a formidable reptile, giving name to the family of the Crocodilidae, and which from its size and strength is usually assigned the first place in the saurian order. The Crocodilidae are indigenous to all quarters of the world except Europe; and the members of the family are associated by many and well-defined characteristics, of which the following are the most marked. They all attain a great size; sometimes, though not very frequently, they are found 30 feet in length. Their tail is compressed laterally. Their fore-feet have five toes; their hind-feet four, which are united by membranes more or less strongly marked. Each jaw is furnished with a single row of teeth. The tongue is flat, and attached nearly the whole length of its margin. The back and tail are protected by great scales which are strong enough to resist a leaden musket ball. The nostrils open at the end of the snout by two small apertures, which shut with valves. The lower jaw reaches behind the cranium, which gives the animal the appearance of being able to move its upper as well as its under jaw. The external ears shut at will by two fleshy lips. The eye has three eye-lids, two of them horizontal, like those of the human being, and the third a membrana nictitans. Of all the saurians the Crocodilidae are the only family that are destitute of clavicles. The gullet of the crocodile is extremely wide. That variety of the animal which abounds in the Nile is, next to the gavial, the most active on land, and of all the species the one that most readily frequents the open sea. The organs of excretion are small, and their digestion is accordingly found to possess an immense biliary apparatus. They are oviparous, and bury their eggs in the sand; and the female remains in the vicinity to dig them out on the day that the young ones break the shell. The invulnerability of the crocodiles may be imagined from the following incident. One being brought well bound to the bazaar of Cawnpore on the Ganges, it was purchased by British officers on the spot and carried further inland for the purpose of being baited. Accordingly, the ligatures, except those which secured the muzzle, being cut asunder, the monster, though it had been many hours exposed to the heat, and was almost suffocated with dust, fought its way through an immense crowd of assailants, soldiers and natives, armed with staves, lances, swords, and stones, and worried by numerous terriers, hounds, and curs. It overturned all in its way, till, scenting the water at a distance of two miles, it reached the river in spite of the most strenuous opposition.

Of all the animals deemed sacred by the Egyptians, none were held in higher veneration than the crocodile. Proof of this is to be found not only in the accounts we have of the temples and priests consecrated to its worship, but even in the floating traditions of the country. In Brown's Travels we find the following story:—“The people of Isna in Upper Egypt have a tradition concerning crocodiles similar to that entertained in the West Indies. They say there is a king of them, who resides near Isna, who has ears but no tail; and he possesses an uncommon regal quality, that of doing no harm. Some are bold enough to assert that they have seen him.” It is upon this tradition that Southey has founded his humorous pathetic ballad of the “King of the Crocodiles.” See index to Reptilia.

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 Carians, 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 Mytilene, 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 Croesus. 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. Croesus 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. Croesus, 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, Croesus 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 Croesus, “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, Croesus 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 Croesus 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 Croesus 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 Croesus 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 Croesus, 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 Croesus 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 Croesus, that prince's only surviving son, who had hitherto been dumbly terrified at his father's danger, cried, “Stop, soldier; and touch not Croesus.” 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, unrelenting 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 wholesome advice the generous behaviour of his Persian master. This fallen monarch survived his conqueror; but the circumstances of his death are not known.