The Peloponnesian War had been disastrous in its consequences to public morals. Its long duration and peculiarly bloody character, arousing everywhere mistrust, exciting passions, deifying brute force, had wrought a deterioration in the Greek nature from which it never fully recovered. There was ferocity on the battle-field, a ferocity in the party contests. “This,” says Aristotle, “is the oath administered to-day in several cities by the oligarchy: ‘I will be the enemy of the people and will do them all the evil I can.’” We may indeed place against this homicidal oath that taken by the heliasts of Athens after the tyranny: “I will forget all past ills and will permit no one else to remember and give them mention.” But Athens even in its decadence was always Athens liberal and generous, even as its mutilated statues remain beautiful in all their degradation. [Illustration: GREEK URN (In the British Museum)] The system of warfare had also changed. We have shown how one military revolution had already occurred; the replacing of the aristocratic army of former times by the democratic army of the fifth and sixth centuries. And now the age of mercenaries was being ushered in by the employment, in all Greek cities, of hired soldiers to fight beside their citizen troops. But to pay these hirelings money was required, and Greece applied to Persia, who alone had money; hence her mendicant attitude towards the Great King, and the continual intervention of Xerxes’ successors in Hellenic affairs. This dependence on a foreign power and harshness of the public temper were first observed during the last years of the war; they are found again in the year after peace was concluded, the Year of Anarchy, as the Greeks called the commencement of the Spartan dominion.