coffers and the spaciousness of the building, however they may have detracted from the beauty of the architecture. The Exchange is a handsome building, but unhappily stands at the head of a street of which it does not occupy the centre. A precisely similar fault in the site, it may be remarked, injures the effect of the Exchange at Liverpool. Dublin Castle, the town residence of the Viceroy, is situated upon an hill: it is well built, chiefly of stone, and has a very lordly and imposing appearance. The servant is better lodged than his master at St. James's. There are two large and handsome quadrangles, in the upper of which a stand of colours is always displayed. The entire of the building is not appropriated to the use of the Lord Lieutenant; much of it is occupied by the Public Offices, the Treasury, the Ordnance Office, the Chief Secretary's Office, the Council Chamber, &c. &c. The apartments are handsome, and the audience and presence chambers sufficiently spacious. The whole is surrounded by a wall of great height and strength. Some parts of the edifice are old. The Birmingham Tower, where the records are kept, derives its name from Sir William de Birmingham, one of the early settlers and deputies. The neighbourhood of Dublin is very delightful. Both sides of the Bay are crowded with handsome villas. The mountains of Wicklow оссиру the south the Phoenix Park lies to the west, and beyond it opens the rich county of Kildare. The Glen of the Downs, the Dargle, the Devil's Glen, the vale of Obrea, Luggelaw, all the most charming scenery of Wicklow, is within a morning's drive of Dublin: on the other side, beyond the park, only a few miles from town, lies Lucan and Celbridge. Their vicinity to all these places leads the inhabitants of Dublin to make frequent country excursions; and each Sunday, every jaded citizen who can muster a horse and car has his wife and children apparelled in their gayest attire, and sallies forth to enjoy the pure fresh air, and cheer his sight with the view of the delicious country around him. Every house is deserted immediately after breakfast--the service of the Catholic Church is brief; it stays the eager citizen but a short time, and the roads about the metropolis present, early on the Sunday morning, a concourse of all sexes, ages, and conditions, hurrying to enjoy themselves. The Irish are particularly fortunate in the possession of their jaunting-car, as it is called. It is a vehicle drawn by one horse; the carriage of it is like that of a gig; the driver sits on a small raised seat behind the horse, and on each side, their feet supported by footboards covering the wheels, sit two, or sometimes three persons, those on one side having their backs to those on the other. Thus may five, or six, or seven people be carried with little more inconvenience to a horse than a gig would occasion. This sort of vehicle is cheap; it enables people of humble fortune to move about; it places them nearly on a level with the wealthy, in respect of that sole remaining article in which the latter enjoy a real and substantial superiority in the goods of life; and it is perhaps the only instance in which the middle class possess, in Ireland, a comfort which does not belong to the same class in England. We are surprised that the jaunting-car has not been introduced into use in England. It is not well suited to a great town; but for the country it is admirably adapted. In regard to the travelling between Dublin and London, the Holy What head road is a perfect pattern; and the great bridge now erecting over the Menai at Bangor, must not be passed by without a word. It is a work of the most magnificent description. The span of the arch is three hundred and sixty feet! It is scarcely possible to persuade oneself that the passage will be safe: and we cannot answer for what might not have been our vulgar scepticism on that point, had we not been, in a most piteous voice, assured by our host, whose little inn at the Ferry will be deserted when the avenue to the bridge shall be opened, that there is not the remotest fear (hope he would have said) of a failure in the project. Camden, in his Britannia, takes notice of an attempt made by Edward the First to throw a bridge over the straits, that his army might pass by it into Anglesey. The monarch was unsuccessful. How would he wonder at the feats of Mr. Wyatt, the engineer! Not, certainly, more, however, than would the mariner of his day at a voyage of six hours and a half from Holyhead to Howth. a contrast does the expedition and celerity of the passage of the steamboat present to the doubt and difficulty of the seaman of early times, anxiously straining his eyes to discover, in the dark horizon, the summit of some headland, by which to conjecture his course!-If the homeliness and common-sense nature of these remarks on the route to Holyhead through North Wales, should give umbrage to any sentimental reader, who expected to hear of peaks lost in the clouds, of horrific precipices, of eternal snows, of sequestered vales, of goats. perched on fearful crags, of the screaming of eagles, or the flight of wild geese, with all the addenda of torrents, and caves, we can only recommend, that he visit the place in his proper person, and content ourselves with referring him to the narrative of a journey to Brundusium, given by the first lyric poet of the Augustan age. He will find, that strong as is the precedent afforded by Horace's notice of the "gritty bread" and bad water, we have not condescended to drop a single hint, that even in Wales, small mutton is not necessarily delicious, inasmuch as it is often young: and that a Welsh rabbit, even in Wales, is sometimes made of bad cheese. S. M. T. SONNET.-POMPEII. CITY of ancient time! in midst of thee And sat'st a queen beside earth's loveliest sea. Still lived within their grave, though where they stood REPUBLIC OF PLATO. PERHAPS Some apology may be deemed requisite for thus reviving a treatise which modern writers on government have thrown aside as mere chimera and reverie, and which has experienced a neglect even greater than the other compositions of its distinguished author. We are far from affirming that the charge of impracticability is unfounded, which is, indeed, evident enough. But it should be recollected, that the treatise was addressed to a people of manners and circumstances so widely different from our own, that great allowances must be made when the incongruity of the scheme with modern habits appears very prominent and revolting. No inconsiderable portion, too, of what seems fanciful and visionary in the treatise, arises from the uncorrupt and undissembling sincerity of the author-from his complete recognition of the end proposed, as well as of the difficulties of attaining it, and his strict determination to leave none of these difficulties unconquered. With but one or two exceptions, he is the only political writer, either of ancient or modern times, whose thoughts have been conceived with entire singleness of aim-who has kept his eye steadily fixed on the greatest happiness of those for whom he laboured, stating fully the obstacles which impeded it, and devising all the means in his power for their removal. It will be seen that he himself does not attempt to disguise the incompetency of these means: whereas modern writers on the subject appear to be less extravagant in the schemes of government which they propose, simply because their real end is very different from his, and much easier of attainment. Their actual aim is usually to promote the convenience of the governing aristocracy, not the happiness of the community; and, when the two are at variance, they make no scruple of throwing aside the latter. To contrive a government for this purpose, requires but little deviation from established models, and little stretch of inventive power; and therefore the framer of it will, of course, never be exposed to the charge of innovation or chimera. With all these allowances, however, much exceptionable and visionary matter will be discovered in Plato's proposals. But they frequently, even when false, suggest instructive reflections; and the errors of so extraordinary a man well deserve to be unravelled, and traced to their source. The most valuable portion of the treatise is that which unfolds the moral effects of a vicious government-the mode in which it corrupts and debases, as well the reigning tone of philosophy, as the sentiments and action of private life. The remarks which he makes on the degeneracy, under such a system, of philosophy in general, and on the perfect inutility of the genuine philosopher, when such a character was accidentally formed, display a depth and penetration in sifting the influence of occult causes, which modern writers, with the exception of Helvetius, have not ventured to pursue. Plato's Treatise "de Republicâ" is delivered in the form of a dialogue between Socrates, Glaucon, and Adimantus. The chief speaker is Socrates, who details the scheme, and is throughout the organ by which the sentiments of Plato are delivered. In the following sketch, therefore, Socrates and Plato are to be considered as one-the latter speaking by the mouth of the former. The treatise commences with an inquiry into the nature of justice. Considerable difference of opinion arising among the disputants, Socrates, in order to compose the dissension, strikes into a new path. For the purpose of ascertaining what justice is in an individual, he recommends a previous inquiry, "What is justice in a state?" This leads to the analysis of a state, which is traced up to its earliest formation. (Lib. 2. p. 60.)* It arises, as he justly says, from the mutual and varied wants of human beings. It is impossible to supply these wants otherwise than by combination and vicinity of residence. The primary and most indispensable alliance is that of the husbandman, the builder, the tailor, and the shoemaker. A division of labour, from its numerous advantages, obtains footing among them without delay. When these most necessary demands of nature are supplied, new ones arise, and fresh artificers spring up to supply them. Along with these distinct trades, carriers and shopkeepers arise, and a market is established: merchants and navigators undertake the task of procuring what must be sought beyond sea; and a medium of exchange is established, which facilitates the process of dividing and transmitting the goods produced. A number of hired labourers, who make a livelihood by selling their bodily strength, complete the city. In no long period, population would increase, and the arts of luxury would gain admission. The land will then become insufficient to maintain the number thus augmented, and a war with the neighbours will be the natural result. But by whom shall the war be carried on? Each member of the community is engaged in some separate occupation, and every kind of business is better performed when it constitutes the sole object of a man's time and attention. A military class §, therefore, must be formed, for the purpose of attack and defence (p. 68.); a service of such essential importance, that the greatest care must be used in selecting and training up the performers of it. (p. 68.) The first requisite for this character of military protector is a courageous disposition. But passion is the principle of courage, and no animal is courageous without being Ovuosions.|| (p. 69.) And how can this ferocity be prevented from displaying itself against their fellow-citizens, as well as against foreign enemies? To reconcile these two seemingly incompatible qualities-gentleness towards their own. countrymen, with a savage and hostile demeanour towards all othersto render this warlike caste, like guardian dogs, mild at home towards their master and his family, and severe towards strangers, is a task of the highest difficulty, which Plato proposes to accomplish by an attentive and well-contrived education. (p. 71.) He begins by strictly watching the earliest impressions made upon * The pages here quoted refer to the Leipsic Duod. Edit. 1818. † Ἐπειδὴ τυγχάνει ἡμῶν ἔκαςος ἐκ ἀυτάρκης, ἀλλὰ πολλῶν ἐνδεής. It may be remarked in passing, that this reference of the birth of communities to the wants and imperfections of man, was one of the heaviest accusations brought against Mandeville's fable of the Bees. See his letter in vindication of it, at the end of the third edition. His language, however, is in this, as well as in other places, ill chosen. * Οἱ μισθωτοί, οἱ πωλῶντες τὴν τῆς ἰσχύος χρείαν, καὶ τὴν τιμὴν ταύτην μισθὸν καλῶντες. P. 64. § Φυλακες. This is an important remark, which Helvetius and Mandeville have made. VOL. IV. NO. XVIII. 2 L their minds by the fables related to them in their childhood. He would take unceasing pains to impress upon their minds sentiments and associations conformable to that character which was to be the ultimate result of the whole. (p. 72.) Many of the current fables, extracted from the poems of Homer and Hesiod, he reprobates very deservedly, as calculated to generate feelings both contemptible and odious. He particularly expresses his disapprobation of the deeds which these poets ascribed to the Gods. The acts of Saturn and Uranus-the imprisonment of Juno by her son, and the seizure and extrusion of Vulcan from heaven by Jupiter-the violation of the truce by Pandarus, at the instigation of Minerva—the journeys of the Gods in disguise through different cities-all these stories, and others which he extracts from the same writers, appear to Plato of a pernicious and demoralizing tendency. (p. 74-5.) God, being perfect, cannot change, except for the worse (p. 77.); nor can he be the cause of any evil: which, if it exist at all, must certainly emanate from some other source.* He deprecates the practice of mothers frightening their children by telling them that the Gods went round at night, disguised like strangers of every description. (p. 78.) The representation which Homer gives of the Gods laughing unboundedly at the ungraceful motions of Vulcan, meets with his decided disapprobation, as tending to encourage an excessive disposition to mirth, which ought to be repressed.† (p. 84.) All poetical passages which attract the sympathy and favour of the readers towards feelings of a weak or vicious nature, are unsparingly prohibited in the Republic. The more beautiful the verses, the greater will be their effect, and the more anxious is Plato to guard against their poison. (p. 82.) Lamentation for that which is irrevocably departed, seems to him inconsistent with soundness of mind; at any rate, he would contract it within the narrowest limits possible. Upon this principle, he proscribes all those portraitures of intense and excessive grief which poets delight to exhibit. (p. 84.) He condemns also all passages in which intemperance, or an attachment and accessibility to money, are eulogized or embodied in striking and exalted characters. (pp. 86-87.) He would not suffer sentiments of this nature to emanate from a God or a hero. But when firmness or temperance is favourably described and encouraged, Plato not only recommends, but extols such an employment of poetical powers. (p. 87.) He considers, also, those terrible pictures of a future state of suffering, which Homer and other poets have drawn, as most pernicious in their effects, by extinguishing courage, and creating an excessive apprehension of death. (pp. 81-82.) Falsehood, being generally injurious, but, on certain occasions, useful as a remedy, is to be prohibited in all the rest of the community, and allowed only in the ruling class, either towards the enemy, or in any other case which they may deem expedient. (p. 85.) It is a remedy only to be entrusted to a physician.‡ Having indicated the sentiments which it was desirable to encourage Οὐδ ̓ ἄρα ὁ θεὸς, ἐπειδὴ ἀγαθὸς, πάντων ἂν εἴη αἴτιος, ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ λέγεσιν ἀλλ ̓ ὀλίγων μὲν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις αἴτιος, πολλῶν δὲ ἀναίτιος. πολὺ γὰρ ἐλάττω τἀγαθὰ τῶν κακῶν ἡμῖν. p.75. + Here begins Lib. 3. † Ιατροις δοτέον, ἰδιώταις δὲ ἐκ ἀπτέον. |