We should not forget that the Epicureans, the Stoics, the Academics, and other sects, subsequent to the time of Alexander, are not to be spoken of as the Greek schools. They belong to a later and generally different age, in which little of philosophic worth was produced, and still less remains. Of Epicurus three letters are preserved by Diogenes Laertius; of Zeno, nothing; of Cleanthes, a single hymn to Jupiter; of the Academics, or New Platonists, a few traditions only. The device on an old Roman coin, of Julius Cæsar bearing a book in one hand and a sword in the other, represents the genius of many a distinguished citizen of the Republic. Of such was Varro, for he was a soldier, and at the same time the most erudite of his countrymen. He was born at Rieti, near the celebrated cascade of Terni, in Italy. Cæsar appreciated the extensive learning of Varro, and entrusted to him the formation of the great public library. He was a man of ponderous information and unwearied industry, but without a spark of literary taste or philosophical genius. No Roman author wrote so much as he did, and, excepting Pliny, no one probably read so much; yet, notwithstanding all his learning and diligence, he has left nothing that is possessed of either superficial polish or substantial worth. Not so Marcus Tullius Cicero. He was born B.C. 107, and in the realm of philosophy, as in eloquence, was the noblest Roman of them all. Like most young men of good family, he was instructed by Greek preceptors, and early occupied himself with ancient philosophy, directing his attention principally to the Academic and Stoic systems. Plato, Aristotle, and Epicurus engrossed his esteem by turns, as he was an eclectic in taste, and confined himself to no particular school. But his philosophical works, wrought upon the model of Plato, are the most valuable collection of interesting discussions on the grandest themes. In the era of Cicero, scepticism and dogmatism distracted the schools and destroyed the life of philosophy. As Sir James Mackintosh has said, "The Sceptics could only perplex, and confute, and destroy. Their occupation was gone as soon as they succeeded. They had nothing to substitute for what they overthrew; and they rendered their own art of no further use. They were no more than venomous animals, who stung their victims to death, but also breathed their last into the wound."