VI.  When Solon went to Thales at Miletus, he expressed his wonder at his having never married and had a family.  Thales made no answer at the time, but a few days afterwards arranged that a man should come to him and say that he left Athens ten days before.  When Solon inquired of him, whether anything new had happened at Athens, the man answered, as Thales had instructed him, that “there was no news, except the death of a young man who had been escorted to his grave by the whole city.  He was the son, they told him, of a leading citizen of great repute for his goodness, but the father was not present, for they said he had been travelling abroad for some years.”  “Unhappy man,” said Solon, “what was his name?” “I heard his name,” answered the man, “but I cannot remember it; beyond that there was much talk of his wisdom and justice.”  Thus by each of his answers he increased Solon’s alarm, until he at last in his excitement asked the stranger whether it were not Solon’s son that was dead.  The stranger said that it was.  Solon was proceeding to beat his head and show all the other marks of grief, when Thales stopped him, saying with a smile, “This, Solon, which has the power to strike down so strong a man as you, has ever prevented my marrying and having children.  But be of good courage, for this tale which you have been told is untrue.”  This story is said by Hermippus to have been told by Pataikos, he who said that he had inherited the soul of Aesop.

VII.  It is a strange and unworthy feeling that prompts a man not to claim that to which he has a right, for fear that he may one day lose it; for by the same reasoning he might refuse wealth, reputation, or wisdom, for fear of losing them hereafter.  We see even virtue, the greatest and most dear of all possessions, can be destroyed by disease or evil drugs; and Thales by avoiding marriage still had just as much to fear, unless indeed he ceased to love his friends, his kinsmen, and his native land.  But even he adopted his sister’s son Kybisthus; for the soul has a spring of affection within it, and is formed not only to perceive, to reflect, and to remember, but also to love.  If it finds nothing to love at home, it will find something abroad; and when affection, like a desert spot, has no legitimate possessors, it is usurped by bastard children or even servants, who when they have obtained our love, make us fear for them and be anxious about them.  So that one may often see men, in a cynical temper, inveighing against marriage and children, who themselves shortly afterwards will be plunged into unmanly excesses of grief, at the loss of their child by some slave or concubine.  Some have even shown terrible grief at the death of dogs and horses; whereas others, who have lost noble sons, made no unusual or unseemly exhibition of sorrow, but passed the remainder of their lives calmly and composedly.  Indeed it is weakness, not affection, which produces such endless misery and dread to those who have not learned to take a