a question upon which we will enter in a future number, with the diligence and research that it requires.) They are mistaken in thinking that the rich are too rich, or that social good could ever spring from a dislocation of society; but they are not mistaken when they say that the poor are too poor-that their condition might be amended, and that it ought to be amended; and till it shall be amended they see before them (and who does not see?) the materials for instigating a bellum servile. That man,' as an old writer says, ' is in a lethargy, who doth not now sensibly feel God shaking the heavens over his head, and the earth under his feet.' ART. V.-Outlines of History. London. 18mo. 1830. CCORDING to Plato, human souls are ætherial spirits, which, unable to attend the triumphant career of the heavenly choir in their progress through the spheres, have sunk to the terrestrial regions, and been imprisoned in corruptible bodies. Even in this state, however, there are various and important gradations. He distributes these degraded spirits into nine classes, the first of which animates the bodies of true philosophers, and, in general, the men of comprehensive sympathies. The five succeeding classes need no description here, and we shall content ourselves with delineating the three lowest. The seventh class of spirits animates the agriculturist and artisan; the eighth, the sophist and demagogue; and the ninth, the tyrant. Plato evidently hints that each of these individual spirits passes in rotation through each of these nine steps, and that the happiness of mankind depends on the class which may at any given period predominate; and it may perhaps be worth a page to apply the reveries of the ancient philosopher to the events of the passing time-to endeavour to evolve eternal truth from the fantastic imagery in which he has enveloped it-in the language of the poet, to unsphere his spirit,' and gather from old experience' some intimation of the probable future; for, Plato, after all, was no mere cloister-dreamer, and however strange it may sound in the ears of our modern sciolists, the experience of the later Greeks in the practical tendencies of the various forms of government was incomparably more extensive than all that the history of modern states can furnish. They had seen, for themselves, government after government proceed from limited monarchy to aristocracy, and then degenerate into lawless democracy, from which the transition to tyranny was rapid and inevitable. They had witnessed each successive change, and marked, with observant eye, its origin, progress, and results. Writing as we do in June, 1831, it assuredly does not require a power a power of observation, quickened by the experience of an Athenian, to perceive that we are in a transition state; that our age is passing from the long-sustained domination of the agricultural and manufacturing genii; and that the more malignant demons of the sophist and the demagogue are rapidly taking possession of the persons of our rulers. The sophist indeed no longer parades our streets, and offers his mercenary instructions in the art of making the worse appear the better reason, and of confounding the eternal distinctions between truth and falsehood, right and wrong; but, shrouded in the obscurity of a garret, daily commits to all the winds of heaven his pestilent doctrines, and, in virtue of his concealment, claiming an oracular infallibility, deals in assertions equally unfounded and flagitious. The demagogue, unchanged in character, exhibits the same deceptive arts and unwearied assiduity; and although twenty centuries have elapsed since Cleon led the mob of Athens, and Hyperbolus caused even the rabble to blush at the absurdities of their idol, we may still recognise the same spirits enacting the same parts, though in different persons, on the English and Irish stage. The catastrophe of this drama, as exemplified in ancient history, is familiar to every school-boy. What infatuation, then, prevents our applying this knowledge to the events passing before our eyes? Why should we hesitate, with these facts before us, to admit the inevitable conclusion, that unless the better spirits be roused into instant and strenuous exertions, the domination of the base will be established, only to be succeeded by the last and lowest geniusthat of the solitary tyrant? In a word, the shallow conceit which would sneer at the standing records of history, as equally worthless with the pages of a superannuated Ephemeris, is in fashion in high places; but not yet, we hope, so firmly established that we shall excite nothing but a smile by an attempt, in spite of the Plunketian doctrine, to illustrate the present state and probable prospects of our country, by a brief reference to some of the grand outlines of the Grecian and Roman 'Old Almanack.' The earliest form in which the Athenian government presents itself to the inquirer, is that of a limited monarchy, under which it offers few materials for history, because the people were happy at home and respected abroad. The Dorian irruption, pregnant with great events, excited a spirit hitherto unknown, and gave a totally new impulse to the minds of the inhabitants. The changes, however, which they adopted were neither violent nor precipitate. When Codrus perished by an act of patriotic selfdevotion, they abolished the kingly name and office, but continued the sovereignty in his family under the new title of Archon, or or president, who enjoyed his office during life. Years passed away under this new form, during which Athens enjoyed peace and prosperity, for the change to which she had been subjected was more nominal than real. A greater and more vital change, however, was effected on the extinction of the dynasty of the Medontidæ, for so were the descendants of Codrus entitled. At this period the archonship was rendered a decennial office, and thrown open to all families of noble descent; a measure, in itself revolutionary, and destined to continue in force no longer than seventy years. A still wider step toward democracy was then taken; the duration of the office was limited to a single year, and the number of holders increased to ten. Then commenced the fearful double struggle in which we are already engaged-the struggle between contending factions of the nobility on one hand, and that between the popular body and the dis-united and tottering aristocracy on the other. Sedition, civil war, and every other domestic and political misfortune were the unhappy consequences, until the people, wearied with their suicidal contests, and convinced that the whole social fabric had dissolved into its primitive elements, delegated to Solon the task of re-organising the state. The most perfect reconstruction which he could devise, or rather perhaps which the temper of the times allowed him to effect, was the establishment of a timocracy, in which the several classes of citizens were arranged with reference principally to property, and which entirely excluded persons below a certain census from eligibility to office. As a check to the too great influence of wealth on the one hand, and the undue ascendency of ambitious talent over the popular deliberations on the other, he created, or rather perhaps new-modelled, the celebrated court of the Areopagus: to this body, composed of the oldest, wisest, and most experienced citizens, he intrusted the power of annulling all unworthy elections, of restraining all rash innovations, and of rejecting every law which was not found to harmonize with the settled principles of the constitution. The vigour of the vital principle which this wise legislator breathed into his institutions may best be estimated by considering that the absolute, though most equitable government of Pisistratus, was conducted without in any degree violating their principles or forms. Their intrinsic equity and adaptation to the habits of the people gave them an elasticity which firmly supported any change in the form of the executive. Under the shadow of this admirable constitution, the public mind of Athens flourished in genial beauty and luxuriance; it developed a vigour which the most gigantic efforts of foreign foes could never arrest, and put forth blossoms whose fragrance will never cease to breathe the choicest perfumes over over the springing intellect of successive generations. It fostered the unconquered resolution and stern public virtue of Miltiades and Aristides, the political talent of Themistocles and Pericles, the splendid genius of Eschylus and Sophocles, and the lofty virtue of that philosopher from whose lips Plato and Xenophon derived their all-but inspired wisdom and eloquence. It might have been supposed by a mere speculative reasoner, that a system so productive of individual security and general prosperity would have concentrated in its support the energies and hearts of all who were happy enough to live under its benignant influence; and a benevolent enthusiast might, with still greater confidence, have predicted, that if any hostility or disaffection should arise, it would be found among those less fortunate classes of society, which, crushed by penury and embruted by ignorance, are ever ready to attribute the inevitable sufferings under which they groan to some imagined iniquity in the social system or its administrators. It might have been with great appearance of reason argued that nothing could be more absurd than to suppose, that those whose pre-eminence it guaranteed, and whose property it secured, would ever co-operate in impairing its sanctity, or in sapping its foundations. Yet experience has proved, that however plausible such anticipations might appear, none could prove more futile in the issue. History assures us-nor is it among the least important of her lessons-that the measures which overthrew this magnificent social fabric; which neutralised the conservative power of the Areopagus, and transferred the supreme authority to an uncombed democracy, were those of Pericles, the Alcmæonid. The man who originated the measures which terminated in the prostration of the aristocracy, and the oppression of the wealthy-was himself the noblest of all the citizens of Athens-marked out, by birth as well as by talent, the natural leader of the order which he destroyed. By releasing the deliberations of the popular assembly from the control of the Areopagus, this high-born genius deprived the constitution of all stability, and exposed it to every blast of popular caprice. It was no longer a machine regulated on known principles, but subjected to the wanton management of the most influential demagogue of the day. Such are the facts as recorded by history, and it only remains for us, to analyse, if possible, the motives which could have led such a man to pursue such a line of conduct; to endeavour to evolve some general principle, which may guide us in our judgment of the conduct of our contemporaries. Personal ambition not only overcame all those selfish feelings of regard, which he might have been supposed to entertain for the interests of his order; but still VOL. XLV. NO. XC. 2 н more more fatally blinded him to the eventual ruin he was preparing for his country. That he did deliberately plan and accomplish the overthrow of the authority and weight of his order is evident, when we consider the composition of that august court whose rights he abrogated. The Areopagus consisted of a limited number of the most eminent characters of the day, and of all the nobles of Athens distinguished by extent of possessions and sobriety of mind'-in Aristotle's words, maтρides пhouтw nai Biw owppov diapepoVTES. These therefore presented an insuperable obstacle διαφέροντες. to the ambitious views of Pericles, who knew how much more easy it was to excite a mob than to persuade an assembly so con stituted. He determined to rid the vessel of its ballast; and the event answered his expectations. The aristocracy made indeed an honourable struggle against the torrent of democratic power, but this was finally terminated by the banishment of Thucydides; and Pericles, the demagogue, became the virtual autocrat of Athens for the remainder of his life. This period indeed extended to nearly fifteen years, during the greater part of which he continued to exhibit the splendid-and unrivalled-example of a spirit equal to the control of the elements which itself had evoked. At length, with the gloomiest anticipations for the result, he felt the charm rapidly dissolving, and found himself obliged to guide the storm he could no longer restrain. In despair, he plunged his countrymen into that fatal war from which no wreck of the ancient constitution was destined to emerge. Athens, which, on the day when the Areopagus was shorn of its strength, was not only one of the eyes of Greece, but in truth and effect the leading state, saw within a few short years, under the energetic, pacific and consistent influence of a reformed system, her colonies wrested from her, her fleet annihilated, her walls levelled with the ground, and a new tyranny imposed upon her citizens by their hereditary rivals. During the brief interval that had elapsed, the strife of faction within her walls had not been less fierce and furious than the struggles of war without. The polished eloquence of Pericles had been succeeded by the hoarse denunciations and rabid fury of a Cleon. Scarcely were the tones of this base brawler silenced when there appeared on the stage of public life a youth pre-eminently qualified to be the popular leader of the Athenians. The nephew of Pericles, Alcibiades, compensated for the want of his uncle's graver political ability, by a splendour of genius which dazzled all eyes, an address which captivated all hearts, and a variety and depth of knowledge which peculiarly belonged to the pupil of Socrates. Yet gifted as he was, and of principles sufficiently pliant to allow him to adopt whatever line of policy might appear best calculated to win the populace at the moment, he found |