previous to his death we assembled earlier than usual. When we arrived at the prison door, the jailor told us to wait a little, as the Eleven were then giving orders for the death of Socrates. When we entered, he was seated upon the side of the bed, his feet resting on the ground, and he spoke in that position during the rest of the day." Speaking of the fear of death, Socrates said, “Assuredly, my dear friends, if I did not think I was going to find in the other world gods good and wise, and men infinitely better than we are, it would be wrong in me not to be troubled at death; but you must know that I hope soon to be introduced to virtuous men-soon to arrive at the assembly of the just. Therefore it is that I fear not death, hoping, as I do, according to the ancient faith of the human race, that something better is in store for the just than what there is for the wicked." The slave who was to give Socrates the poison, warned him to speak as little as possible, because sometimes it was necessary to administer the drug three or four times to those who allowed themselves to be overheated by conversation. "Let the poison be prepared," Socrates said, "as if it were necessary to give it two or three times," then continued to discourse upon the immortality of the soul, mixing in his arguments the inspirations of sentiment and of poetry. "Let that man," said he, "have confidence in his destiny, who, during lifetime, has renounced the pleasures of the body as productive of evil; he who has sought the pleasures of science, who has beautified his soul, not with useless ornaments, but with what is suitable to his nature, such as temperance, justice, fortitude, liberty, and truth, ought to wait peaceably the hour of his departure, and to be always ready for the voyage whenever fate calls him. As for you, my dear Symmias, and Celes, and all around me, you will all follow at your appointed time. For me, as the tragic poet would say, the surly pilot calls me away. But now it is time to go to the bath, for I think it is better to drink the poison after I have bathed, and thus save the females the trouble of washing a corpse." "Alas, my dear friend," Crito said, "have you any orders for me, or for those present, with regard to your children or your affairs ?" "What I have always recommended to you, Crito," Socrates replied," to take care of yourselves—nothing more. By doing so, you will render me a service, my family, and all who know you." After Socrates had bathed, his children and his female relations were brought into his presence. He spoke to them for some time, gave them his orders, then caused them to retire. When he returned, he sat down upon his bed, and had scarcely spoken when the officer of the Eleven came in, and said, "Socrates, I hope I will not have the same occasion to reproach you as I have to do to others. As soon as I come to acquaint them that they must drink the poison, they are incensed against me; but you have, ever since you came here, been patient, calm, and even-tempered, and I am confident that you are not angry with me. Now, you know what I have told you.-Farewell! Try to bear with resignation what cannot be avoided." At saying these words he turned away, while the tears were streaming from his eyes. "I will follow your counsel," Socrates said. Then, turning to his disciples, he continued, "Observe the honesty of that poor man. During my imprisonment he has visited me daily, and now see with what sincerity he weeps for me!" 66 When the slave brought the poison to Socrates, the latter looked at him, and said, Very well, my friend; what must Í do? for you know best, and it is your business to direct me." "Nothing else but drink the poison, walk, and when you find your limbs grow stiff, lie down upon your bed." At the same time he handed Socrates the cup, who took it without emotion or change of countenance; then looking at the man with a steady eye, he said, "Tell me, is it allowable to make a drinkoffering of this mixture ?” "Socrates," the man replied, "we never prepare more than what is sufficient for one dose." "I understand you," Socrates said, "but nevertheless, it is lawful for me to pray to God that he may bless my voyage, and render it a happy one." Having said so, he raised the cup to his lips, and drank the poison with astonishing tranquillity and meekness. When Socrates looked around and saw his friends vainly endeavouring to stifle their tears, he said, "What are you doing, my companions? Was it not to avoid this that I sent away the women, and you have fallen into their weakness? Be quiet, I pray you, and shew more fortitude." In the meantime he continued to walk, and when he felt his legs grow stiff, he lay down upon his back as had been recommended. The person who gave Socrates the poison then came forward, and after examining his legs and feet, he bound them, and asked him if he felt it. The dying philosopher answered, "No;" and feeling himself with his hand, he told his disciples "that when the cold reached his heart he would leave them." A few minutes afterwards, he exclaimed, "Crito, we owe a cock to Esculapius; do AN ESSAY ON BEEF-STEAKS. THERE is nothing that more kindles the imagination of a sensible man than the consideration of a beef-steak. How vividly you fancy the fragrant vapour-the fine amber-coloured fat-the rich dark brown meat-the clear delicious hot gravy! Ye gods! if beneath the glorious heavens there be one wretch insensible to the merits of a beef-steak, so soften and enlighten him that, by the study of this, my eloquent essay, he may become a convert, and enter into the community of the blessed. By the term beef-steak, I mean, of course, rump-steak. Be not entrapped, O unwary amateur, by the seductive blandishments of the butcher, who may assure you that he can cut a tender slice from any other part. Treat his foolish harangue with the utmost contempt. Do not listen to it; turn another way; hum over, Di tanti palpiti;" count a hundred; do anything but allow yourself to be deceived in an affair of this description; and then, when the false butcher is out of breath, turn coolly round and desire him to cut you two pounds from the rump. Stand by yourself, and see them cut thick, and then let the boy walk before you to your lodgings, bearing in his tray the glorious prize. And now comes another trial, in which, if you shew the least blundering ignorance, all your previous manoeuvring with the butcher will be utterly thrown away. This is presented in the shape of your landlady, who, ten to one, will want you to let her cook the steaks-will say that Mary will do them in five minutes and welcome -will talk about the mess you will make all over the stove, &c. Treat her as you have treated the butcher, with contempt. It is a hard and stern necessity, but it must be done if you wish to obtain the end of your desires, namely, a good beef-steak well cooked. Procure from your landlady a gridiron, and walk at once into your own room. A question here occurs, which induces our subject to branch out into two great divisions, each of which includes many worthy and undoubted beef-steak lovers. This is, whether it shall be under-done or well-done. I prefer it rather well-done, but retaining all the gravy; and this being, I think, a very general feeling, I shall suppose the student to embrace it. Well then the steak is on the gridiron, your table is near the fire, covered with a nice clean cloth, and with the usual con veniences; you are standing near the meat with the intention of turning it-and how would you turn it? For the love of heaven, not with a fork, to let out all the beautiful gravy! Don't let the want of tongs be any excuse-turn it with the firetongs, with two knives, or with your fingers, but not with a fork, unless you wish at the same time to pierce the heart of any true beef-steak lover who may witness your insane act. Now it is done! off with it into the plate. There-sit down! What are you letting the steak cool for? What a deluge of gravy when the knife cleaves it asunder! Is not this a reward for all your trouble! And yet, alas! I fear written instructions can be of little avail; one lesson given by an initiated beef-steak lover at the side of a gridiron, would do more than twenty pages of dry advice. Still, if I have awakened in any breast a desire to know to the full extent the delights of a beef-steak, I am more than satisfied.-Gulielmus. THE BUTTERFLY TO ITS CAPTOR. Summer her richest treasures now is throwing No brighter hope have I beyond the grave; Methinks thou canst not gaze unmoved, while seeing My agonies-oh! grant the boon I crave. Thine every touch-e'en where thou deem'st it lightest Brushes a thousand feathers from my wing. Seem they but dust?-those feathers were the brightest In hues that from the empyrean spring. Look on my slender form, so richly vested In azure plush woven by no mortal loom; Look on my jewell'd head, so proudly crested, And canst thou still award a hopeless doom? Has Mercy touch'd thine heart, and art thou thinking That HE who made thy nobler form made me? Crush not HIS work-reluctant art thou shrinking From meditated harm ?-then I am free. A child of summer-brief is my span when longest; Oh hear my solemn warning-art thou deeming Far off the hour when thou, like me, shalt die? Thine end may come ere mine!-and strange in seeming Life may be left to the frail Butterfly Such as thou art, I was-an earthborn creature ; I died, and lay within a shroud and tomb; I sprang to life-oh! how unlike in feature The form I left, this beauty to assume! All radiant though I rose-from death awaking, Yet once again I die-to live no more ;As then I waked shalt thou, the grave forsaking, In form far other than thou wast before. Then thou diest not again!-but all immortal In heavenly splendour from the tomb's dark portal of woman was that of an humble dependent, respected as a mother, but entirely subject to the will of her husband. Even now, the immolation of the widow on the burning pile, with the dead body of her husband, is applauded, if not required, among the su CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF perstitious Hindoos. WOMAN. THERE has been much useless argument on the question of the equality of the sexes. We might as well attempt to compare the oak and the rose, the stately tree and clasping vine, or inquire into the comparative value of water and air, or of light and heat, as to ask which of the sexes should take the highest rank in the scale of intelligence or usefulness. Though both sexes possess in common the faculties of mind which are enumerated by philosophers, these faculties are doubtless modified by various courses, so that there often appears a marked difference in their mental organization. In the garden of Eden, woman was the tender friend and intelligent companion of man. Man was made of the dust of the earth, and woman was formed of a portion of his substance, and therefore more refined and feeble in her physical nature than man. Both were created in the image of God, who said, let them (not him) have dominion over all that is upon the face of the earth. We find, therefore, they were considered equal by their Creator; and Adam, in the fulness of his gratitude for the gift of a companion, said, "She is bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh." But woman disobeyed the command of God; she fell from her pure and holy state, and long ages saw her a servile and degraded being. In the savage state we see woman treated as a slave; her office is to carry the burden of her master, whom she follows to war, sharing all his privations and hardships. But she neither partakes of his pleasures, nor receives his thanks or commiseration; her greatest sacrifices are unheeded, or looked upon as incumbent duties. Where mere physical strength gives superiority, as among savages and barbarous tribes, woman must be the slave. God did not make her strong as man is; her whole frame was formed of a very small portion of his body. But the soul of woman was not made of a small part of man's soul; it proceeded from the same Divine source, and we have no reason to believe was, at the creation, stamped with inferiority. Thus we find that in those states of society where intellect rather than bodily strength elevates the human being, and where woman is allowed the advantages of intellectual improvement, she rises in the scale of exist ence. In ancient Egypt and India the condition In China, women have not been allowed to receive any intellectual instruction. Greece, situated on the borders of Asia, now presents a singular mixture of Oriental manners and European institutions and habits. Among the ancient Greeks were some noble examples of female heroism; but nothing of that chivalric gallantry which prevailed in the middle ages, or of that respect for the female character which characterizes modern times. The poets have always endeavoured to make something of women, and to them our sex is greatly indebted. Homer represented females as simple and virtuous; Sophocles made them heroines; Euripides gives them as examples of innocence, purity, and lofty devotion. The Roman women were more respected than the Grecian; they were allowed to appear at the public feasts, and to take a part in public affairs. But still the dominion of the father over the wife and children was like that over his slaves. Such was the condition of the Roman matron, the “mater familias" of classical history. Although their patriotism was acknowledged when, to satisfy the rapacity of the Gauls, they cheerfully surrendered their jewels and money, and when, during the Punic wars, they made a similar sacrifice to the exhausted exchequer of the state; yet still the savage laws against their lives and liberties were not abolished, and when they begged a repeal of such laws, and endeavoured to gain, in some measure, their natural rights, Cato describes their conduct "as tending to a fatal overthrow of the government, and rebellious in a high degree." As the Romans became rich and powerful, they introduced, with foreign luxuries, a taste for the arts and sciences; and woman, keeping pace with the spirit of the times, sought to extend her scale of education by her own efforts; thus the age that followed was distinguished by the literary taste and intellectual cultivation of the Roman females. Juvenal, in his day, thought it presumption in the sex to attempt learning; he ridiculed their studying Greek, and using in familiar conversation the elegant idioms and phrases of that language, and expressing their sudden emotions in Greek poetry. He accused them of encroaching on the male prerogative of mind by discussing philosophical subjects, all of which, he says, "might be styled an overplus of curiosity." But the Roman youth in Rome's last days continued in many cases as disciples of their mothers long after the first eight years had elapsed, which was the prescribed period of their tuition under the paternal roof. Here we see woman raise herself to be man's equal by her own efforts. But let us turn from the ancient republics, and view England. Rising from the obscurity of the dark ages, she continues to cultivate the arts and sciences until she almost becomes a second Rome, with her orators, philosophers, and statesmen. But where is woman? She is not slumbering in indolence, but is slowly advancing in the path of knowledge with timid steps, but a fearless heart; her advances have been persevering, and she has received a rich reward. The last century exhibited a galaxy of female writers, whose labours have diffused among the women of the present age a general ambition to take a high stand in literature and science. Elizabeth Carter, Mrs. Chapone, Letitia Barbauld, Mrs. Mon tague, and Hannah More, are women whose names history has garned up among her choicest treasures. The literary coteries at Mrs. Montague's, as described by these ladies in their familiar letters, and by some of the distinguished male writers of that period, give us a delightful picture of women distinguished for talents and learning, meeting in social intercourse, and enjoying friendship, uninterrupted by the petty jealousies which too often exist among rival aspirants for fame. Mrs. Chapone, the excellent and sensible author of "Letters to a Young Lady on the Improvement of the Mind," in writing to Miss Carter, the learned translator of the Greek poet Epictetes, comments with becoming indignation on an attack upon their mutual friend, Mrs. Montague. The latter distinguished friend and admirer of literary talents will ever be honoured for her efforts to encourage literature among her sex, by bestowing on those who had distinguished themselves as writers or scholars the most marked attention, while ladies of noble birth and high aristocratic pretensions often found themselves excluded from their very select parties. But those were parties where wit and sentiment, rather than a parade of luxuries, constituted the chief entertainment, and where Johnson, Pope, Beattie, and Lyttleton were the beaux. Mrs. Montague had, it seemed, presumed to write a literary criticism upon a production of Pope, for which she was harshly treated by him in a work called "Pursuits of Literature." Mrs. Chapone, in a letter to Miss Carter, (which is published with the correspondence of the latter,) says: I suppose you have seen and felt the same indignation that I did at the author, and the same contempt for his taste, spleen, envy, and nonsense in that The learned Mrs. Montague, it seems, dered elegant and refined in her taste, some wore blue stockings, and as she was consiof the ladies who attended her soirées also above all censure or scandal, the malicious wore hose of the same azure hue. Being could only attempt to ridicule them; and their harmless blue stockings were made a by-word, which has since terrified many a timid girl from the cultivation of a literary taste. To be called a blue stocking! this would be horrid, and certainly frighten away all the beaux of one's acquaintance! not hurt by the ridicule, (her circle notwithThus, though Mrs. Montague herself was standing having been the most brilliant of any in London, and her society more courted than that of any lady of her day,)it has doubttalents than volumes of serious argument less done more towards discouraging female against their capacity, or the propriety of their pursuing the higher paths of learning. mentioned, might be added the sprightly To the literary ladies whose names I have terror-stricken author of "The Mysteries author of "Cecelia" and " Evelina," the of Udolpho," who became crazed with the phantoms of her own brain; the sentimental author of "The Children of the Abbey," ing a white dress, and disdaining in poverty whose heroine was distinguished for weareither servile labour or useful occupation of any kind; wandering forth in satin slippers ing the hospitality of poor cottagers, playing in search of adventures, and, while burdenoff the airs and graces of a tragedy queen, and interrupting the labours of the family might feel herself in a romantic situation. to prepare tea in the arbour, where she These novels all had their day, and their authors enjoyed a short-lived popularity, but their books are now seldom named, while Maria Edgeworth's "Practical Education," Elizabeth Hamilton's "Treatise on the Mind," and Hannah More's" Strictures," the stream of time to future generations. will carry the names of their authors down Those who benefit human nature most, will doubtless receive the most gratitude; and the unbiassed judgment will ever award a higher place to those who instruct, than to those who amuse mankind. THE MISSIONARY. He left his native land, and far away Though well he knew that he in vain might stray He left his home, around whose humble hearth And who still lov'd him as a favourité child. He left the scenes by youthful hopes endeared- ear, The plants, the trees, that he himself had reared, All these he left, with sad but willing heart, Though unallured by honours, wealth, or fame, In them not even his wishes claim'd a part, And the world knew not of his very name. Canst thou not guess what taught his steps to stray? "Twas love!-but not such love as worldlings own, That often smiles its sweetest to betray, And stabs the breast that offer'd it a throne. 'Twas love to God! and love to all mankind; His master bade the obedient servant go, And try if he in distant realms could find some person of supposed knowledge of the subject affixes his imprimatur, we run into the opposite extreme. We will allow no cavil, no question, no argument upon the person's abilities. So and so has said it, and he ought to know, and therefore argument is out of the question. We could illustrate this proposition by a reference to Dr. Lardner's profound opinion that steamers could not cross the Atlantic; or to the idea that prevailed previous to the establishment of railroads, of a physical impediment to the traction of the wheels upon the rails, which led to the patent of Mr. Blenkinsop for overcoming this supposed difficulty. Those who travel on railroads or in steam-vessels at the present Some, who His name and saving grace would day are apt to wonder how any doubts of know. 'Twas this that nerved him when he saw the tears 'Twas this that made his father calmly bear His virtuous son to counsel, guide, and aid. “And go,” he said, "though I, with mortal eyes, "I bid thee go, though human tears will steal Like Abraham call'd to sacrifice his son." And he is gone! with ardent steps he prest And did he go unfriended-poor--alone? Did none of those, who, in a favour'd land, And all, to whom their fellow-men are dear, the kind could have existed; but that they Mesmer, a native of Switzerland, from whose cognomen the science has been named, was the first person in Europe who attracted attention by the practice of the art. His exhibitions, however, were attended with a Bestow the bread by which their souls may live. great deal of mummery, with the playing of ANIMAL MAGNETISM. M. R. THE late experiments of M. Delafontaine have induced us to throw together a few facts connected with this science, as we are convinced this is the proper time for inquiring into its truth or falsehood. We are not an imaginative people, though we are sometimes led away by fashion or the force of example, and therefore we require always some proof that the pretensions of any man to any especial art or science, should be set forth before proper and competent judges, and examined by them before we admit his But, on the other hand, the moment claims. musical instruments, and the manipulation of iron spindles, issuing from a wooden circular box. This box, or tub, admitted around it about fifty patients, and each patient was connected to his neighbour by a cord, while to render the chain of communication more complete, the one pinched the other's thumb. This new science produced so much sensation in Paris, that the government appointed a commission to inquire into its merits, at the head of which was the celebrated Benjamin Franklin. The report was unfavourable to the pretensions of the new science, but it is worthy of remark, that Mesmer himself never came in contact with the commissioners; he refused to explain the principles by which he operated, but one of his pupils, Deslon, un |