into the state (had it remained undiscovered) an inauspicious issue, which had not been ushered in by the established religious prayers and observances, Should any young man discover signal proofs of merit, a more abundant range of sexual intercourse is to be conferred upon him, partly as a reward, partly ἵνα καὶ ἅμα μετὰ προφάσεως ὡς πλεῖστοι τῶν παίδων ἐκ τῶν τοιέτων σπειρῶνται. (p. 178.)

The issue of the superior pairs, who have been coupled under the express direction of the magistrate, are to be taken from their mothers as soon as born, and brought up by the public and authorized nurses. The mother is to suckle it for a short time; but the greatest pains are to be taken that no father or mother may know their own child, nor any child his own father or mother. (p. 175.) A man is to call every child born in the tenth or seventh month after his marriage by the title of son or daughter; all persons born at the same time with himself, by the name of brother and sister. (p. 180.)

The issue of the inferior pairs are to be taken by the public nurses, and concealed in some obscure and unknown spot.* It is probably meant that they are to be destroyed, as no subsequent mention is made of them. The same fate also awaits the offspring of the superior pairs, if they should turn out deformed, (dvdπnрov.) Men and women who have passed beyond the regulated period of breeding, are no longer restricted by the magistrate in their intercourse, (except mothers and fathers with daughters and sons, known and defined as I have stated above.) But these women are to take especial care either to bring no offspring into the world, or, if any should be born, to expose it; inasmuch as it cannot be received into the community.†

Such are the remarkable regulations by which Plato altogether extinguishes the ties of kindred, and merges them in the corporate and patriotic affections. His object is to introduce an entire community of pleasure and pain among the governing class, and to prevent the objects of their love and hatred from becoming at all separated and individualized. Property and kindred are the two grand circumstances which narrow and isolate the feelings and wishes of a man.‡

Another benefit which Plato remarks as emanating from this extinction of individual interest, is the removal of almost all the cause for litigation, except personal injuries. And with regard to these latter, he seems to think it advisable that every one should rely upon his own strength for his own protection, in order to render perfection in the gymnastic exercises still more indispensably requisite. (p. 185.)

Some regulations next follow respecting the conduct of these military guardians in a war. The male and female guardians are both to take part in warlike expeditions. They are also to take the children with

Ἐν ἀπορρήτῳ τε καὶ ἀδήλῳ κατακρύψεσιν, ὡς πρέπει. ρ. 179.

† Μάλισα μὲν μήδ' εἰς φῶς ἐκφέρειν κύημα μηδὲν, ἐὰν γένηται ̓ ἐὰν δέ τι βιάσηται, ἔτω ἐκτιθέναι ὡς ἐκ ἔσης τροφῆς τῷ τοιύτῳ. p. 180.

· Δρ ̓ ὧν ἐ τά τε πρόσθεν εἰρημένα (the absence of private property) καὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ἔτι μᾶλλον, ἀπεργάζεται αὐτὸς ἀληθινὸς φύλακας, καὶ ποιεῖ μὴ διασπᾷν τὴν πόλιν, τὸ ἐμὸν ὀνομάζοντας μὴ τὸ αὐτὸ, ἀλλ ̓ ἄλλον ἄλλο; τὸν μὲν εἰς τὴν ἑαυτῷ οἰκίαν ἔλκοντα ὅ,τι ἂν δύναιτο χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων κτήσασθαι τὸν δὲ εἰς τὴν ἑαυτῶ, ἑτέραν ἦσαν; καὶ γυναῖκά τε καὶ παῖδας ἑτέρες, ἡδονάς τε καὶ ἀλγηδόνας ἐμποιῶντας, ἰδίων ὄντων ἰδίας; ἀλλ ̓ ἔνι δόγματι τῇ οἰκεῖο πέρι, ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ τείνοντας πάντας εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν, ὁμοπαθεῖς λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς εἶναι. ρ. 184.

them, wherever it is practicable to place them on a secure spot near the field of battle, partly that they may gain experience, partly to whet the valour of the fathers and mothers. (p. 188.) In case of cowardice, a warrior is to be degraded to the post of an artificer. On the other hand, the man of distinguished bravery is to be crowned by the youth who accompany the expedition; he is to be celebrated in songs, and to enjoy the most conspicuous place at feasts and other ceremonies; any person to whom he is attached is not permitted to refuse a return of his affection; and he is to be worshipped as a god after death. (pp. 189— 190.) The conduct of the warriors towards their enemies, particularly towards Grecian enemies, is to be more humane than that usually practised in the time of Plato. They are never to enslave, or to inflict general ravage upon another Greek nation; nor are they to strip the dead bodies of their enemies. (pp. 191-3.)

At this point, Plato causes Socrates to be interrupted by Glaucon, who expresses a doubt concerning the practicability of the scheme which he has been sketching. Socrates, after saying that an exact copy of the scheme would not be required, but merely an approximation to it in spirit and principle, proceeds to touch on the causes which opposed its introduction. He perfectly and heartily admits the magnitude of these causes, and represents the plan as difficult in the highest degree, though certainly not altogether unattainable. (p. 228.)

The leading and indispensable requisite to the application of his principles is contained in the following remarkable sentence: "Unless (he says) either philosophers shall rule in the cities, or those who are now styled kings and governors (dvvdorai) shall become genuine and complete philosophers-so that political power and philosophy may in this manner coincide, and the numbers who now pursue each of them separately may be of necessity excluded-there exists not any respite of misery for states, nor (as I think) for the human race."* This condition is absolutely necessary for the establishment of his republic (he continues).

The definition which follows of the character of a real philosopher, embraces almost the whole sum of moral and intellectual excellence. His thirst for knowledge is universal and insatiate, and this ensures his acquisition of the practical experience necessary for government, inasmuch as there is no branch of information which he is content to abandon. (p. 209.) But yet there is one unvarying standard, which serves as the guide, the measure, and the connecting link of his researches, and to which all the particular facts that he acquires become subservient. This constant search after general principles constitutes an important distinction between him and other men, who never ascend above the fact of the moment, nor submit their opinions to any test or comparison. (p. 206.) Indeed (as Plato remarks) it is merely the presence or absence of a standard of reference which constitutes the difference between knowledge and conjecture (ɩorýμn and dóža). ibid. Besides this, the philosopher is quick in acquiring instruction, and tenacious in retaining it; his attachment to truth is ardent and inviolable, and maintains such complete supremacy in his mind, as to allay the thirst for

Οὐκ ἔστι κακῶν παῦλα ταῖς πόλεσι δοκῶ δὲ, ἐδὲ τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ γένει. p. 197.

money and all bodily luxuries, and thus to ensure a temperate conduct. (pp. 209-210.) His views are grand and expansive, and altogether free from that illiberality and over-estimate of trifles (ouiкpoλoyía) which Plato judiciously deems more inconsistent than any other quality of mind, with philosophy, (p. 210.) The same turn of thought prevents him from over-rating the desirableness of life, and confers upon him genuine intrepidity and contempt of death. He is gentle and good-tempered, and possesses a natural decency and elegance which sets off the rest of his character to the best advantage. (p. 211.) μνήμων, εὐμαθής, μεγαλοπρεπής, εύχαρις, φίλος τε καὶ ξυγγενὴς ἀληθείας, δικαιοσύνης, ανδρίας, σωφροσύνης. (ibid). Such is the splendid assemblage of qualities, without the combination of which no man (according to Plato) is fit for the pursuit of philosophy as it ought to be pursued.

Here Adimantus objects: that the actual character and situation of existing philosophers by no means corresponded to the description of Socrates. For of those who devoted their lives to this pursuit, the greater number were persons of inconsiderable talents, indeed base and contemptible*, while the very best of them were by their pursuit rendered useless to the state. (p. 212.) To this Socrates accedes, and proceeds to explain the reasons which rendered such a result inevitable, from the actual state of institutions and manners.

So brilliant an union of endowments must naturally occur very rarely, under any circumstances; and each of those accomplishments, which constitute when combined the philosophic character, will, if possessed singly, disqualify and withdraw him from the pursuit. Wealth, beauty, strength, and powerful connexions (should such be his situation) will also distract and dissipate his mental powers. (p. 217.) Should his genius still shine forth as superior, he will meet with caresses and flattery from parties who are anxious to enlist in their service so able an auxiliary; and this will render him satisfied with his own attainments, and remove all motive to that application without which the science of government cannot be acquired. When too, on his entrance into public life, he listens to the opinions in general circulation, the current of fashionable applause and censure will overmaster his mind, and will wash away the very best previous instruction imaginable. His estimate of virtue and vice will thus become altogether debased, and adjusted to the reigning errors, even on the supposition that his private education beforehand had been excellent. But this will in all probability not have been the case; for the instructors of youth will be obliged by their own interest to inculcate lessons conformable to the dominant opinions, and to bestow upon these precepts the name of wisdom.§ His notions of truth and justice will thus be perverted from the earliest period of infancy, and the whole tone of morality becomes nothing but a wretched flattery of the actual pre

* Πάνυ ἀλλοκότως, ἵνα μὴ παμπονήρες εἴπωμεν.

† Τὸ δὲ ἐ κτητὸν μὴ δελεύσαντι τῇ κτήσει αὐτοῦ. p. 222.

* Ποίαν ἂν αὐτῷ (δοκεῖς) παιδείαν ἰδιωτικὴν ἀνθέξειν, ἣν ἐ κατακλυσθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τῷ τοιούτου

ψόγου ἡ ἐπαίνου, οἰχήσεσθαι φερομένην κατὰ ροῦν ᾗ ἂν οὗτος φέρη. ] 218.

§ Μὴ ἄλλα παιδεύειν, ἢ ταῦτα τὰ τῶν πολλῶν δόγματα, ἃ δοξάζουσιν ὅταν αθροισθώσι, καὶ σοφίαν ταύτην καλεῖν. p. 219.

ferences of the public.* All this is still farther confirmed and enforced by the tenour of the laws, which inflict disgrace and punishment upon the dissentient. (p. 219.) Under such disadvantageous circumstances, the formation of a single valuable and philosophical character must be matter of the greatest rarity. And the man of surpassing energy and abilities, who under a good system of education would have been foremost in promoting the welfare of his country, becomes only the instrument of deeper and superior injury. (p. 222.)

SONG TO MARY.

FORGET not thou our childish hours!-
The spirit of our joys,

Like music past and gather'd flowers,

Each fleeting hour destroys :

Too lovely were they to be lost,

And wisest those who prize them most.

We do not mourn them-days have come
More calm, without decline;

Days that have peopled memory's home
With deeds and thoughts divine;
And years have taught our hearts to prize
Man's noblest aims and destinies.

But those sweet, careless, joyous hours,
And all they promised us,

The cloudless sky, the path of flowers,
Still may delight us, thus-

A glimpse of Heaven was given us then,
And we would see that Heaven again.

We want to look this wide world through
As then it brightly lay

Before our eyes: a thing all new,
A game for us to play;

And to our young, unskilful hand

Its chances seem'd at our command.

And in the dim, unmeasured length
Of many a distant day

A treasure of exhaustless strength
Behind, before us lay;

And hearts to love, and hopes to gain

The love we priz'd, were given us then.

Well, "all is beautiful," the bright

And dazzling dawn of youth;

The glories of that better light

The high, full noon of truth

Yet still the wayward poet says,

Forget not thou our childish days."

* Οἷς μὲν χαίροι ἐκεῖνος, ἀγαθὰ καλῶν· οἷς δὲ ἄχθοιτο, κακά. p. 220.

E. T.

† Ὅ,τι περ ἂν σώθῃ καὶ γένηται οἷον δεῖ ἐν τοιάυτη καταςάσει πολιτειών, θεοῦ μοῖραν αὐτὸ

σῶσαι λέγων, οὐ κακῶς ἐρεῖς. p. 219.

THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL,

BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.

HERE is another work of the mighty magician of Scotland, produced with a rapidity which will excite mingled admiration and regret in all who take a deep interest in his lasting fame. In the lively preface appended to these volumes, he condescends to notice the feeling which we have ventured to express, and to justify his speed.

He states, what we can readily believe, that those passages which have been praised for their high finishing, have really been struck off fastest in his felicitous moments, while those in which he has comparatively failed have been produced with the greatest toil. But this is scarcely an answer to the complaint, which is not applied to the imperfect execution of particular passages, but to the quantity of dull and common-place matter which is retained in his volumes. We do not ask him in vain to labour for the perfection of his happiest effusions; but to give us more of his best in a certain space, with a smaller portion of alloy. He shews no cause why the noble pictures of external nature, the fresh and breathing characters, the high tragic scenes, which of late he has scattered sparingly through his works, should not be presented within a smaller space, especially as he confesses that his plots are of no use except to bring in his "fine things." He is not bound down by his story to a certain quantity of dullness. When he consoles himself that, while many of his works will be consigned to oblivion, his best will survive, he forgets that posterity will not collect together all his most brilliant fragments, and form them into a perfect whole. The scenes of a novel, however deep an impression they may make on the reader's mind, will not live in the memory like the golden couplets of a poet. They do not derive their charm from the nobleness of individual images, from the exquisite choice of expressions, or from the condensed depth of their sentiment, but from the striking exhibition of persons and scenes, which leave only traces of their outlines behind them. Unless, therefore, the works to which they belong are altogether preserved, they are in imminent danger of being altogether lost, with the present generation of readers. Full many a passage-nay, many a volume-worthy of immortality, will, we are afraid, be weighed down by the inferiority of the matter with which it is encircled. The chapters of Fielding's works are almost all separate gems, any one of which inserted in an ordinary book would make it worth purchasing; but what would have become of their author's fame, if, instead of lavishing them on three or four novels, he had scattered them through fifty? Would they have the same effect as "Elegant Extracts," even if they were so collected, as they have in their natural and connected arrangement directed by a master's hand? The mere story we grant to be of minor importance: we can allow the author to be led astray from it by such characters as Dalgetty, and Baillie Nichol Jarvie, which he instances; but we cannot concede to him that he is incapable of sustaining a simple and consistent plot, or that he must become dull so to succeed. We have not forgotten "The Bride of Lammermuir," the most complete of all his works; which is almost as single and as harmonious as a tragedy of Sophocles. Here