a part of the ancient Illyricum; is bounded on the east by Sclavonia and Bosnia, on the south and south-west by Morlachia, and on the north by the Drave, which separates it from part of Sclavonia. It is about 160 miles in length, and 100 in breadth, and was once divided between the Hungarians and Turks; but now the greater part of it is subject to the house of Austria. The Croats derive their origin from the Selavi, and their language is Cresus, a dialect of the Slavonian, approaching very near to that of the Poles. The country is divided into two parts, namely, that under and that beyond the Save. The soil, where cultivated, is fruitful in wine, oil, and other products, but being a frontier country, and much exposed to inroads, it is not well cultivated. In 1809 the part of Croatia lying south of the Save was ceded to France, and united with the Illyrian provinces; but in 1815 it was restored to Austria.

Cresus, the last king of Lydia, was remarkable for his riches and conquests, his temporary prosperity, and sad reverse of fortune. He subdued the Phrygians, Mysians, Paphlagonians, Thracians, and Carian, amassed immense treasures, and became one of the most powerful and magnificent of princes. He invited the learned to his court, and took great pleasure in conversing with them. Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of Mitylene, Bias of Priene, Cleobulus of Lindus, and other sages who lived in that age, as well as Æsop the fabulist, and the most elegant Greek poets of the time, were welcomed at the court of Cresus. There is still on record a memorable conversation which took place between that prince and Solon, which seemed to predict the subsequent events of his reign, and which had a late but important influence on the character and fortune of the Lydian king. Cresus having entertained his Athenian guest for several days, ostentatiously showed him the magnificence of his palace, and the riches of his treasury. After all had been displayed, the king complimented Solon on his curiosity and love of knowledge; and asked him, as a man who had visited many countries, and reflected deeply on what he had seen, whom of all men he accounted most happy. From the particular occasion, as well as the air with which the question was proposed, it was evident that the king expected a flattering rather than an honest answer. But Solon's character had not been enervated by the vices of a court; and he replied with a manly freedom—Tellus the Athenian. Cresus, who had scarcely learned to distinguish, even in imagination, between wealth and happiness, inquired, with a tone of surprise, why this preference was given to Tellus. Tellus, rejoined Solon, was not conspicuous for his riches or his grandeur, being only a simple citizen of Athens; but he was descended from parents who had deserved the first honours of the republic. He was equally fortunate in his children, who had obtained universal esteem by their probity, patriotism, and every useful quality of mind and body; and as to himself, he died fighting gallantly in the service of his country, which his valour rendered victorious in a doubtful combat; on which account the Athenians buried him on the spot where he fell, and distinguished his memory by every honour which public gratitude can confer on illustrious merit. After this answer, Cresus had but little encouragement to ask Solon, in the second place, whom, next to Tellus, he considered as most happy. Such, however, is the illusion of vanity, that he yet ventured to put this question; no doubt entertaining hopes of being favourably answered. But Solon replied with the same freedom as before—the brothers Cleobis and Biton, two youths of Argos, whose strength and address were crowned with repeated victory at the Olympic games; who deserved the affection of their parents, the gratitude of their country, and the admiration of Greece; and who, having ended their lives with peculiar honour, were commemorated by the most signal monuments of immortal fame. "And is the happiness of a king, then?" said Cresus, "so little regarded, that you, Grecian stranger, prefer to it the mean condition of an Athenian or Argive citizen?" The reply of Solon justified his reputation for wisdom. "The life of man," said he, "consists of seventy years, which make 25,550 days; an immense number, yet, in the longest life, the events of any one day will not be found exactly alike to those of another. The affairs of men are liable to perpetual vicissitudes; the divinity who presides over our fate is envious of too much prosperity; and all human life, if not condemned to calamity, is at least liable to accident. Whoever has uninterruptedly enjoyed a prosperous tide of success may justly be called fortunate; but he cannot before his death be entitled to the epithet of happy."

The events which soon followed this conversation prove how little satisfaction is derived from the possession of a throne. Victorious in war, unrivalled in wealth, supreme in power, Cresus felt and acknowledged that he was unhappy. The warmest affections of his soul centred in his son Atys, a youth of the most promising hopes, who had often fought and conquered by his side. The strength of his attachment was accompanied with an excess of paternal care, and the anxiety of his waking hours disturbed the tranquillity of his rest. He dreamed that his beloved son had been slain by a dart; and the solicitude with which the father watched over his safety having prevented the youth from indulging in his usual occupations and amusements, and thereby rendered him too eager to enjoy them, most probably exposed him to the very misfortune which his parent had dreaded the most. Having reluctantly permitted him to engage in a hunting party, the juvenile ardour of Atys, increased by the impatience of long restraint, made him neglect the precautions necessary in that manly amusement; and he was slain by a dart aimed at a wild boar of monstrous size, which had long spread terror over the whole country of the Mysians. The fatal weapon proceeded from the hand of Adrastus, a Phrygian prince and fugitive, whom Cresus had purified from the involuntary guilt of a brother's blood, and had long distinguished by peculiar marks of bounty. To the grateful protection of this Phrygian Cresus had recommended, at parting, the safety of his beloved son. A mournful procession of Lydians brought the dead body of Atys to Sardis, and the ill-fated slayer followed behind. When they approached the royal presence, Adrastus stepped forward and entreated Cresus to put him to death; thinking life no longer to be endured, after killing, first his own brother, and then the son of his benefactor. But the Lydian king, notwithstanding the excess of his affliction, acknowledged the innocence of Adrastus, and the power of fate. "Stranger," said he, "your action is blameless, being committed without design. I know that my son was destined to a premature death." But Adrastus, though pardoned by Cresus, could not pardon himself. When the mourners were removed, he privately returned, and perished by his own hand upon the tomb of Atys.

During two years Cresus remained disconsolate for the loss of his son; and might have continued to indulge his unavailing affliction during the remainder of life, had not the growing greatness of Persia, which threatened the safety of his dominions, roused him from his dream of misery. He marched against Cyrus with a great army, but was defeated; and retreating to his capital, Sardis, was there besieged. The city was taken by assault; and as a Persian soldier was about to kill Cresus, that prince's only surviving son, who had hitherto been dumb, terrified at his father's danger, cried, "Stop, soldier, and touch not Cresus." But, though delivered by this extraordinary accident from the blind rage of the soldier, he seemed to be reserved for a harder fate. Dragged into the presence of his conqueror, he was loaded with irons; and the stern, unremitting Cyrus, of whom so flattering a picture is drawn in the philosophical romance of Xenophon, ordered him, with his Lydian attendants, to be committed to the flames. An immense pile of wood and other combustibles was accordingly erected in the most spacious part of the city. and the miserable victims, bound hand and foot, were placed on the top of the pyre. Cyrus, surrounded with his generals, witnessed the dreadful spectacle, having, either from an abominable superstition, or from a motive of curiosity equally detestable, bound himself by a vow to sacrifice Croesus as the first fruits of his Lydian victory. Meanwhile the unfortunate Lydian, oppressed by the intolerable weight of his present calamity, compared with the security and splendour of his former state, recollected the memorable conversation he had held with the Athenian sage, and uttered with a deep groan the name of Solon. Cyrus asked by an interpreter whose name he invoked. "His," replied Croesus, "whose words ought ever to speak to the hearts of kings."

The words of a dying man are fitted to make a strong impression; and those of Croesus deeply affected the mind of Cyrus. Considering the speech of Solon as addressed to himself, the Persian repented of his intended cruelty towards the unfortunate prince, who had formerly enjoyed all the pomp of prosperity; and dreading the vengeance which might lurk concealed in the bosom of fate, gave orders that the pyre should be extinguished. This event, which saved the life of Croesus, recommended him to the favour of his conqueror; and Cyrus gave orders that he should be henceforth seated by his side, and treated as a king. But the mind of Croesus had undergone a still more important revolution; for, tutored in the useful school of adversity, he had learned to think with patience and to act with prudence, to govern his passions by the dictates of reason, and to repay by wholesome advice the generous behaviour of his Persian master. This fallen monarch survived his conqueror, and the manner of his death is not known.