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appear in perpetual agitation. For, as the mind discovers an air of good sense and decency in the countenance, you should let the body contribute to produce the same effect. Yet this must be done without any appearance of study or affectation. 54. The art of life resembles the art of wrestling rather than that of dancing; as it consists in guarding against contingencies and unforeseen attacks, (instead of regular, premedi tated movements,) and in standing firm to prevent a fall. 55. Consider frequently with yourself, what sort of men they are whose approbation you wish to obtain, and the depth of their understandings. For, by these means, you will not much blame them if they should involuntarily offend you; and, when you contemplate the shallow sources of their opinions and of their affections, you will not be so solicitous about their good word. 56. It is observed by Plato, "that every one is unwilling to be debarred the truth." The same may be applied to justice, temperance, benevolence, and to most of the moral virtues. This you should particularly bear in mind, which would make you more indulgent towards all men. 57. Under any bodily pain, let this be some consolation to you; that there is nothing base or immoral in it, and that it cannot in any respect injure or debase your governing principle-the mind: for it can neither affect it in its essence, or in its social capacity. And, indeed, in most kinds of pain, the maxim of Epicurus may assist you,

"that it cannot be both intolerable and durable, if you confine it to its natural limits, and do not add to your pain by fancy or opinion."

Recollect also, that there are many sensations nearly allied to pain, and are really troublesome, though we do not attend to them: such as drowsiness, when we wish to keep awake; any violent heat; and want of appetite, or aversion to food. Now if, on these occasions, you are out of humour, you must confess, like the vulgar, that you are conquered, and must yield to pain.

58. Take care not to behave towards the most inhuman as they too frequently behave towards their fellow-creatures. 59. How does it appear that Socrates was so illustrious a charac ter, or superior to many others? For it is not enough to say, that Socrates died a more glorious death; or that he disputed with more skill against the sophists; or that he patiently did duty," in the coldest nights, in the Areopagus; or that he nobly flighted the orders of the thirty tyrants, when commanded to apprehend an innocent person; or what was objected to him by his enemies, (though no one can believe it) that he appeared in the streets with great solemnity and loftiness of countenance. These particulars, I say, are not sufficient to prove him so great a man. The most material enquiry is, how the mind of Socrates was disposed: "was he contented with the consciousness of acting justly towards mankind, and piously towards the Gods?" Did he ever express too much indignation

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against the wickedness of some, or meanly flatter the ignorance of others? Did he ever murmur against the dispensations of Providence; or think his own sufferings uncommonly severe and intolerable? Or, lastly, did he ever suffer his mind to be too deeply affected by the impressions either of pleasure or pain? 60. Nature has not made you a being of such a complicated system as not to be able to discern the limits of your duty, and, independently of others, perform what peculiarly belongs to you.

For it is possible for a man to be eminently virtuous, and yet a stranger to almost all mankind.

Observe, likewise, that a very few things are absolutely necessary to an happy life. And though you should despair of becoming a great logician, or a natural philosopher, yet it is certainly in your power to be free, modest, publick-spirited, and obedient to the will of the Gods.

61. You may live independently and with great satisfaction, though all mankind should conspire to molest you; nay, though wild beasts should seize upon your corporeal frame and tear you limb from limb. For what can prevent the mind, in the midst of these circumstances, from preserv ing her tranquillity, by forming a proper judgment, and making a proper use of the objects around her? In judging of any object that attacks her, she can say, "I know what you really are, though you appear in a questionable shape." And, with regard to the use he is to make of any occurrence, he will say, "This is the "This is the very thing

I expected." For every incident is to me an occasion of practising some virtue, moral or social; or of performing some duty, either to God or to man. For whatever comes to pass, relates either to the one or to the other; and is neither uncommon nor difficult, but familiar and easy to be - managed to some good purpose. 62. It is the perfection of virtue to spend every day as if it were your last; and neither act with precipitation, nor with indolence, nor with insincerity. 63. Though the Gods are immortal, and must necessarily bear with the wickedness of mankind through endless ages, they do not lose their patience; but even extend their providential care over them on all occasions. And do you, who are just going off the stage of life, and are yourself one of these wicked mortals, despair of a reformation? It is highly ridiculous not to get rid of our own frailties, which is in our power; and shew such an abhorrence, and endeavour to reform those of other people, which is not in our power. 64. Whatever is neither agreeable to your reason, or conducive to the benefit of society, you may justly consider as beneath your attention. 65. When you have done a favour to any one, and he has profited by your kindness, why should you (as some* silly people do) look any further; either for the reputation of having done a generous action, or for a return from the person whom you have obliged? No one is ever weary of receiving favours from their friends. Now it is

doing yourself a favour, to act conformably to the dictates of nature. Be not weary, Be not weary, therefore, of doing good to others, when, by that means, you are really serving yourself. 66. The Universal Nature, at a certain period of time, exerted its power in producing this world. But whatever now comes to pass, is either the necessary consequence of the original plan; or the Governor of the world acted at random in his principal design. Now to reflect on the absurdity of this supposition, ought to make you easy under all the events of life.

END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK.