Transcription conventions: Page numbers in angle brackets refer to the edition cited as the source. The Latin text, which appears on even-numbered pages, is not included here. Words or phrases singled out for indexing are marked by plus signs. In the index, numbers in parentheses indicate how many times the item appears. A slash followed by a small letter or a number indicates a footnote at the bottom of the page. Only notes of historical, philosophical, or literary interest to a general reader have been included. I have allowed Greek passages to stand as the scanner read them, in unintelligible strings of characters.

Greetings from Seneca to his friend Lucilius. 

CONTINUE to act thus, my dear Lucilius - set yourself free for your own sake; gather and save your time, which till lately has been forced from you, or filched away, or has merely slipped from your hands. Make yourself believe the truth of my words, - that certain moments are torn from us, that some are gently removed, and that others glide beyond our reach. The most disgraceful kind of loss, however, is that due to carelessness. Furthermore, if you will pay close heed to the problem, you will find that the largest portion of our life passes while we are doing ill, a goodly share while we are doing nothing, and the whole while we are doing that which is not to the purpose. What man can you show me who places any value on his time, who reckons the worth of each day, who understands that he is dying daily? For we are mistaken when we look forward to death+; the major portion of death has already passed, Whatever years be behind us are in death's hands.
     Therefore, Lucilius, do as you write me that you are doing: hold every hour in your grasp. Lay hold of to-day's task, and you will not need to depend so much upon to-morrow's. While we are postponing,
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life speeds by. Nothing, Lucilius, is ours, except time. We were entrusted by nature with the ownership of this single thing, so fleeting and slippery that anyone who will can oust us from possession. What fools these mortals be! They allow the cheapest and most useless things, which can easily be replaced, to be charged in the reckoning, after they have acquired them; but they never regard themselves as in debt when they have received some of that precious commodity, - time! And yet time is the one loan which even a grateful recipient cannot repay.
     You may desire to know how I, who preach to you so freely, am practising. I confess frankly: my expense account balances, as you would expect from one who is free-handed but careful. I cannot boast that I waste nothing, but I can at least tell you what I am wasting, and the cause and manner of the loss; I can give you the reasons why I am a poor man. My situation, however, is the same as that of many who are reduced to slender means through no fault of their own: every one forgives them, but no one comes to their rescue.
     What is the state of things, then? It is this: I do not regard a man as poor, if the little which remains is enough for him. I advise you, however, to keep what is really yours; and you cannot begin too early.  For, as our ancestors believed, it is too late to spare when you reach the dregs of the cask./a Of that which remains at the bottom, the amount is slight, and the quality is vile.  Farewell
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     Judging by what you write me, and by what I hear, I am forming a good opinion regarding your future.  You do not run hither and thither and distract yourself by changing your abode; for suchrestlessness+ is the sign of a disordered spirit.  The primary indication, to my thinking, of a well-ordered maid is a man's ability to remain in one place and linger in his own company.  Be careful, however, lest this reading of many authors and books of every sort may tend to make you discursive and unsteady.  You must linger among a limited number of masterthinkers, and digest their works, if you would derive ideas which shall win firm hold in your mind.  Everywhere means nowhere.  When a person spends all his time in foreign travel, he ends by having many acquaintances, but no friends. And the same thing must hold true of men who seek intimate acquaintance with no single author, but visit them all in a hasty and hurried manner. Food does no good and is not assimilated into the body if it leaves the stomach as soon as it is eaten; nothing hinders a cure so much as frequent change of medicine; no wound will heal when one salve is tried after another; a plant which is often moved can never grow strong.  There is nothing so efficacious that it can be helpful while it is being shifted about.  And in reading of many books is distraction.
     Accordingly, since you cannot read all the books which you may possess, it is enough to possess only as many books as you can read. "But," you reply, "I wish to dip first into one book and then into another." I tell you that it is the sign of an overnice appetite to toy with many dishes; for when
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they are manifold and varied, they cloy but do not nourish.  So you should always read standard authors; and when you crave a change, fall back upon those whom you read before.  Each day acquire something that will fortify you against poverty, against death, indeed against other misfortunes as well; and after you have run over many thoughts, select one to be thoroughly digested that day.  This is my own custom; from the many things which I have read, I claim some one part for myself.
     The thought for to-day is one which I discovered in Epicurus/a; for I am wont to cross over even into the enemy's camp, - not as a deserter, but as a scout.  He says: "Contented poverty is an honourable estate." Indeed, if it be contented, it is not poverty at all. It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.  What does it matter how much a man has laid up in his safe, or in his warehouse, how large are his flocks and how fat his dividends, if he covets his neighbour's property, and reckons, not his past gains, but his hopes of gains to come?  Do you ask what is the proper limit to wealth? It is, first, to have what is necessary, and, second, to have what is enough. Farewell.
 
 

     You have sent a letter to me through the hand of a "friend" of yours, as you call him.  And in your very next sentence you warn me not to discuss with him all the matters that concern you, saying that even you yourself are not accustomed to do this; in oother words, you have in the same letter affirmed
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and denied that he is your friend.  Now if you used this word of ours/a in the popular sense, and called him "friend" in the same way in which we speak of all candidates for election as "honourable gentlemen," and as we greet all men whom we meet casually, if their names slip us for the moment, with the salutation "my dear sir," - so be it.  But if you consider any man a friend whom you do not trust+ as you trust yourself, you are mightily mistaken and you do not sufficiently understand what true friendship means.  Indeed, I would have you discuss everything with a friend; but first of all discuss the man himself.  When friendship is settled, you must trust; before friendship is formed, you must pass judgment.  Those persons indeed put last first and confound their duties, who, violating the rules of Tbeophrastus,/b judge a man after they have made him their friend, instead of making him their friend after they have judged him.  Ponder for a long time whether you shall admit a given person to your friendship; but when you have decided to admit him, welcome him with all your heart and soul.  Speak as boldly with him as with yourself As to yourself, although you should live in such a way that you trust your own self with nothing which you could not entrust even to your enemy, yet, since certain matters occur which convention keeps secret, you should share with a friend at least all your worries and reflections. Regard him as loyal, and you will make him loyal.  Some, for example, fearing to be deceived, have taught men to deceive; by their suspicions they have given their friend+ the right to do wrong.  Why need I keep back any words in the presence of my friend?  Why should I not regard myself as alone when in his company?
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     There is a class of men who communicate, to anyone whom they meet, matters which should be revealed to friends alone, and unload upon the chance listener whatever irks them.  Others, again, fear to confide in their closest intimates; and if it were possible, they would not trust even themselves, burying their secrets deep in their hearts. But we should do neither.  It is equally faulty to trust everyone and to trust no one.  Yet the former fault is, I should say, the more ingenuous, the latter the more safe.  In like manner you should rebuke these two kinds of men, - both those who always lack repose, and those who are always in repose.  For love of bustle is not industry, - it is only the restlessness of a hunted mind.  And true repose does not consist in condemning all motion as merely vexation; that kind of repose is slackness and inertia.  Therefore, you should note the following saying, taken from my reading in Pomponius/a: "Some men shrink into dark corners, to such a degree that they see darkly by day." No, men should combine these tendencies, and he who reposes should act and be who acts should take repose.  Discuss the problem with Nature; she will tell you that she has created both day and night.  Farewell.
 
 

     Keep on as you have begun, and make all possible haste, so that you may have longer enjoyment of an improved mind, one that is at peace with itself.  Doubtless you will derive enjoyment during the time
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when you are improving your mind and setting it at peace with itself; but quite different is the pleasure which comes from contemplation when one's mind is so cleansed from every stain that it shines.  You remember, of course, what joy you felt when you laid aside the garments of boyhood and donned the man's toga, and were escorted to the forum; nevertheless, you may look for a still greater joy when you have laid aside the mind of boyhood and when wisdom has enrolled you among men.  For it is not boyhood that still stays with us, but something worse, - boyishness.  And this condition is all the more serious because we possess the authority of old age, together with the follies of boyhood, yea, even the follies of infancy.  Boys fear trifles, children fear shadows, we fear both.
     All you need to do is to advance; you will thus understand that some things are less to be dreaded, precisely because they inspire us with great fear.  No evil is great which is the last evil of all.  Death arrives; it would be a thing to dread, if it could remain with you.  But death must either not come at all, or else must come and pass away.
     "It is difficult, however," you say, "to bring the mind to a point where it can scorn life." But do you not see what trifling reasons impel men to scorn life?  One hangs himself before the door of his mistress; another hurls himself from the house-top that he may no longer be compelled to bear the taunts of a bad- tempered master; a third, to be saved from arrest after running away, drives a sword into his vitals. Do you not suppose that virtue will be as efficacious as excessive fear? No man can have a peaceful life who thinks too much about lengthening it, or believes that living through many consulships is a great bless-
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ing.  Rehearse this thought every day, that you may be able to depart from life contentedly; for man men clutch and cling to life, even as those who are carried down a rushing stream clutch and cling to briars and sharp rocks.  Most men ebb and flow in wretchedness between the fear of death and the hardships of life; they are unwilling to live, and yet they do not know how to die.  For this reason, make life as a whole agreeable to yourself by banishing all worry about it.  No good thing renders its possessor happy, unless his mind is reconciled to the possibility of loss; nothing, however, is lost with less discomfort than that which, when lost, cannot be missed.  Therefore, encourage and toughen your spirit against the mishaps that afflict even the most powerful.  For example, the fate of Pompey was settled by a boy and a eunuch, that of Crassus by a cruel and insolent Parthian.
     Gaius Caesar ordered Lepidus to bare his neck for the axe of the tribune Dexter; and he himself offered his own throat to Chaerea./a No man has ever been so far advanced by Fortune that she did not threaten him as greatly as she had previously indulged ban.  Do not trust her seeming calm; in a moment the sea is moved to its depths. The very day the ships have made a brave show in the games, they are engulfed. Reflect that a highwayman or an enemy may cut your throat; and, though he is not your master, every slave wields the power of life and death over you.  Therefore I declare to you: he is lord of your life that scorns his own.  Think of those who have perished through plots in their own home, slain either openly or by guile; you will that just as many have been killed by angry slaves as by angry kings.  What matter, therefore, how power-
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ful he be whom you fear, when every one possesses the power which inspires your fear?  But," you will say, "if you should chance to fall into the hands of the enemy, the conqueror will command that you be led away," - yes, whither you are already being led./a Why do you voluntarily deceive yourself and require to be told now for the first time what fate it is that you have long been labouring under?  Take my word for it: since the day you were born you are being led thither.  We must ponder this thought, and thoughts of the like nature, if we desire to be calm as we await that last hour, the fear of which makes all previous hours uneasy.
     But I must end my letter.  Let me share with you the saying which pleased me to-day.  It, too, is culled from another man's Garden/b: "Poverty+ brought into conformity with the law of nature, is great wealth." Do you know what limits that law of nature ordains for us?  Merely to avert hunger, thirst, and cold.  In order to banish hunger and thirst, it is not necessary for you to pay court at the doors of the purse-proud, or to submit to the stern frown, or to the kindness that humiliates; nor is it necessary for you to scour the seas, or go campaigning; nature's needs are easily provided and ready to hand.  It is the superfluous things for which men sweat, - the superfluous things that wear our togas threadbare, that force us to grow old in camp, that dash us upon foreign shores.  That which is enough is ready to our hands.  He who has made a fair compact with poverty is rich.  Farewell.
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    I commend you and rejoice in the fact that you are persistent in your studies, and that, putting all else aside, you make it each day your endeavour to become a better man.  I do not merely exhort you to keep at it; I actually beg you to do so.  I warn you, however, not to act after the fashion of those who desire to be conspicuous rather than to improve, by doing things which will rouse comment as regards your dress or general way of living.  Repellent attire, unkempt hair, slovenly beard, open scorn of silver dishes, a couch on the bare earth, and any other perverted forms of self-display, are to be avoided.  The mere name of philosophy, however quietly pursued, is an object of sufficient scorn; and what would happen if we should begin to separate ourselves from the customs of our fellow-men?  Inwardly, we ought to be different in all respects, but our exterior should conform to society.  Do not wear too fine, nor yet too frowzy, a toga.  One needs no silver plate, encrusted and embossed in solid gold; but we should not believe the lack of silver and gold to be proof of the simple life.  Let us try to maintain a higher standard of life than that of the multitude, but not a contrary standard; otherwise, we shall frighten away and repel the very persons whom we are trying to improve.  We also bring it about that they are unwilling to imitate us in anything, because they are afraid lest they might be compelled to imitate us in everything.
     The first thing which philosophy undertakes to give is fellow-feeling with all men; in other words, sympathy and sociability. We part company with our promise if we are unlike other men.  We must
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see to it that the means by which we wish to draw admiration be not absurd and odious.  Our motto,/a as you know, is "Live according to Nature"; but it is quite contrary to nature to torture the body, to hate unlaboured elegance, to be dirty on purpose, to eat food that is not only plain+, but disgusting and forbidding.  Just as it is a sign of luxury to seek out dainties, so it is madness to avoid that which is customary and can be purchased at no great price.  Philosophy calls for plain+ living, but not for penance; and we may perfectly well be plain and neat at the same time. This is the mean of which I approve; our life should observe a happy medium between the ways of a sage and the ways of the world at large; all men should admire it, but they should understand it also.
     Well then, shall we act like other men?  Shall there be no distinction between ourselves and the world? "Yes, a very great one; let men find that we are unlike the common herd, if they look closely. If they visit us at home, they should admire us. rather than our household appointments, he is a great man who uses earthenware dishes as if they were silver; but he is equally great who uses silver as if it were earthenware. It is the sign of an unstable mind not to be able to endure riches+. {sprezzatura+}
     But I wish to share with you to-day's profit also.  I find in the writings of our/b Hecato that the limiting of desires helps also to cure fears: "Cease to hope," he says, "and you will cease to fear." "But how, you will reply, "can things so different go side by side?" In this way, my dear Lucilius: though they do seem at variance, yet they are really united.  Just as the same chain fastens the prisoner and the soldier who guards him, so hope and fear, dissimilar as they
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are, keep step together; fear follows hope.  I am not surprised that they proceed in this way; each alike belongs to a mind that is in suspense, a mind that is fretted by looking forward to the future.  But the chief cause of both these ills is that we do not adapt ourselves to the present, but send our thoughts a long way ahead.  And so foresight, the noblest blessing of the human race, becomes perverted.  Beasts avoid the dangers which they see, and when they have escaped them are free from care; but we men torment ourselves over that which is to come as well as over that which is past. Many of our blessings bring bane to us; for memory recalls the tortures of fear, while foresight anticipates them.  The present alone can make no man wretched.  Farewell.
 
 

    I feel, my dear Lucilius, that I am being not only reformed, but transformed.  I do not yet, however, assure myself, or indulge the hope, that there are no elements left in me which need to be changed. Of course there are many that should be made more compact, or made thinner, or be brought into greater prominence.  And indeed this very fact is proof that my spirit is altered into something better, - that it can see its own faults, of which it was previously ignorant.  In certain cases sick men are congratulated because they themselves have perceived that they are sick.
     I therefore wish to impart to you this sudden change in myself; I should th
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which hope and fear and self-interest cannot sever, the friendshi|p in which and for the sake of which men meet death.  I can show you many who have lacked, not a friend, but a friendship; this, however, cannot possibly happen when souls are drawn together by identical inchnations into an alliance of honourable desires.  And why can it not happen?  Because in such cases men know that they have all things in common+, especially their troubles.
     You cannot conceive what distinct progress I notice that each day brings to me.  And when you say: "Give me also a share in these gifts which you have found so helpful," I reply that I am anxious to heap all these privileges upon you, and that I am glad to learn in order that I may teach+.  Nothing will ever please me, no matter how excellent or beneficial, if I must retain the knowledge of it to myself. And if wisdom were given me under the express condition that it must be kept hidden and not uttered, I should refuse it.  No good thing is pleasant to possess, without friends+ to share it.
     I shall therefore send to you the actual books; and in order that you may not waste time in searching here and there for profitable topics, I shall mark certain passages, so that you can turn at once to those which I approve and admire.  Of course, however, the living voice and the intimacy of a common life will help you more than the written word.  You must go to the scene of action, first, because men put more faith in their eyes than in their ears,/a and second, because the way is long if one follows precepts, but short and helpful, if one follows patterns. Cleanthes could not have been the express image of Zeno, if he had merely heard his lectures; he shared in his life, saw into his
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hidden purposes, and watched him to see whether he lived according to his own rules.  Plato, Aristotle, and the whole throng of sages who were destined to go each his different way, derived more benefit from the character than from the words of Socrates.  It was not the class-room of Epicurus, but living together under the same roof, that made great men of Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and Polyaenus.  Therefore I summon you, not merely that you may derive benefit, but that you may confer benefit; for we can assist each other greatly.
     Meanwhile, I owe you my little daily contribution; you shall be told what pleased me to-day in the writings of Hecato/a; it is these words: "What progress, you ask, have I made?  I have begun to be a friend to myself." That was indeed a great benefit; such a person can never be alone.  You may be sure that such a man is a friend to all mankind. Farewell.
 
 

  Do you ask me what you should regard as especially to be avoided? I say, crowds; for as yet you cannot trust yourself to them with safety. I shall admit my own weakness, at any rate; for I never bring back home the same character that I took abroad with me.  Something of that which I have forced to be calm within me is disturbed; some of the foes that I have routed return again.  Just as the sick man, who has been weak for a long time, is in such a condition that he cannot be taken out of the
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the house without suffering a relapse, so we ourselves are affected when our souls are recovering from a lingering discase.  To consort with the crowd is harmful; there is no person who does not make some vice attractive to us, or stamp it upon us, or taint us unconsciously therewith.  Certainly, the greater the mob with which we mingle, the greater the danger.
     But nothing is so damaging to good character as the habit of lounging at the games; for then it is that vice steals subtly upon one through the avenue of pleasure.  What do you think I mean? I mean that I come home more greedy, more ambitious, more voluptuous, and even more cruel and inhuman, because I have been among human beings.  By chance I attended a mid-day exhibition, expecting some fun, wit, and relaxation, - an exhibition at which men's eyes have respite from the slaughter of their fellow-men.  But it was quite the reverse.  The previous combats were the essence of compassion; but now all the trifling is put aside and it is pure murder./a The men have no defensive armour.  They are exposed to blows at all points, and no one ever strikes in vain.  Many persons prefer this programme to the usual pairs and to the bouts "by request." Of course they do; there is no helmet or shield to deflect the weapon.  What is the need of defensive armour, or of skill?  All these mean delaying death.  In the morning they throw men to the lions and the bears; at noon, they throw them to the spectators.  The spectators demand that the slayer shall face the man who is to slay him in his turn; and they always reserve the latest conqueror for another butchering.  The outcome of every fight is death, and the means are fire and sword.  This sort of thing goes on while the arena is empty.  You
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may retort: "But he was a highway robber; he killed a man!" And what of it?  Granted that, as a murderer, he deserved this punishment, what crime have you committed, poor fellow, that you should deserve to sit and see this show?  In the morning they cried "Kill him!  Lash him!  Burn him; Why does he meet the sword in so cowardly a way?  Why does he strike so feebly? Why doesn't he die game?  Whip him to meet his wounds!  Let them receive blow for blow, with chests bare and exposed to the stroke!" And when the games stop for the intermission, they announce: "A little throatcutting in the meantime, so that there may still be something going on!"
     Come now; do you/a not understand even this truth, that a bad example. reacts on the agent?  Thank the immortal gods that you are teaching cruelty to a person who cannot learn to be cruel. The young character, which cannot hold fast to righteousness, must be rescued from the mob; it is too easy to side with the majority.  Even Socrates, Cato, and Laelius might have been shaken in their moral strength by a crowd+ that was unlike them; so true it is that none of us, no matter how much he cultivates his abilities, can withstand the shock of faults that approach, as it were, with so great a retinue.  Much harm is done by a single case of indulgence or greed; the familiar friend, if he be luxurious, weakens and softens us imperecptibly; the neighbour, if he be rich, rouses our covetousness; the companion, if he be slanderous, rubs off some of his rust upon us, even though we be spotless and sincere.  What then do you think the effect will be on character, when the world at large assaults it!  You must either imitate or loathe the world.
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But both courses are to be avoided; you should not copy the bad simply because they are many, nor should you hate the many because they are unlike you.  Withdraw into yourself, as far as you can, Associate with those who will make a better man of you.  Welcome those whom you yourself can improve. The process is mutual; for men learn while they teach.  There is no reason why pride in advertising your abilities should lure you into publicity, so that you should desire to recite or harangue before the general public. Of course I should be willing for you to do so if you had a stock-in-trade that suited such a mob+; as it is, there is not a man of them who can understand you.  One or two individuals will perhaps come in your way, but even these will have to be moulded and trained by you so that they will understand you.  You may say: "For what purpose did I learn all these things?" But you need not fear that you have wasted your efforts; it was for yourself that you learned them.
     In order, however, that I may not to-day have learned exclusively for myself, I shall share with you three excellent sayings, of the same general purport, which have come to my attention. This letter will give you one of them as payment of my debt; the other two you may accept as a contribution in advance.  Democritus/a says: "One man means as much to me as a multitude, and a multitude only as much as one man." The following also was nobly spoken by someone or other, for it is doubtful who the author was; they asked him what was the object of all this study applied to an art that would reach but very few.  He replied: "I am content with few, content with one, content with none at al
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written to one of the partners of his studies: "I write this not for the many, but for you; each of us is enough of an audience for the other." Lay these words to heart, Lucilius, that you may scorn the pleasure which comes from the applause of the majority.  Many men praise you; but have you any reason for being pleased with yourself, if you are a person whom the many can understand?  Your good qualities should face inwards.  Farewell.
 
 

     "Do you bid me," you say, "shun the throng, and withdraw from men, and be content with my own conscience?  Where are the counsels of your school, which order a man to die in the midst of active work?" As to the course/a which I seem to you to be urging on you now and then, my object in shutting myself up and locking the door is to be able to help a greater number.  I never spend a day in idleness; I appropriate even a part of the night for study.  I do not allow time for sleep but yield to it when I must, and when my eyes are wearied with waking and ready to fall shut, I keep them at their task.  I have withdrawn not only from men, but from affairs, especially from my own affairs; I am working for later generations, writing down some ideas that may be of assistance to them. There are certain wholesome counsels, which may be compared to prescriptions of useful drugs; these I am putting into writing; for I have found them helpful in ministering to my own sores, which, if not wholly cured, have at any rate ceased to spread.
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     I point other men to the right path, which I have found late in life, when wearied with wandering.  I cry out to them: "Avoid whatever pleases the throng: avoid the gifts of Chance!  Halt before every good which Chance brings to you, in a spirit of doubt and fear; for it is the dumb animals and fish that are deceived by tempting hopes+.  Do you call these things the 'gifts' of Fortune+?  They are snares.  And any man among you who wishes to live a life of safety will avoid, to the utmost of his power, these limed twigs of her favour, by which we mortals, most wretched in this respect also, are deceived; for we think that we hold them in our grasp, but they hold us in theirs.  Such a career leads us into precipitous ways, and life on such heights ends in a fall.  Moreover, we cannot even stand up against prosperity when she begins to drive us to leeward; nor can we go down, either, 'with the ship at least on her course,' or once for all,/a; Fortune does not capsize us, - she plunges our bows under/b and dashes us on the rocks.
     Hold fast, then, to this sound and wholesome rule of life - that you indulge the body only so far as is needful for good health.  The body should be treated more rigorously, that it may not be disobedient to the mind.  Eat merely to relieve your hunger; drink merely to quench your thirst; dress merely to keep out the cold; house yourself merely as a protection against personal discomfort.  It matters little whether the house be built of turf, or of variously coloured imported marble; understand that a man is sheltered just as well by a thatch as by a roof of gold. Despise everything that useless toil creates as an ornament and an object of beauty.  And reflect that nothing except the soul is worthy
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of wonder; for to the soul, "if it be great, naught is great."/a
     When I commune in such terms with myself and with future generations, do you not think that I am doing more good than when I appear as counsel in court, or stamp my seal upon a will, or lend my assistance in the senate, by word or action, to a candidate?  Believe me, those who seem to be busied with nothing are busied with the greater tasks; they are dealing at the same time with things mortal and things immortal.
     But I must stop, and pay my customary contribution, to balance this letter.  The payment shall not be made from my own property; for I am still conning Epicurus./b I read to-day, in his works, the following sentence: "If you would enjoy real freedom+, you must be the slave+ of Philosophy." The man who submits and surrenders himself to her is not kept waiting; he is emancipated/c on the spot.  For the very service of Philosophy is freedom.  It is likely that you will ask me why I quote so many of Epicurus's noble words instead of words taken from our own school.  But is there any reason why you should regard them as sayings of Epicurus and not common property?  How many poets give forth ideas that have been uttered, or may be uttered, by philosophers!  I need not touch upon the tragedians and our writers of national drama/d; for these last are also somewhat serious, and stand half-way between comedy and tragedy.  What a quantity of sagacious verses lie buried in the mime!  How many of Publilius's lines are worthy of being spoken by buskin-clad actors, as well as by wearers of the slipper/e! I shall quote one verse of his, which concerns philosophy, and particularly that phase
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of it which we were discussing a moment ago, wherein he says that the gifts of Chance+ are not to be regarded as part of our possessions:

Still alien is whatever you have gained
By coveting./a

 What Chance has made yors is not really yours./b

 The good that could be given, can be removed./c

     You desire to know whether Epicurus is right when, in one of his letters,/d he rebukes those who hold that the wise man is self-sufficient and for that reason does not stand in need of friendships. This is the objection raised by Epicurus against Stilbo and those who believe/e that the Supreme Good is a soul which is insensible to feeling.
     We are bound to meet with a double meaning if we try to express the Greek term "lack of feeling" summarily, in a single word, rendering it by the Latin word impanentia.  For it may be understood in the meaning the opposite to that which we wish it to have.  What we mean to express is, a soul which rejects any sensation of evil; but people will interpret the idea
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as that of a soul which can endure no evil.  Consider, therefore, whether it is not better to say "a soul that cannot be harmed," or " a soul entirety beyond the realm of suffering." There is this difference between ourselves and the other school/a: our ideal wise man feels his troubles, but overcomes them; their wise man does not even feel them.  But we and they alike hold this idea, - that the wise man is self-sufficient.  Nevertheless, he desires friends, neighbours, and associates, no matter how much he is sufficient unto himself.  And mark how self-sufficient be is; for on occasion he can be content with a part of himself.  If he lose a hand through disease or war, or if some accident puts out one or both of his eyes, he will be satisfied with what is left, taking as much pleasure in his impaired and maimed body as he took when it was sound.  But while he does not pine for these parts if they are missing, he prefers not to lose them.  In this sense the wise man is self-sufficient, that he can do without friends, not that he desires to do without them.  When I say "can," I mean this: he endures the loss of a friend with equanimity.
     But he need never lack friends, for it lies in his own control how soon he shall make good a loss.  Just as Phidias, if he lose a statue, can straightway carve another, even so our master in the art of making friendships can fill the place of a friend he has lost.  If you ask how one can make oneself a friend quickly, I will tell you, provided we are agreed that I may pay my debt/b at once and square the account, so far as this letter is concerned.  Hecato/c, says: "I can show you a philtre, compounded without drugs, herbs, or any witch's incantation: 'If you would be loved, love+.'" Now there is great
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pleasure, not only in maintaining old and established friendships, but also in beginning and acquiring new ones.  There is the same difference between winning a new friend and having already won him, as there is between the farmer who sows and the farmer who reaps.  The philosopber Attalus used to say:  It is more pleasant to make than to keep a friend, as it is more pleasant to the artist to paint than to have finished painting." When one is busy and absorbed in one's work, the very absorption affords great delight; but when one has withdrawn one's hand from the completed masterpiece, the pleasure is not so keen.  Henceforth it is the fruits of his art that he enjoys; it was the art itself that he enjoyed while he was painting.  In the case of our children, their young manhood yields the more abundant fruits, but their infancy was sweeter.
     Let us now return to the question.  The wise man, I say, self-sufficient though he be, nevertheless desires friends if only for the purpose of practising friendship+, in order that his noble qualities may not lie dormant.  Not, however, for the purpose mentioned by Epicurus/a in the letter quoted above: "That there may be someone to sit by him when he is ill, to help him when he is in prison or in want;" but that he may have someone by whose sick-bed he himself may sit, someone a prisoner in hostile hands whom he himself may set free.  He who regards himself only, and enters upon friendships for this reason, reckons wrongly. The end will be like the beginning: he has made friends with one who might assist him out of bondage; at the first rattle of the chain such a friend will desert him.  These are the so-called "fair_weather+" friendships; one who is chosen for the sake of utility will be satisfactory only so long as
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he is useful.  Hence prosperous men are blockaded by troops of friends; but those who have failed stand amid vast loneliness their friends fleeing from the very crisis which is to test their worth. {Timon+} Hence, also, we notice those many shameful cases of persons who, through fear, desert or betray.  The beginning and the end cannot but harmonize.  He who begins to be your friend because it pays will also cease because it pays.  A man will be attracted by some reward offered in exchange for his friendship, if he be attracted by aught in friendship other than friendship itself.
     For what purpose, then, do I make a man my friend?  In order to have someone for whom I may die, whom I may follow into exile, against whose death I may stake my own life, and pay the pledge, too.  The friendship which you portray is a bargain and not a friendship; it regards convenience only, and looks to the results.  Beyond question the feeling of a lover has in it something akin to friendship; one might call it friendship run mad.  But, though this is true, does anyone love for the sake of gain, or promotion, or renown?  Pure/a love+, careless of all other things, kindles the soul with desire for the beautiful object, not without the hope of a return of the affection.  What then?  Can a cause which is more honourable produce a passion that is base?  You may retort: "We are now discussing the question whether friendship is to be cultivated for its own sake." On the contrary, nothing more urgently requires demonstration; for if friendship is to be sought for its own sake, he may seek it who is self-sufficient. "How, then," you ask, "does he seek it?" Precisely as he seeks an object of great beauty, not attracted to it by desire for gain, nor
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yet frightened by the instability of Fortune.  One who seeks friendship for favourable occasions, strips it of all its nobility.
     "The wise man is self-sufficient." This phrase, my dear Lucilius, is incorrectly explained by many; for they withdraw the wise man from the world, and force him to dwell within his own skin.  But we must mark with care what this sentence signifies and how far it applies; the wise man is sufficient unto himself for a happy existence, but not for mere existence.  For he needs many helps towards mere existence; but for a happy existence he needs only a sound and upright soul, one that despises Fortune.
     I should like also to state to you one of the distinctions ofChrysippus,/a who declares that the wise man is in want of nothing, and yet needs many things./a "On the other hand," he says, "nothing is needed by the fool, for he does not understand how to use anything, but he is in want of everything." The wise man needs hands, eyes, and many things that are necessary for his daily use; but he is in want of nothing. For want implies a necessity, and nothing is necessary to the wise man. Therefore, although he is self-sufficient, yet he has need of friends. He craves as many friends as possible, not, however, that he may live happily; for he will live happily even without friends.  The Supreme Good calls for no practical aids from outside; it is developed at home, and arises entirely within itself.  If the good seeks any portion of itself from without, it begins to be subject to the play of Fortune.
     People may say: "But what sort of existence will the wise man have, if he be left friendless when thrown into prison, or when stranded in some foreign nation, or when delayed on a long voyage, or when
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out upon a lonely shore?" His life will be like that of Jupiter, who, amid the dissolution of the world, when the gods are confounded together and Nature rests for a space from her work, can retire into himself and give himself over to his own thoughts./a In some such way as this the sage will act; he will retreat into himself, and live with himself.  As long as he is allowed to order his affairs according to his judgment, he is self-sufficient - and marries a wife; he is self-sufficient - and brings up children; he is self-sufficient - and yet could not live if he had to live without the society of man.  Natural promptings, and not his own selfish needs, draw him into Friendships.  For just as other things have for us an inherent attractiveness, so has friendship.  As we hate solitude and crave society, as nature draws men to each other, so in this matter also there is an attraction which makes us desirous of friendship.  Nevertheless, though the sage may love his friends dearly, often comparing them with himself, and putting them ahead of himself, yet all the good will be limited to his own being, and he will speak the words which were spoken by the very Stilbo/b whom Epicurus criticizes in his letter.  For Stilbo, after his country was captured and his children and his wife lost, as he emerged from the general desolation alone and yet happy, spoke as follows to Demetrius, called Sacker of Cities because of the destruction he brought upon them, in answer to the question whether he had lost anything: "I have all my goods with me!" There is a brave and stout-hearted man for you!  The enemy conquered, but Stilbo conquered his conqueror. "I have lost nothing!" Aye, he forced Demetrius to wonder whether he himself had conquered after all. "My goods are
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all with me! " In other words, he deemed nothing that might be taken from him to be a good.
     We marvel at certain aniinals because they can pass through fire and suffer no bodily harm; but how much more marvellous is a man who has marched forth unhurt and unscathed through fire and sword and devastation!  Do you understand now how much easier it is to conquer a whole tribe than to conquer one man?  This saying of Stilbo makes common ground with Stoicism; the Stoic also can carry his goods unimpaired through cities that have been burned to ashes; for he is self-sufficient.  Such are the bounds which he sets to his own happiness.
    But you must not think that our school alone can utter noble words; Epicurus himself, the reviler of Stilbo, spoke similar language/a; put it down to my credit, though I have already wiped out my debt for the present day./b He says: "Whoever does not regard what he has as most ample wealth, is unhappy, though he be master of the whole world." Or, if the following seems to you a more suitable phrase, - for we must try to render the meaning and not the mere words: "A man may rule the world and still be unhappy, if he does not feel that he is supremely happy." In order, however, that you may know that these sentiments are universal,/c suggested, of course, by Nature, you will find in one of the comic poets this verse;

Unblest is he who thinks himself unblest./d

It matters not what one says, but what one feels; also, not how one feels on one particular day, but how one feels at all times.  There is no reason, however, why you should fear that this great privilege will fall into unworthy hands; only the wise man is pleased with his own.  Folly is ever troubled with weariness of itself.  Farewell.
 
 

rather, what I am promising myself, inasmuch as hope is merely the title of an uncertain blessing:  I do not know any person with whom I should prefer you to associate rather than yourself.  I remember in what a great-souled way you hurled forth certain phrases, and how full of strength they were! I immediately congratulated myself and said: "These words did not come from the edge of the lips; these utterances have a solid foundation.  This man is not one of the many; he has regard for his real welfare." Speak, and live, in this way; see to it that nothing keeps you down.  As for your former prayers, you may dispense the gods from answering them; offer new prayers; pray for a sound mind and for good health, first of soul and then of body.  And of course you should ofter those prayers frequently.  Call boldly upon God; you will not be asking him for that which belongs to another.
     But I must, as is my custom, send a little gift along with this letter.  It is a true saying which I have found in Athenodorus/a: "Know that thou art freed from all desires when thou hast reached such a point that thou prayest to God for nothing except what thou canst pray for openly." But how foolish men are now!  They whisper the basest of prayers to heaven; but if anyone listens, they are silent at once.  That which they are unwilling for men to know, they communicate to God.  Do you not think, then, that some such wholesome advice as this could be given you: "Live amon
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    Your friend and I have had a conversation.  He is a man of ability; his very first words showed what spirit and understanding be possesses, and what progress he has already made.  He gave me a foretaste, and he will not fail to answer thereto.  For he spoke not from forethought, but was suddenly caught off his guard.  When he tried to collect himself, he could scarcely banish that hue of modesty, which is a good sign in a young man; the blush that spread over his face seemed so to rise from the depths.  And I feel sure that his habit of blushing will stay with him after he has strengthened his character, stripped off all his faults, and become wise.  For by no wisdom can natural weaknesses of the body be removed.  That which is implanted and inborn can be toned down by training, but not overcome. The steadiest speaker, when before the public, often breaks into a perspiration, as if be had wearied or over-heated himself; some tremble in the knees when they rise to speak; I know of some whose teeth chatter, whose tongues falter, whose lips quiver.  Training and experience can never shake off this habit; nature exerts her own power and through such a weakness makes her presence known even to the strongest.  I know that the blush, too, is a habit of this sort, spreading suddenly over the faces of the most dignified men.  It is, indeed more prevalent in youth, because of the warmer blood and the sensitive countenance; nevertheless, both seasoned men and aged men are affected by it.  Some are most dangerous when they redden, as if they were letting all their sense of shame escape.  Sulla, when
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the blood mantled his cheeks, was in his fiercest mood.  Pompey had the most sensitive cast of countenance; he always blushed in the presence of a gathering, and especially at a public assembly.  Fabianus also, I remember, reddened when be appeared as a witness before the senate; and his embarrassment became him to a remarkable degree.  Such a habit is not due to mental weakness, but to the novelty of a situation; an inexperienced person is not necessarily confused, but is usually affected, because he slips into this habit by natural tendency of the body.  Just as certain men are full-blooded, so others are of a quick and mobile blood, that rushes to the face at once. As I remarked, Wisdom can never remove this ha|bit; for if she could rub out all our faults, she would be mistress of the universe.  Whatever is assigned to us by the terms of our birth and the blend in our constitutions, will stick with us, no matter how hard or how long the soul may have tried to master itself.  And we cannot forbid these feelings+ any more than we can summon them. Actors+ in the theatre, who imitate the emotions, who portray fear and nervousness, who depict sorrow, imitate bashfulness by hanging their heads, lowering their voices, and keeping their eyes fixed and rooted upon the ground.  They cannot, however, muster a blush; for the blush cannot be prevented or acquired.  Wisdom will not assure us of a remedy, or give us help against it; it comes or goes unbidden, and is a law unto itself.
     But my letter calls for its closing sentence. Hear and take to heart this useful and wholesome motto/a: "Cherish some man of high character, and keep him ever before your eyes, living as if he were watching
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you, and ordering all your actions as if he beheld them." Such, my dear Lucilius, is the counsel of Epicurus/a; he has quite properly given us a guardian and an attendant.  We can get rid of most sins, if we have a witness who stands near us when we are likely to go wrong.  The soul should have someone whom it can respect, - one by whose authority it may make even its inner shrine more hallowed./b Happy is the man who can make others better, not merely when he is in their company, but even when he is in their thoughts!  And happy also is he who can so revere a man as to calm and regulate himself by calling him to mind!  One who can so revere another, will soon be himself worthy of reverence.  Choose therefore a Cato; or, if Cato seems too severe a model, choose some Laelius, a gentler spirit. Choose a master whose life, conversation, and soul-expressing face have satisfied you; picture him always to yourself as your protector or your pattern.  For we must indeed have someone according to whom we may regulate our characters; you can never straighten that which is crooked unless you use a ruler.  Farewell.
 
 

  Wherever I turn, I see evidences of my advancing years.  I visited lately my country-plice, and protested against the money which was spent on the tumble-down building.  My bailiff maintained that the flaws were not due to his own carelessness; "he was doing everything possible, but the house was old." And this was the house which grew under my own hands! What has the future in store for
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me, if stones of my own age are already crumbling?  I was angry, and I embraced the first opportunity to vent my spleen in the bailiff's presence. "It is clear," I cried, "that these plane-trees are neglected; they have no leaves.  Their branches are so gnarled and shrivelled; the boles are so rough and unkempt!  This would not happen, if someone loosened the earth at their feet, and watered them." The bailiff swore by my protecting deity that "he was doing everything possible, and never relaxed his efforts, but those trees were old." Between you and me, I had planted those trees myself, I had seen them in their first leaf.  Then I turned to the door and asked: "Who is that broken-down dotard?  You have done well to place him at the entrance; for he is outward bound./a Where did you get him? What pleasure did it give you to take up for burial some other man's dead?/b But the slave said: "Don't you know me, sir?  I am Felicio; you used to bring me little images./c My father was Philositus the steward, and I am your pet slave." "The man is clean crazy," I remarked. "Has my pet slave become a little boy again?  But it is quite possible; his teeth are just dropping out."/d
     I owe it to my country-place that my old age became apparent whithersoever I turned.  Let us cherish and love old age; for it is full of pleasure if one knows how to use it.  Fruits are most welcome when almost over; youth is most charming at its close; the last drink delights the toper, the glass which souses him and puts the finishing touch on his drunkenness.  Each pleasure reserves to the end the greatest delights which it contains.  Life is most delightful when it is on the downward slope, but has not yet reached the abrupt decline.  And I myself believe that the period which stands, so to
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speak, on the edge of the roof, possesses pleasures of its own.  Or else the very fact of our not wanting pleasures has taken the place of the pleasures themselves.  How comforting it is to have tired out one's appetites, and to have done with them! "But," you say, "it is a nuisance to be looking death in the face!" Death, however, should be looked in the face by young and old alike.  We are not summoned according to our rating on the censor's list./a Moreover, no one is so old that it would be improper for him to hope for another day of existence.  And one day, mind you, is a stage on life's journey.
     Our span of life is divided into parts; it consists of large circles enclosing smaller.  One circle embraces and bounds the rest; it reaches from birth to the last day of existence.  The next circle limits the period of our young manhood.  The third confines all of childhood in its circumference.  Again, there is, in a class by itself, the year; it contains within itself all the divisions of time by the multiplication of which we get the total of life.  The month is bounded by a narrower ring. The smallest circle of all is the day; but even a day has its beginning and its ending, its sunrise and its sunset.  Hence Heraclitus, whose obscure style gave him his surname,/b remarked: "One day is equal to every. day:" Different persons have interpreted the saying in different ways.  Some hold that days are equal in number of hours, and this is true; for if by "day" we mean twenty-four hours' time, all days must be equal, inasmuch as the night acquires what the day loses.  But others maintain that one day is equal to all days through resemblance, because the very longest space of time possesses no element which cannot be found in a single day, - namely, light and
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darkness, - and even to eternity day makes these alternations/a more numerous, not different when it is shorter and different again when it is longer.  Hence, every day ought to be regulated as if it closed the series, as if it rounded out and completed our existence.
     Paeuvius, who by long occupancy made Syria his own,/b used to hold a regular burial sacrifice in his own honour, with wine and the usual funeral feasting, and then would have himself carried from the dining-room to his chamber, while eunuchs applauded and sang in Greek to a musical accompaniment: "He has lived his life, he has lived his life!" Thus Paeuvius had himself carried out to burial every day.  Let us, however, do from a good motive what he used to do from a debased motive; let us go to our sleep with joy and gladness; let us say: I have lived; the course which Fortune set for me Is finished./c
     And if God is pleased to add another day, we should welcome it with glad hearts.  That man is happiest, and is secure in his own possession of himself, who can await the morrow without apprehension. When a man has said: "I have lived!", every morning he arises he receives a bonus.
     But now I ought to close my letter. "What?" you say; "shall it come to me without any little offering? "Be not afraid; it brings something, - nay, more than something, a great deal.  For what is more noble than the following saying/d of which I make this letter the bearer: "It is wrong to live under constraint; but no man is constrained to live under constraint." Of course not.  On all sides lie
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many short and simple paths to freedom+; and let us thank God that no man can be kept in life.  We may spurn the very constraints that hold us. "Epicurus," you reply, "uttered these words; what are you doing with another'sproperty+? "Any truth, I maintain, is my own property.  And I shall continue to heap quotations from Epicurus upon you, so that all persons who swear by the words of another, and put a value upon the speaker and not upon the thing spoken, may understand that the best ideas are common property. Farewell.
 
 

    I know that you have plenty of spirit; for even before you began to equip yourself with maxims which were wholesome and potent to overcome obstacles, you were taking pride in your contest with Fortune; and this is all the more true, now that you have grappled with Fortune and tested your powers.  For our powers can never inspire in us implicit faith in ourselves except when many difficulties have confronted us on this side and on that, and have occasionally even come to close quarters with us.  It is only in this way that the true spirit can be tested, - the spirit that will never consent to come under the jurisdiction of things external to ourselves.  This is the touchstone of such a spirit; no prizefighter can go with high spirits into the strife if he has never been beaten black and blue; the only contestant who can confidently enter the lists is the man who has seen his own blood, who has felt his teeth rattle beneath his opponent's fist, who has
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been tripped and felt the full force of his adversary's charge, who has been downed in body but not in spirit, one who, as often as he falls, rises again with greater defiance than ever.  So then, to keep up my figure, Fortune has often in the past got the upper hand of you, and yet you have not surrendered, but have leaped up and stood your ground still more eagerly. For manliness gains much strength by being challenged; nevertheless, if you approve, allow me to offer some additional safeguards by which you may fortify yourself.  There are more things, Lucilius, likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.  I am not speaking with you in the Stoic strain but in my milder style.  For it is our Stoic fashion to speak of all those things, which provoke cries and groans, as unimportant and beneath notice; but you and I must drop such greatsounding words, although, heaven knows, they are true enough.  What I advise you to do is, not to be unhappy before the crisis comes; since it may be that the dangers before which you paled as if they were threatening you, will never come upon you; they certainly have not yet come.  Accordingly, some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all.  We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow.
     The first of these three faults/a may be postponed for the present, because the subject is under discussion and the case is still in court, so to speak.  That which I should call trifling, you will maintain to be most serious; for of course I know that some men laugh while being flogged, and that others wince at
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a box on the ear.  We shall consider later whether these evils derive their power from their own strength, or from our own weakness.
     Do me the favour, when men surround you and try to talk you into believing that you are unhappy, to consider not what you hear but what you yourself feel, and to take counsel with your feelings and question yourself independently, because you know your own affairs better than anyone else does.  Ask: "Is there any reason why these persons should condole with me?  Why should they be worried or even fear some infection from me, as if troubles could be transmitted?  Is there any evil involved, or is it a matter merely of ill report, rather than an evil?" Put the question voluntarily to yourself: "Am I tormented without sufficient reason, am I morose, and do I convert what is not an evil into what is an evil?" You may retort with the question: "How am I to know whether my sufferings are real or imaginary?" Here is the rule for such matters: we are tormented either by things present, or by things to come, or by both.  As to things present, the decision is easy.  Suppose that your person enjoys freedom and health, and that you do not suffer from any external injury.  As to what may happen to it in the future, we shall see later on.  To-day there is nothing wrong with it. "But," you say, "something will happen to it." First of all, consider whether your proofs of future trouble are sure. For it is more often the case that we are troubled by our apprehensions, and that we are mocked by that mocker, rumour, which is wont to settle wars, but much more often settles individuals.  Yes, my dear Lucilius; we agree too quickly with what people say.  We do not put to the test those
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things which cause our fear; we do not examine into them; we blench and retreat just like soldiers who are forced to abandon their camp because of a dust-cloud raised by stampeding cattle, or are thrown into a panic by the spreading of some unauthenticated rumour.  And somehow or other it is the idle report that disturbs us most.  For truth has its own deflnite boundaries, but that which arises from uncertainty is delivered over to guesswork and the irresponsible license of a frightened mind.  That is why no fear is so ruinous and so uncontrollable as panic fear.  For other fears are groundless, but this fear is witless.
     Let us, then, look carefully into the matter. It is likely that some troubles will befall us; but it is not a present fact.  How often has the unexpected happened!  How often has the expected never come to pass!  And even though it is ordained to be, what does it avail to run out to meet your suffering?  You will suffer soon enough, when it arrives; so look forward meanwhile to better things.  What shall you gain by doing this?  Time.  There will be many happenings meanwhile which will serve to postpone, or end, or pass on to another person, the trials which are near or even in your very presence.  A fire has opened the way to flight.  Men have been let down softly by a catastrophe.  Sometimes the sword has been checked even at the victim's throat.  Men have survived their own executioners.  Even bad fortune+ is fickle.  Perhaps it will come, perhaps not; in the meantime it is not.  So look forward to better things.
     The mind at times fashions for itself false shapes of evil when there are no signs that point to any evil; it twists into the worst construction some word
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of doubtful meaning; or it fancies some personal grudge to be more serious than it really is, considering not how angry the enemy is, but to what lengths he may go if he is angry.  But life is not worth living, and there is no limit to our sorrows, if we indulge our fears to the greatest possible extent; in this matter, let prudence help you, and contemn with a resolute spirit even when it is in plain sight.  If you cannot do this, counter one weakness with another, and temper your fear+ with hope.  There is nothing so certain among these objects of fear that it is not more certain still that things we dread sink into nothing and that things we hope for mock us.
     Accordingly, weigh carefully your hopes as well as your fears, and whenever all the elements are in doubt, decide in your own favour; believe what you prefer.  And if fear wins a majority of the votes, incline in the other direction anyhow, and cease to harass your soul, reflecting continually that most mortals, even when no troubles are actually at hand or are certainly to be expected in the future, become excited and disquieted.  No one calls a halt on himself, when he begins to be urged ahead; nor does he regulate his alarm according to the truth. No one says; "The author of the story is a fool, and he who has believed it is a fool, as well as he who fabricated it." We let ourselves drift with every breeze; we are frightened at uncertainties, just as if they were certain.  We observe no moderation.  The slightest thing turns the scales and throws us forthwith into a panic.
     But I am ashamed either to admonish you sternly or to try to beguile you with such mild remedies.  Let another say. "Perhaps the worst will not
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happen." You yourself must say. "Well, what if it does happen?  Let us see who wins!  Perhaps it happens for my best interests; it may be that such a death will shed credit upon my life." Socrates was ennobled by the hemlock draught.  Wrench from Cato's hand his sword, the vindicator of liberty, and you deprive him of the greatest share of his glory.  I am exhorting you far too long, since you need reminding rather than exhortation.  The path on which I am leading you is not different from that on which yournature+ leads you; you were born to such conduct as I describe.  Hence there is all the more reason why you should increase and beautify the good that is in you.
     But now, to close my letter, I have only to stamp the usual seal upon it, in other words, to commit thereto some noble message to be delivered to you: "The fool, with all his other faults, has this also, he is always getting ready to live./a Reflect, my esteemed Lucilius, what this saying means, and you will see how revolting is the fickleness of men who lay down every day new foundations of life, and begin to build up fresh hopes even at the brink of the grave.  Look within your own mind for individual instances; you will think of old men who are preparing themselves at that very hour for a political career, or for travel, or for business. And what is baser than getting ready to live when you are already old? I should not name the author of this motto, except that it is somewhat unknown to fame and is not one of those popular sayings of Epicurus which I have allowed myself to praise and to appropriate.  Farewell.
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     I confess that we all have an inborn affection for our body; I confess that we are entrusted with its guardianship.  I do not maintain that the body is not to be indulged at all; but I maintain that we must not be slaves+ to it.  He will have many masters who makes his body his master, who is over-fearful in its behalf, {courage+} who judges everything according to the body.  We should conduct ourselves not as if we ought to live for the body, but as if we could not live without it.  Our too great love for it makes us restless with fears, burdens us with cares, and exposes us to insults.  Virtue is held too cheap by the man who counts his body too dear.  We should cherish the body with the greatest care; but we should also be prepared, when reason, self- respect, and duty demand the sacrifice, to deliver it even to the flames.  Let us, however, in so far as we can, avoid discomforts as well as dangers, and withdraw to safe ground, by thinking continually how we may repel all objects of fear.  If I am not mistaken, there are three main classes of these: we fear want, we fear sickness, and we fear the troubles+ which result from the violence of the stronger.  And of all these, that which shakes us most is the dread which hangs over us from our neighbour's ascendancy; for it is accompanied by great outcry and uproar.  But the natural evils which I have mentioned, - want and sickness, steal upon us silently with no shock of terror to the eye or to the ear.  The other kind of evil comes,
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so to speak, in the form of a huge parade.  Surrounding it is a retinue of swords and fire and chains and a mob of beasts to be let loose upon the disembowelled entrails of men.  Picture to yourself under this head the prison, the cross, the rack, the hook, and the stake which they drive straight through a man until it protrudes from his throat.  Think of human limbs torn apart by chariots driven in opposite directions, of the terrible shirt smeared and interwoven with inflammable materials, and of all the other contrivances devised by cruelty, in addition to those which I have mentioned!/a It is not surprising, then, if our greatest terror is of such a fate; for it comes in many shapes and its para phernalia are terrifying. For just as the torturer accomplishes more in proportion to the number of instruments which he displays, - indeed, the spectacle overcomes those who would have patiently withstood the suffering, - similarly, of all the agencies which coerce and master our minds, the most effective are those which can make a display.  Those other troubles are of course not less serious; I mean hunger, thirst, ulcers of the stomach, and fever that parches our very bowels.  They are, however, secret; they have no bluster and no heralding; but these, like huge arrays of war, prevail by virtue of their display and their equipment.  Let us, therefore, see to it that we abstain from giving offence.  It is sometimes the people that we ought to fear; or sometimes a body of influential oligarchs in the Senate, if the method of governing the State is such that most of the business is done by that body; and sometimes individuals equipped with power by the people and against the people.  It is burdensome to keep the friendship of all such
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persons; it is enough not to make enemies of them.  So the wise man will never provoke the anger of those in power; nay, he will even turn his course, precisely as he would turn from a storm if he were steering a ship.  When you travelled to Sicily, you crossed the Straits.  The reckless pilot scorned the blustering South Wind, - the wind which roughens the Sicilian Sea and forces it into choppy currents; he sought not the shore on the left,/a but the strand hard by the place where Charybdis throws the seas into confusion. Your more careful pilot, however, questions those who know the locality as to the tides and the meaning of the clouds; he holds his course far from that region notorious for its swirling waters.  Our wise man does the same he shuns a strong man who may be injurious to him, making a point of not seeming to avoid him, because an important part of one's safety lies in not seeking safety openly; for what one avoids, one condemns,
     We should therefore look about us, and see how we may protect ourselves from the mob.  And first of all, we should have no cravings like theirs; for rivalry results in strife.  Again, let us possess nothing that can be snatched from us to the great profit of a plotting foe.  Let there be as little booty as possible on your person. No one sets out to shed the blood of his fellow-men for the sake of bloodshed, - at any rate very few.  More murderers speculate on their profits than give vent to hatred.  If you are empty-handed, the highwayman+ passes you by: even along an infested road, the poor may travel in peace./b Next, we must follow the old adage and avoid three things with special care: hatred, jealousy, and scorn.  And wisdom alone can show you how this may be done.  It is hard to
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observe a mean; we must be chary of letting the fear of jealousy lead us into becoming objects of scorn, lest, when we choose not to stamp others down, we let them think that they can stamp us down.  The power to inspire fear has caused many men to be in fear./a Let us withdraw ourselves in every way; for it is as harmful to be scorned as to be admired.
     One must therefore take refuge in philosophy; this pursuit, not only in the eyes of good men, but also in the eyes of those who are even moderately bad, is a sort of protecting emblem./b For speechmaking at the bar, or any other pursuit that claims the people's attention, wins enemies for a man; but philosophy is peaceful and minds her own business.  Men cannot scorn her; she is honoured by every profession, even the vilest among them.  Evil can never grow so strong, and nobility of character can never be so plotted against, that the name of philosophy shall cease to be worshipful and sacred.
     Philosophy itself, however should be practised with calmness and moderation. "Very well, then," you retort, "do you regard the philosophy of Marcus Cato as moderate?  Cato's voice strove to check a civil war.  Cato parted the swords of maddened chieftains.  When some fell foul of Pompey and others fell foul of Caesar, Cato defied both parties at once!" Nevertheless, one may well question whether, in those days, a wise man ought to have taken any part in public affairs, and ask: "What do you mean, Marcus Cato?  It is not now a question of freedom; long since has freedom gone to rack and ruin.  The question is, whether it is Caesar or Pompey who controls the State.  Why, Cato, should yo
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tyrant is being selected.  What does it concern you who conquers?  The better man may win; but the winner is bound to be the worse man."/a I have referred to Cato's final role.  But even in previous years the wise man was not permitted to intervene in such plundering of the state; for what could Cato do but raise his voice and utter unavailing words?  At one time he was "bustled" by the mob and spat upon and forcibly removed from the forum and marked for exile; at another, he was taken straight to prison from the senate-chamber.  However, we shall consider later/b whether the wise man ought to give his attention to politics; meanwhile, I beg you to consider those Stoics who, shut out from public life, have withdrawn into privacy for the purpose of improving men's existence and framing laws for the human race without incurring the displeasure of those in power. The wise man will not upset the customs of the people, nor will he invite the attention of the populace by any novel ways of living.
     "What then?  Can one who follows out this Plan be safe in any case?" I cannot guarantee you this any more than I can guarantee good health in the case of a man who observes moderation; although, as a matter of fact, good health results from such moderation.  Sometimes a vessel perishes in harbour; but what do you think happens on the open sea? And how much more beset with danger that man would be, who even in his leisure is not secure, if he were busily working at many things!  Innocent persons sometimes perish; who would deny that?  But the guilty perish more frequently.  A soldier's skill is not at fault if he receives the death-blow through his armour.  And finally, the wise man
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regards the reason for all his actions, but not the results.  The beginning is in our own power; fortune decides the issue, but I do not allow her to pass sentence upon myself.  You may say: "But she can inflict a measure of suffering and of trouble." The highwayman does not pass sentence when he slays.
     Now you are stretching forth your hand for the daily gift.  Golden indeed will be the gift with which I shall load you; and, inasmuch as we have mentioned gold, let me tell you how its use and enjoyment may bring you greater pleasure. "He who needs riches least, enjoys riches most."/a "Author's name, please!" you say.  Now, to show you how generous I am, it is my intent to praise the dicta of other schools. The phrase belongs to Epicurus, or Metrodorus, or some one of that particular thinking-shop.  But what difference does it make who spoke the words?  They were uttered for the world.  He who craves riches feels fear on their account. No man, however, enjoys a blessing that brings anxiety; he is always trying to add a little more.  While he puzzles over increasing his wealth, he forgets how to use it.  He collects his accounts, he wears out the pavement in the forum, he turns over his ledger,/b - in short, he ceases to be master and becomes a steward.  Farewell.
 
 

    The old Romans had a custom which survived even into my lifetime.  They would add to the opening words of a letter: "If you are well, it is well; I also am well." Persons like ourselves would do
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well to say. "If you are studying philosophy, it is well." For this is just what "being well" means.  Without philosophy the mind is sickly, and the body, too, though it may be very powerful, is strong only as that of a madman or a lunatic is strong.  This, then, is the sort of health you should primarily cultivate; the other kind of health comes second, and will involve little effort, if you wish to be well physically.  It is indeed foolish, my dear Lucilius, and very unsuitable for a cultivated man, to work hard over developing the muscles and broadening the shoulders and strengthening the lungs.  For although your heavy feeding produce good results and your sinews grow solid, you can never be a match, either in strength or in weight, for a first-class bull.  Besides, by overloading the body with food you strangle the soul and render it less active.  Accordingly, limit the flesh+ as much as possible, and allow free play to the spirit. Many inconveniences beset those who devote themselves to such pursuits. In the first place, they have their exercises, at which they must work and waste their life-force and render it less fit to bear a strain or the severer studies.  Second, their keen edge is dulled by heavy eating.  Besides, they must take orders from slaves of the vilest stamp, - men who altemate between the oil-flask/a and the flagon, whose day passes satisfactorily if they have got up a good perspiration and quaffed, to make good what they have lost in sweat, huge draughis of liquor which will sink deeper because of their fasting.  Drinking and sweating, - it's the life of a dyspeptic!/b
     Now there are short and simple exercises which tire the body rapidly, and so save our time; and time is something of which we ought to keep strict account.
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These exercises are running, brandishing weights, and jumping, - high-jumping or broad-jumping, or the kind which I may call, "the Priest's dance,"/a or, in slighting terms, "the clothes-cleaner's jump."/b Select for practice any one of these, and you will find it plain and easy.  But whatever you do, come back soon from body to mind.  The mind must be exercised both day and night, for it is nourished by moderate labour. and this form of exercise need not be hampered by cold or hot weather, or even by old age.  Cultivate that good which improves with the years.  Of course I do not command you to be always bending over your books and your writing materials; the mind must have a change, - but a change of such a kind that it is not unnerved, but merely unbent.  Riding in a litter shakes up the body, and does not interfere with study: one may read, dictate, converse, or listen to another; nor does walking prevent any of these things.
     You need not scorn voice-culture; but I forbid you to practise raising and lowering your voice by scales and specific intonations.  What if you should next propose to take lessons in walking! If you consult the sort of person whom starvation has taught new tricks, you will have someone to regulate your steps, watch every mouthful as you eat, and go to such lengths as you yourself, by enduring him and believing in him, have encouraged his effrontery to go. "What, then?" you will ask; "is my voice to begin at the outset with shouting and straining the lungs to the utmost?" No; the natural thing is that it be aroused to such a pitch by easy stages, just as persons who are wrangling begin with ordinary conversational tones and then pass to shouting at the top of their lungs.  No speaker cries "Help me,
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citizens!" at the outset of his speech.  Therefore, whenever your spirit's impulse prompts you, raise a hubbub, now in louder now in milder tones, according as your voice, as well as your spirit, shall suggest to you, when you are moved to such a performance.  Then let your voice, when you rein it in and call it back to earth, come down gently, not collapse; it should trail off in tones half way between high and low, and should not abruptly drop from its raving in the uncouth manner of countrymen.  For our purpose is, not to give the voice exercise, but to make it give us exercise.
     You see, I have relieved you of no slight bother; and I shall throw in a little complementary present, - it is Greek, too.  Here is the proverb; it is an excellent one: "The fool's life is empty of gratitude+ and full of fears; its course lies wholly toward the future." "Who uttered these words?" you say.  The same writer whom I mentioned before./a And what sort of life do you think is meant by the fool's life?  That of Baba and Isio/b?  No; he means our own, for we are plunged by our blind desires into ventures which will harm us, but certainly will never satisfy us; for if we could be satisfied with anything, we should have been satisfied long ago; nor do we reflect how pleasant it is to demand nothing, how noble it is to be contented and not to be dependent upon Fortune.  Therefore continually remind yourself, Lucilius, how many ambitions you have attained.  When you see many ahead of you, think how many are behind I If you would thank the gods, and be grateful for your past life, you should contemplate how many men you have outstripped.  But what have you to do with the others?  You have outstripped yourself.
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     Fix a limit which you will not even desire to pass, should you have the power.  At last, then, away with all these treacherous goods!  They look better to those who hope for them than to those who have attained them.  If there were anything substantial in them, they would sooner or later satisfy you; as it is, they merely rouse the drinkers' thirst.  Away with fripperies which only serve for show!  As to what the future's uncertain lot has in store, why should I demand of Fortune that she give rather than demand of myself that I should not crave?  And why should l crave?  Shall I heap up my winnings, and forget that man's lot is unsubstantial?  For what end should I toil?  Lo, to-day is the last; if not, it is near the last.  Farewell.
 
 

     It is clear to you, I am sure, Lucilius, that no man can live a happy life, or even a supportable life, without the study of wisdom; you know also that a happy life is reached when our wisdom is brought to completion, but that life is at least endurable even when our wisdom is only begun.  This idea, however, clear though it is, must be strengthened and implanted more deeply by daily reflection; it is more important for you to keep the resolutions you have already made than to go on and make noble ones.  You must persevere, must develop new strength by continuous study, until that which is only a good inclination becomes a good settled purpose.  Hence you no longer need to come to me with much talk and protestations; I know that you
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have made great progress.  I understand the feelings which prompt your words; they are not feigned or specious words.  Nevertheless I shall tell you what I think, - that at present I have hopes for you, but not yet perfect trust.  And I wish that you would adopt the same attitude towards yourself; there is no reason why you should put confidence in yourself too quickly and readily.  Examine yourself; scrutinize and observe yourself in divers ways; but mark, before all else, whether it is in philosophy or merely in life itself/a that you have made progress.  Philosophy is no trick to catch the public; it is not devised for show.  It is a matter, not of words, but of facts.  It is not pursued in order that the day may yield some amusement before it is spent, or that our leisure may be relieved of a tedium that irks us.  It moulds and constructs the soul; it orders our life, guides our conduct, shows us what we should do and what we should leave undone; it sits at the helm and directs our course as we waver+ amid uncertainties+. Without it, no one can live fearlessly or in peace of mind.  Countless things that happen every hour call for advice; and such advice is to be sought in philosophy.
     Perhaps someone will say: "How can philosophy help me, if Fate exists?  Of what avail is philosophy, if God rules the universe?  Of what avail is it, if Chance governs everything?  For not only is it impossible to change things that are determined, but it is also impossible to plan beforehand against what is undetermined; either God has forestalled my plans, and decided what I am to do, or else Fortune+ gives no free play to my plans." Whether the truth, Lucilius, lies in one or in all of these views, we must be philosophers; whether Fate binds us down by an
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inexorable law, or whether God as arbiter of the universe has arranged everything, or whether Chance drives and tosses human affairs without method, philosophy ought to be our defence.  She will encourage us to obey God cheerfully, but Fortune defiantly; she will teach us to follow God and endure Chance. But it is not my purpose now to be led into a discussion as to what is within our own control, - if foreknowledge is supreme, or if a chain of fated events drags us along in its clutches, or if the sudden and the unexpected play the tyrant over us; I return now to my warning and my exhortation, that you should not allow the impulse of your spirit to weaken and grow cold.  Hold fast to it and establish it firmly, in order that what is now impulse may become a habit of the mind.
     If I know you well, you have already been trying to find out, from the very beginning of my letter, what little contribution it brings to you.  Sift the letter, and you will find it.  You need not wonder at any genius of mine; for as yet I am lavish only with other men's property. - But why did I say " other men"?  Whatever is well said by anyone is mine. This also is a saying of Epicurus/a: "If you live according to nature, you will never be poor; if you live according to opinion, you will never be rich+." Nature's wants are slight; the demands of opinion are boundless. Suppose that the property of many millionaires is heaped up in your possession. Assume that fortune carries you far beyond the limits of a private income, decks you with gold, clothes you in purple, and brings you to such a degree of luxury and wealth that you can bury the earth under your marble floors; that you may not only possess, but tread upon, riches.  Add statues, paintings, and
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whatever any art has devised for the luxury; you will only learn from such things to crave still greater.
     Natural desires are limited; but those which spring from false opinion can have no stopping-point.  The false has no limits.  When you are travelling on a road, there must be an end; but when astray, your wanderings are limitless.  Recall your steps, therefore, from idle things, and when you would know whether that which you seek is based upon a natural or upon a misleading desire, consider whether it can stop at any defiinite point.  If you find, after having travelled far, that there is a more distant goal always in view, you may be sure that this condition is contrary to nature.  Farewell.
 
 

     Cast away everything of that sort, if you are wise; nay, rather that you may be wise; strive toward a sound mind at top speed and with your whole strength.  If any bond holds you back, untie it, or sever it. " But," you say, "my estate delays me; I wish to make such disposition of it that it may suffice for me when I have nothing to do, lest either poverty be a burden to me, or I myself a burden to others." You do not seem, when you say this, to know the strength and power of that good which you are considering.  You do indeed grasp the all important thing, the great benefit which philosophy confers, but you do not yet discern accurately its various functions, nor do you yet know how great is the help we receive from philosophy in everything, everywhere, - how, (to use Cicero's language,/a) it
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not only succours us in the greatest matters but also descends to the smallest.  Take my advice; call wisdom into consultation; she will advise you not to sit for ever at your ledger.  Doubtless, your object, what you wish to attain by such postponement of your studies, is that poverty may not have to be feared by you.  But what if it is something to be desired? Riches have shut off many a man from the attainment of wisdom; poverty is unburdened and free from care.  When the trumpet sounds, the poor man knows that he is not being attacked; when there is a cry of "Fire,"/a he only seeks a way of escape, and does not ask what he can save; if the poor man must go to sea, the harbour does not resound, nor do the wharves bustle with the retinue of one individual.  No throng of slaves surrounds the poor man, - slaves for whose mouths the master must covet the fertile crops of regions beyond the sea.  It is easy to fill a few stomachs, when they are well trained and crave nothing else but to be filled.  Hunger costs but little; squeamishness costs much.  Poverty is contented with fulfilling pressing needs.
     Why, then, should you reject Philosophy as a comrade?  Even the rich man copies her ways when he is in his senses. If you wish to have leisure for your mind, either be a poor man, or resemble a poor man.  Study cannot be helpful unless you take pains to live simply; and living simply is voluntary poverty.  Away, then, with all excuses like: "I have not yet enough; when I have gained the desired amount, then I shall devote myself wholly to philosophy." And yet this ideal, which you are putting off and placing second to other interests, should be secured first of all; you should begin with it.  You
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retort: "I wish to acquire something to live on." Yes, but learn while you are acquiring it; for if anything forbids you to live nobly, nothing forbids you to die nobly.  There is no reason why poverty should call us away from philosophy, - no, nor even actual want.  For when hastening after wisdom, we must endure even hunger.  Men have endured hunger when their towns were besieged, and what other reward for their endurance did they obtain than that they did not fall under the conqueror's power?  How much greater is the promise of the prize of everlasting liberty+, and the assurance that we need fear neither God nor man!  Even though we starve, we must reach that goal.  Armies have endured all manner of want, have lived on roots, and have resisted hunger by means of food too revolting to mention.  All this they have suffered to gain a kingdom, and, - what is more marvellous,to gain a kingdom that will be another's.  Will any man hesitate to endure poverty, in order that he may free his mind from madness?
     Therefore one should not seek to lay up riches{Jesus+} first; one may attain to philosophy, however, even without money for the journey.  It is indeed so.  After you have come to possess all other things, shall you then wish to possess wisdom also?  Is philosophy to be the last requisite in life, - a sort of supplement?  Nay, your plan should be this: be a philosopher now, whether you have anything or not, - for if you have anything, how do you know that you have not too much already? - but if you have nothing, seek understanding first, before anything else. "But," you say, "I shall lack the necessities of life." In the first place, you cannot lack them; because nature demands but little, and the wise man
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suits his needs to nature.  But if the utmost pinch of need arrives, he will quickly take leave of life and cease being a trouble to himself. If, however, his means of existence are meagre and scanty, he will make the best of them, without being anxious or worried about anything more than the bare necessities; he will do justice to his belly and his shoulders; with free and happy spirit he will laugh at the bustling of rich men, and the flurried ways of those who are hastening after wealth, and say: "Why of your own accord postpone your real life to the distant future?  Shall you wait for some interest to fall due, or for some income on your merchandise, or for a place in the will of some wealthy old man, when you can be rich here and now.  Wisdom offers wealth in ready money, and pays it over to those in whose eyes she has made wealth superfluous." These remarks refer to other men; you are nearer the rich class.  Change the age in which you live, and you have too much.  But in every age, what is enough remains the same.
     I might close my letter at this point, if I had not got you into bad habits.  One cannot greet Parthian royalty without bringing a gift; and in your case I cannot say farewell without paying a price.  But what of it?  I shall borrow from Epicurus/a: "The acquisition of riches has been for many men, not an end, but a change, of troubles." I do not wonder.  For the fault is not in the wealth+, but in the mind itself. That which had made poverty a burden to us, has made riches also a burden. Just as it matters little whether you lay a sick man on a wooden or on a golden bed, for whithersoever he be moved he will carry his malady with him; so one need not care whether the diseased mind is be-
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stowed upon riches or upon poverty.  His malady goes with the man.  Farewell,
 
 

     It is the month of December, and yet the city is at this very moment in a sweat.  License is given to the general merrymaking. Everything resounds with mighty preparations, - as if the Saturnalia differed at all from the usual business day!  So true it is that the difference is nil, that I regard as correct the remark of the man who said: "Once December was a month; now it is a year."/a
     If I had you with me, I should be glad to consult you and find out what you think should be done, - whether we ought to make no change in our daily routine, or whether, in order not to be out of sympathy with the ways of the public, we should dine in gayer fashion and doff the toga./b As it is now, we Romans have changed our dress for the sake of pleasure and holiday-making, though in former times that was only customary when the State was disturbed and had fallen on evil days. I am sure that, if I know you aright, playing the part of an umpire you would have wished that we should be neither like the liberty-capped/c throng in all ways, nor in all ways unlike them; unless, perhaps, this is just the season when we ought to lay down the law to the soul, and bid it be alone in refraining from pleasures just when the whole mob has let itself go in pleasures; for this is the surest proof which a man can get of his own constancy, if he neither seeks the things which are seductive and allure him to luxury, nor is led into them.  It shows much
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more courage to remain dry and sober when the mob is drunk and vomiting; but it shows greater self-control to refuse to withdraw oneself and to do what the crowd does, but in a different way, - thus neither making oneself conspicuous nor becoming one of the crowd.  For one may keep holiday without extravagance.  I am so firmly determined, however, to test the constancy of your mind that, drawing from the teachings of great men, I shall give you also a lesson:  Set aside a certain number of days, during which you shall be content with the scantiest and cheapest fare, with coarse and rough dress, saying to yourself the while: "Is this the condition that I feared?" It is precisely in times of immunity from care that the soul should toughen itself beforehand for occasions of greater stress, and it is while Fortune is kind that it should fortify itself against her violence. In days of peace the soldier performs manoeuvres, throws up earthworks with no enemy in sight, and wearies himself by gratuitous toil, in order that he may be equal to unavoidable toil.  If you would not have a man flinch when the crisis comes, train him before it comes.  Such is the course which those men I have followed who, in their imitation of poverty, have every month come almost to want, that they might never recoil from what they had so often rehearsed.
     You need not suppose that I mean meals likeTimon+'s, or "paupers' huts,"/b or any other device which luxurious millionaires use to beguile the tedium of their lives.  Let the pallet be a real one, and the coarse cloak; let the bread be hard and grimy.  Endure all this for three or four days at a time, sometimes for more, so that it may be a test of yourself instead of a mere hobby.  Then, I assure
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you, my dear Lucilius, you will leap for joy when filled with a pennyworth of food, and you will understand that a man's peace of mind does not depend upon Fortune; for, even when angry she grants enough for our needs.
     There is no reason, however, why you should think that you are doing anything great; for you will merely be doing what many thousands of slaves and many thousands of poor men are doing every day.  But you may credit yourself with this item, - that you will not be doing it under compulsion, and that it will be as casy for you to endure it permanently as to make the experiment from time to time.  Let us practise our strokes on the "dummy"/a; let us become intimate with poverty, so that Fortune may not catch us off our guard.  We shall be rich with all the more comfort, if we once learn how far poverty is from being a burden.
     Even Epicurus, the teacher of pleasure, used to observe stated intervals, during which he satisfied his hunger in niggardly fashion; he wished to see whether he thereby fell short of full and complete happiness, and, if so, by what amount be fell short, and whether this amount was worth purchasing at the price of great effort.  At any rate, he makes such a statement in the well known letter written to Polyaenus in the archonship of Charinus./b Indeed, he boasts that he himself lived on less than a penny, but that Metrodorus, whose progress was not yet so great, needed a whole penny.  Do you think that there can be fulness on such fare?  Yes, and there is pleasure also, - not that shifty and fleeting Pleasure which needs a fillip now and then, but a pleasure that is steadfast and sure.  For though water, barley-meal, and crusts of barley-bread, are
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not a cheerful diet, yet it is the highest kind of Pleasure to be able to derive pleasure from this sort of food, and to have reduced one's needs to that modicum which no unfairness of Fortune can snatch away.  Even prison fare is more generous; and those who have been set apart for capital punishment are not so meanly fed by the man who is to execute them.  Therefore, what a noble soul must one have, to descend of one's own free will to a diet which even those who have been sentenced to death have not to fear!  This is indeed forestalling the spearthrusts of Fortune+. {Hamlet+}
     So begin, my dear Lucilius, to follow the custom of these men, and set apart certain days on which you shall withdraw from your business and make yourself at home with the scantiest fare.  Establish business relations with poverty.

Dare, O my friend, to scorn the sight of wealth,
And mould thyself to kinship with thy God./a

itself not less in serious matters than in jest and sport.  And it makes no difference how important the provocation may be, but into what kind of soul it penetrates.  Similarly with fire; it does not matter how great is the flame, but what it falls upon.  For solid timbers have repelled a very great fire; conversely, dry and easily inflammable stuff nourishes the slightest spark into a conflagration.  So it is with anger, my dear Lucilius; the outcome of a mighty anger is madness, and hence anger should be avoided, not merely that we may escape excess, but that we may have a healthy mind.  Farewell.
 
 

     I leap for joy whenever I receive letters from you.  For they fill me with hope; they are now not mere assurances concerning you, but guarantees.  And I beg and pray you to proceed in this course; for what better request could I make of a friend than one which is to be made for his own sake?  If possible, withdraw yourself from all the business of which you speak; and if you cannot do this, tear yourself away.  We have dissipated enough of our time already - let us in old age begin to pack up our baggage.  Surely there is nothing in this that men can begrudge us. We have spent our lives on the high seas; let us die in harbour.  Not that I would advise you to try to win fame by your retirement; one's retirement should neither be paraded nor concealed.  Not concealed, I say, for I shall not go so far in urging you as to expect you to condemn all men as mad and then seek out for yourself a hiding-place and oblivion; {Timon+} rather make this your business, that your
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retirement be not conspicuous, though it should be obvious.  In the second place, while those whose choice is unhampered from the start will deliberate on that other question, whether they wish to pass their lives in obscurity, in your case there is not a free choice.  Your ability and energy have thrust you into the work of the world; so have the charm of your writings and the friendships you have made with famous and notable men.  Renown has already