_Morals._--Even ordinary morals could have little practical weight with the ancients: witness the Roman juries and Roman trials. Had there been any sense of justice predominant, could Cicero have hoped to prevail by such defences as that of Milo and fifty-six others, where the argument is merely fanciful--such a _Hein-gespinst_ as might be applauded with 'very good!' 'bravo!' in any mock trial like that silly one devised by Dean Swift. The slowness and obtuseness of the Romans to pathos appears _a priori_ in their amphitheatre, and its tendency to put out the theatre; secondly, _a posteriori_, in the fact that their theatre was put out; and also, _a posteriori_, in the coarseness of their sensibilities to real distresses unless costumed and made sensible as well as intelligible. The grossness of this demand, which proceeded even so far as pinching to elicit a cry, is beyond easy credit to men of their time. The narrow range of the Greek intellect, always revolving through seven or eight centuries about a few memorable examples--from the Life of Themistocles to Zeno or Demosthenes. The Grecian glories of every kind seem sociable and affable, courting sympathy. The Jewish seem malignantly [Greek: autarkeis]. But just as Paganism respected only rights of action, possession, etc., Christianity respects a far higher scale of claims, viz., as to the wounds to feelings, to deep injury, though not grounded in anything measurable or expoundable by external results. Man! you have said that which you were too proud and obstinate to unsay, which has lacerated some heart for thirty years that had perhaps secretly and faithfully served you and yours. Christianity lays hold on that as a point of conscience, if not of honour, to make _amends_, if in no other way, by remorse. As to the tears of Oedipus in the crises. I am compelled to believe that Sophocles erred as regarded nature; for in cases so transcendent as this Greek nature and English nature could not differ. In the great agony on Mount Oeta, Hercules points the pity of his son Hyllus to the extremity of torment besieging him on the humiliating evidence of the tears which they extorted from him. 'Pity me,' says he, 'that weep with sobs like a girl: a thing that no one could have charged upon the man' (pointing to himself); 'but ever without a groan I followed out to the end my calamities.' Now, on the contrary, on the words of the oracle, that beckoned away with impatient sounds Oedipus from his dear sublime Antigone, Oedipus is made to weep.