first sight, but such as in the course of time are seen of all. Such, then, is my counsel to thee, O King.

"And thou, Mardonius, son of Gobryas, forbear to speak foolishly concerning the Greeks, who are men that ought not to be lightly esteemed by us. For while thou revilest the Greeks, thou dost encourage the King to lead his own troops against them; and this, as it seems to me, is what thou art specially striving to accomplish. Heaven send thou succeed not to thy wish! For slander is of all evils the most terrible. In it two men do wrong, and one man has wrong done to him. The slanderer does wrong, forasmuch as he abuses a man behind his back; and the hearer, forasmuch as he believes what he has not searched into thoroughly. The man slandered in his absence suffers wrong at the hands of both; for one brings against him a false charge, and the other thinks him an evil-doer. If, however, it must needs be that we go to war with this people, at least allow the King to abide at home in Persia. Then let thee and me both stake our children on the issue, and do thou choose out thy men, and taking with thee whatever number of troops thou likest, lead forth our armies to battle. If things go well for the King, as thou sayest they will, let me and my children be put to death; but if they fall out as I prophesy, let thy children suffer, and thou, too, if thou shalt come back alive. But shouldst thou refuse this wager, and still resolve to march an army against Greece, sure I am that some of those whom thou leavest behind thee will one day receive the sad tidings that Mardonius has brought a great disaster upon the Persian people, and lies a prey to dogs and birds somewhere in the land of the Athenians, or else in that of the Lacedæmonians; unless, indeed, thou shalt have perished sooner by the way, experiencing in thy own person the might of those men on whom thou wouldst fain induce the King to make war."

SOCRATES.

Socrates was born at Athens about the middle or latter part of April, 469 B.C. He commanded more admiration and reverence than any other individual of ancient or modern times. By his ability and purity he emerged from a barbaric sophistry into the purest form of religion that was ever invented by man, it was nearer like that of Christ than was ever reached by mortal before. The object of his entire philosophy was the attainment of correct ideas concerning moral and religious obligations.

Although Socrates was the son of a sculptor of limited means, he was educated according to the manner of the times. Music and poetry and gymnastic exercises formed the principal part of the education of an Athenian youth, and in these Socrates was instructed.

Through the influence of Crito, a wealthy Athenian who subsequently became an intimate friend and disciple of our philosopher, he was induced to rise into a higher sphere. He then began the study of physics, mathematics, astronomy, natural philosophy, etc.

Socrates, however, was unable to obtain any satisfactory knowledge from the philosophers and teachers of his time. Dissatisfied with the pretended wisdom of the Cosmologists and Sophists he entirely abandoned all speculative subjects and devoted his entire attention to human affairs, and his earnestness as a social reformer brought upon him increasing odium from the "Conservatives" of the day, as well as from that still larger class whose feelings of malice and revenge towards those who expose their follies and their vices, their wicked private customs and public institutions, can never be appeased but with the death of their victim. Accordingly, prejudice, unpopularity and hate finally prevailed, and two charges were brought against him, one of not believing in the national deities and the other of corrupting the youth. That he did not believe in the idols that most of his contemporaries worshiped, is true; but that he corrupted the youth was as absurd as false, for all his teachings tended ever to purify them, and lead them in the paths of virtue and truth. He defended himself, and his defense is a perfect whole, neither more nor less than what it ought to have been. Proudly conscious of his innocence, he sought not to move the pity of his judges, for he cared not for acquittal, and "exhibited that union of humility and high-mindedness which is observable in none, perhaps, with the exception of St. Paul." His speech availed not, and he was condemned to drink the hemlock. He continued in prison thirty days before the sentence was executed, and to this interval we are indebted for that sublime conversation on the immortality of the soul which Plato has embodied in his Phædo.

At length the fatal day arrived, when he had reached his full three score years and ten. Refusing all means of escape to which his friends continually and importunely urged him, he took the poisoned cup from the hands of the boy who brought it to him in his prison-chamber, drank it off calmly amid the tears and sobs of surrounding friends, walked about till the draught had begun to take effect upon his system, and then laid himself down upon his bed, and soon breathed his last. Such was the life and such the death of this great man. It has been felt as the greatest of all human examples, not only by his own countrymen, but by the whole civilized world.

SOCRATES AND ARISTODEMUS.

(_By Socrates._)

We will now relate the manner in which Socrates discoursed with Aristodemus, surnamed _the Little_, concerning the Deity. For, observing that he neither prayed nor sacrificed to the gods nor yet consulted any oracle, but, on the contrary, ridiculed and laughed at those who did, he said to him:

"Tell me, Aristodemus, is there any man whom you admire on account of his merit?"

Aristodemus having answered, "_Many._"--"Name some of them, I pray you."

"I admire," said Aristodemus, "Homer for his epic poetry, Melanippides for his dithyrambics, Sophocles for tragedy, Polycletes for statuary, and Xeuxis for painting."

"But which seems to you most worthy of admiration, Aristodemus--the artist who forms images void of motion and intelligence, or one who hath the skill to produce animals that are endued, not only with activity, but understanding."

"The _latter_, there can be no doubt," replied Aristodemus, "provided the production was not the effect of _chance_, but of wisdom and contrivance."

"But since there are many things, some of which we can easily see the _use_ of, while we can not say of others to what purpose they were produced, which of these, Aristodemus, do you suppose the work of wisdom?"

"It should seem the most reasonable to affirm it of those whose fitness and utility is so evidently apparent."

"But it is evidently apparent, that He, who at the beginning made man, endued him with senses _because_ they were _good_ for him; eyes, wherewith to behold whatever was visible; and ears, to hear whatever was to be heard. For say, Aristodemus, to what purpose should odors be prepared, if the sense of smelling had been denied? Or why the distinctions of bitter and sweet, of savory and unsavory, unless a palate had been likewise given, conveniently placed, to arbitrate between them, and declare the difference? Is not that Providence, Aristodemus, in a most eminent manner conspicuous, which, because the eye of man is so delicate in its contexture, hath therefore prepared eyelids like doors, whereby to secure it; which extend of themselves whenever it is needful, and again close when sleep approaches? Are not these eyelids provided, as it were, with a fence on the edge of them, to keep off the wind and guard the eye? Even the eyebrow itself is not without office, but, as a penthouse, is prepared to turn off the sweat, which, falling from the forehead, might enter and annoy that no less _tender_ than _astonishing_ part of us! Is it not to be admired that the ears should take in sounds of every sort, and yet are not too much filled by them? That the fore-teeth of the animal should be formed in such a manner as evidently best suited for the cutting of its food, and those on the side for grinding it in pieces? That the mouth, through which this food is conveyed, should be placed so near the nose and the eyes, as to prevent the passing, _unnoticed_, whatever is unfit for nourishment; while Nature, on the contrary, hath set at a distance, and concealed from the senses, all that might disgust them? And canst thou still doubt, Aristodemus! whether a disposition of parts like _this_ should be the work of chance, or of wisdom and contrivance?"

"I have no longer any doubt," replied Aristodemus; "and, indeed, the more I consider it, the more evident it appears to me, that man must be the _masterpiece_ of some great Artificer, carrying along with it infinite marks of love and favor of Him who hath thus formed it."

"And what thinkest thou, Aristodemus, of that _desire_ in the individual which leads to the continuance of the species? Of that tenderness and affection in the female towards her young, so necessary for its preservation? Of that unremitted love of life, and dread of dissolution, which take such strong possession of us from the moment we begin to be?"

"I think of them," answered Aristodemus, "as so many regular operations of the same great and wise Artist, deliberately determining to _preserve_ what He hath once made."

"But, farther (unless thou desirest to ask me questions), seeing, Aristodemus, thou thyself art conscious of reason and intelligence, supposest thou there is no intelligence elsewhere? Thou knowest thy body to be a small part of that wide-extended earth which thou everywhere beholdest; the moisture contained in it, thou also knowest to be a small portion of that mighty mass of waters whereof seas themselves are but a part, while the rest of the elements contribute, out of their abundance, to thy formation. It is the soul, then, alone, that intellectual part of us, which is come to _thee_ by some lucky chance, from I know not where. If so be, there is indeed no intelligence elsewhere; and we must be forced to confess, that this stupendous universe, with all the various bodies contained therein--equally amazing, whether we consider their magnitude or number, whatever their use, whatever their order--_all_ have been produced, not by _intelligence_, but _chance_!"

"It is with difficulty that I can suppose otherwise," returned Aristodemus, "for I behold none of those gods, whom you speak of as _making_ and _governing_ all things, whereas I see the artists when at their work here among us."

"Neither yet seest thou thy soul, Aristodemus, which, however, most assuredly _governs_ thy body: although it may well seem, by thy manner of talking, that it is _chance_, and not _reason_, which governs thee."

"I do not despise the gods," said Aristodemus; "on the contrary, I conceive so highly of their excellence, as to suppose they stand in no need of either me or of my services."

"Thou mistakest the matter, Aristodemus; the greater magnificence they have shown in their care of _thee_, so much the more honor and service thou owest them."

"Be assured," said Aristodemus, "if I once could be persuaded the gods took care of man, I should want no monitor to remind me of my duty."

"And canst thou doubt, Aristodemus, if the gods take care of man? Hath not the glorious privilege of walking upright been _alone_ bestowed on him, whereby he may, with the better advantage, survey what is around him, contemplate, with more ease, those splendid objects which are above, and avoid the numerous ills and inconveniences which would otherwise befall him? Other animals, indeed, they have provided with feet, by which they may remove from one place to another; but to _man_ they have also given _hands_, with which he can form many things for his use, and make himself happier than creatures of any other kind. A tongue hath been bestowed on every other animal, but what animal, except man, hath the power of forming words with it, whereby to explain his thoughts, and make them intelligible to others? And to show that the gods have had regard to his very _pleasures_, they have not limited them, like those of other animals, to _times_ and seasons, but man is left to indulge in them whenever not hurtful to him.

"But it is not with respect to the body alone that the gods have shown themselves thus bountiful to man! Their most excellent gift is that _soul_ they have infused into him, which so far surpasses what is elsewhere to be found. For, by what animal, except man, is even the _existence_ of those gods discovered, who have _produced_, and still _uphold_, in such regular order, this beautiful and stupendous frame of the universe? What other species of creatures are to be found that can serve, that can adore them? What other animal is able, like man, to provide against the assaults of heat and cold, of thirst and hunger? That can lay up remedies for the time of sickness and improve the strength nature hath given by a well-proportioned exercise? That can receive, like him, information and instruction, or so happily keep in memory what he hath seen, and heard, and learnt? These things being so, who seeth not that man is, as it were, _a god_ in the midst of this visible creation; so far doth he surpass, whether in the endowments of soul or body, all animals whatsoever that have been produced therein! For, if the _body_ of the _ox_ had been joined to the _mind_ of _man_, the acuteness of the latter would have stood him in small stead, while unable to execute the well-designed plan; nor would the _human_ form have been of more use to the brute, so long as it remained destitute of understanding! But in thee, Aristodemus, hath been joined to a wonderful _soul_, a body no less wonderful, and sayest thou, after _this_, 'the gods take no thought for me!' What wouldst thou, then, more to convince thee of their care?"

"I would they should send, and inform me," said Aristodemus, "what things I _ought_ or _ought not_ to do in like manner as thou sayest they frequently do to thee."

"And what then, Aristodemus! Supposest thou, that when the gods give out some oracle to _all_ the Athenians, they mean it not for _thee_? If, by their prodigies, they declare aloud to all Greece--to _all_ mankind--the things which shall befall them, are they dumb to _thee_ alone? And art _thou_ the only person whom they have placed beyond their care? Believest thou they would have wrought into the mind of man a persuasion of their being _able_ to make him happy or miserable, if so be they had no such _power_? or would not even man himself, long ere this, have seen through the gross delusion? How is it, Aristodemus, thou rememberest, or remarkest not, that the kingdoms and commonwealths most renowned as well for their _wisdom_ as antiquity, are those whose piety and devotion hath been the most observable? And why thinkest thou that the providence of God may not easily extend itself throughout the whole universe? As, therefore, among men, we make best trial of the affection and gratitude of our neighbor, by showing him kindness, and discover his wisdom, by consulting him in our distress; do thou, in like manner, behave towards the gods, and, if thou wouldst experience what their wisdom, and what their love, render thyself deserving the communication of some of those divine secrets which may not be perpetrated by man, and are imparted to those alone who consult, who adore, who obey the Deity. Then shalt thou, my Aristodemus, understand there is a Being whose eye pierceth throughout all nature, and whose ear is open to every sound; _extended_ to all places; _extending_ through all time, and whose bounty and care can know no other bounds than those fixed by his own creation!"

By this discourse, and others of the like nature, Socrates taught his friends that they were not only to forbear whatever was impious, unjust, or unbecoming before _men;_ but even, when alone, they ought to have a regard to their actions; since the gods have their eyes continually upon us, and none of our designs can be concealed from them.

EURIPIDES.

Euripides flourished about 450 B.C.; was born 480 B.C. He spent his youth in the highest mental and physical training. He was a native of Athens, and enjoyed the most glorious days of her annals, being brought in direct connection with Æschylus and Sophocles, and in his older days was a pupil of Socrates.

In comparing Euripides and the other two masters in Grecian tragedy, it may be said that he ranks first in tragic representation and effect; Sophocles first in dramatic symmetry and ornament; Æschylus first in poetic vigor and grandeur. Æschylus was the most sublime; Sophocles the most beautiful; Euripides the most pathetic. The first displays the lofty intellect; the second exercises the cultivated taste; the third indulges the feeling heart. Each, as it were, shows a fine piece of sculpture. In Æschylus, it is a naked hero, with all the strength, boldness, and dignity of olden time. In Sophocles and Euripides, it may be perhaps the same hero; but with the former, he has put on the flowing robes, the elegant address, and the soft urbanity of a polished age; with the latter, he is yielding to some melancholy emotion, ever heedless of his posture or gait, and casting his unvalued drapery negligently about him. They have been compared by an illustration from another art: "The sublime and daring Æschylus resembles some strong and impregnable castle situated on a rock, whose martial grandeur awes the beholder--its battlements defended by heroes, and its gates proudly hung with trophies." Sophocles appears with splendid dignity, like some imperial palace of richest architecture; the symmetry of the parts and the chaste magnificence of the whole delight the eye and command the approbation of the judgment. The pathetic and moral Euripides has the solemnity of a Gothic temple, whose storied windows admit a dim religious light, enough to show its high embowed roof, and the monuments of the dead which rise in every part, impressing our minds with pity and terror as emblems of the uncertain and short duration of human greatness, and with an awful sense of our own mortality.

ARISTOPHANES.

Very little is known about the life of Aristophanes. He was born about 444 B.C., and devoted himself to comic poetry. He wrote fifty-four plays, of which eleven are extant.

The comedies of Aristophanes are universally regarded as the standard of Attic writing in its greatest purity. His genius was vast, versatile, and original, and his knowledge of human nature surpassed by Homer and Shakspeare alone.

The noble tone of morals, the elevated taste, the sound political wisdom, the boldness and acuteness of the satire, the grand object, which is seen throughout, of correcting the follies of the day, and improving the condition of his country--all these are features in Aristophanes, which, however disguised, as they intentionally are, by coarseness and buffoonery, entitle him to the highest respect from every reader of antiquity. He condescended, indeed, to play the part of jester to the Athenian tyrant. But his jests were the vehicles for telling to them the soundest truths. They were never without a far higher aim than to raise a momentary laugh. He was no farce writer, but a deep philosophical politician; grieved and ashamed at the condition of his country, and through the stage, the favorite amusement of Athenians, aiding to carry on the one great common work, which Plato proposed in his dialogues, and in which all the better and nobler spirits of the time seem to have concurred as by a confederacy--the reformation of an atrocious democracy. There is as much system in the comedies of Aristophanes as in the dialogues of Plato. Every part of a vitiated public mind is exposed in its turn. Its demagogues in the Knights, its courts of justice in the Wasps, its foreign policy in the Acharnians, its tyranny over the allies in the Birds, the state of female society in the Sysistrate and the Ecclesiazusæ, and its corrupt poetical taste in the Frogs. No one play is without its definite object; and the state of national education, as the greatest cause of all, is laid open in the Clouds. Whatever light is thrown, by that admirable play, upon the character of Socrates, and the position which he occupies in the Platonic Dialogues--a point, it may be remarked, on which the greatest mistakes are daily made--it is chiefly valuable as exhibiting, in a short but very complete analysis, and by a number of fine Rembrandt-like strokes, not any of which must be overlooked, all the features of that frightful school of sophistry, which at that time was engaged systematically in corrupting the Athenian youth, and against which the whole battery of Plato was pointedly directed.

PLATO.

Plato was born in the year 429 B.C., and died when he was eighty-two years old, on his birthday. He was a pupil of Socrates, the first and purest of moral philosophers. By the rare union of a brilliant imagination with a fondness for severe mathematical studies and profound metaphysical investigations; by extensive foreign travel; by familiar intercourse with the most enlightened men of his time, particularly Socrates, whose instructive conversations he attended for eight years, as well as by the correspondence which he maintained with the Pythagoreans of Magna Græcia, this great philosopher came to surpass all others in the vastness and profoundness of his views, and in the correctness and eloquence with which he expressed them; while his pure moral character entitled him to take his place by the side of Socrates. Socrates once said, "For what higher reward could a teacher ask than to have such pupils as Xenophon and Plato?"

The object of Plato was evidently the noble one of placing before man a high intellectual, and consequently, by implication, a high moral standard as the end and object of his aspirations; to encourage his efforts after the true, the pure, the beautiful, and the virtuous, knowing that the character would be purified in the endeavor, and that the consciousness of the progress made, step by step, would be of itself a reward. The object of science was, as he taught, the true, the eternal, the immutable, that which is; in one alone could these attributes be found united--that is God. Man's duty, then, according to the Platonic system is to know God and His attributes, and to aim at being under the practical influence of this knowledge. This the Christian is taught, but much more simply and plainly, to know God, and Jesus Christ whom He hath sent, and to propose to himself a perfect standard, to be perfect even as his Father in heaven is perfect, and to look forward, by that help which Plato had no warrant to look for, to attain the perfect measure of the fulness of Christ. Although Plato believed and taught that man ought to strive after and devote himself to the contemplation of the One, the Eternal, the Infinite, he was humbly conscious that no one could attain to the perfection of such knowledge; that it is too wonderful and excellent for human powers. Man's incapacity for apprehending this knowledge he attributed to the soul, during his present state of existence, being cramped and confined by its earthly tabernacle.

Plato defined virtue to be the imitation of God, or the free effort of man to attain to a resemblance to his original, or, in other terms, a unison and harmony of all our principles and actions according to reason, whence results the highest degree of happiness. Evil is opposed to this harmony as a disease of the soul. Virtue is _one_, indeed, but compounded of four elements--_wisdom_, _courage_, _temperance_, and _justice_. In his practical philosophy he blended a rigid principle of moral obligation with a spirit of gentleness and humanity; and education he described as a liberal cultivation and moral discipline of the mind. Politics he defined to be the application, on a great scale, of the laws of morality; for a society, being composed of individuals, is under similar moral obligations, and the end of politics to be liberty and concord. Beauty he considered to be the sensible representation of moral and physical perfection; consequently it is one with truth and goodness, and inspires love, which leads to virtue.

Would that many so-called Christian legislators and Christian people would go to this "heathen" philosopher and learn of him--learn that to do right is always and ever the highest safety, the highest expediency, the highest "conservatism," the highest good!

How beautifully Akenside expresses this:--

"Thus was beauty sent from heaven,
The lovely ministress of truth and good,
In this dark world: for TRUTH AND GOOD ARE ONE,
AND BEAUTY DWELLS IN THEM, AND THEY IN HER,
WITH LIKE PARTICIPATION. Wherefore, then,
O sons of earth! would ye dissolve the tie?
O wherefore, with a rash, impetuous aim,
Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand
Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene
Where beauty _seems_ to dwell, nor once inquire
Where is the sanction of eternal truth,
Or where the seal of undeceitful good,
To save your search from folly! wanting these,
Lo! beauty withers in your void embrace,
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
Did fancy mock your vows."

THE PERFECT BEAUTY.

(_By Plato._)

"He who aspires to love rightly, ought from his earliest youth to seek an intercourse with beautiful forms, and first to make a single form the object of his love, and therein to generate intellectual excellencies. He ought, then, to consider that beauty in whatever form it resides is the brother of that beauty which subsists in another form; and if he ought to pursue that which is beautiful in form, it would be absurd to imagine that beauty is not one and the same thing in all forms, and would therefore remit much of his ardent preference towards one, through his perception of the multitude of claims upon his love. In addition, he would consider the beauty which is in souls more excellent than that which is in form. So that one endowed with an admirable soul, even though the flower of the form were withered, would suffice him as the object of his love and care, and the companion with whom he might seek and produce such conclusions as tend to the improvement of youth; so that it might be led to observe the beauty and the conformity which there is in the observation of its duties and the laws, and to esteem little the mere beauty of the outward form. He would then conduct his pupil to science, so that he might look upon the loveliness of wisdom; and that contemplating thus the universal beauty, no longer would he unworthily and meanly enslave himself to the attractions of one form in love, nor one subject of discipline or science, but would turn towards the wide ocean of intellectual beauty, and from the sight of the lovely and majestic forms which it contains, would abundantly bring forth his conceptions in philosophy; until, strengthened and confirmed, he should at length steadily contemplate one science which is the science of this universal beauty.

"Attempt, I entreat you, to mark what I say with as keen an observation as you can. He who has been disciplined to this point in love, by contemplating beautiful objects gradually, and in their order, now arriving at the end of all that concerns love, on a sudden beholds a beauty wonderful in its nature. This is it, O Socrates, for the sake of which all the former labors were endured. It is eternal, unproduced, indestructible; neither subject to increase nor decay; not, like other things, partly beautiful and partly deformed; not at one time beautiful and at another time not; not beautiful in relation to one thing and deformed in relation to another; not here beautiful and there deformed; not beautiful in the estimation of one person and deformed in that of another; nor can this supreme beauty be figured to the imagination like a beautiful face, or beautiful hands, or any portion of the body, nor like any discourse, nor any science. Nor does it subsist in any other that lives or is, either in earth, or in heaven, or in any other place; but it is eternally uniform and consistent, and monoeidic with itself. All other things are beautiful through a participation of it, with this condition, that although they are subject to production and decay, it never becomes more or less, or endures any change. When any one, ascending from a correct system of love, begins to contemplate this supreme beauty, he already touches the consummation of his labor. For such as discipline themselves upon this system, or are conducted by another beginning to ascend through these transitory objects which are beautiful, towards that which is beauty itself, proceeding as on steps from the love of one form to that of two, and from that of two, to that of all forms which are beautiful; and from beautiful forms to beautiful habits and institutions, and from institutions to beautiful doctrines; until, from the meditation of many doctrines, they arrive at that which is nothing else than the doctrine of the supreme beauty itself, in the knowledge and contemplation of which at length they repose.

"Such a life as this, my dear Socrates," exclaimed the stranger Prophetess, "spent in the contemplation of the beautiful, is the life for men to live; which, if you chance ever to experience, you will esteem far beyond gold and rich garments, and even those lovely persons whom you and many others now gaze on with astonishment, and are prepared neither to eat nor drink so that you may behold and live forever with these objects of your love! What, then, shall we imagine to be the aspect of the supreme beauty itself, simple, pure, uncontaminated with the intermixture of human flesh and colors, and all other idle and unreal shapes attendant on mortality; the divine, the original, the supreme, the monoeidic beautiful itself? What must be the life of him who dwells with and gazes on that which it becomes us all to seek? Think you not that to him alone is accorded the prerogative of bringing forth, not images and shadows of virtue, for he is in contact not with a shadow but with reality; with virtue itself, in the production and nourishment of which he becomes dear to the gods, and if such a privilege is conceded to any human being, himself immortal?"--_From the Banquet, translated by the poet Shelley._

THE LAST HOURS OF SOCRATES.

(_By Plato._)

"When the dead arrive at the place to which their demon leads them severally, first of all they are judged, as well those who have lived well and piously, as those who have not. And those who appear to have passed a middle kind of life, proceeding to Acheron, and embarking in the vessels they have, on these arrive at the lake, and there dwell, and when they are purified, and have suffered punishment for the iniquities they may have committed, they are set free, and each receives the reward of his good deeds, according to his deserts; but those who appear to be incurable, through the magnitude of their offences, either from having committed many and great sacrileges, or many unjust and lawless murders, or other similar crimes, these a suitable destiny hurls into Tartarus, whence they never come forth. But those who appear to have been guilty of curable, yet great offences, such as those who through anger have committed any violence against father or mother, and have lived the remainder of their life in a state of penitence, or they who have become homicides in a similar manner, these must fall into Tartarus, but after they have fallen, and have been there for a year, the wave casts them forth, the homicides into Cocytus, but the parricides and matricides into Pyriphlegethon; but when, being borne along, they arrive at the Acherusian lake, there they cry out to and invoke, some those whom they slew, others those whom they injured, and invoking them, they entreat and implore them to suffer them to go out into the lake, and to receive them, and if they persuade them, they go out, and are freed from their sufferings, but if not, they are borne back to Tartarus, and thence again into the rivers, and they do not cease from suffering this until they have persuaded those whom they have injured; for this sentence was imposed upon them by the judges. But those who are found to have lived an eminently holy life, these are they, who, being freed and set at large from these regions in the earth, as from prison, arrive at the pure abode above, and dwell on the upper parts of the earth. And among these, they who have sufficiently purified themselves by philosophy shall live without bodies, throughout all future time, and shall arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these, which it is neither easy to describe, nor at present is there sufficient time for the purpose.

"But for the sake of these things which we have described, we should use every endeavor, Simmias, so as to acquire virtue and wisdom in this life; for the reward is noble, and the hope great.

"To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly as I have described them, does not become a man of sense; that however either this, or something of the kind, takes place with respect to our souls and their habitations--since our soul is certainly immortal--this appears to me most fitting to be believed, and worthy the hazard for one who trusts in its reality; for the hazard is noble, and it is right to allure ourselves with such things, as with enchantments; for which reason I have prolonged my story to such a length. On account of these things, then, a man ought to be confident about his soul, who during this life has disregarded all the pleasures and ornaments of the body as foreign from his nature, and who, having thought that they do more harm than good, has zealously applied himself to the acquirement of knowledge, and who having adorned his soul not with a foreign but its own proper ornament, temperance, justice, fortitude, freedom, and truth, thus waits for his passage to Hades, as one who is ready to depart whenever destiny shall summon him. You then," he continued, "Simmias and Cebes, and the rest, will each of you depart at some future time; but now destiny summons me, as a tragic writer would say, and it is nearly time for me to betake myself to the bath; for it appears to me to be better to drink the poison after I have bathed myself, and not to trouble the women with washing my dead body."

When he had thus spoken, Crito said, "So be it, Socrates; but what commands have you to give to these or to me, either respecting your children, or any other matter, in attending to which we can most oblige you?"

"What I always say, Crito," he replied, "nothing new; that by taking care of yourselves you will oblige both me and mine and yourselves, whatever you do, though you should not now promise it; but if you neglect yourselves, and will not live as it were in the footprints of what has been now and formerly said, even though you should promise much at present, and that earnestly, you will do no good at all."

"We will endeavor then so to do," he said; "but how shall we bury you?"

"Just as you please," he said, "if only you can catch me, and I do not escape from you." And at the same time smiling gently, and looking round on us, he said, "I can not persuade Crito, my friends, that I am that Socrates who is now conversing with you, and who methodizes each part of the discourse; but he thinks that I am he whom he will shortly behold dead, and asks how he should bury me. But that which I some time since argued at length, that when I have drunk the poison I shall no longer remain with you, but shall depart to some happy state of the blessed, this I seem to have urged to him in vain, though I meant at the same time to console both you and myself. Be ye, then, my sureties to Crito," he said, "in an obligation contrary to that which he made to the judges; for he undertook that I should remain; but do you be sureties that, when I die, I shall not remain, but shall depart, that Crito may more easily bear it, and when he sees my body either burned or buried, may not be afflicted for me, as if I suffered some dreadful thing, nor say at my interment that Socrates is laid out, or is carried out, or is buried. For be well assured," he said, "most excellent Crito, that to speak improperly is not only culpable as to the thing itself, but likewise occasions some injury to our souls. You must have a good courage, then, and say that you bury my body, and bury it in such a manner as is pleasing to you, and as you think is most agreeable to our laws."

When he had said this, he rose, and went into a chamber to bathe, and Crito followed him, but he directed us to wait for him. We waited, therefore, conversing among ourselves about what had been said, and considering it again, and sometimes speaking about our calamity, how severe it would be to us, sincerely thinking that, like those who are deprived of a father, we should pass the rest of our lives as orphans. When he had bathed, and his children were brought to him, for he had two little sons and one grown up, and the women belonging to his family were come, having conversed with them in the presence of Crito, and giving them such injunctions as he wished, he directed the women and children to go away, and then returned to us. And it was now near sunset; for he spent a considerable time within. But when he came from bathing he sat down, and did not speak much afterwards. Then the officer of the Eleven came in, and, standing near him, said, "Socrates, I shall not have to find that fault with you that I do with others, that they are angry with me, and curse me, when, by order of the archons, I bid them drink the poison. But you, on all other occasions during the time you have been here, I have found to be the most noble, meek, and excellent man of all that ever came into this place; and, therefore, I am now well convinced that you will not be angry with me, for you know who are to blame, but with them. Now, then, for you know what I came to announce to you, farewell, and endeavor to bear what is inevitable as easily as possible." And at the same time, bursting into tears he turned away and withdrew.

And Socrates, looking after him, said, "And thou, too, farewell; we will do as you direct." At the same time turning to us, he said, "How courteous this man is; during the whole time I have been here he has visited me, and conversed with me sometimes, and proved the worthiest of men; and now how generously he weeps for me. But come, Crito, let us obey him, and let some one bring the poison, if it is ready pounded, but if not, let the man pound it."

Then Crito said, "But I think, Socrates, that the sun is still on the mountains, and has not yet set. Besides, I know that others have drank the poison very late, after it had been announced to them, and have supped and drank freely. Do not hasten, then, for there is yet time."

Upon this Socrates replied, "These men whom you mention, Crito, do these things with good reason, for they think they shall gain by so doing, and I, too, with good reason shall not do so; for I think I shall gain nothing by drinking a little later, except to become ridiculous to myself, in being so fond of life, and sparing of it when none any longer remains. Go, then," he said, "obey, and do not resist."

Crito having heard this, nodded to the boy that stood near. And the boy having gone out, and stayed for some time, came, bringing with him the man that was to administer the poison, who brought it ready pounded in a cup. And Socrates, on seeing the man, said, "Well, my good friend, as you are skilled in these matters, what must I do?"

"Nothing else," he replied, "than, when you have drank it, walk about until there is a heaviness in your legs, then lie down: thus it will do its purpose." And at the same time he held out the cup to Socrates. And he having received it very cheerfully, neither trembling, nor changing at all in color or countenance, but, as he was wont, looking steadfastly at the man, said, "What say you of this potion, with respect to making a libation to any one, is it lawful or not?"

"We only pound so much, Socrates," he said, "as we think sufficient to drink."

"I understand you," he said, "but it is certainly both lawful and right to pray to the gods that my departure hence thither may be happy; which therefore I pray, and so may it be." And as he said this he drank it off readily and calmly. Thus far, most of us were with difficulty able to restrain ourselves from weeping; but when we saw him drinking, and having finished the draught, we could do so no longer; but in spite of myself the tears came in full torrent, so that, covering my face, I wept for myself, for I did not weep for him, but for my own fortune, in being deprived of such a friend. But Crito, even before me, when he could not restrain his tears, had risen up. But Apollodorus even before this had not ceased weeping, and then bursting into an agony of grief, weeping and lamenting, he pierced the heart of every one present, except Socrates himself. But he said, "What are you doing, my admirable friends? I indeed for this reason chiefly, sent away the women, that they might not commit any folly of this kind. For I have heard that it is right to die with good omens. Be quiet, therefore, and bear up."

When we heard this we were ashamed, and restrained our tears. But he, having walked about, when he said that his legs were growing heavy, laid down on his back; for the man so directed him. And at the same time he who gave him the poison, taking hold of him, after a short interval examined his feet and legs; and then having pressed his foot hard, he asked if he felt it; he said that he did not. And after this he pressed his thighs; and thus going higher, he showed us that he was growing cold and stiff. Then Socrates touched himself, and said that when the poison reached his heart he should then depart. But now the parts around the lower belly were almost cold; when, uncovering himself, for he had been covered over, he said, and they were his last words, "Crito, we owe a cock to Æsculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not neglect it."

"It shall be done," said Crito, "but consider whether you have any thing else to say."

To this question he gave no reply, but shortly after he gave a convulsive movement, and the man covered him, and his eyes were fixed, and Crito, perceiving it, closed his mouth and eyes.

This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend, a man, as we may say, the best of all of his time that we have known, and, moreover, the most wise and just.

DEMOSTHENES.

Demosthenes was born 382 B.C. and died 322 B.C., at the age of sixty. His father died when he was but seven years old and left his son a large estate, which was squandered by his guardians.

Demosthenes, most happily, was forced to depend upon the resources of his own intellect, and determined to devote his life to oratory. He chose Isæus for his master, and though having a weakly constitution, and an impediment in his speech, yet by steady, persevering effort, and daily practice, he brought himself to address without embarrassment, and with complete success, the assembled multitudes of the Athenian people. His first attempts at oratory were made to vindicate his own claims, and recover the property which his guardians had appropriated to themselves. In this he proved entirely successful. After this, he displayed his ability as an orator on several public occasions, and succeeded by the power of his eloquence in preventing the Athenians from engaging in a war with Persia.

But most of the oratorical efforts of Demosthenes were directed to rouse the Athenians from indolence, and to arm them against the insidious designs and ambitious schemes of Philip, who, in the year 358 B.C., began the attack upon the northern maritime allies of Athens.