matter as possible, choosing rather to give so great a man the benefit of their ignorance, than lose any part of their reverence for his wisdom. One thing must not be forgotten; that this pretension to an unusual sense of his attendant spirit assisted in getting him into trouble. He was accused of introducing false gods, - a singular charge, which shows how much the opinion of a guardian deity had gone out of use. On the other hand, he argued (with a true look of feeling, and which must afterwards have had great effect), that it was not his fault if he beheld in omens and intimations the immediate influence of his guardian angel, and not merely the omens themselves. That he did believe in the latter somehow or other, is generally admitted.

It is not a little curious, that this is the only story of a good demon that has come down to us in the records of antiquity. Some philosophers had theirs long afterwards; but these were evident imitations. Stories of bad demons, according to the vulgar notion, are more numer

Two are to be found in the life of Apollonius of Tyana. Another is in Pausanus, and a third is the famous one of Brutus. These injurious persons were seldom however bad by nature. They become so from ill usage, being in fact, the souls of men who had been ill treated when alive.

ON THE GENII OF ANTIQUITY AND THE

POETS.

HE bad demon was thought to be of formidable

shape, black, frowning, and brutal. A man, according to Pausanias, fought with one, and drove him into the sea. As we have told the

story before in the “Indicator”),* and it is little to tell, we shall proceed to give the noblest passage ever written about demons, in the scene out of Shakespeare. The spirit that appeared to Brutus has been variously represented. Some made it of the common order of malignant appearances; others have described it as resembling Cæsar. This was the light in which it was beheld by our great poet.

With what exquisite art; that is to say, with what exquisite nature, has he not introduced this scene, and made us love and admire the illustrious patriot, who having done what he could upon earth, and prepared for his last effort, is about to encounter the menaces of fate. How admirably, by the help of the little boy and the lute, has he painted him, who was only a dictator and a warrior because he was a great humanist, the Platonic philosopher in action, the ideal, yet not passionless, man,

-such a one as Shakespeare loved, not because he loved only select human nature, but because he loved all that human nature contained !

We must confess, that in our opinion the address to the Ghost is not so good as in simple old Plutarch. There is too much astonishment and agitation in it; if not for nature, at least for the superinduced and philosophic nature, that we are led to suppose was in Brutus ; and the same objection inight be made to what follows. The household are called up in too much alarm. It is Brutus's care for his servants, his bidding them take their rest, and what he says to the little lute-player, overcome with sleep, that render the scene so charming. The divine scene also be-, tween him and Cassius, where he tells him that “Portia is dead,” has just preceded it.

Brutus. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.) Farewell, good Messala;
Good night, Titinius:— noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.

Cassius. O, my dear brother!
This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls !
Let it not, Brutus.
Bru. .

Every thing is well.
Cas. Good night, my lord.
Bru. Good night, good brother.
Titinius and Messala. Good night, lord Brutus.
Bru. .

Farewell, every one.

[Excunt Cas., Tit., and Mes. Re-enter LUCIUS with the gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

Lucius. Here in the tent.
Bru.

What, thou speak’st drowsily?
Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watched.
Call Claudius, and some other of my men;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in

Luc. Varro and Claudius.

my tent.

Enter Varro and CLAUDIUS.

Varro. Calls

my

lord ?
Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;
It may be, I shall raise you by and by
On business to my brother Cassius.

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure.
Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs;

[Servants lie down.

[Music and a song.

It may be, I shall otherwise think me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so;
I put it in the pocket of my gown.

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you.
Bru.

It does, my boy.
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

Luc. It is my duty, sir.

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already.

Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again;
I will not hold thee long: if I do live,
I will be good to thee.
This is a sleepy tune : - 0, murderous slumber!
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,
That plays thee music?— Gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
I'll take it from thee; and good boy, good night.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down,
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

Enter the Ghost of CÆSAR.
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me:- art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak’st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Bru.

Why com'st thou?
Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Bru. Well ;
Then I shall see thee again?
Ghost.

Ay, at Philippi.
Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest:
Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.

(He sits down.

(Ghost vanishes.

Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! sirs awake ! -
Claudius.!

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.

Bru. He thinks, he is still at his instrument. -
Lucius, awake.

Luc. My lord ?
Bru. Didst thou dream that thou so cry'dst out?
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
Bru. Yes, that thou didst; didst thou see any thing?
Luc. Nothing, my lord.

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius !
Fellow thou ! awake.

Var. My lord.
Clau. My lord.
Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?
Var, and Clau. Did we, my lord?
Bru.

Ay: saw you any thing?
Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Clau.

Nor I, my

lord.
Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius;
Bid him set on his powers betimes before;
And we will follow.

Var. and Clau. It shall be done, my lord.

[Exeunt.

The Roman genius appears to have been a very material sort of personage compared with the Greek demon, and altogether addicted to earth. We know not where it is found that he was first called ġerulus, or a carrier on of affairs : perhaps in Varro; but whether as gerulus, or as genius (the spirit of things generated), the Romans made him after their own likeness, and gave him as little to do with the stars as possible. The Romans had not the fancy of the Greeks, and cared little for their ethereal pleasures. Accordingly, their attendant spirit was either fighting and conquering (on which occasion he took the wings of victory, as you may see in the imperial sculptures), or he was dining and enjoying himself: sitting under his plane-tree and drinking with his mistress. To