scribed, run over a flat surface of clay, and cannot get off with sufficient rapidity, or are not confined to a narrow channel; the super abundance of water must cause the dissolution of all the coarse vegetables it produces, which, together with part of the natural soil itself, is formed into a peat earth, every year increasing in depth and the extent of such bog or morass is according to the quantity of water, and to that of the flat ground on which it is formed. The great object of Mr. Elkington's system is, that of draining such bogs, by cutting off entirely the source of the springs or subterraneous wa ter that cause the wetness, either by flowing over the surface, or by its being long confined under it. If the springs have a natural outJet, the object of the drain is, to lower and enlarge it, which, by giving the water a more free and easy channel, will sooner discharge and draw it off, or will reduce it to a level so far below the surface, as to prevent its overflowing it. Where the springs have no apparent outlet, but are either con fined so far below the surface, as to injure it by constant moisture, or by oozing out imperceptibly through any small pores of the upper aoil; the object of the drain is, to give a proper vent to that water, and to extract more quickly and more effectually what has before been pent up in the bosom of the soil. The object of the auger, which in many instances is the sine qua non of the business, is simply to reach or tap the spring, and to give vent to the water thus pent up, when the depth of the drain does not reach it, where the level of the outlet will not admit its being cut to that depth, and where the expence of cutting so deep would be very great, and the execution of it very difficult. As the whole depends upon the situation of the ground to be drained, and the nature and inclination of the strata of which the adjacent country is composed; as much knowledge as possible must be obtained of these before the proper course of a drain can be ascer tained, or any specific rules given for its direction or execution.' By Mr. Johnstone's account, Mr. Elkington does not merely content hitself with discharging water from soils in which it is njurious, but endeavours to convert what has hitherto operated as an evil into a real good, by making it serve the purposes of Srrigation, of supplying ponds, or reservoirs, or houses, or for turning mills. A description is given, with plates, of the level, augers, and other instruments, employed in Mr. E.'s mode of draining; by which many large tracts of wet and boggy land in the kingdom have been effectually laid dry and brought under tillage as is evident from subjoined extracts taken from the Agricul tural Reports. This useful work is enriched by its Appendix, containing, in 19 sections, many hints, remarks, rules, and directions, relative to the practice of hollow draining; which will be of great use to the young land-surveyor, or to the gentleman who wishes to superintend his own improvements Mo-y. ABT! ART. IX. Dialogues of Lucian, from the Greek. Vols. IV. and V. 8vo. 10s. Boards. Longman. 1798. AFTER a long interval, Mr. Carr has produced the remaining volumes of his translation of this lively and eccentric, but too licentious writer. He has judiciously omitted many parts which merit the latter epithet, and has confined his labours to those passages which exhibit the fine sense of the satirist, without his follies and his ribaldry.-Perhaps the learned reader may in some instances charge Mr. Carr with too great familiarity of diction, and with taking undue liberties in his attempts to imitate rather than to translate the original with fidelity; yet we think that he may plead, in his defence, the acknowleged rules of liberal interpretation, in regard to an author whose graces are sometimes beyond the reach of art. Although Lucian is frequently sarcastic and ludicrous, and approaches too often to the character of a buffoon, yet his works furnish many instances of dignified satire, philosophical acuteness, and a noble spirit of moral disquisition. We think that our readers will be pleased with the following quotation from the life of Demonax (vol. v.), in which the character of a true philosopher is drawn with that skill, accuracy, and gravity, which would confer honour on the disciples of the Porch. • Demonax was a Cyprian by birth, of a family far from being obscure; being distinguished by abundant possessions, as well as conséquence in the state. Superior to such considerations, and aspiring to all that was great and good, he applied himself to the study of philosophy, not from any recommendation of Agathobolus, or his predecessor Demetrius, or Epictetus, though very well acquainted with all the three, as he was with Timocrates, the wise and eloquent Heraclian; it was not, I say, owing to any other philosopher, that he became one; but from the native impulse of his own mind, which from his early youth had directed him to the most honourable pur suits, looking down, as from an eminence, on the follies of mankind, and devoting his life to liberty and truth. Sober and irreproachable in his manners, he set before those who saw him and heard him an example to be followed by all. Not that he came, as the proverb expresses it, with feet unwashed; for there was hardly a poet, whose verses he could not repeat. He had practised the art of speaking, and had studied the distinguishing tenets of the several philosophical sects, not merely to touch them, as the saying is, with the tip of his finger, but that he might perfectly understand them. His body, at the same time, had not been neglected, but trained by exercise, and inured to labour. The point with him was, never to be beholden to any one which when he became sensible was not in his power to *See Reviews of the former, in vols. xlix. lxi. and lxxvi. attain, attain, he quitted life of his own accord, leaving all the great men of Greece a great deal to talk about. It was not that he had cut his philosophical coat from any par ticular cloth; for it was a composition of shreds and patches, picked up here and there*, and nobody knew which piece he liked best. However, it was observed, that he seemed most at home with Socrates, following, at the same time, the Philosopher † of Sinope in his habit and simplicity of life, yet without restricting himself to a mean diet for the purpose of being stared at. He affected not singularity in his appearance or manners, eating, drinking, and conversing, in public and private, just like other people, without pride or ostentation. His conversation was the graceful Attic, pure and unmixed with Socratic irony. No one thought meanly of it, nor did any one ever leave him as dreading the severity of his censure. His companions were pleased and improved, went away better men, with better hopes of an hereafter. He was not addicted to the noise of contention, nor put himself out of humour, because he saw the necessity of reproof; he could forgive the offender, and yet be severe on the offence; well knowing, that a wise physician never thinks of curing the disease by railing at the patient. To err, he said, was human; godlike, to reclaim. Pursuing this course of life, and in want of nothing for himself, he was always ready to supply the wants of others; whom he never failed to admonish, whenever he saw them exulting in prosperity, how frail and transitory it was. Such as complained of poverty, exile, old age, or ill health, were sure to be rebuked with a smile, for not considering how very soon their sufferings would have an end, when both good and evil would be lost in oblivion, and they all would find a lasting deliverance. If brothers were at variance, it was his business to make them friends; if husbands and wives disagreed, he was the mediator between them; and there have been instances, in turbulent times, when a seasonable speech, in his pleasant way, has subdued the spirit of party, brought over sedition to the service of the state, and made even taxes popular: such was our philosopher, mild, smiling, unassuming.' The notes at the bottom of the pages are chiefly composed of allusions to modern facts or customs; and though they carry with them no marks of extraordinary erudition or sagacity, they may afford assistance to the English reader, by enabling him to relish the text.-Mr. Carr takes no notice of Dr. Franklyn's more classical translation of this author, though it was subsequent to his first publication of the three vols. This fifth vol. completes Mr. Carr's design. At the end of it, he informs us that, As a preface to this last volume, I had sct about preparing a Dissertation on the works of my author. I had found in my drawer McCartney's Translation of Cicero de Officiis. 177 a bundle of Remarks ready made; and it could not be a painful task, who read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ," • Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem Testa diu. Monsieur Balzac, who deserved so well of the first person singular, when he spoke of himself and his letters, used to take off his beaver; but a Translator, the ninth part of an author, when he is contented with his proportionate share of vanity, and in possession of a hat, will be more chary of it. I pull off mine, this cold day, not to myself, but my Reader, with whom I wish to exchange forgiveness, and part in peace, while he looks so pleased to see the end of the book.' Jan. 29, 1798. J.C.' None of Mr. Carr's readers, probably, will refuse to return this courteous salute, nor fail to accompany it with thanks for the entertainment with which he has supplied them. Smyth. ART. X. The Treatise of Cicero, de Officiis; or, his Essay on Mo- TH 5 1 : 178 McCartney's Translation of Cicero de Officiis original. The learned reader will grant him indulgence, should he sometimes appear diffuse and at other times abrupt; as Cicero in this essay frequently uses the petulant mode of dialec tics which distinguished the school of Socrates, and sometimes the declamatory style of reasoning which marked the writings of his disciple Plato. The notes annexed to the volume are well suited to persons who are unacquainted with the nature of classical writings, as they are occasionally illustrative of the persons and historical events to which the text alludes; and sometimes contain observations on the text itself, where a doubtful, vague, or improper sentiment is delivered. The original work was written by Cicero to his son, then a student at Athens; and this circumstance may account for the style being nearer allied to the epistolary than to the argumentative form of writing. That our readers may judge of the manner in which this work is rendered into English, we transcribe the following passage from the Third Book. 6 Let us pass over fabulous and foreign details, and come to the authentic history of our own country. M. Atillius Regulus, during his second consulship, was surprised, and taken prisoner, by Xanthippus, the Lacedemonian general in Africa, when Hamilcar, the father of Hannibal, was commander in chief. He was sent to Rome to the senate, after having taken an oath, that, unless certain noble captives were restored to the Carthaginians, he should himself return to Carthage. When he came to Rome, he observed the appearance of utility in his mission; but, as the event declares, he conceived it no more than an appearance. Such was his situation; and who would deny that it was profitable to remain in his native country; to be at home with his wife and children; and, judging the calamity he had sustained the common fate of war, to retain the rank of consular dignity? What is your opinion?-Greatness of mind and fortitude deny that it was profitable. Could you ask more ample authorities than these?-It is the property of such virtues, to fear nothing; to despise all human things; to think nothing intolerable that can happen to man. What then did Regulus do? He came into the senate, and laid before them his commission: he refused to give his opinion; for he was not a senator as long as he was bound by an oath to an enemy. And in that celebrated speech, which some will declare foolish, and repugnant to his own interest, he denied that it would be an advantage to restore the captives; for they were young men and able generals, but he was now wasted with age. When his influence prevailed, the captives were retained, and he returned to Carthage; and neither the love of his country, nor affection for his family and friends, detained him. Nor was he then ignorant that he was returning to a most cruel enemy, and to exquisite punishment: but he thought his oath was to be kept. His condition, therefore, was better, even when put to death by watching, than if he had remained at home an |