My brother having finished this discourse, Simmias, nodding twice or thrice, said: Epaminondas is a great man, but this Polymnis is the cause of his greatness, who gave his children the best education, and bred them philosophers. But, sir, you may end this dispute at leisure among yourselves. As for Lysis (if it is lawful to discover it), pray, sir, do you design to take him out of his tomb and transport him into Italy, or leave him here amongst his friends and acquaintance, who shall be glad to lie by him in the grave? And Theanor with a smile answered: Lysis, good Simmias, no doubt is very well pleased with the place, for Epaminondas supplied him with all things necessary and fitting. But the Pythagoreans have some particular funeral ceremonies, which if any one wants, we conclude he did not make a proper and happy exit. Therefore, as soon as we learned from some dreams that Lysis was dead (for we have certain marks to know the apparitions of the living from images of the dead), most began to think that Lysis, dying in a strange country, was not interred with the due ceremonies, and therefore ought to be removed to Italy that he might receive them there. I coming upon this design, and being by the people of the country directed to the tomb, in the evening poured out my oblations, and called upon the soul of Lysis to come out and direct me in this affair. The night drawing on, I saw nothing indeed, but thought I heard a voice saying: Move not those relics that ought not to be moved, for Lysis’s body was duly and religiously interred; and his soul is sent to inform another body, and committed to the care of another Daemon. And early this morning, asking Epaminondas about the manner of Lysis’s burial, I found that Lysis had taught him as far as the incommunicable mysteries of our sect; and that the same Daemon that waited on Lysis presided over him, if I can guess at the pilot from the sailing of the ship. The paths of life are large, but in few are men directed by the Daemons. When Theanor had said this, he looked attentively on Epaminondas, as if he designed a fresh search into his nature and inclinations. At the same instant the chirurgeon coming in unbound Simmias’s leg and prepared to dress it; and Phyllidas entering with Hipposthenides, extremely concerned, as his very countenance discovered, desired me, Charon, and Theocritus to withdraw into a private corner of the porch. And I asking, Phyllidas, hath any new thing happened?—Nothing new to me, he replied, for I knew and told you that Hipposthenides was a coward, and therefore begged you not to communicate the matter to him or make him an associate. We seeming all surprised, Hipposthenides cried out: For Heaven’s sake, Phyllidas, don’t say so, don’t think rashness to be bravery, and blinded by that mistake ruin both us and the commonwealth; but, if it must be so, let the exiles return again in peace. And Phyllidas in a passion replied, How many, Hipposthenides, do you think are privy to this design? Thirty I know engaged. And why then, continued Phyllidas, would you singly oppose your judgment to them all, and ruin those measures they have all taken and agreed to? What had you to do to send a messenger to desire them to return and not approach to-day, when even chance encouraged and all things conspired to promote the design? These words of Phyllidas troubled every one; and Charon, looking very angrily upon Hipposthenides, said: Thou coward! what hast thou done? No harm, replied Hipposthenides, as I will make appear if you will moderate your passion and hear what your gray-headed equal can allege. If, Phyllidas, we were minded to show our citizens a bravery that sought danger, and a heart that contemned life, there is day enough before us; why should we wait till the evening? Let us take our swords presently, and assault the tyrants. Let us kill, let us be killed, and be prodigal of our blood. If this may be easily performed or endured, and if it is no easy matter by the loss of two or three men to free Thebes from so great an armed power as possesses it, and to beat out the Spartan garrison,—for I suppose Phyllidas hath not provided wine enough at his entertainment to make all Archias’s guard of fifteen hundred men drunk; or if we despatch him, yet Arcesus and Herippidas will be sober, and upon the watch,—why are we so eager to bring our friends and families into certain destruction, especially since the enemy hath some notice of their return? For why else should the Thespians for these three days be commanded to be in arms and follow the orders of the Spartan general? And I hear that to-day, after examination before Archias when he returns, they design to put Amphitheus to death; and are not these strong proofs that our conspiracy is discovered? Is it not the best way to stay a little, until an atonement is made and the Gods reconciled? For the diviners, having sacrificed an ox to Ceres, said that the burnt offering portended a great sedition and danger to the commonwealth. And besides, Charon, there is another thing which particularly concerns you; for yesterday Hypatodorus, the son of Erianthes, a very honest man and my good acquaintance, but altogether ignorant of our design, coming out of the country in my company, accosted me thus: Charon is an acquaintance of yours, Hipposthenides, but no great crony of mine; yet, if you please, advise him to take heed of some imminent danger, for I had a very odd dream relating to some such matter. Last night methought I saw his house in travail; and he and his friends, extremely perplexed, fell to their prayers round about the house. The house groaned, and sent out some inarticulate sounds; at last a raging fire broke out of it, and consumed the greatest part of the city; and the castle Cadmea was covered all over with smoke, but not fired. This was the dream, Charon, that he told me. I was startled at the present, and that fear increased when I heard that the exiles intended to come to-day to your house, and I am very much afraid that we shall bring mighty mischiefs on ourselves, yet do our enemies no proportionable harm, but only give them a little disturbance; for I think the city signifies us, and the castle (as it is now in their power) them. Then Theocritus putting in, and enjoining silence on Charon, who was eager to reply, said: As for my part, Hipposthenides, though all my sacrifices were of good omen to the exiles, yet I never found any greater inducement to go on than the dream you mentioned; for you say that a great and bright fire, rising out of a friend’s house, caught the city, and that the habitation of the enemies was blackened with smoke, which never brings any thing better than tears and disturbance; that inarticulate sounds broke out from us shows that none shall make any clear and full discovery; only a blind suspicion shall arise, and our design shall appear and have its desired effect at the same time. And it is very natural that the diviners should find the sacrifices ill-omened; for both their office and their victims belong not to the public, but to the men in power. Whilst Theocritus was speaking, I said to Hip posthenides, Whom did you send with this message? for if it was not long ago, we will follow him. Indeed, Caphisias, he replied, it is unlikely (for I must tell the truth) that you should overtake him, for he is upon the best horse in Thebes. You all know the man, he is master of the horse to Melon, and Melon from the very beginning hath made him privy to the design. And I, observing him to be at the door, said: What, Hipposthenides, is it Clido, he that last year at Juno’s feast won the single horse-race? Yes, the very same. Who then, continued I, is he that hath stood a pretty while at the court-gate and gazed upon us? At this Hipposthenides turning about cried out: Clido, by Hercules! I’ll lay my life some unlucky accident hath happened. Clido, observing that we took notice of him, came softly from the gate towards us; and Hipposthenides giving him a nod and bidding him deliver his message to the company, for they were all sure friends and privy to the whole plot, he began: Sir, I know the men very well, and not finding you either at home or in the market-place, I guessed you were with them, and came directly hither to give you a full account of the present posture of affairs. You commanded me with all possible speed to meet the exiles upon the mountain, and accordingly I went home to take horse, and called for my bridle; my wife said it was mislaid, and stayed a long time in the hostry, tumbling about the things and pretending to look carefully after it; at last, when she had tired my patience, she confessed that her neighbor’s wife had borrowed it last night; this raised my passion and I chid her, and she began to curse, and wished me a bad journey and as bad a return; all which curses, pray God, may fall upon her own head. At last my passion grew high, and I began to cudgel her, and presently the neighbors and women coming in, there was fine work; I am so bruised that it was as much as I could do to come hither to desire you to employ another man, for I protest I am amazed and in a very bad condition. Upon this news we were strangely altered. Just before we were angry with the man that endeavored to put it off; and now the time approaching, the very minute just upon us, and it being impossible to defer the matter, we found ourselves in great anxiety and perplexity. But I, speaking to Hipposthenides and taking him by the hand, bade him be of good courage, for the Gods themselves seemed to invite us to action. Presently we parted. Phyllidas went home to prepare his entertainment, and to make Archias drunk as soon as conveniently he could; Charon went to his house to receive the exiles; and I and Theocritus went back to Simmias again, that having now a good opportunity, we might discourse with Epaminondas. We found them engaged in a notable dispute, which Galaxidorus and Phidolaus had touched upon before; the subject of the enquiry was this,—What kind of substance or power was the famed Daemon of Socrates? Simmias’s reply to Galaxidorus’s discourse we did not hear; but he said that, having once asked Socrates about it and received no answer, he never repeated the same question; but he had often heard him declare those to be vain pretenders who said they had seen any divine apparition, while to those who affirmed that they heard a voice he would gladly hearken, and would eagerly enquire into the particulars. And this upon consideration gave us probable reasons to conjecture that this Daemon of Socrates was not an apparition, but rather a sensible perception of a voice, or an apprehension of some words, which after an unaccountable manner affected him; as in a dream there is no real voice, yet we have fancies and apprehensions of words which make us imagine that we hear some speak. This perception in dreams is usual, because the body whilst we are asleep is quiet and undisturbed; but when we are awake, meaner thoughts creep in, and we can hardly bring our souls to observe better advertisements. For being in a hurry of tumultuous passions and distracting business, we cannot compose our mind or make it listen to the discoveries. But Socrates’s understanding being pure, free from passion, and mixing itself with the body no more than necessity required, was easy to be moved and apt to take an impression from every thing that was applied to it; now that which was applied was not a voice, but more probably a declaration of a Daemon, by which the very thing that it would declare was immediately and without audible voice represented to his mind. Voice is like a stroke given to the soul, which receives speech forcibly entering at the ears whilst we discourse; but the understanding of a more excellent nature affects a capable soul, by applying the very thing to be understood to it, so that there is no need of another stroke. And the soul obeys, as it stretches or slackens her affections, not forcibly, as if it wrought by contrary passions, but smoothly and gently, as if it moved flexible and loose reins. And sure nobody can wonder at this, that hath observed what great ships of burden are turned by a small helm, or seen a potter’s wheel move round by the gentle touch of one finger. These are lifeless things, it is true; but being of a frame fit for motion, by reason of their smoothness, they yield to the least impulse. The soul of man, being stretched with a thousand inclinations, as with cords, is the most tractable instrument that is, and if once rationally excited, easy to be moved to the object that is to be conceived; for here the beginnings of the passions and appetites spread to the understanding mind, and that being once agitated, they are drawn back again, and so stretch and raise the whole man. Hence you may guess how great is the force of a conception when it hath entered the mind; for the bones that are insensible, the nerves, the flesh that is full of humors, and the heavy mass composed of all these, lying quiet and at rest, as soon as the soul gives the impulse and raiseth an appetite to move towards any object, are all roused and invigorated, and every member seems a wing to carry it forward to action. Nor is it impossible or even very difficult to conceive the manner of this motion and stirring, by which the soul having conceived any thing draweth after her, by means of appetites, the whole mass of the body. But inasmuch as language, apprehended without any sensible voice, easily excites; so, in my opinion, the understanding of a superior nature and a more divine soul may excite an inferior soul, touching it from without, like as one speech may touch and rouse another, and as light causes its own reflection. We, it is true, as it were groping in the dark, find out one another’s conceptions by the voice; but the conceptions of the Daemons carry a light with them, and shine to those that are able to perceive them, so that there is no need of words such as men use as signs to one another, seeing thereby only the images of the conceptions, and being unable to see the conceptions themselves unless they enjoy a peculiar and (as I said before) a divine light. This may be illustrated from the nature and effect of voice; for the air being formed into articulate sounds, and made all voice, transmits the conception of the soul to the hearer; so that it is no wonder if the air, that is very apt to take impressions, being fashioned according to the object conceived by a more excellent nature, signifies that conception to some divine and extraordinary men. For as a stroke upon a brazen shield, when the noise ariseth out of a hollow, is heard only by those who are in a convenient position, and is not perceived by others; so the speeches of the Daemon, though indifferently applied to all, yet sound only to those who are of a quiet temper and sedate mind, and such as we call holy and divine men. Most believe that Daemons communicate some illuminations to men asleep, but think it strange and incredible that they should communicate the like to them whilst they are awake and have their senses and reason vigorous; as vise a fancy as it is to imagine that a musician can use his harp when the strings are slack, but cannot play when they are screwed up and in tune. For they do not consider that the effect is hindered by the unquietness and incapacity of their own minds; from which inconveniences our friend Socrates was free, as the oracle assured his father whilst he was a boy. For that commanded him to let young Socrates do what he would, not to force or draw him from his inclinations, but let the boy’s humor have its free course; to beg Jupiter’s and the Muses’ blessing upon him, and take no farther care, intimating that he had a good guide to direct him, that was better than ten thousand tutors and instructors.