e have, as a beginning, a fragment handed down to us by
Augustine, in which Cicero complains of the injustice of Nature in
having sent man into the world, as might a step-mother, naked, weak,
infirm, with soul anxious, timid, and without force, but still having
within it something of divine fire not wholly destroyed. Then, after a
while, through many "lacunae," Scipio, Laelius, and one Philus fall into a
discourse as to justice. There is a remarkable passage, from which we
learn that the Romans practised protection with a rigor exceeding that
of modern nations. They would not even permit their transalpine allies
to plant their olives and vineyards, lest their produce should make
their way across Italy--whereby they raised the prices against
themselves terribly of oil and wine.[307] "There is a kind of slavery
which is unjust," says one, "when those men have to serve others who
might 'properly belong to themselves.' But when they only are made to be
slaves who--" We may perceive that the speaker went on to say that they
who were born slaves might properly be kept in that position. But it is
evidently intended to be understood that there exists a class who are
slaves by right. Carneades, the later master of the new Academy, has now
joined them, and teaches a doctrine which would not make him popular in
this country. "If you should know," he says, "that an adder lay hid just
where one were about to sit down whose death would be a benefit to you,
you would do wrong unless you were to tell him of it. But you would do
it with impunity, as no one could prove that you knew it." From this may
be seen the nature of the discourses on justice.

The next two books are but broken fragments, treating of morals and
manners. In the sixth we come to that dream of Scipio which has become
so famous in the world of literature that I do not know whether I can do
better than translate it, and add it on as an appendix to the end of my
volume. It is in itself so beautiful in parts that I think that all
readers will thank me. (See appendix to this chapter). At the same time
it has to be admitted that it is in parts fantastic, and might almost be
called childish, were it not that we remember, when reading it, at what
distance of time it was written, and with what difficulty Cicero strove
to master subjects which science has made familiar to us. The music of
the spheres must have been heard in his imagination before he could have
told us of it, as