LUCIUS ANNEUS SENECA.

SENECA, LUCIUS ANNEUS, a celebrated Roman philosopher and moralist, was born at Corduba, Spain, about the year 3 B. c.; died by his own hand, at his villa near Rome, in A. D. 65. He was a devoted student of rhetoric, philosophy, and law, and soon gained distinction at the bar. His political career was interrupted in A. D. 41 by his banishment to Corsica, by Claudius, and during this exile he wrote his "Consolatio ad Helviam." In A. D. 48 the Empress, Agrippina, had him recalled, and he was appointed prætor and tutor to her son, L. Domitius (Nero), then eleven years old. He became Agrippina's confidential adviser, and at the accession of Nero, A. D. 54, his influence increased. In A. D. 56 Seneca wrote a treatise on clemency addressed to Nero, " De Clementia ad Neronem." He was finally supplanted in the favor of Nero, and when he was accused of being an accomplice of Piso, in a conspiracy against the Emperor, he was compelled to commit suicide. This he did by opening his veins while in a warm bath. Some of his works are: "On Anger;" "A Book on Providence;" "On Tranquillity of Mind;" "On the Brevity of Life;" essays on natural science, and numerous letters.

ACCOMMODATION TO CIRCUMSTANCES.

SUPPOSE however that your life has become full of trouble, and that without knowing what you were doing, you have fallen into some snare which either public or private fortune has set for you, and that you can neither untie it nor break it: then remember that fettered men suffer much at first from the burdens and clogs upon their legs; afterwards, when they have made up their minds not to fret themselves about them, but to endure them, necessity teaches them to bear them bravely, and habit to bear them easily. In every station of life you will find amusements, relaxations, and enjoyments; that is, provided you be willing to make light of evils rather than to hate them. Knowing to what sorrows we were born, there is nothing for which Nature more deserves our thanks than for having invented

habit as an alleviation of misfortune, which soon accustoms us to the severest evils. No one could hold out against misfortune if it permanently exercised the same force as at its first onset. We are all chained to fortune: some men's chain is loose and made of gold, that of others is tight and of meaner metal; but what difference does this make? We are all included in the same captivity; and even those who have bound us are bound themselves, unless you think that a chain on the left side is lighter to bear. One man may be bound by public office, another by wealth; some have to bear the weight of illustrious, some of humble birth; some are subject to the commands of others, some only to their own; some are kept in one place by being banished thither, others by being elected to the priesthood. All life is slavery; let each man therefore reconcile himself to his lot, complain of it as little as possible, and lay hold of whatever good lies within his reach. No condition can be so wretched that an impartial mind can find no compensations in it. Small sites, if ingeniously divided, may be made use of for many different purposes; and arrangement will render ever so narrow a room habitable. Call good sense to your aid against difficulties: it is possible to soften what is harsh, to widen what is too narrow, and to make heavy burdens press less severely upon one who bears them skilfully.

INDEPENDENCE IN ACTION.

ALL men, brother Gallio, wish to live happily, but are dull at perceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy: and so far is it from being easy to attain to happiness, that the more eagerly a man struggles to reach it, the further he departs from it, if he takes the wrong road; for since this leads in the opposite direction, his very swiftness carries him all the further away. We must therefore define clearly what it is at which we aim; next we must consider by what path we may most speedily reach it: for on our journey itself, provided it be made in the right direction, we shall learn how much progress we have made each day, and how much nearer we are to the goal towards which our natural desires urge us. But as long as we wander at random, not following any guide except the shouts and discordant clamors of those who invite us to proceed in different directions, our short life will be wasted in useless roamings, even if we labor both day and night to get a good

understanding. Let us not, therefore, decide whither we must tend, and by what path, without the advice of some experienced person, who has explored the region which we are about to enter: because this journey is not subject to the same conditions as others; for in them some distinctly understood track and inquiries made of the natives make it impossible for us to go wrong, but here the most beaten and frequented tracks are those which lead us most astray. Nothing, therefore, is more important than that we should not, like sheep, follow the flock that has gone before us, and thus proceed not whither we ought, but whither the rest are going.

PRAISES OF THE RIVAL SCHOOL IN PHILOSOPHY.

MEN are not encouraged by Epicurus to run riot; but the vicious hide their excesses in the lap of philosophy, and flock to the schools in which they hear the praises of pleasure. They do not consider how sober and temperate for so, by Hercules, I believe it to be that "pleasure" of Epicurus is; but they rush at his mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and cloak for their vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which their evil life possessed, -that of being ashamed of doing wrong; for they praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their vices. Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness is dignified with an honorable name. The reason why that praise which your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because the honorable part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the degrading part is seen by all.

I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright and holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern; for this much-talked-of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do, I mean, to obey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough for nature. What is the consequence? Whoever thinks that happiness consists in lazy sloth, and alternations of gluttony and profligacy, requires a good patron for a bad action; and when he has become an Epicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that school, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears spoken of, but that which he brought thither with him; and

having learned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that philosophy, he indulges in them no longer timidly and in dark corners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like most of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher of crime; but what I say is, it is ill spoken of, it has a bad reputation, and yet it does not deserve it.

"BE SLOW UNTO WRATH.”

THE greatest remedy for anger is delay: beg anger to grant you this at the first, not in order that it may pardon the offence, but that it may form a right judgment about it: if it delay, it will come to an end. Do not attempt to quell it all at once, for its first impulses are fierce; by plucking away its parts we shall remove the whole. We are made angry by some things which we learn at second-hand, and by some which we ourselves hear or see. Now, we ought to be slow to believe what is told us. Many tell lies in order to deceive us, and many because they are themselves deceived. Some seek to win our favor by false accusations, and invent wrongs in order that they may appear angry at our having suffered them. One man lies out of spite, that he may set trusting friends at variance; some because they are suspicious, and wish to see sport, and watch from a safe distance those whom they have set by the ears. If you were about to give sentence in court about ever so small a sum of money, you would take nothing as proved without a witness, and a witness would count for nothing except on his oath. You would allow both sides to be heard: you would allow them time: you would not despatch the matter at one sitting, because the oftener it is handled the more distinctly the truth appears. And do you condemn your friend off-hand? Are you angry with him before you hear his story, before you have cross-examined him, before he can know either who is his accuser or with what he is charged?

MARIE DE RABUTIN CHANTAL DE SÉVIGNÉ.

SÉVIGNE, MARIE DE RABUTIN CHANTAL DE, a French letterwriter; born at Paris, February 6, 1626; died at Grignan, April 18, 1696. Left an orphan, she was tenderly reared by her maternal uncle, the Abbé de Coulanges, was carefully educated, and at the age of eighteen was married to the Marquis Henri de Sévigné. At the end of seven years her husband died, and Madame de Sévigné devoted herself to the education of her young son and daughter. On her return to Paris, in 1654, she became the centre of a brilliant society. The marriage of her daughter to the Count de Grignan, and the consequent separation from her, was the grief of Madame de Sévigné's life. She took refuge in long descriptive letters, which form, with letters to other friends, the foundation of Madame de Sévigné's fame. She died of small-pox while on a visit to her daughter.

LETTERS OF Madame de Sévigné.

TO HER DAUGHTER, MADAME DE GRIGNAN.

PARIS, Wednesday, May 6, 1671.

I BEG, my dear child, that we may not henceforth give to absence all the credit of having established so perfect an understanding between us, nor of having confirmed me in the opinion of your love; but allowing absence to have had a share in the latter, since it has fixed your affection forever beyond the possibility of change, let me at least regret the time when I saw you every day, you, who are the delight of my eyes, and the only joy of my life; when I heard you every day, — you whose mind is more to my taste than that of any other person I have ever met. Do not divide your lovely presence from your love; it would be too cruel to divide them. No; I will rather believe the time is come when they shall go hand in hand, when I shall have the exquisite pleasure of seeing you, without a cloud of regret, and at once make reparation for all my past injustices, since you will term them so.