guised and extreme, his feelings being nearly akin to those of the victim who went "dressed" to the Opera, in about a dozen truly “fast” colors, and was excluded on the pretext that he was not in full dress! "Why what," cried he, pointing with an air that should have carried conviction to the very heart of the obdurate door-keeper, to his blue velvet waistcoat and plaid unconceivables, “Why what on earth dy'e call this!” What an appetite the trio had, on arrival at the hotel, at four o'clock: considering the time that had elapsed since their second breakfast at half-past ten, and the adventures through which they had passed in the course of the day, we may agree that they well deserved the neat little repast which soon made its appearance. Rosa had "done her hair," which fell in curls round her smiling face, and if she looked charming in a bounet, and toiling along the dusty road, she was doubly so in her present freedom, joking Buggins about his elaborate display in the carving of the chicken, uttering exclamations of alarm at the appearance of Widget's hand above the table-cloth, for strange to relate, it bore for the first time on the little finger a ring, containing an enormous red stone, of some unknown geological formation,-a phenomenon which might well cause astonishment, but all sublunary pleasures have an ending, dinner did not last long, and our indefatigable friends invigorated by the rest and refreshment, actually sallied forth for new investigations of the unknown region that lay around; but as may be imagined, after a short stroll on the promenade, and a late cup of coffee, were glad to retire to rest and meet fresh adventures in the land of dreams. The morning came, the pure fresh bright daylight breaking over the blue and foaming sea, with all the new odours, sights and sounds of a fresh place. It was very early, no one was stirring on the esplanade or near it. There were boats rocking on the waves, seagulls screaming and leaping over their crested summits, light clouds on the horizon, a warm joyous sunshine overhead. Tossing about in the offing was a small tug-steamer, which had arrived and anchored during the night,—all was quiet on board, and only one thin track of smoke came lazily from the funnel. It suggested all sorts of thoughts about outward bound merchantmen or emigrant vessels, "a wet sheet and a flowing sea," yarns of long voyages, the southern cross and the Aurora Borealis. Rosa was nearly dressed, and opened her casement to drink in the fresh air, the pure sea breezes, and to watch the wild waves. And now for one of Rosa's faults, an unlucky habit, gentle reader, of intensifying her pleasures and her thoughts in rhyme, especially when, as at present, unobserved and alone. Impulsive as she was, we must make all the allowance that we can for such conduct, the quiet early hour, the new scenery and fresh emotions shall bear the blame. What stanza should she choose,-oh something wild, irregular, and joyous, as she herself was then. It was a picture to see her, as she dashed her thoughts upon the scrap of paper, the charming Rosa in her light dress sitting at the casement, her hair lifted by the wind, health and happiness in every feature, no trace of the "blue-stocking," no seeking for effect, her words came rapidly forth as the natural expression of her feelings, and this must excuse the wild rhymes and the irregular cadence, nay the very form of verse, which we do believe was never before seen in this world,—whether it is used amongst the Houris in Mahomet's paradise or not, we are of course unable to decide, but we may safely say that our dear Rosa might set the Houris a good precedent. ROSA'S MORNING THOUGHTS. Arise! arise! The sun's glad beams in streams are waking The morning flies, See, in the breeze, the trees are shaking The merry time that's past away there's no o'ertaking! To live! to live! To feel the wealth of health and spirits gay What would we give To purchase this, a bliss that far away Fled from our troubled couch when sick thereon we lay. 'Tis joy! 'tis joy! Where loudly sings on wings so strong and free Without annoy Th' uprising lark, embarking on that sea The waves! the waves! A noble sight, what light, what shadows play With sounding surge the verge half clad in spray Of that tremendous cliff whose summit clouds obey! Rosa's hand paused, she had drank in the sweetness and the beauty of nature, and the thoughtful amongst us will well understand the transition that followed, with such a mind, as almost a natural consequence. And Thou! and Thou! Who rulest all, this ball we know, to Thee Both sun and star, afar beyond degree That night and day By turns proclaim in flame and gemmed expanse With broad display And many a voice that joys in utterance That Thou art King! and not a blind and futile chance! As Rosa finished the last line, she saw Widget walking on the sands in great state, looking towards the hotel with considerable anxiety. At first she felt inclined to rise and wave her handkerchief to him, but a short conflict ensued between the wish to finish her stanzas and the desire to leave them and go out. She penned one more verse, in the endeavour to bring them to a close. Thou speakest forth In cloud and storm, or form of thousand hues In mountains earthquake rent, or gentlest dews, And we! and we! There was poor Rosa could not help glancing forth again. Widget, getting melancholy, his arms tragically folded—now looking on the ground, and then at the hotel-evidently suffering alĮ the torments of hope deferred. Oh, what a selfish egotistical girl I am, thought Rosa, what does it matter whether I finish my stupid verses or not. If Whibby is anxious to see me, poor fellow, why should I not go at once, his holidays are but few, and it is seldom we are out together. Besides one should never lose even the smallest opportunity of giving another pleasure, or one may be reduced to believe in that unhappy aphorism of La Bruyere. “Il faut rire avant d'etre heureux, de peur de mourir sans avoir ri!” So putting on her bonnet she lightly tripped down stairs, and into another chapter of accidents altogether, leaving, as we shall do, those who wish it to make wearisome jokes about side saddles on Pegasus, and early morning ascents to Parnassus, and blooming young Auroras stealing fire from the altar of the muses! ARE THEY DEAD? THEY sleep-they are not dead-they do but dream They find in slumbers respite from the strife, That girt them round. Still the Lethean stream Shall bear them forward to the latter day, Like helmless freightless barks, that play awhile Of the last trump shall sound, and the dread king Shall come in judgment throned, and robed with awe, Their Lethe-dreams and Death-sleep be no more. WM. TIDD Matson, SOCRATES. PART I. Ir has been said that the history of a people is the history of its great men. And certainly if this be true of any people it is of the Greeks, and more especially so of the Athenians. Democracy of the freest kind was their government; and the people, the Demos, were the final arbiters of all questions and laws. Before them, in public assembly, all the subjects on which the fate of the nation rested, were discussed; by them war was declared, or peace decided upon. Freely were the advocates of different lines of policy allowed to display their rhetoric in favour of their own, and in depreciation of their opponent's motions;-to use a modern parliamentary phrase. Here, then, were opportunities afforded for great men to impress the public mind and character with their thoughts and feelings and influence, until, in a greater or less degree, it became a reflection of their own. And such we find to be in a great measure the fact. Though never so bad as their worst, nor so good as their best leaders, the Athenians were bad or good in their habits and manners, and beneficent or otherwise in their rule and influence, according as they were led by wise and good, or rash and evil advisers. In confirmation of this we have only to compare the Athens of the days of Pericles with that of Alcibiades; Athens of the Persian invasion under Xerxes, with Athens after the losses of the Syracusan expedition and the battle of Ægospotami. In the one case they were the glorious followers of a wise and far-seeing statesman, aided by such a general as Themistocles, and such a councillor as Aristeides; in the other they were deluded by the boasting selfishness of the unprincipled Alcibiades, and ruined by the incompetence of the anti-democratic and apathetic Nikias. But to form a nation's opinions, customs, habits and character we need more than statesmen and generals. Poets, philosophers, teachers and writers are required, and go to make up the sum of the influences by which a people's characteristics are formed. Just as we English of to-day are joint produce of what Alfred, William the Conqueror, Chaucer, Shakspere, Milton, Cromwell, Nelson, Wellington, and all our great men have done for us, so the Athenian character was the result of the labours of Solon, of Pericles, and the others already named, together with the still larger list not specified here. Of those men however, whose lives change a people's history none had such influence as Socrates; none enjoyed such a long, uninterrupted life in which to make that influ ence felt, and none ever left such a number of gifted disciples to perpetuate that influence after his death. We purpose, therefore, to devote the present paper to him, his life, his teachings, his death, his character, and the memorable events of his last hours, so pathetically and beautifully told us by his most ardent, and most richly endowed disciple, Plato. Socrates was born in the year 468 B. C., in a small burgh in Attica. His father was a sculptor of great skill, some of his works being preserved in the Acropolis down to the time of Pausanius. His name was Sophroniscus. His mother Phonarite, was a midwife; a circumstance to which Socrates often alludes in his after years, likening his own method of delivering people of their wisdom to his mother's calling, and jestingly saying that he inherited it from her. It is not known when he came first to Athens, but it is generally supposed to have been about the commencement of the Peloponesian war, when Pericles was still the soul of Athens, and when the philosopher Anaxagoras was teaching. Socrates became a pupil of the latter; and though he early forsook the study of physics for that of dialectics, we see by his after course that these early acquisitions never were forgotten. However he very early saw that little was to be acquired, and no good purpose served by these cosmical speculations, and warned by the inner voice, (of which more anon,) he began to discuss the questions which more immediately affected man, and upon the right understanding of which his happiness or his misery-or, what is more to the purpose-his ability to lead a wise and virtuous life depends. He felt, like the Roman philosopher, that he was a man, and that therefore nothing human was foreign to him. Anticipating Pope he saw that the "proper study for mankind was man,” (Αὐτὸς δὲ περὶ τῶν ἀνθρωπείων ἀεὶ διελέγετο,*) and to this he devoted himself ever after. That he continued long enough however, as a pupil of others before he began to develope his own wondrous novelties is clear from Plato's dialogue Parmenides. Much of his negative mode of dialectics may be traced to the influence of the "double-tongued Zeno." (άμpoтερоyλоσσOU (ἀμφοτερογλοσσου Ζηνπνος.) That Socrates was endowed with physical and moral courage in the highest degree might have been predicated from his general character, even if we had not undoubted historic testimony confirming it. He was completely master of his person. Disregarding all changes of climate, with his one garment daring alike heat and cold, and this to a degree which astonished the most hardy of Xenoph. Mem. i. 1. 16. |