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as having taken place between Socrates and his son, on the subject of filial obligation toward the mother, will serve the various purposes of the present undertaking, as well as any thing we could select.

The fame of Socrates has associated the name of Xanthip'pe with his own, in a very unenviable renown, as perhaps the most celebrated scold in the world. We cannot but suspect that poor dear Xanthippe suffers unjustly in this regard. She had a shiftless husband; so Socrates must have seemed to her, notable housewife as we hope she was, he spending most of his time in lounging about the streets of Athens, with a train of pupils trooping after him, and bringing home at night nothing to stop the mouths of his hungry children. For our part, we do not wonder if Xanthippe deemed it her bounden duty to rate Socrates roundly for his thriftless ways. She was, beyond doubt, sorely put to it, to keep the pot boiling. This, to be sure, is constructed history; for all we know is, that Socrates neglected his trade, which was that of a statuary, and devoted himself to teaching without pay. And we know, too, that he was poor. Who can question that Xanthippe felt herself responsible for feeding the philosopher who was feeding the world?

However all this may be, the following conversation of Socrates with his son shows plainly enough that, in theory at least, the supposably ill-providing husband of Xanthippe was sound as to the duty of the child to the mother. Only let us be careful how we attribute magnanimity to Socrates for being thus loyal to a termagant wife. Wait we until we hear Xanthippe's side of the case.

The chief characteristic trait of the method of Socrates in teaching was his art in asking questions. This is well exemplified in the present conversation:

Having learned one day that Lam'pro-cles, the eldest of his sons, had exhibited anger against his mother: "Tell me, my son," said he, "do you know that certain persons are called ungrateful?" "Certainly,"

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replied the youth. "And do you understand how it is they act that men give them this appellation?" “I do,” said Lamprocles, "for it is those that have received a kindness, and that do not make a return when they are able to make one, whom they call ungrateful." "They then appear to you to class the ungrateful with the unjust?" "I think so." And have you ever considered whether, as it is thought unjust to make slaves of our friends, but just to make slaves of our enemies, so it is unjust to be ungrateful toward our friends, but just to be so toward our enemies?" "I certainly have," answered Lamprocles, "and from whomsoever a man receives a favor, whether friend or enemy, and does not endeavor to make a return for it, he is, in my opinion, unjust." "If such, then, be the case," pursued Socrates, "ingratitude must be manifest injustice." Lamprocles expressed his assent. "The greater benefits, therefore, a person has received, and makes no return, the more unjust he must be." He assented to this position also. "Whom, then," asked Socrates, can we find receiving greater benefits from any persons than children receive from their parents? Children, whom their parents have brought from non-existence into existence, to view so many beautiful objects, and to share in so many blessings, as the gods grant to men; blessings which appear to us so inestimable that we shrink in the highest degree from relinquishing them; and governments have made death the penalty for the most heinous crimes in the supposition that they could not suppress injustice by the terror of any greater evil. The man maintains his wife and provides for his children whatever he thinks will conduce to their support, in as great abundance as he can; while the woman receives and bears the burden, oppressing and endangering her life, and imparting a portion of the nutriment with which she herself is supported; and at length, after bearing it the full time and bringing it forth with great pain, she suckles and cherishes it, though she has received no previous benefit from it; nor does the infant know by whom it is tended, nor is it able to signify what it wants, but she, conjecturing what will nourish and please it, tries to satisfy his calls, and feeds it for a long time both night and day, submitting to the trouble, and not knowing what return she will receive for it. Nor does it satisfy the parents merely to feed their offspring, but as soon as the children appear capable of learning any thing they teach them whatever they know that may be of use for their conduct in life; and whatever they consider another more capable of communicating than themselves, they send their sons to him at their own expense, and take care to adopt every course that their children may be as much improved as possible.'

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Upon this the young man said, "But even if she has done all this,

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and many times more than this, no one, assuredly, could endure her illhumor." "And which do you think," asked Socrates, more difficult to be endured, the ill-humor of a wild beast or that of a mother?" "I think," replied Lamprocles, "that of a mother, at least of such a mother as mine is." "Has she ever, then, inflicted any hurt upon you by biting or kicking you, as many have often suffered from wild beasts?" No; but, by Jupiter, she says such things as no one would endure to hear, for the value of all that he possesses." "And do you reflect," returned Socrates, "how much grievous trouble you have given her by your peevishness by voice and by action, in the day and in the night, and how much anxiety you have caused her when you were ill?" "But I have never said or done any thing to her," replied Lamprocles, "at which she could feel ashamed." "Do you think it, then," inquired Socrates, a more difficult thing for you to listen to what she says, than for actors to listen when they utter the bitterest reproaches against one another in tragedies?" "But actors, I imagine, endure such reproaches easily, because they do not think that, of the speakers, the one who utters reproaches utters them with intent to do harm, or that the one who utters threats, utters them with any evil purpose." "Yet you are displeased at your mother, although you well know that whatever she says, she not only says nothing with intent to do you harm, but that she wishes you more good than any other human being. Or do you suppose that your mother meditates evil toward you?" 'No, indeed," said Lamprocles, "that I do not imagine." "Do you then say that this mother," rejoined Socrates, "who is so benevolent to you, who, when you are ill takes care of you to the utmost of her power, that you may recover your health, and that you may want nothing that is necessary for you, and who, besides, entreats the gods for many blessings on your head, and pays vows for you, is a harsh mother? For my part, I think that if you cannot endure such a mother, you cannot endure any thing that is good. But tell me,” continued he, "whether you think that you ought to pay respect to any other human being, or whether you are resolved to try to please nobody, and to follow or obey neither a general nor any other commander?” "No, indeed,” replied Lamprocles, "I have formed no such resolutions." "Are you then willing," inquired Socrates, "to cultivate the good-will of your neighbor, that he may kindle a fire for you when you want it, or aid you in obtaining some good, or if you happen to meet with any misfortune, may assist you with willing and ready help?" "I am," replied he. "Or would it make no difference," rejoined Socrates, “whether a fellow-traveler, or fellow-voyager, or any other person that you met with, should be your friend or enemy?

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Or do you think that you ought to cultivate their good will?” “I think that I ought," replied Lamprocles. "You are then prepared," returned Socrates, "to pay attention to such persons; and do you think that you ought to pay no respect to your mother, who loves you more than any one else? Do you not know that the state takes no account of any other species of ingratitude, nor allows any action at law for it, overlooking such as receive a favor and make no return for it, but that if a person does not pay due regard to his parents, it imposes a punishment on him, rejects his services, and does not allow him to hold the archonship, considering that such a person cannot piously perform the sacrifices offered for the country, or discharge any other duty with propriety and justice. Indeed, if any one does not keep up the sepulchers of his dead parents, the state inquires into it in the examination of candidates for office. You, therefore, my son, if you are wise, will entreat the gods to pardon you if you have been wanting in respect toward your mother, lest, regarding you as an ungrateful person, they should be disinclined to do you good; and you will have regard, also, to the opinion of men, lest, observing you to be neglectful of your parents, they should all condemn you, and you should then be found destitute of friends; for if men surmise that you are ungrateful toward your parents, no one will believe that if he does you a kindness he will meet with gratitude in return.

It now only remains to say that Greek Readers sometimes edit the text of their extracts from the authors who furnish their matter. It is not unlikely to happen that a given passage of Greek, from whatever author extracted, will contain expressions here and there such as a strict Christian moral or æsthetic judgment would prefer to expunge. This has been the case with several of the passages herein presented. Our present note of the fact must stand for a hint of that quality in pagan literature, which only exemplification could adequately represent. But exemplification here would not be advisable. The influence of Christianity has been a singularly penetrating and pervasive power, to modify the taste, even where it has not been permitted to renovate the conscience, of mankind,

VIII.

XENOPHON'S ANABASIS.

INTRODUCTORY.

THE book usually adopted in sequel to the Reader, for giving students their Greek preparation to enter college, is Xenophon's "A-nab'a-sis." This is a bit of history possessing no very serious importance in itself alone, yet highly interesting, first, as a specimen of literary art, and second, as strikingly illustrative of the Greek spirit and character.

CLIO, MUSE OF HIS-
TORY.

Anabasis is a Greek word meaning literally "a march upward," that is, from the sea. It may well enough be represented by the English word, made from Latin, "expedition." The book is an account of an expedition undertaken by a considerable body of Greeks into Central Asia, for the purpose, on the part of their employer, Cyrus, brother to the Persian king, of supporting, in connection with an army of Oriental soldiers, his rival pretensions to the Persian throne. The real destination of this expeditionary Greek force was concealed by Cyrus from all but one of his Greek generals, under the pretext of a different and less formidable object. When the two Persian brothers, king and pretender, finally met in the collision of arms, Cyrus was slain. This event,

of course, at once ended the expedition, or anabasis proper. The Greeks now had it for their sole business to secure their own safety in withdrawing homeward from the enemy's country.

But where the real anabasis ends, there the highest interest of the book, misnamed "Anabasis," begins. For the main

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