pupil soon felt a want of reality and of practical meaning in his system. They often conversed at Porphyry's house, and frequently walked to some gardens at a distance from the town. There a Stoic philosopher, named Crito, would sometimes take part in their conversation.

"has

"Your system," said the Stoic one day, much in it, no doubt, that is sublime; but it is greatly wanting in applications to practical life. We live not in a state of halcyon calm, but amidst the tumult of this great empire, where men need to be guarded against the moral contagion which prevails every where around them. Remember what Cicero said, that he could not act upon the rules which he had received from your philosophy, because he lived not in the republic of Plato, but among the dregs of Romulus.' Had he but drank, as Cato did, of the pure draught of the Stoic discipline, he might perhaps have saved Rome from her degradation through the ambition of Cæsar."

"I do not believe," said Porphyry, "that any thing could have saved Rome at that time from the despotism which was the necessary consequence of her vices. But so far are our doctors from thinking that these precepts might not be practically exhibited, that my master Plotinus, in order to afford the most perfect model of a happy community, entreated the Emperor Gordien, who was at times one of his hearers, to allow him to occupy a small deserted town in Campania with a colony of Platonists."

The Stoic smiled at what even he felt to be a

visionary scheme. "What," he said, "prevented the undertaking?"

"The influence of some about the emperor. Had we ever had one of our disciples invested with the purple,” continued Porphyry," the design might have been tried with success. But as to the hopes of you Stoics, why was not your teacher, the Emperor Antoninus, able, by all his influence, to realise them? Was the world permanently better for this example of a Stoic in supreme command?"

The Stoic could not say that Aurelius had permanently reformed mankind: he muttered something about the neglect of the ancient religion, which had withdrawn those restraints by which the mass of men had previously been ruled.

"True," said Porphyry," the popular religion, rightly understood, might be of great avail. But unhappily you Stoics have undertaken the defence of its gross corruptions, and thus have joined in lowering the majesty of the gods. The great king of all," he exclaimed, quoting a favourite saying of his school, "is the sole originator."

"This is the very doctrine of our great Cleanthes," replied the other; and he proceeded to repeat the celebrated Stoical hymn to Jupiter.

First of immortals, praised by many a name,
Great nature's chief, by laws for aye the same,—
All hail!-For thee, O Jove, all mortals own;
Sprung from thy race, thine impress, and alone

Faint echo of thy power from lower earth:
Thee thus we sing, the parent of our birth.
Nor thee without is aught that earth contains,
Heaven's blue abyss, or ocean's boundless plains,
Save what, in despite of thy sage decree,
The sinner works against his destiny.

Of chaos order, of contention peace,

Thou know'st to form, and bid confusion cease;
Who thee forsakes, in sin his bliss to find,
Forsakes his own felicity of mind;

But who thy wisdom's just command obeys,
Unlocks the blessed store of prosperous days.
Does fame still flatter men-does gain delight,
And pleasure tempt them by its treacherous slight?
Then, Jove, all-bountiful, the thunder's lord,
From their own folly save this race abhorred;

Purge the dark spot that to their soul adheres,

That order teach which rules the innumerous spheres ;

That we, in turn, thy glory may proclaim,

And hymn, as fits us, thy majestic name:
Nor man nor god can aught ennoble more
Than law's eternal empire to adore.

"A noble poem this," said Porphyry; "but how far is this removed from the vulgar feeling of our common worshippers! There is an inscription, for example, under that image;―let us draw near and look at it; in all likelihood it is something which will rather degrade the being it is meant to honour."

The statue was the god Priapus, a roughly carved block of wood, which had little to distinguish it from a number of logs, intended apparently for firing, which lay beneath it. Below was

an inscription from Martial, which Porphyry read aloud,

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Priapus, nothing rich nor rare,

But a few stumps are here your care;
Yet see your zeal this charge secures ;
What difference in their birth and yours?
Remember, if the hearth be cold,

Yourself was but a log of old.

What possible respect can men feel for a supposed divinity, which they can insult by such threats as this?"

The Stoic did not deny the unsuitableness of the lines; "Yet," he said, "the superstition which fixes such an image in this place is part of an ancient system which is far better than that which prevails at present. Deformed as it is, I would rather see it; just as I should prefer this garden, if, according to old custom, the trees were allowed to grow into their natural shapes, instead of being cut into the regular forms, and intersected by the neat walks which belong to your modern fashions."

"There," said Porphyry, "I agree with you. I think with Juvenal, that the natural swath of Egeria's fountain was far preferable to the finest marble embankment.

How much more beauteous were the scene,
Its native turf-banks stretched between,
Where nought that spake the hand of man
Should mar great nature's simple plan !"

While occupied in such conversation, there came up a stranger, who, though not marked out by his

dress as a philosopher, yet had something in his manner and appearance which bespoke the professed student. Rutilius at first wondered who he could be; but, on near approach, remembered to have met him at the house of a relation, whom he occasionally visited, and to have been favourably impressed by his appearance and manner.

"Are you a disciple of one of these philosophers?" said Pamphilus, for that was the stranger's name, as Rutilius seemed about to follow his companions, who were just quitting the garden.

"I am a hearer of Malchus," said Rutilius; "but I have never professed myself, and perhaps never shall, his disciple."

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"I am going towards the city," said Pamphilus, and, if you please, will accompany you."

As the two philosophers seemed completely occupied with one another, Rutilius accepted the offer, and soon fell into conversation, to which the other seemed anxious to lead, on the subjects which were at this moment occupying his mind.

"So you have become a hearer of this renowned philosopher of ours," said Pamphilus, "in order to learn the secret of that happiness which elsewhere you could not attain? Do you find your attempt

successful?"

"By no means," said Rutilius; "I cannot deny the ingenuity of his arguments; but his teaching is without reality, and the subjects which he treats of do not come home to my heart. If this be all that