As to social science, here is the germ of Fourierism, in the Confessions of Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, fifteen hundred years before Fourier: "And many of us friends, conferring about and detesting the turbulent turmoil of human life, had debated and now almost resolved on living apart from business and the bustle of men; and this was to be thus obtained: we were to bring whatever we might severally possess, and make one household of all; so that through the truth of our friendship nothing should belong especially to any, but the whole, thus derived from all, should as a whole belong to each, and all to all. We thought there might be some ten persons in this society; some of us very rich, especially Romanianus, our townsman, from childhood a very familiar friend of mine, whom the grievous perplexities of his affairs had brought up to court. He was the most earnest for this project; and his voice was of great weight, because his ample estate far exceeded any of the rest. We had settled, also, that two annual officers, as it were, should provide all things necessary, the rest being undisturbed. But when we began to consider whether the wives, which some of us already had, and others hoped to have, would allow this, all that plan, which was being so well moulded, fell to pieces in our hands, and was utterly dashed and cast aside. Thence we betook us to sighs and groans, and to follow the broad and beaten ways of the world." In this beautiful passage from the Gulistan, or Rose Garden, of Saadi, written more than seven centuries ago, will be found an incomparable recipe for a famous hot-weather drink, much affected by Americans. Heliogabalus would have given a slice of his empire for that one immortal cobbler. "I recollect," says the poet, "that in my youth, as I was passing through a street, I cast my eyes on a beautiful girl. It was in the autumn, when the heat dried up all moisture from the mouth, and the sultry wind made the marrow boil in the bones; so that, being unable to support the sun's powerful beams, I was obliged to take shelter under the shade of a wall in hopes that some one would relieve me from the distressing heat of summer, and quench my thirst with a draught of water. Suddenly from the shade of the portico of a house I beheld a female form, whose beauty it is impossible for the tongue of eloquence to describe; insomuch that it seemed as if the dawn was rising in the obscurity of night, or as if the water of immortality was issuing from the land of darkness. She held in her hand a cup of snow-water, into which she sprinkled sugar, and mixed it with the juice of the grape. I know not whether what I perceived was the fragrance of rose-water, or that she had infused into it a few drops from the blossom of her cheek. In short, I received the cup from her beauteous hand, and drinking the contents, found myself restored to new life. The thirst of my heart is not such that it can be allayed with a drop of pure water; the streams