the authority of genuine antiquity. These united qualities infinitely delight you, not only when you are carried along, if I may so say, with the resistless flow of his charming and emphatical elocution; but when considered distinct and apart from the advantage. I am persuaded you will be of this opinion when you peruse his orations, and will not hesitate to place him in the same rank with the ancients, whom he so happily imitates. But you will view him with still higher pleasure in the character of an historian, where his style is at once concise and clear, smooth and sublime; and the same energy of expression, though with more closeness, runs through his harangues, which so eminently distinguishes and adorns his pleadings. But these are not all his excellencies; he has composed several poetical pieces in the manner of my favourite Calvus and Catullus. What strokes of wit, what sweetness of numbers, what pointed satire, and what touches of the tender passion appear in his verses! in the midst of which he sometimes designedly falls into an agreeable negligence in his metre, in imitation too of those admired poets. He read to me, the other day, some letters which he assured me were wrote by his wife. I fancied I was hearing Plautus or Terence in prose. If they were that lady's (as he positively affirms), or his own (which he absolutely denies), either way he deserves equal applause; whether for writing so politely himself, or for having so highly improved and refined the genius of his wife whom he married young and uninstructed. His works are never out of my hands; and whether I sit down to write any thing myself, or to reise what I have already wrote, or am in a disposition to amuse myself, I constantly take up this agreeable author; and as often as I do so, he is still new. Let me strongly recommend him to the same degree of intimacy with you; nor be it any prejudice to his merit that he is a cotemporary writer. Had he flourished in some distant age, not only his works, but the very pictures and statues of him, would have been passionately inquired after; and shall we then, from a sort of satiety, and merely because he is present among us, suffer his talents to languish and fade away unhonoured and unadmired? It is surely a very perverse and envious dis

position, to look with indifference upon a man worthy of the highest approbation for no other reason but because we have it in our power to see him and to converse with him, and not only to give him our applause, but to receive him into our friendship. Farewel.

LETTER X.

To Cornelius Tacitus.

I HAVE frequent debates with a learned and judicious person of my acquaintance, who admires nothing so much in the eloquence of the bar as conciseness. I agree with him, where the cause will admit of this manner, it may be properly enough pursued; but to insist, that to omit what is material to be mentioned, or only slightly to touch upon those points which should be strongly inculcated, and urged home to the minds of the audience, is in effect to desert the cause one has undertaken. In many cases a copious manner of expression gives strength and weight to our ideas, which frequently make impressions upon the mind, as iron does upon the solid bodies, rather by repeated strokes than a single blow.. In answer to this he usually has recourse to authorities; and produces Lysias among the Grecians, and Cato and the two Gracchi among our own countrymen, as instances in favour of the concise style. In return, I name Demosthenes, schynes, Hisperides, and many others, in opposition to Lysias; while I confront Cato and the Gracchi, with Cæsar, Pollio, Cœlius, and above all Cicero, whose longest oration is generally esteemed the best. It is in good compositions, as in every thing else that is valuable; the more there is of them, the better. You may observe in statues, basso-relievos, pictures, and the bodies of men, and even in animals and trees, that nothing is more graceful than magnitude, if it is accompanied with proportion. The same holds true in pleading; and even in books, a large volume carries something of beauty and authority in its very size. My antagonist, who is extremely dexterous at evading an argument, eludes all this, and much more which I usually urge to the same purpose, by insisting that those very persons, upon

only one kind of grain, but employ several different sorts: so in my pleadings at the bar, I spread at large a variety of matter like so many different seeds, in order to reap from thence whatever may happen to hit: for the disposition of your judges is as precarious and as little to be ascertained, as that of soils and seasons. I remember the comic writer Eupolis mentions it in praise of that excellent orator Pericles,

that

On his lips persuasion hung,

And powerful reason rul'd his tongue: Thus he alone could boast the art, To charm at once and sting the heart. But could Pericles, without the richest variety of expression, and merely by force of the concise or the rapid style, or both together (for they are extremely different), have exerted that charm and that sting of which the poet here speaks? To delight and to persuade requires time and a great compass of language; and to leave a sting in the minds of his audience, is an effect not to be expected from an orator who slightly pushes, but from him, and him only, who thrusts home and deep. Another comic poet*, speaking of the same orator, says,

His mighty words like Jove's own thunder roll; Greece hears and trembles to her inmost soul. But it is not the concise and the reserved, it is the copious, the majestic, and the sublime orator, who with the blaze and thunder of his eloquence hurries impetuously along, and bears down all before him. There is a just mean, I own, in every thing; but he equally deviates from that true mark, who falls short of it, as he who goes beyond it; he who confines himself in too narrow a compass, as he who launches out with too great a latitude. Hence it is as common to hear our orators condemned for being too barren, as too luxuriant; for not reaching, as well as for overflowing the bounds of their subject. Both, no doubt, are equally distant from the proper medium; but with this difference, however, that in the one the fault arises from an excess, in the other from a deficiency; an error which if it be not a sign of a more correct, yet is certainly of a more exalted genius. When I say this, I would not be under

stood to approve that everlasting talker† mentioned in Homer, but that other described in the following lines:

Frequent and soft as falls the winter snow, Thus from his lips the copious periods flow. Not but I extremely admire him too§, of whom the poet says,

Few were his words, but wonderfully strong. Yet if I were to choose, I should clearly give the preference to the style resembling winter snow, that is, to the full and diffusive; in short, to that pomp of eloquence which seems all heavenly and divine. But ('tis urged) the harangue of a more moderate length is most generally admired. It is so, I confess; but by whom? By the indolent only; and to fix the standard by the laziness and false delicacy of these, would surely be the highest absurdity. Were you to consult persons of this cast, they would tell you, not only that it is best to say little, but that it is best to say nothing. Thus, my friend, I have laid before you my sentiments upon this subject, which I shall readily abandon, if I find they are not agreeable to yours. But if you should dissent from me, I beg you would communicate to me your reasons. For though I ought to yield in this case to your more enlightened judgment, yet in a point of such consequence, I had rather receive my conviction from the force of argument than authority. If you should be of my opinion in this matter, a line or two from you in return, intimating your concurrence, will be sufficient to confirm me in the justness of my sentiments. On the contrary, if you think me mistaken, I beg you would give me your objections at large. Yet has it not, think you, something of the air of bribery, to ask only a short letter if you agree with me; but enjoin you the trouble of a very long one, if you are of a contrary opinion? Farewel.

Aristo, whom I infinitely love and esteem, is fallen into a dangerous and obstinate illness, which deeply affects me. Virtue, knowledge, and good sense, shine out with so superior a lustre in this excellent man, that learning herself and every valuable endowment seems involved in the danger of his single person. How consummate is his knowledge both in the political and civil laws of his country! How thoroughly conversant is he in every branch of history and antiquity! There is no article of science, in short, you would wish to be informed of, in which he is not skilled. As for my own part, whenever I would acquaint myself with any abstruse point of literature, I have recourse to him, as to one who supplies me with its most hidden treasures. What an amiable sincerity, what a noble dignity is there in his conversation! How humble, yet how graceful is his diffidence! Though he conceives at once every point in debate, yet he is as slow to decide as he is quick to apprehend, calmnly and deliberately weighing every opposite reason that is offered, and tracing it, with a most judicious penetration, from its source through all its remotest consequences. His diet is frugal, his dress plain; and whenever I enter his chamber, and view him upon his couch, I consider the scene before me as a true image of ancient simplicity, to which his illustrious mind reflects the noblest ornament. He places no part of his happiness in ostentation, but refers the whole of it to conscience; and seeks the reward of his virtue, not in the clamorous applauses of the world, but in the silent satisfaction which results from having acted well. In short, you will not easily find his equal even among our philosophers by profession. He frequents not the places of public disputations*, nor idly amuses himself and others with vain and endless controversies. His nobler talents are exerted to more useful purposes; in the scenes of civil and active life. Many has he assisted with his interest, still more with his advice! But though he dedicates his time to the affairs of the world, he regulates his conduct by the precepts of the philosophers; and in the practice of temperance, picty, justice

• The philosophers used to hold their disputations in the Gymnasia and Porticos, being places of most public resort for walking, &e.

and fortitude, he has no superior. It is astonishing with what patience he bears his illness; how he struggles with pain, endures thirst, and quietly submits to the troublesome regimen necessary in a raging fever. He lately called me, and a few more of his particular friends, to his bedside, and begged we would ask his physicians what turn they apprehended his distemper would take: that if they pronounced it incurable, he might voluntarily put an end to his life; but if there were hopes of a recovery, however tedious and difficult, he might wait the event with patience: for so much, he thought, was due to the tears and intreaties of his wife and daughter, and to the affectionate intercession of his friends, as not voluntarily to abandon our hopes, if in truth they were not entirely desperate. A resolution this, in my estimation, truly heroical, and worthy of the highest applause. Instances are frequent enough in the world, of rushing into the arms of death without reflection, and by a sort of blind impulse: but calmly and deliberately to weigh the reasons for life or death, and to be determined in our choice as either side of the scale prevails, is the mark of an uncommon and great mind ↑. We have had the satisfaction of the opinion of his physicians in his favour; and may heaven give success to their art, and free me from this restless anxiety! If that should happily be the event, I shall immediately return to my favourite Laurentinum, or, in other words, to my books and studious retirement. At present, so much of my time and thought I employed in attendance upon my friend, and in my apprehensions for him, that I have neither leisure nor inclination for subjects of literature. Thus have I informed you of my fears, my wishes, and my intentions. Communicate to me, in your turn, but in a gayer style, an account not only of what you are and have been doing, but even of your future designs. It will be a very sensible consolation to me in this perplexity of mind, to be assured that yours is easy. Farewel.

LETTER XII.

To Bebius.

My friend and guest Tranquillus has an inclination to purchase a small farm, of which, as I am informed, an acquaintance of yours intends to dispose. I beg you would endeavour he may have it upon reasonable terms; a circumstance which will add to his satisfaction in obtaining it. A dear bargain is always disagreeable, particularly as it is a reflection upon the purchaser's judgment. There are several circumstances attending this little villa, which (supposing my friend has no objection to the price) are extremely suitable to his taste: the convenient distance from Rome, the goodness of the roads, the smallness of the building, and the very few acres of land around it, which is just enough to amuse but not employ him. To a man of the studious turn that Tranquillus is, it is sufficient if he has but a small spot to relieve the mind and divert the eye, where he may saunter round his grounds, traverse his single walk, grow familiar with his two or three vines, and count his little plantations. I mention these particulars, to let you see how much he will be obliged to me, as I shall to you, if you can help him to the purchase of this little box, so agreeable to his taste, upon terms of which he shall have no occasion to repent.

LETTER XIII.

To Voconius Romanus.

ROME has not for many years beheld a more magnificent and solemn speetacle, than was lately exhibited in the public funeral of that great man, the illustrious and fortunate* Virginius Rufus. He lived thirty years in the full enjoyment of the highest reputation:

The ancients seem to have considered fortune as a mark of merit in the person who was thus distinguished. Cicero (to borrow the observation of an excellent writer) recommended Pompey to the Romans for their general upon three accounts, as he was a man of courage, conduct, and good fortune; and not only Sylla the Dictator, but several of the Roman emperors, as is still to be seen upon their medals, among other titles, gave themselves that of felix, or fortunate.

and as he had the satisfaction to see his actions celebrated by poets and recorded by historians, he seems even to have anticipated his fame with posterity. He was thrice raised to the dignity of consul, that he who refused to be the first of princes † might at least be the highest of subjects. As he escaped the resentment of those emperors to whom his virtues had given umbrage, and even rendered him odious, and ended his days when this best of princes, this friend of mankind, was in quiet possession of the empire, it seems as if Providence had purposely preserved him to these times, that he might receive the honour of a public funeral. He arrived in full tranquillity, and universally revered, to the eighty-fourth year of his age; having enjoyed an uninterrupted state of health during his whole life, excepting only a paralytic disorder in his hands, which, however, was attended with no pain. His last sickness, indeed, was severe and tedious; but even the accident that occasioned it added to his glory. As he was preparing to return his public acknowledgments to the emperor, who had raised him to the consulship, a large volume, which he aceidentally received at that time, too weighty for a feeble old man, slipped out of

At the time of the general defection from Nero, Virginins was at the head of a very powerful army in Germany, which had pressed him, and even attempted to force him, to accept the title of emperor. But he constantly refused it; adding, that he would not even suffer it to be given to any person but whom the senate should elect. With this army he marched against Vindex, who had put himself at the head of 100,000 Gauls. Having come up with him, he gave him battle, in which Vindex was slain, and his forces Nero's death was known in the army, the entirely defeated. After this victory, when soldiers renewed their application to Virginius to accept the imperial dignity; and though one of the tribunes rushed into his tent, and threatened that he should either receive the empire, or his sword through his body, he resolutely persisted in his former sentiments. But as soon as the news of Nero's death was confirmed, and that the senate had declared for Galba, he prevailed with the army, though with much difficulty, to do so too.

The justness of this glorious title, the friend of mankind, here given to Nerva, is confirmed by the concurrent testimony of all the historians of these times. That excellent emperor's short reign seems indeed to have been one uninterrupted series of generous and benevolent actions, and he used to say himself, he had the satisfaction of being conscious he had not com. mitted a single act that could give just offence to any man.