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 his own words; for the divine monitor within tells him that he has insulted the majesty of Cupid, and forbids him to recross the brook until he has recanted his blasphemy. And so he does.

He had previously said that the lover was mad; but this madness is, he explains, really akin to the inspiration of the prophet and Pythian priestess, or the frenzy of the poet, and is, in fact, the greatest blessing which heaven has given to men. And then he weaves his ideas of the origin of Love into a famous myth, which will be found elsewhere.

"I can fancy," says Socrates, laughingly, "that our friends the cicalas overhead are listening to our fine talk, and will carry a good report of us to their mistresses the Muses. For you must know that these little creatures were once human beings, long before the Muses were heard of; but, when the Muses came, they forgot to eat or drink in their exceeding love of song, and so died of hunger; but now they sing on for ever, and hunger and thirst no more. Let us talk, then, instead of idling all the afternoon, or going to sleep like a couple of slaves or sheep at a fountain-side."

Then follows a severe criticism on the Rhetoric of the day. Truth and accurate definition, says Socrates, are the two first requirements of good speaking; but neither of these are necessarily found in an essay like that of Lysias: and rhetoric, though it undoubtedly influences the rising generation, has done little in the way of perfecting oratory, which depends rather on the natural genius of the speaker than on any rules of