We may behold the great assembly of that lively, high-souled, sensitive, and inflammable people.

There is the Agora; there the half-built temple to Aeacus;--above, the citadel, where yet hang the chains of the captive enemy;--still linger in the ears of the populace, already vain of their prowess, and haughty in their freedom, the menace of the Persian--the words that threatened them with the restoration of the exiled tyrant; and at this moment, and in this concourse, we see the subtle Milesian, wise in the experience of mankind, popular with all free states, from having restored freedom to the colonies of Ionia--every advantage of foreign circumstance and intrinsic ability in his favour,--about to address the breathless and excited multitude.

He rose: he painted, as he had done to Cleomenes, in lively colours, the wealth of Asia, the effeminate habits of its people--he described its armies fighting without spear or shield--he invoked the valour of a nation already successful in war against hardy and heroic foes--he appealed to old hereditary ties; the people of Miletus had been an Athenian colony--should not the parent protect the child in the greatest of all blessings--the right to liberty?
Now he entreats--now he promises,--the sympathy of the free, the enthusiasm of the brave, are alike aroused.

He succeeds: the people accede to his views.

"It is easier," says the homely Herodotus, "to gain (or delude) a multitude than an individual; and the eloquence which had failed with Cleomenes enlisted thirty thousand Athenians." [265] IV.