Plutarch treats the impressiveness and suitableness of this narrative as the best proof of its historical truth, and puts aside the chronological tables as unworthy of trust. Upon which reasoning Mr. Clinton has the following very just remarks: “Plutarch must have had a very imperfect idea of the nature of historical evidence, if he could imagine that the suitableness of a story to the character of Solon was a better argument for its authenticity than the number of witnesses by whom it is attested. Those who invented the scene (assuming it to be a fiction) would surely have had the skill to adapt the discourse to the character of the actors.” (p. 300.) To make this remark quite complete, it would be necessary to add the words “_trustworthiness and means of knowledge_,” in addition to the “_number,_” of attesting witnesses. And it is a remark the more worthy of notice, inasmuch as Mr. Clinton here pointedly adverts to the existence of _plausible fiction_, as being completely distinct from attested matter of fact,—a distinction of which he took no account in his vindication of the historical credibility of the early Greek legends. But even if no chronological objections existed, the moral purpose of the tale is so prominent, and pervades it so systematically, from beginning to end, that these internal grounds are of themselves sufficiently strong to impeach its credibility as a matter of fact, unless such doubts happen to be outweighed—which in this case they are not—by good contemporary testimony. The narrative of Solon and Crœsus can be taken for nothing else but an illustrative fiction, borrowed by Herodotus from some philosopher, and clothed in his own peculiar beauty of expression, which on this occasion is more decidedly poetical than is habitual with him. I cannot transcribe, and I hardly dare to abridge it. The vainglorious Crœsus, at the summit of his conquests and his riches, endeavors to win from his visitor Solon an opinion that he is the happiest of mankind. The latter, after having twice preferred to him modest and meritorious Grecian citizens, at length reminds him that his vast wealth and power are of a tenure too precarious to serve as an evidence of happiness,—that the gods are jealous and meddlesome, and often make the show of happiness a mere prelude to extreme disaster,—and that no man’s life can be called happy until the whole of it has been played out, so that it may be seen to be out of the reach of reverses. Crœsus treats this opinion as absurd, but “a great judgment from God fell upon him, after Solon was departed,—probably (observes Herodotus) because he fancied himself the happiest of all men.” First, he lost his favorite son Atys, a brave and intelligent youth,—his only other son being dumb. For the Mysians of Olympus, being ruined by a destructive and formidable wild boar which they were unable to subdue, applied for aid to Crœsus, who sent to the