no need of guides, nor could any one ever miss | the way, if there were but one. But now it appears to me to have many divisions and turnings The well ordered and wise soul, then, both follows and is not ignorant of its present condition; but that which through passion clings to the body, as I before said, having fluttered about it for a long time, and about its visible place (ie., the tomb), after great resistance and suffering is forcibly and with much difficulty led away by its appointed demon. And when it arrives at the place where the others are, impure, and having done any such thing as the committal of unrighteous murders or other like actions kindred to these, and are the deeds of kindred souls, every one shuns it, and turns away from it, and will neither be its fellow-traveller or guide, but it wanders about in every kind of helplessness until certain times have elapsed, and when these are completed it is borne of necessity to its suitable habitation; but the soul which has passed through life purely and moderately, having obtained the gods for its fellow-travellers and guides, settles in the place suitable for it." * Plato's description of Heaven has many striking similitudes with that in the Revela tion of St. John. "If any one could arrive at its summit, or, becoming winged, could fly up thither, or emerging from hence, if his nature were able to endure the contemplation, he would know that that is the true heaven, and the true light, and the true earth It is said to have the appearance of balls covered with twelve different pieces of leather variegated and distinguished with colours, of which the colours found here, and which painters use, are only copies. But there the whole earth is composed of such, and far more brilliant and pure than these, for one part of it is purple and of wonderful beauty, part of a golden colour, and part of white, more white than chalk or snow, and in like manner composed of other colours, and those more in number and more beautiful than any we have ever beheld. In this earth all things that grow, grow in a manner proportioned to its nature, trees, flowers, and fruits; and again, in like manner, its mountains and stones possess in the same proportion smoothness and transparency and more beautiful colours, of which the well-known stones here that are so highly prized are but fragments such as sardin stones, jaspers, and emeralds, and all of that kind. But there, there is nothing that subsists that is not of this character and more beautiful even than these. But the reason of this is because the stones there are pure, and not eaten up and decayed like those here by rottenness. But that earth is adorned with all these, and moreover with gold and silver and other things of the kind, for they are naturally conspicuous, being numerous and Phæd. 107 C, seq. large, and in all parts of the earth, so that to behold it is a sight for the blessed (wore airny ἰδεῖν εἶναι θεάμα εὐδαιμόνιον θεατῶν). are also many other animals and men upon There it, some dwelling in mid-earth, others about the air as we do about the sea, and others in islands which the air flows round and which are nearer the continent. But the seasons are of such a temperament that they are free from disease, and live for a much longer time than those here, and surpass us in sight, hearing, and smelling, and everything of this kind as much as air excels water, and ether air in purity. Moreover, they have abodes and temples of the gods, in which gods really dwell, and voices and oracles and sensible visions of the gods, and such like intercourse with them. The sun, too, and moon, and stars, are seen by them such as they really are, and their felicity in other respects is correspondent with these things."* the language of this passage, are contained Almost every thought, and in some cases, in the two last chapters of the Book of heaven and the true earth, and St. John Revelation. Plato speaks of the true of a new heaven and a new earth (Rev. xxi. 1). The agglomeration of colours is also interlaced in St. John's version, who gives the same preponderance to white as does Plato- - the bride of the Lamb is arrayed in fine linen, "clean and white; for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints" (Rev. xix. 8). Again, "the armies which were in Heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean;" the throne also was white. The same precious stones are mentioned by both, the sardin, jasper, and emerald; gold and silver figure largely in both versions. They shall be free from disease according to Plato, and St. John says wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain" (Rev. xxi. 4). "God shall Plato speaks of their felicity, of their having dwellings with the gods and a familiar intercourse with them; so St. John "Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God" (Rev. xxi. 3). more curse: but the throne of God and of "And there shall be no the Lamb shall be in it, and His servants. shall serve Him: and they shall see His face and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there, and they need no candle neither light of Phæd. 109 C, seq. THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXI. 1406. the sun for the Lord God giveth them light and they shall reign for ever and ever. A phrase also occurs in the last chapter of Revelation, 13th verse: -"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last:" almost the language of Plato already quoted, as an attribute of the Deity, that he was the beginning, the end, and the measure of all things." Plato also seemed to have some kind of notion of a millennium, for he speaks of a journey of 1,000 years. Altogether there is a vein of similarity running through Plato's speculation and the Apocalyptic vision. Continuing his sketch of the future abode, both of good and wicked, he makes the wicked in their torment cry out to those whom they have injured, just as the rich man, being in hell, seeing Lazarus the beggar in Abraham's bosom, begged that he might be allowed to come to his suc cour: "But when, being borne along, they arrive at the Acherusian lake" (that is, the condemn ed souls), "there they cry out to and invoke, some, those whom they slew, others those whom they injured; and invoking them, they entreat and implore them to suffer them to go out into the laket (where they would be freed from their sufferings)." The lot of the good is thus sketched "But those who are found to have lived an eminently holy life, these are they who being freed and set at large from these regions in the earth as from a prison, arrive at the pure abode above, and dwell on the upper parts of the earth. And among those they who shall have sufficiently purified themselves by philosophy shall live without bodies through all future time, and shall arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these, which it is not easy to describe." + "In my Father's house are many mansions" (John xiv. 2). St. Paul also, quoting a passage from Isaiah, in his first Epistle to the Corinthians, ii. 9, says "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." The concluding paragraphs of this last conversation of Socrates run as follows, in language almost apostolic: After all this grand and marvellous speculation as to the truths of eternity, immortality, heaven, and hell, Plato himself confesses his own inability to ascertain accurate knowledge; confirming what we already quoted at the outset of this investigation in his own words, that he felt deeply the necessity for a divine revelation. "To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly as I have described them does not become a man of sense; that, however, either this or something of the kind takes place with respect to our souls and their habitations—since our soul is assuredly immortal this appears to me most fitting to be believed, and worthy the hazard for one who trusts in its reality, for the hazard is noble, and it is right to allure ourselves with such things as with enchantments. On account of these things, then, a man ought to be confident about his soul, who during this life has disregarded all the pleasures and ornaments of the body as foreign from his nature; and who, having thought that they do more harm than good, has zealously applied himself to the acquirement of knowledge; and who, having adorned his soul, not with a foreign but its own proper ornament, temperance, justice, fortitude, freedom, and truth, thus waits for his passage to Hades as one who is ready to depart whenever destiny shall summon him. You, then,' he continued 'Simmias and Cebes, and the rest, will each of you depart at some future time, but now destiny summons me.'"* Then follows the description of his last moments. Although the "Phædo" is the repertoire of the Platonic theory of the immortality of the soul, yet some remarkable passages occur elsewhere in his works, as for instance, in the "Leges," where he says "It is nothing but the soul which causes each of us to be in this life what he is, and the body like an image follows each of us, and when we are dead the bodies of the deceased are beautifully said to be image-like forms, and each of us being really immortal, but called by the name of the soul, departs to other gods to render an account (anievai dwoovra hoyov), full of confidence to the good, but very fearful to the bad; and that to this last one there is no great assistance when dead."† The very phrase "to render an account," "But for the sake of these things which we and in the same sense, occurs in Romans, xiv. 12. In the "Republic" there occurs this ex- dreadful ruin, than Eriphyle did wher. she retraordinary passage, which recalls a well ceived a necklace for her husband's life?"* known portion of the New Testament: "If he enslaves the most divine part of himself to the most impious and most polluted part without any pity, is he not wretched, and does he not take a gift of gold to his far more See Matt. xvi. 26. "For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" * Rep. ix. 588 C. OF TRUE PERSPECTIVE IN ART AND LIFE., A novel is the epitome of events which run over many years, perhaps a whole life-time; and to give in a novel the daily twaddle which is talked by all civilized beings is to write out of all perspective. Man, indeed, can no more live upon concentrated talk than he can upon concentrated meat. The essence of meat must be taken with a bulk of other food to be nourishing; and in every life strong thought expressed in words must be diluted with a certain amount of twaddle about the weather, about the crops, about friends. But with this sort of talk the novelist has no business, unless, indeed, he wishes to present us with the character of a silly person, who never says a wise thing; but then, at least, he should make the talk of that person absurd and grotesque, and so amusing. A novel, as I have said, is generally the epitome of a life time, the events of years to be concentrated into the reading of an hour or two; and the first rule of a good epitome should be that, whilst every event is given on a smaller scale, it shall still preserve its relative postion with regard to every other event, and so the whole picture be set before us in its true perspective. To see and describe the true relationship between events and persons is the characteristic of genius. In painting the same rule holds good. The learner's colouring is feeble because he forgets that he has to concentrate, on a few square inches of paper, the colour which in nature was diffused over whole miles of landscape. And, indeed, I was led into this train of thought by a sketch which my little boy (ætat. four) showel just now upon his slate - the portrait of a dog, and a very fat dog too, which is his constant companion, and devoted slave. This portrait he had given, and not unskillfully, I think, with two strokes of his pencil, an inner circle and an outer, which stood for the dog's head and body. And it seemed to me that he gave the idea of a fat and lazy dog very happily, considering the means which he employed. At any rate, his perspective was true and right. We are told that rules for teaching perspective are not of much practical use to the artist. Such rules are to be found, I believe, in most drawing-books. But I fancy that all which students of art in general care to know about perspective is supplied by that common-sense rule which teaches that the farther an object is removed from the spectator the smaller it becomes. And, teste Mr. Ruskin, the painters and architects of the day have no larger acquaintance with perspective than this. He declares that, with the exception of Mr. Roberts's pictures (alas, that we must say Fuit!) he has scarcely ever seen an architectural picture or drawing on the walls of the Academy which was in true perspective, and that he has never met but with two men in his life who knew enough of perspective to draw a Gothic arch in a retiring plane, so that its lateral dimensions and curvatures could be calculated to scale from the drawing. But I beg to observe that this is a moral essay, and not a treatise upon the fine arts. And, from a moral stand-point, a true perspective, whether in art or life, is a matter of no little consequence. Now, to obtain a true perspective in life seems to me to call into play that faculty of the sceing eye-alas, how rare a faculty it is! - which looks upon things and facts as they really are, and notes the relationshp which exists between them. And a true perspective in art seems to be the work of a faculty, no less rare, which enables men to describe things as they are; to set them down in their true positions without distortion or exaggeration. Both these faculties, then, it will be seen the one receptive, and the other productive are nearly allied to veracity, to that virtue which "trows the truth." -Macmillan's Magazine. Part of an article from the Christian Observer. DEATH OF WILLIAM PITT. RETRACING that life now with the calmness of history, we find it a great tragedy; an outset of brilliant promise, marvellous powers, great events, stirring adventures; a fortune that soared to the zenith; then a sudden collapse, and a mournful end. within a space of ten years. No wonder that Pitt's health began to feel the strain. His first serious illness was in 1797; from that time his health became uncertain. His habits also changed for the worse. The port wine, which was prescribed to him in early life by his medical advisers, told more upon him. Early hours were abandoned; late hours of rising became his habit. When he was released from office in 1801, it might have been hoped that his health would be restored. Yet it was from this time forward, in the following winter, and in the summer of 1802, that his attacks of illness became more frequent. The Bath waters were resorted to by him. When he appeared in the House of Commons, in May, 1803, an accurate observer describes with painful minuteness the ravages of illness on his physical powers. No longer that grand face, which Gainsborough painted, or the Pitt who was seen by the sculptor on the slopes at Windsor in 1788, just after he had forced his way, in spite of the Court and clique, into the presence of the king, and was met returning with bounding step, the head thrown back and the countenance elate: "his physical powers," says the observer of 1803," are preceptibly impaired ; he exhibits strong marks of bad health; though his voice has not lost any of its depth and harmony, his lungs seem to labour in those prodigious sentences, which he once thundered forth without effort." How was it, we ask? Whence came the final blow? Pitt entered Parliament on the 23rd January, 1781, when he had reached his 22nd year; he died on the 23rd January, 1806, in his 47th year. In early life his health was delicate; but the weakness of his constitution seemed to have passed away under a careful regimen. For years he conducted public business in office, and in the House of Commons, through the most critical times, against the ablest opponents, with unabated power. The labours of Sir Robert Peel, when he resumed office in 1841, were as severe perhaps as Pitt's, but he had not the same difficulties to contend with. He had not to provide for the incapacity of the sovereign; nor to meet the horrors of the French revolution; nor to check the contagion of Jacobin principles; nor to confront the dangers of an European war, urged on by the genius of Napoleon, the most ambitious conqueror and the greatest captain of his age. Yet Pitt bore these labours for a time without injury; the best evidence of this is, that his sleep was not disturbed. We remember to have heard, that return- It is true that his return to office, as is ing, after an enormous amount of labour, often the case in vigorous minds, seemed at from a late debate, to Dundas's villa at first to brace and stimulate him. The Wimbledon, Pitt went to bed, and Dundas enemies whom he had to confront, the diffilocked the door of his room that no one culties he was to face, acted like a tonic. might disturb him. The Premier slept so It was the trumpet of battle rousing the soundly, that when Dundas entered his war-horse. A sanguine temper, the conroom, at a late hour in the following after-sciousness of power, made him meet the noon, he was still asleep, and was awoke, conflict with delight. Still there were as they feared he might suffer from want of some signs which showed the danger. food. The first time his sleep failed him was when Wilberforce opposed him on the question of the French war, in 1794; and this shows rather the sensibility of his heart than the weakness of his health. But there followed after this a strain which was sufficient to upset any constitution. For the effects of the French Revolution, the mutiny of our seamen at the Nore, a European war, complicated negotiations, the Italian conquests and the rapid rise of Buonaparte, the attempt at peace with France and its mortifying failure, a smouldering disaffection in Ireland ending in rebellion, the tedious negotiations for effecting the Irish Union, were all compressed Lord Castlereagh, in writing to Lord Wel- 1805, he escaped to the Wilderness at Lord Camden's, and joined a circle of friends, his conversation was buoyant still, and he detailed with his ancient eloquence the emotions with which he had received at night and opened the despatches that told him of Lord Nelson's death, in the arms of victory, at Trafalgar. At the same time, speaking (it was his last speech) at Guildhall, on the Lord Mayor's day, after he had been drawn to the Mansion House with exultation up Cheapside, his few words, heard by Sir A. Wellesley, spoken in that majestic voice which was never to be heard again, recalled in their patriotism and disinterestedness the character of his life. union with Addington, in the end of 1804; but fearfully augmented by the fall of Lord Melville, by the anxieties which preceded this event, the excitement of the struggle, and the bitter pangs of defeat. This was succeeded by the desertion of Lord Sidmouth and his party; and, in spite of Pitt's earnest entreaties, the obstinacy of the king could not be overcome, and the autumn of 1805 saw the struggling minister, who had just passed through a laborious session with scarce any help in debate in the Commons, obliged to look forward to a repetition of the same labours with his shattered forces. Add to this that the year 1804, in which Pitt returned to office, and the following year, in which he had to On the back of all this enormous presbear single-handed the weight of govern- sure came the last thundering blow. The ment, were among the darkest periods of news of the capitulation of Mack in OcEnglish history. For in 1804, Buonaparte, tober, had reached London early in Novemseizing the reins of government as em- ber. But the blow was lightened by the peror, and succeeding in separating Spain from England and uniting her with France, had assumed the crown of Italy, extended his dominion over Holland, and completed his preparations at Boulogne for the invasion of England. The year 1805 was no less formidable. In that year the united fleets of France and Spain, having decoyed Lord Nelson to the West Indies, had for some weeks the command of the English Channel; and Napoleon, standing on tiptoe on the heights of the chalk cliffs of Boulogne, waited only for the signal that his fleet had arrived, to cross the Channel with his gunboats, and throw such a force on the shores of England as we could not have successfully opposed. Worse than all, such at that time was the rancour and blindness of party, that neither Fox nor Addington believed the danger, but treated it as the idle bugbear or the shabby fraud of government. All these dangers to be met, our fleet to be equipped and sent forth, negotiations and loans to be made in order to unite Austria and Russia in a confederacy against France; the whole of this enormous labour, only diversified by the anxious conflicts of eager debate, fell with its full weight on Pitt's shattered frame. With marvellous buoyancy he bore up under the pressure. Anxious for rest, but unable to find a day; longing to retreat to Walmer, but for two years not finding a single interval; urged by his physician to take the waters at Bath, but prevented from following the advice, it was no wonder that he felt, and showed in his looks, the unalleviated strain. Yet such was his vigour of mind, that when, in November, tidings of the victory of Trafalgar, which annihilated Napoleon's fleet, and rescued England from danger by sea. But on the 2nd of December, the great coalition of Russia and Austria, which Pitt had laboriously framed, and from which he expected so much, was crushed on the field of Austerlitz. When he received these despatches, Pitt asked for a map of Europe, and desired to be left alone; and soon after, when he reached his house at Putney Heath, observing a map of Europe hanging on the wall, he said mournfully, but with the prophetic instinct of genius, "Roll up that map; it will not be wanted for ten years!" The effect of this blow on the weakened body was instantaneous; his look was changed; it became wan and sunk; his voice lost its rich melody; the powers of digestion were gone. To a friend his servant said, that from this time he used to hear his master walking up and down his bedroom great part of the night; that at times he had ventured in, and had remonstrated with him; but even when he induced him to go to bed Pitt, kept a light burning near him, and his bed was covered with papers. No wonder that the poor body could not stand such usage. On the 9th of January, 1806, Pitt left Bath, and returned to Putney Heath to die. The villa, which stands near the summit of the Heath, not far from the Telegraph, had been taken by Pitt, when he resumed office in 1804, as a refuge from the labours of London, where, on dry soil and a pure air, the labouring statesman might find rest. Rallying for a moment in consequence of the change, he allowed some of his political friends to visit him, and con |