a friend of,” replied Critobulus; “and indeed, after having rejected so many, I can scarce tell whom we should take.”  “We ought to take,” said Socrates, “a man who were the reverse of all those we have mentioned, who would be temperate in his manners, faithful in his promises, and sincere in all his actions; who would think it a point of honour not to be outdone in civilities so that it would be of advantage to have to do with him.”  “But how can we be certain of all this,” said Critobulus, “before we have tried him?” “When we would give our judgment of statuaries, we have no regard,” replied Socrates, “to what they say of themselves, but consider their works; and he who has already made good statues is the person of whom we have the best opinion for those he shall make for the future.  Apply this to the question you asked me, and be assured that a man who has served his former friends well will be likely to show no less affection for those that come after; as we may strongly conjecture that a groom, whom we have formerly seen dress horses very well, is capable of dressing others.”  “But,” said Critobulus, “when we have found a man worthy of our choice, how ought we to contract a friendship with him?” “In the first place,” answered Socrates, “we must inquire whether the gods approve of it.”  “But supposing they do not dissuade us, how are we to take this precious prey?” “Not by hunting, as we catch hares,” said Socrates; “nor in nets, as we take birds, nor by force, as we take our enemies; for it is very difficult to gain any man’s friendship against his will, or stop him by force, and detain him in prison as a slave, seeing such ill-usage would oblige him rather to wish us ill than to love us.”  “What, then, ought we to do?” pursued Critobulus.  “It is reported,” replied Socrates, “that there are some words so powerful that they who know them make themselves loved by pronouncing them, and that there are likewise other charms for the same purpose.”  “And where can one learn these words?” added Critobulus.  “Have you not read in Homer,” answered Socrates, “what the Syrens said to enchant Ulysses?  The beginning of it is thus—­

   ‘Oh, stay! oh, pride of Greece, Ulysses, stay!’

“You say true,” continued Critobulus; “but did not they say as much to the others, to stop them too?” “Not at all,” said Socrates, “they enchanted with these words only the generous men who were in love with virtue.”  “I begin to understand you,” said Critobulus, “and seeing this charm, which is so powerful to enchant and captivate the mind, is nothing but praise, you mean that we ought to praise a man in such a manner that he may not distrust we laugh at him; otherwise, instead of gaining his affection, we shall incur his hate; for it would be insupportable to a man, who knows he is little and weak, to be praised for his graceful appearance, for being well-shaped, and of a robust constitution.”  “But do you know no other charms?” “No,”