out this proceeding opposed me, either in what I did or said. What then do I suppose to be the cause of this? I will tell you: what has befallen me appears to be a blessing; and it is impossible that we think rightly who suppose that death is an evil. A great proof of this to me is the fact that it is impossible but that the accustomed signal should have opposed me, unless I had been about to meet with some good,

32. Moreover we may hence conclude that there is great hope that death is a blessing. For to die is one of two things: for either the dead may be annihilated and have no sensation of any thing whatever; or, as it is said, there is a certain change and passage of the soul from one place to another. And if it is a privation of all sensation, as it were a sleep in which the sleeper has no dream, death would be a wonderful gain. For I think that if any one, having selected a night, in which he slept so soundly as not to have had a dream, and having compared this night with all the other nights and days of his life, should be required on consideration to say how many days and nights he had passed better and more pleasantly than this night throughout his life, I think that not only a private person, but even the great king himself would find them easy to number in comparison with other days and nights. If, therefore, death is a thing of this kind, I say it is a gain; for thus all futurity appears to be nothing more than one night. But if, on the other hand, death is a removal from hence to another place, and what is said be true, that all the dead are there, what greater blessing can there be than this, my judges?*For if, on arriving at Hades, released from these who pretend to be judges, one shall find those who are true judges, and who are said to judge there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, Æacus and Triptolemus, and such others of the demigods as were just during their own life, would this be a sad removal? At what price would you not estimate a conference with Orpheus and Musæus, Hesiod and Homer? I indeed should be willing to die often, if this be true. For to me the sojourn there would be admirable, when I should meet with Palamedes, and Ajax son of Telamon, and any other of the ancients who has died by an unjust sentence. The comparing my sufferings with theirs would, I think, be no unpleasing occupation. But the greatest pleasure would be to spend my time in questioning and examining the people there

as I have done those here, and discovering who among them is wise, and who fancies himself to be so but is not. At what price, my judges, would not any one estimate the opportunity of questioning him who led that mighty army against Troy, or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten thousand others, whom one might mention, both men and women? with whom to converse and associate, and to question them, would be an inconceivable happiness. Surely for that the judges there do not condemn to death; for in other respects those who live there are more happy than those that are here, and are henceforth immortal, if at least what is said be true.

33. You, therefore, O my judges, ought to entertain good hopes with respect to death, and to meditate on this one truth, that to a good man nothing is evil, neither while living nor when dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. And what has befallen me is not the effect of chance; but this is clear to me, that now to die, and be freed from my cares, is better for me. On this account the warning in no way turned me aside; and I bear no resentment towards those who condemned me, or against my accusers, although they did not condemn and accuse me with this intention, but thinking to injure me: in this they deserve to be blamed.

Thus much however I beg of them. Punish my sons, when they grow up, O judges, paining them as I have pained you, if they appear to you to care for riches or any thing else before virtue, and if they think themselves to be something when they are nothing, reproach them as I have done you, for not attending to what they ought, and for conceiving themselves to be something when they are worth nothing. If ye do this, both I and my sons shall have met with just treatment at your hands.

But it is now time to depart,-for me to die, for you to live. But which of us is going to a better state is unknown to every one but God.

INTRODUCTION TO THE CRITO.

IT has been remarked by Stallbaum that Plato had a twofold design in this Dialogue; one, and that the primary one, to free Socrates from the imputation of having attempted to corrupt the Athenian youth; the other, to establish the principle that under all circumstances it is the duty of a good citizen to obey the laws of his country. These two points, however, are so closely interwoven with each other, that the general principle appears only to be illustrated by the example of Socrates.

He

Crito was one of those friends of Socrates who had been present at his trial and had offered to assist in paying a fine, had a fine been imposed instead of the sentence of death. appears to have frequently visited his friend in prison after his condemnation, and now, having obtained access to his cell very early in the morning, finds him composed in a quiet sleep. He brings intelligence that the ship, the arrival of which would be the signal for his death on the following day, is expected to arrive forthwith, and takes occasion to entreat Socrates to make his escape, the means of which were already prepared. Socrates thereupon, having promised to follow the advice of Crito, if after the matter had been fully discussed it should appear to be right to do so, proposes to consider the duty of a citizen towards his country, and having established the divine principle, that it is wrong to return evil for evil, goes on to shew that the obligations of a citizen to his country are even more binding than those of a child to its parent or a slave to his master, and that therefore it is his duty to obey the established laws, at whatever cost to himself.

At length Crito admits that he has no answer to make, and Socrates resolves to submit himself to the will of Providence.

CRITO;

OR

THE DUTY OF A CITIZEN.

SOCRATES, CRITO.

Socr. WHY have you come at this hour, Crito?

very early?

Cri. It is.

Socr. About what time?

Cri. Scarce day-break.

Is it not

Socr. I wonder how the keeper of the prison came to admit

you.

Cri. He is familiar with me, Socrates, from my having frequently come hither; and he is under some obligations to me. Socr. Have you just now come, or some time since?

Cri. A considerable time since.

Socr. Why then did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting down by me in silence?

Cri. By Jupiter, Socrates, I should not myself like to be so long awake and in such affliction. But I have been for some time wondering at you, perceiving how sweetly you slept; and I purposely did not awake you, that you might pass your time as pleasantly as possible. And indeed I have often before throughout your whole life considered you happy in your disposition, but far more so in the present calamity, seeing how easily and meekly you bear it.

Socr. However, Crito, it would be disconsonant for a man at my time of life to repine because he must needs die.

Cri. But others, Socrates, at your age have been involved in similar calamities, yet their age has not hindered their repining at their present fortune.

Socr. So it is. But why did you come so early?

Cri. Bringing sad tidings, Socrates; not sad to you, as it appears, but to me and all your friends sad and heavy; and which I, I think, shall bear worst of all.

Socr. What tidings? Has the shipa arrived from Delos, on the arrival of which I must die?

Cri. It has not yet arrived; but it appears to me that it will come to-day, from what certain persons report who have come from Sunium, and left it there. It is clear, therefore, from these messengers, that it will come to-day, and consequently it will be necessary, Socrates, for you to die to-morrow.

2. Socr. But with good fortune, Crito: and if so it please the gods, so be it. I do not think, however, that it will come to-day.

you

form this conjecture?

Cri. Whence do Socr. I will tell you. I must die on the day after that on which the ship arrives.

Cri. So they say who have the control of these things.

Socr. I do not think, then, that it will come to-day, but tomorrow. I conjecture this from a dream which I had this very night, not long ago; and you seem very opportunely to have refrained from waking me.

Cri. But what was this dream?

Socr. A beautiful and majestic woman, clad in white garments, seemed to approach me, and to call to me and say, Socrates, three days hence you will reach fertile Phthiad." Cri. What a strange dream, Socrates!

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Socr. Very clear, however, as it appears to me, Crito.

3. Cri. Very much so, as it seems. But, my dear Socrates, even now be persuaded by me, and save yourself. For, if you die, not only a single calamity will befal me, but besides being deprived of such a friend as I shall never meet with again, I shall also appear to many who do not know you and me well, when I might have saved you, had I been willing to spend my money, to have neglected to do so. And what character can be more disgraceful than this to appear to value one's riches more than one's friends? For the generality of men will not be persuaded that you were unwilling to depart hence, when we urged you to it.

Socr. But why, my dear Crito, should we care so much for the opinion of the many? For the most worthy men, whom

a See the Phædo, s. 1.

b A promontory at the southern extremity of Attica.

The Eleven.

d See Homer's Iliad, l. ix. v. 363.