The Letters of Symmachus, Book III

Stationed in the country, I pay you the customary tribute. For I allow no time to be exempt from this duty; nor, though the separation of places intervenes, am I led into forgetfulness of our intimacy. Which, if you would make me more prompt by the spur of reciprocity, I should certainly never keep my tongue idle. And yet I diligently perform my office, nor am I drawn along by the example of your ceasing. And this silence of yours I ascribe to the difficulties of public occupation, since it is enough for me, for the confidence of friendship, that I believe myself loved in return. Farewell.

This custom of writing an old superstition established, that those who have set out for foreign parts should claim for themselves the first place in conversing with the absent. But affection, impatient of delay, has changed by a scruple the turns of writing. And so, having broken the law of silence, I anticipate your discourse by haste; adding to the offices of my careful greeting the commendation of a man to be numbered among the very best, whom long ago, made illustrious by his parents, both the splendor of court rank has adorned, and the most ample senate has not received as a novelty, but has welcomed as a due. Which things, however, in our brother Philip are to be reckoned of second place and honor: because he has more praise in his character, and is more conspicuous for probity, than he glories in the gifts of fortune. I would say more, if either his modesty allowed it, or a lengthy eulogy suited a letter.

This certainly I promise, that your excellency will be able to find in his presence many things which I have kept silent; and to want nothing that I have written. Farewell.

It is fitting that you should frequently demand my letters, yet it is not fitting that you should suspect anything grave from my silence. You judged me forgetful of you, because I have been silent up to this day. Or is either the faith of my mind so obscure, or the narrowness of your merit so slight, that there ought to be room for such an opinion of me? Wherefore our common friendship has received more injury from your suspicion than from my silence. For it is a lesser thing to neglect a duty from necessity, than to judge it rashly from mere will. Do you think that by the customary kind of defense the offense is lightened? "I was long away, I spent long leisure in retirement in the country, couriers were lacking." These things, though often true, yet by frequent repetition have fallen into the disrepute of falsehood.

My occupations, remote from ordinary use, portend nothing slight, since a new alliance has attacked my household affairs, against the reason of the laws, the happiness of the times, the agreement of parents, the compacts of our ancestors. But I will restrain myself, and will not linger longer on these complaints, which the courier, if he is a friend to truth, will explain. Thus it will come about both that full knowledge of the matter reaches you, and that I shall seem rather to have declared my excuse than my grief. Farewell.

They say, who are skilled in the rhetorical discipline, that there is no controversy where the rights of the parties are the same. Do you ask for an image of the matter proposed? I pass over the well-worn fictions of forensic exercises, and the empty phantoms of causes. Yet this very lengthiness of our silence is an example of such a matter. You will charge me with negligence of a duty dissembled: the same speech will be turned back upon you. Therefore, since we are equal, it is a pleasant game that neither should make demands upon the other. The pardon you give, you will obtain. But why do I deal with you on equal terms? My case is already the better, since I am the first to amend the fault of both. I shall see what care of answering will be yours. I have brought back into the way the accidental torpor of our friendship; nor do I seek thanks for that deed. It is enough praise for me to have dissolved the reproach of silence. Farewell.

Reason is indeed wont to mitigate the sicknesses of the mind, but so great is the wound of my fortune, that not even your soothing and persuasive eloquence can draw a scar over it. Perhaps in time the long day may somewhat blunt the loosened grief, since an end comes in time to all evils. Meanwhile the words of comforters grow cold, nor does a mind deafened by injury apply its ears to good counsels. This is the third grief for me over the best of brothers. After so many miseries, who would not think that I have unlearned patience? But the more that misfortune finds us weaker, the more I grieve. Now even those old griefs grow raw again, to which long duration had brought numbness. For the latest blow reopens with pain even old wounds. Nor am I ignorant that many examples of an unconquered spirit can be cited. Pericles, having just lost his children, came into the senate-house: but the cause of his country compelled him.

The philosopher Anaxagoras was not drawn away from his disputations by the grave news of his son's death, but attributed the neglect of his own calamity to philosophy. Marcus Horatius, on learning of the death of his child, ordered the body to be carried out for burial: but such constancy was fitting for one who was dedicating the Capitol. You see what my spirit is; and yet life must be led on. For the love of light, given by nature, sustains the weakness of grief. I had almost passed over what ought to have been placed among the first things. I give the fullest thanks, that you have set apart our friend Projectus, torn from your companionship, for my consolation. From this I understand how great a necessity kept you from coming. I, however, though I could not see you yourself, have seen your mind; for which it was not enough to work a remedy for my misfortune by letter.

For you added a kind of embassy, which by its constant presence might break the force of the evil, because you knew that the consolations of letters end with the reading. Having gone on to your praises, we must conclude, since you yourself refer your piety more to conscience than to glory. Therefore let speech have a limit, which affection toward you will never have. Farewell.

I take you as judge of my letters. Take, if you have any leisure from the republic, our little speech, for the publishing of which the favor of the citizens gave me confidence. For hope is often nourished by examples, and we presume that what has already pleased others will please as well. Now it will be your part to answer, when you have read it, whether the senate ought to have encouraged me. Certainly it cannot be counted a fault in me, that I hoped as well of your ears as I simply trusted the votes of others before you. Farewell.

I do not delay to give notice of my return, as soon as a trustworthy occasion has offered itself. For I know that you wish to learn only favorable things of us. I too have an equal care to learn glad and desired things of your health and doings. And therefore you will deign, whenever chance affords the opportunity, to fulfill toward me the offices of mutual affection. Farewell.

With such delight of mind did I receive your letter, which you brought me after a long silence, that I confess I have forgotten my former complaint: because the memory of the past interruption has been effaced by the pleasure of your recent service. Henceforth, if I am dear to you, admit frequently the labor of writing, to be recompensed in turn both of discourse and of love. Farewell.

You expect from me more generous letters: I am delighted by your judgment. For it is praise of talent, when abundance is desired. But I would wish you to be displeased by copiousness of words. For what is idle discourse to do, whither to turn, where to linger, when it has no matter? I hate long robes on a small body. That garment is decently worn which does not drag the dust, nor, let down to the ground, is trodden underfoot. Write then something which, in answering, I may extend: although I am deceived by scruple, in daring to promise you abundant letters. I shall see what will be the outcome of your judgment. Yet remember that I have not pledged to you selection, but abundance. Farewell.

I have received together your twin letters, written, so to say, by the hand of Nestor himself, whose gravity I labor to follow. For the fashion of the time draws us into the subtleties of a pleasing style. Wherefore admit more fairly the tongue of our age, and be content that this letter lacks Attic soundness. It is fitting that this very confession of fault before you should avail toward an easier pardon. But if you are impatient of novelty, take judges from the forum: whether it is I or you who ought to beg pardon for style. Believe me, I shall win more votes, not by what is fair and good, but because more favor common faults. And so, as you yourself sometimes proclaim, I alone remain a spectator of the old coinage; the rest are captivated by the allurements of the ear. Let this pact then stand between us: that it may please me indeed to take the pattern of antiquity from your own autograph, while you are not vexed to bear the novelty of my writings.

I will not pass over in silence the other gift of your little work, in which you have translated the ancient histories of each republic from a Greek book into Latin. We had taken arms from the Samnites, insignia from the Etruscans, laws from the hearth of Lycurgus and Solon. Your labor has since added for us foreign monuments, which now no longer know themselves as foreign. Now truly our city, made the parent of all peoples, can teach to each their own antiquities. But the very subject-matter, worthy to be praised, how much more is it enhanced by such golden words? One would not know whether the honor of the volume rejoices more in its style or in its matter. As for my illness, rumor has by no means deceived you; but already for me (may pardon be granted for the word) a haven of convalescence is opening.

I have returned to your boy the volume of your poems to be carried back, and because the order of the eclogues was confused, I have sent along with it the copy I made: so that correction may be furnished by you for both, and the addition of the other pieces which you are now composing. Farewell.

If this alone, as you say, is your reason for cultivating your pen frequently, that you may exclude me from the exchange of discourse, then great is the price of our silence in your letters. See to it, then, that the fruit of your silence does not more strongly recall me from writing; because, if I answer often, perhaps you will relax your care, as one already victorious in what he wished. Remain, then, in your resolve of constant writing, even after my letter; although I would rather obtain your presence in person than pages of writing. Those Tullian letters are, indeed, inlaid with gold: but from present friends more good things are gathered. Words themselves flow better from the fountains of the mouth, than when entrusted to the fabric of papyrus. Come then, having struggled free from the mold of long idleness, revisit our friend Coelius. Enough time has been given to Spoletium, a good city and mother of the best citizens, yet one that understands that it cannot by mere use retain a man belonging to our senate.

Farewell.

Your servant brought me two letters at once. I should be charged with deceit, had I not returned as many. In both you promised that you would return to Rome, if the years allow it: many times before you had written the same. I no longer heed your bonds. To repeat a promise is the meditation of a fraud. I know that old men grow slow to undertake toil. But since faults increase with time, you must, ungratefully to yourself, be drawn along by me, before a longer day makes a juster excuse. Nestor, in the third age of his life, asked no exemption from service; nor did Phoenix, his mentor, excuse to Achilles the chill of his own old age. And certainly not much distance of travel lies between us. Spoletium is our very suburb. While you ruminate on your poems, while you compose epigrams offered to groves or rivers, the sense of toil is deceived by learned musings. Farewell.

I count it to my credit that you have announced your wished-for return as at hand. But I fear greatly lest this eagerness of yours be hindered by the denial of lodging, which I ask that you take, certain of my good will toward you, in good part. For I call the gods to witness that these houses, one of which you requested, have long since been assigned by me to guests. I beg you, then, to lend faith to this oath, you who ought to have trusted even to my mere assurance alone, and hasten back to your own house: since the house, which formerly, when you lived ambitiously according to your age and dwelt with your children, satisfied you, ought not now to offend your elderly moderation, once your sons have been distributed into other houses. Farewell.

You ask that I answer your letter. This is a declaration of contest. But whence to me, though advancing into grave years, comes that senile and comic quality by which you now rival the ancients? Yet the desperation of my style will not defend your wish. For what shame is there in being conquered after confession? This too has compelled me to write back, that I feared, by the example of ceasing, to give you a kind of formula of silence: and I perceived that more deceit would return upon me, if your offense should imitate my silence, than if my daring should surpass yours. You will yourself judge how much I have done, out of love for you, against my own modesty. Meanwhile, that you are well is sweet news: although you added that caution is needed, lest perchance a sudden turn of your age forestall our return. I do not wish you to reckon up your years by count. Confidence of health lies in one's strength.

Which, when the guardianship of your character sees fit to expend, hope that the gods will bring it about that you remain whole in life up to those bounds which the ancient reckoning gave to a human lifetime. Farewell.

Perhaps you may find fault with my long silence. I would not have you attribute this delay to negligence. For the continuous course of a long journey stood in the way of my pen. At last we reached the shore of Formiae, which would have been more pleasing to me if we could enjoy the delight of that place together. But since this is not permitted, on account of the years and your health, I ask at least to be informed by mutual letters how much strength you have added to your poor body. For I do not doubt that you possess temperance and the other safeguards for preserving old age. Farewell.

I have plausible grounds for remonstrating with you, since, having been raised to the pontifical honor of a man of letters, you gave me no token of our common joy. But I do not wish to steep my first letter in the gall of reproach, lest bitter words should contract your spirit. Wherefore I set aside complaints, and make this bargain of pardon with you: that hereafter you hold the diligence of friendship as a matter of weight. Let there be between us frequent observance of this office; let there be constant exchanges of familiar letters. For a silent concord is the very likeness of hatred. For this reason either nature or industry skillfully devised letters, so that affection might never be mute; and if ever we are absent, the signs of words might perform the office of the tongue. Let this suffice for the present. I hope hereafter to be given occasion to reply, out of gratitude for your favor, not out of the pain of disdain. Farewell.

You abound indeed in the gifts of nature and the resources of talent; but it is difficult for you too to excuse the fault of continual silence. For what can be said, either truthfully or as a fabrication? “Long journeys,” you will say, “kept me”: but they are often interrupted, and sometimes reach their end. “I devote wakeful labor to public affairs”: but every business is broken up by intervals of leisure. It remains—though I least wish it—that you confess negligence of friendship. For if you neglect your duties often, it is called occupation; if always, you may consider it the crime of forgetfulness. This, if it were possible, I would pass over in silence. You mock, then, my patience. And yet you will understand that a calm mind must be exchanged at a greater price; he is more unworthily wounded whom reverence does not permit to take offense.

And surely it concerned your solicitude to exercise some familiar words, when a speech proceeding from your files was entrusted to me for delivery: concerning which I will keep you in suspense meanwhile; only then will I give you an indication of public judgment, when you shall have entreated it, when you shall have deserved it, and—since I hold your letters of such worth—when you shall have written. Farewell.

You have broken the long duration of silence, but, by heaven, driven to it by frequent duties. Yet I shall be affected by no less gratitude than if you had given the letter of your own accord. I rejoice in the vicarious power granted to my brother, as though an increase of honor had come to me. I am also delighted by your favor toward him, as if you yourself had bestowed something; with whom I am certain that the illustrious man Syagrius has striven with faithful effort toward good fruit. I thought this should be written to you, so that you might diligently pursue our thanks as a zealous advocate. Farewell.

You have chosen the more favorable subject: for human speech is better suited to complaint than to gratitude. For this reason, I think, it has happened that you have accused me of taciturnity, while I strive for continual care in giving and returning greetings. Indeed you did this to my pleasure. For he who counts negligence of duty a fault in another promises for himself a more ready service. Your expostulation is like a pledge. I will not weigh your words, I will not devise fine sentences. If you shall have incurred fault by silence, you will be convicted by your own letters alone. Farewell.

I would wish to use you as an advocate before the excellent consul, to excuse and defend my absence, if I knew that you yourself would first pardon me in this matter. For when I consider your affection, I fear lest, since you both love me equally, you might likewise blame me equally. Who, then, is to be summoned as advocate for this cause of mine? My fortune, of course: whose excuse, being wretched, is also just. For divine law does not allow those in mourning to attend to joyful duties; perhaps, too, my sadness would dampen your cheerfulness, since it always tends to happen that we take the disposition of our mind from the countenance of our friends. Wherefore forgive our absence, and before the excellent man, the consul, favor my absence: it is ours to glory in his honor, to be present in spirit at his happy auspices. Farewell.

You have such an abundance of rich eloquence that you purchase pardon for your former silence with the praise of your present fluency. For what part of your letters lacked either prudence of invention, or novelty of thought, or the antiquity of its words? Since, then, ample resources are not wanting to you, strive, I beg you, that as you are admirable in speech, so you may be approved in devotion. The frequency of your letters will bring this about, which will not only win favor for you, but will also make me more ready to respond. Farewell.

Here we live in leisure in the country, and enjoy the produce of autumn in many forms. For after we have committed the new wine to casks, which flows once trodden by heel and pressed by the press, the Sicyonian berry is crushed in the mills, so that the early olive may be softened while still green into the use of oil. Meanwhile the pursuit of wild beasts stirs their haunts, and the unresolved farmer runs about to different duties. Some climb by ladders to the tops of trees; many clarify the stored must. Some track the scented traces of boars with the keen scent of hounds. But all these things would please more if you were with us. The learning of the Scaevolas holds you, while, a wakeful teacher, you instruct men in the tablets of the forum. Wherefore hasten swiftly, that the rest of the holidays may wipe away the weariness of labor. Certainly, if your love for that workshop of yours is so great, come nonetheless without delay, that you may return more ready for pleading. Farewell.

That your fortunes have flourished so abundantly, I count as my own gain: since I am so disposed in mind that I do not consider the prosperity of friends as things external to my own advantage. And indeed, how few days are joyful to a man who counts only his own good fortune? He rejoices more broadly who feeds also on the good things of another. With what gratulation, then, do you think I was affected, when I learned that the marriage gods had joined a wife to you, and that from her a son had already been given, in due season? For as you know, owing to the interval of sea and land that keeps us apart, I did not learn that a wife had come to you before I learned of offspring as well. Indeed, in a single letter you brought me both the news of a little daughter recently born, and the wedding gift. These blessings, though allotted to different times in coming to you, nevertheless entered my heart together. Let joys divided yield to joys united.

This delay has furnished me a richer harvest. I no longer complain that your letters are late. Sweet is the delay which restores several blessings at once. Farewell.

I had believed that nothing could be added to the full and long-standing friendship between us. Yet you have found a way by which we might raise our perfect regard for you to a higher summit. For with lovable confidence you entrusted to my care the providing of clothing which the winter journey required. But you, abounding in all things, out of zeal for giving a benefit, devised an occasion for asking one. But it is clear enough that you gave a favor by this act: because he receives more, for whom another's love claims something as its own. In only one lapse (if it be permitted to say so) did this friendly claim falter—that you promise to repay me from Galatia, once you have reached your ancestral hearth. I would not have wished the constancy of a good deed to descend into such words of trembling modesty. But I pass over the light charm of your praised letter.

For the obligation of so great a favor does not allow me to be an interpreter of mere words. But why do we say so much, when we are about to send so little? The list of garments to be delivered to you occupies the second page. What you may think of their modesty, you shall judge for yourself, since you wished garments suited more to winter than to elegance. Farewell.

Secure, as I see, you neglect your turn of writing to me. For you know that a fault of this kind will pass without retaliation. How many times have I threatened, through silence, that you might refrain from letters? Yet I am overcome by affection, and delight in such a lie of my own making. From this you may understand how constantly I love, I who am so inconstantly angry. Farewell.

At last, the letters I longed for were brought by the arrival of my man, which gave us a most welcome token of your well-being. And would that the ease of travel afforded the means of more frequent service! Farewell.

The letters I awaited from you have reached me, by which I am made more ready to render the exchange of this office. And do not wonder that our discourse is delivered to you late, since occupations claim something of one's time, sometimes the means are lacking, and the negligence of couriers too often frustrates an undertaken task. Cease, then, to measure our affection by the lateness of letters, since regard is to be judged by deeds rather than by words. Farewell.

You report as fact what I foretold beforehand in hope and expectation: that the first meeting would open to you the friendship of good men. For both your character and their judgment had promised us this. For probity, once chosen, easily finds favor with the arbiters of virtue. But this part I ought rather to rejoice in than to dwell upon. I would rather proclaim more fully—if speech could match the greatness of the matter—that you claim garments from us for your own use. Nothing is more sincere than this love. Know that confidence arising from simple affection is a kind of virtue. But what worthy return can I make for such purity? We have stood equal thus far in the offices of devotion. Now I yield to you without hesitation. I think the confession of defeat suffices you in exchange for so great a favor. Farewell.

You have of your own accord granted many greetings to my friend. Now add what remains, so that I too may be reckoned to have obtained a share of the benefit. The remaining particulars of his request will be conveyed by the bearer of the letter, which I thought superfluous to pursue by pen. For the living voice is better suited to matters that must be communicated to one another. Farewell.

I repeat my request on behalf of my friend Sallustius, who, as you yourself have affirmed, has long since been taken under your care as well: not that I fear you might by forgetfulness abandon his protection, since it is characteristic of your constancy to carry out faithfully the charges you have undertaken; but because the fortune of a friend often stirs my concern, and one commendation does not suffice for those in distress, though I remain tenaciously mindful, I remind you again. The speed of your kindness will ensure that I need not do the same thing so often. Farewell.

My brothers Dorotheus and Septimus, men of distinction, brought to me a single letter of yours. But I felt it a matter of scruple to seize such a saving, so that a doubled return of the office of duty might answer to you, and each might receive the honor of due testimony. For although Dorotheus is approved, I nevertheless wish that the prerogative of my judgment might win him over the more, which I do not doubt will come to pass, since the affection of a good mind is capable of increase, whenever it is roused by merits. Farewell.

Though I judge that my earlier letter, in which I asked you to vindicate my brother Marcianus from injuries, has been delivered into your hands, I ought not, nevertheless, to abstain even from a second petition, so that a doubled entreaty might attest the need of an excellent man, entangled though he is in the ill-will of a tyrannical season. Wherefore I exhort you again to the defense of my friend, whose slenderness of means, arisen from his very integrity, does not allow him to pay the dues of years which the imperial clemency has already remitted to many judges of that same period. The path to obtaining this will therefore be easier for you, since the help afforded by your merits will be aided by the examples of others. Farewell.

It seems like an age that my brother Magnillus, having discharged vicarious power throughout Africa, conspicuous in the testimony of all both publicly and privately, has been delayed by various obstacles in that province. You know the maturity of this excellent man, and the other good qualities by which he drew even your love to himself, when he governed Liguria. And so it would be superfluous effort before you to praise what is already well known. Wherefore I earnestly beg that, when you have learned from the bearer of this letter the causes of the delays, you deign to offer a devoted intervention for his return, so that, restored at last to his homeland, he may exchange the wrong of his long journey for the quiet he has longed for. Farewell.

It is customary for those in need of help to take refuge in tried and approved support. One of these is Eusebius, who, having lapsed through the error of youth, and having been marked by judgment, twice implores the most well-proven remedy of imperial pardon. But that success might smile upon him quickly, he has chosen to entrust the hope of his petition to your care: the sum of which is this, that by the remission of the judgment against him, he may remove the wound to his reputation. Farewell.

My son Caecilianus, a most illustrious man, who now administers the grain-supply of our common homeland, has learned by certain evidence that his adversary, a man named Pirata, or his agent, has drawn upon the hope of your favor. I denied that you were accustomed to take up cases involving money into your charge. He nonetheless, as is the way of men's often superfluous anxiety, requested from me a letter suited to your holy character. I did not refuse the effort, since what he asked was easy and just. The sum, then, of the task laid upon me is this: against an absent citizen, one moreover occupied with public duties, do not allow him to hope for any advantage over justice through you. There are courts, there are laws, there are tribunals, there are magistrates, which a litigant may use, your conscience remaining unimpaired. Farewell.

Diarius, a most illustrious man, who rightly holds the highest place among the professors of medicine, desired at his request that his kinsman, who shares his name, be commended to your patronage. I gladly satisfied the wish of this most dear friend, so that by a single act I might both pay you my respects in greeting, and be of service to that man's need. Do, I beg, protect the one commended with your help, lest you reward me only with a returning word. Farewell.

When I was giving these letters to you, I was kept confined to my sickbed; already indeed rescued from danger, but still lacking strength, which is repeatedly worn down by intermittent fevers. Amid these ills of my health, however, I gave my friends the task that our common pledge should be joined to the deliberations of the senators, men of consular rank. Regard was had to your merits. For I do not reckon anything as conferred by my favor. I have handed over the acts of the most distinguished order to Ticianus, an honorable man: when these come into your hands, declare that I have satisfied friendship. For I wish nothing more than to be judged diligent in honorable duty. Farewell.

The vigor of my health has begun to rise again. It is right that constancy of writing be required of me: let only the assurance of soundness remain, which the harm of winter frequently disturbs. For the process of recovering is too tender and feeble, and before the physicians' hands, health awaits the aid of a milder sky; lest I seem to you to have given the illness length through the art of healing. For I wish that we might break the memory of these ills with the charm of a jest. But now something must also be said of Repentinus, an excellent young man, whose constant attendance I have missed: which, I think, his modesty denied me, though it ought to have been supplied by the confidence taken from you. Yet there will be a better opportunity, when he understands that he ought not to have deserted one whom he knew, by your frequent testimony concerning him, to have trusted him. Farewell.

I am well. For this ought to be the beginning of writing, which the reader's wishes chiefly desire. I likewise rejoice exceedingly at the vigor granted to you: for you recently gladdened me with such a report. This too I count among the sum of my joy, that the honorable tone of your recent letter showed you mindful of me. For this favor I ought not to be silent, so that by this encouragement you may be provoked to persevere in the office of letter-writing. Farewell.

It is characteristic of your mind to enjoin things that are pious and just. I say this beforehand so that you may know I have both fulfilled and approved what you had ordered on behalf of the son of Habemanius, a most distinguished man. Your letter's request was therefore superfluous. For I ought to have been reminded, not asked. What of the fact that I too had the greatest familiarity with him? Whence it came about that the favor of friendship was joined to the fairness of the request. What more? There will come into your hands the records of our senate drawn up concerning his acquittal; which will show that the swiftness of what was desired was granted both to your will and to the reverence due to Bebianus. But for this service I ask more frequent letters; the giving of which will be an easy generosity to you, given the resources of your eloquence, and to me a precious gain, in accordance with our mutual regard. Farewell.

Again I bind a debtor of good faith by the interest of a letter. For having received in return the greeting which you lately gave back to me, I do not allow you to be free from the bond of this obligation. But this contract will only accomplish this for me, that you compensate for the reports of my prosperity, which you receive concerning me, with the pleasure of your own good fortunes. Farewell.

I count the joys of your fortune as my own gain, and I take you as judge of this opinion regarding us, since you have my mind under observation when you consult your own. This was owed to the tender good fortunes of these times, that a man of such renown should be admitted to public counsel. Therefore, since the matter has turned out according to everyone's wish, perform a service congruous with the judgment of so great a prince. Expectation presses upon you, always burdensome to good men. For even though it regards the worthy, it is nevertheless near to danger, while it promises itself more. You have an age friendly to virtue, in which, unless every excellent man wins glory, it is the fault of the man, not of the time. You surely see how even he who presides over the affairs of Rome was born for the public good. As if on a favorable course, upright arts and virtues are borne forward.

But these things your own mind will unfold to you more fully than our pen. I, having performed a friend's office, have taken up the part of one admonishing rather than teaching. And I hope it will soon come to pass that you will be held greater than the great expectation concerning you. Nor would I have undertaken to write in this manner, had it not been clear to me that I was entrusting good words to a corrected heart. For the rest, remember, in returning the greeting, both to discharge your own duty and to provoke the diligence of my office. Farewell.

I yield to your laws, and I affect the ἀρχαϊσμός (archaism) of writing not unwillingly. Yet you should remember that this seems to some rather simple, which the usage of a later age has adopted. Do you wish bare names to be set at the head of our letters, in the manner of our ancestors? If you have so great a love of antiquity, let us return with equal zeal to the ancient words in which the Salii sing, and the augurs consult the bird, and the decemvirs drew up the Tables. It has long since been announced that the succession of time has changed earlier customs. What if a forensic speech were to be written by us—shall we preface it with the formula of Cato invoking Jupiter and the foreign gods, lest it be charged to us as a fault, either of neglect of antiquity or of ignorance? And yet it is better to follow Tully, who employs openings unknown to our ancestors.

But why do I say more on this, since I am obedient to your word, and have yielded to your will? That you write often, I need by no means beg of you. The frequency of my letters will bring it about that you are reminded of the mutual duty. Farewell.

It is true that fame is swift. But I disagree with the Mantuan, who thinks it ought to be numbered among evils. For what is more splendid than this, when it moistens the ears and minds of good men with glad tidings? To me certainly it is exceedingly welcome, since it first brought the report of your acquittal. I was about to depart, sorrowful in mind on account of the loss of a parent. There the secure report freed me from the cares I had been bearing for you. Nor was trust lacking. For I at once believed it true, since I knew it accorded both with your innocence and with the fairness of the times. There were added also your letters, so charming and graceful, that though the matter was already known, I thought a new joy concerning you was being announced to me. In them was confidence of a good conscience, but joined with praise of public justice. For you gave thanks to the greatest princes as one acquitted, and complained, as an innocent man, only of fortune.

But what further? When to Rome? When to the leisure of the city? When will you return to the solaces of reading and writing? I hope swiftly: since indeed the matter demands that the injury of your travels should commend to you the desire for quiet. Farewell.

Things happen to me according to my wish, if ever it is granted me to enjoy fully the knowledge of your health by the gift of an address. This I hold sufficiently established with you. For what love would you bestow on me, if you were uncertain of me? And would that these letters of yours, as full as they are of honor, were as frequent! For grievous is the thirst for good things, for which only constant enjoyment provides a remedy. Therefore be more generous in lavishing the bounty of your correspondence. For the more there is in your letters that gladdens me, the more remains that I long for. Farewell.

Free of blame, take your leisure, and watch over your books more gently, since the revolving day has brought it to pass that the tottering weights of the commonwealth are being propped up by the most brave and at the same time most fortunate hand of our lord Gratian. Do I seem to you to have spoken more πανηγυρικῶς (in panegyric style) than the custom of a letter allows? Such is the case, that the greatest matters require a great opening of the mouth. But these things are to be carried out in style by you before others, in whom Minerva is strong; this task we grant to you. Let us return to familiar matters. For a long time good health was estranged from me. I shuddered a little, I know; but set aside your anxiety: now I am well. Now there is need of refreshment, an abundance of which may come to me from the nourishment of your conversation, if you consent to render such service. Farewell.

It is a superfluous labor to commend those who are conspicuous, as if you should hold a torch before men placed in the sun, and by the kindling of lights should wish to aid the brightness of day. Therefore, delaying nothing for the present in the office of witness, I have dedicated the labor of my pen to your greeting. Yet I would have you love, also in my name, our brother Posthumianus, a young man of the highest rank: that he may understand that a just, so to speak, omission of his praise has carried more honor than praise itself. Farewell.

I count it as a weighty gift that you join to my friendship men of tested honor. You do this out of your continual attentiveness toward me, and never do you cease from taking care of what may fall out to my benefit. What if I should also give you thanks in the name of my brother Sabinus? Who, being credited by you in a favorable light, has brought so much of a head start that it is as if he were already approved by all. He is plainly worthy of the testimony of such a man: for since you have granted this to him for his own commendation, you will be judged to have granted the same favor to others to whom he is commended. Farewell.

While you conveniently seek Rome again, I have devoted myself in suburban retirement to reading. For long, indeed, with care intruding, we had been idle in this pursuit. Now, since you are absent, the older part of my friends—that is, the writings of the ancients—perform the part of your conversation. Formerly, however, I had exchanged the city for the country, so that summer might be broken for me at cool Praeneste; but the interruption of family business broke my leisure. Therefore now I resume the road, having set aside what I was reading. If there is anything further needing to be known, my Palladius will indicate it, whom I regret being drawn away from the youth of Rome no less than I congratulate him for being called to the hope of his own advancement. Farewell.

I indeed give abundant thanks for your zeal, in that you procure for me the friendship of every man most approved: but my brother Hypericius has long since been a Roman by education. Why then do you commend our own good qualities to me? You may yield others, unknown by experience, similar in refinement; if, however, the rarity of virtues allows you to find one or another of tested honor. Those I shall consider friends acquired through your kindness, whom I do not know. This man you have rather restored to me than given. Farewell.

I am staying meanwhile at Milan, summoned for attendance at the consular inauguration of our lord Valentinian. Having been called, chance has given me the opportunity of exercising my pen toward you. This I have gladly embraced, as the honor of friendship demanded, and I offer you greeting: which, if I consider it well, you will repay by the frequent practice of the reciprocal devotion of friends. Farewell.

Musonianus, a most eminent man and an admirer of you, has learned by a letter recently brought from Asia that his lands, which border yours, are being encroached upon. When he, knowing of our friendship, had confidentially told me of this matter, I first advised him not to be led by the fickleness of his own men into believing so great a falsehood. Then, when he asked for a letter, I did not refuse this service, knowing it fitting to mutual attentiveness, since between us we discuss whatever pertains to the integrity of our reputation. I ask, therefore, that you take in good part what I write, and either quickly clear away the deceit of a violated right belonging to another, or, if anything has been disturbed without your knowledge, order it to be set right. Farewell.

It is always my custom to address your excellency. What is yours? To refrain from letters. We each do as we are accustomed. I write, you are silent. But I know that there is greater constancy in your virtues for loving friends than there is inclination in you toward neglecting letters. And therefore, secure in your disposition, I do not abandon in mind and in speech the respect owed to you, by no means demanding that an exchange of writings answer me, since it is repaid in affection. Farewell.

Fostering my leisure on a suburban estate, I received your letter. For why should I remain in Rome as you were departing? But the estate which meanwhile holds me looks out toward our Tiber, its side joined by the waters. From here I freely see what increase of eternal produce comes daily to the city, what Macedonian supply is added to the granaries of Rome. For, as you may recall, with Africa failing, famine was almost at the door, which the most merciful emperor, born for the public safety, forestalled by bringing in supplies from foreign soil. Already the first fleet of many ships salutes our harbor. Already we are sated with security. Already we say that whatever anywhere is produced for the good emperor is ours. I write these things so that you may announce to the lord of the world the effect of his kindness, and yourself may enjoy the fruit of the common joy. I am preparing to depart somewhat further shortly, and yet I shall not refrain from such letters to you.

It will be the care of our people remaining in the City both to send you my words through capable messengers, and with equal fidelity to bring me what you have written. Farewell.

I could bear your silence patiently, thinking of your custom, had not a report of the illness under which you labor long since struck me. I fear, therefore, lest a silence more anxious than usual should hinder the gift of your correspondence. And therefore I beg that you deign to resolve, by writing or by message, the cares I have taken up out of brotherly love. For although I am desirous of letters, yet I count it among secondary comforts that my mind, anxious for you, be lifted up, if not yet by letters, at least by reports. Farewell.

I readily accuse myself of the fault of silence, whenever some interval of days delays the exercise of my duty. For no excuse avails but that I should frequently insert the observance of friendship amid public business. But the same person who avoids the fault of idleness likewise ceases to be lengthy in writing. For although I know that your mind is by no means subject to weariness, yet I perceive that a measure must be set to words according to the state of one's cares: because, as prolixity is welcome to one who longs for it, so brevity cannot displease one who is occupied. Farewell.

I love and admire your virtues. But it happens that I, even as your friend, envy you. You will for some time enjoy my Flavianus alone. Let me put more plainly what I mean to say. Whatever was best at Rome has migrated to you. And to you both indeed your fellowship will yield mutual joy. What consolation shall be mine? Whom he has abandoned, and whom you will miss less, because one man will suffice you for both. Farewell.

Someone else perhaps may think it a belated gift, that which the consul of the past year now discharges. I feel that I, and others who live far off, are appointed to this station by the trust of friendship. Those indeed are satisfied at once, whom you could not have kept in mind so long. For he who is generous straightway is reminded, as it were, by the very fasces of his own magistracy. He who renders his services after an interval bears witness that he chose to defer them for those whose remembrance a longer span of days could not efface. Let each judge, then, whether anyone believes himself set behind others in order or in honor. I understand myself to be preferred by pure affection. For he is not sufficiently a friend to whom some customary thing is at once rendered. More honorable is that security which thinks it no disgrace if something long remains owed to close friends. Wherefore I would have you believe that the very delay itself was pleasant to me.

Thus I judge, thus I interpret: what was long ago bestowed on others by custom has been kept for us by love. Farewell.

A wished-for event has offered me a most trustworthy means of conveying my duty. For my lord and brother Eugenius, when he had granted me the enjoyment of his presence, being asked, added the favor of taking up a letter; by which I show you the honor of a greeting, and earnestly beg that you not allow me to remain longer in suspense through your silence. Farewell.

I had already delivered a reply attesting that the gifts of your most distinguished consulship were welcome to me. But having again obtained the presence of the most illustrious Eugenius, my brother, I doubled my writing, not fearing that a repeated message would create weariness. For I measure by my own mind, that friendship cannot feel a surfeit of good offices: though they be frequent, and resemble a continuous stream, yet they are always received as if rare, and long desired. This opinion of mine the constancy of your letters will confirm. For it is implanted in good minds, that what we wish abundantly to obtain from others, we ourselves bestow abundantly. Farewell.

Having discharged my commissions, the messenger, when we arrived at our destination, ought not to depart empty of my testimony: especially lest you should think your zeal for me ill-placed, if a delayed message had cancelled its gratitude. I say greetings, then, and already send forward my petition: that when we begin to retrace our journey to our homeland, you may decree more ample aids for overcoming the difficulties. Farewell.

I have exchanged the leisure of my homeland for a happy journey. For at the command of our lord Valentinian, summoned along with many of the most distinguished senators, I enjoy public rejoicing in place of domestic quiet. Since rumor might have carried this to you, it seemed more fitting that I myself should be the reporter of it. You yourself will observe custom in answering your kindness: since I desire your letters no less than the sight and words of my own people. Farewell.

What delight your letters have brought me I leave to you to judge; to whom, if I judge rightly, my message in turn brings pleasure. Continue, then, as you have already deigned to do, to reward friendship both with the affection of devotion and with the constancy of conversation. I shall take care to be equal in bearing the reciprocity. For he who asks services from another also promises frequent labor of his own zeal. Farewell.

I know that your excellent spirit eagerly awaits, as friendship demands, tokens of my safety and return: and therefore, having returned to my homeland, I have satisfied your expectation; and I signify that I am acting according to my wish, and that I am mindful of your kindness toward us: and at the same time I beg that you not think it burdensome to increase, by the gift of letters, whenever occasion offers, the affection which you have deigned both to pay me when present and to promise me when absent. Farewell.

If you deign to know how great a portion of my heart lies in my lord Flavianus, embrace the friendship of him as he arrives, that you may bind two men to yourself. We two are one and the same. For he who is the better of us allows this to be said by me. I would write more, if either you needed long persuasion, or the merits of so great a man required commendation. It is enough, then, that you have received the tokens of my wish. There is no need of solicitation and labor, since it comes naturally that one so close to you in character should be loved by you. Farewell.

Firmus, a member of my household, having completed his term of military service with honor, deserved to be aided by my testimony, so that he might attain access to your acquaintance more readily. Extend to him, I beg you, an aiding hand, as he seeks by custom the rewards due to him by law. For to veterans of this sort a privilege is owed, that the dignity of the protectors should come to them as the price, so to speak, of long labor. This will surely come to pass for Firmus, if your favor grants the wishes of a good man striving for what is customary. Farewell.

The just measure of your merits demands that I frequently devote effort to letters between friends: for I have found by experience that services rendered to wise men do not perish. I perform, then, a greeting, which alone attests care for the absent: and I beg your excellency, that as you are wont to do, you both cultivate the good of friendship in speech and guard it in your mind. Farewell.

I do not allow my lord and brother Flavianus, a man exalted in virtues and honors, to be excluded from your justice. Rightly, on behalf of his honors, I plead as the case requires: knowing that without your authority certain wicked acts have been carried out, which are said to have been designed by certain persons under pretense of your name. Whence I have greater confidence that the matter can be severely avenged, since your own reputation also has been assailed. The complaint, indeed, of the men involved in this matter their own representation, if you so order, will pursue better, since the manifold injury exceeds the bounds of a private letter. No lesser things also has the son of an illustrious man, himself already of accomplished honor, endured on his proconsular estate; things which pertain indeed to the guilt of one man, but to the contempt of both.

Therefore, as is your custom, having heard the pleas of those who defend the interests of the absent, deign to defend first their reputation, which is precious to every good man, then friendship, the sign of good faith, and lastly the laws, for which you keep watch: so that to the illustrious man, who through the absence of his own people knows nothing of these troubles, the grace of your kindness may come sooner than the grief and complaint of his own. Farewell.

It does not trouble me to address your excellency often, although I have received no reply from you in turn. For I myself readily answer on your behalf, that among the cares of the camp idle services have no place. And would that the constancy of my addresses may not seem to you a burdensome noise. It is close to what I might think—that the favor of letters is returned to me, if I know that what I write brings no distaste. Farewell.

You have roused me to write by the reciprocity you rendered. For such is the nature of things, that the diligence of good offices grows warm from the fruit of reciprocity. Receive, then, my greeting, and at the same time joyfully embrace this token of my well-being, ready to return, according to my wish and mind, reciprocal joys from like reports of your own doings. Farewell.

I press you with frequent letters, and I do not abandon you in the affection of my mind. The bearer of my message is Felix, a man commendable both for the honesty of his life and for his experience in military service; that you may give him consideration I do not dare to urge, since your equity can accomplish for him as much as my favor could wish. Farewell.

The petition of my lord and brother Stemmatius requires from you rather a reminder than a suppliant. For since his acquaintance with you is of such long standing that you outrun our wish with your favor, we ought to reckon the labor of asking as a gain. Briefly, then, attend to what he requests. He has lost, through the misfortune of proscription, the supports of life which are commonly called goods, where his estate was more abundant. This he entrusts to be repaid above all by your merits, amid the great rejoicing of the state. Undertake, I beg you, a task full of goodness; and console the poverty of a friend, to which the misfortune of wretched health has been added, by the restoration of his household estate. Farewell.

Nature has heaped many virtues upon you. Which, should anyone weigh them with careful judgment, he would not know whether the goods of fortitude or of mind excel the more. But of the one praise the ruler of the human race is the attester, while of the duties of friendship we ourselves must be the witnesses; we who cannot match you in devoted zeal. Yet I marvel that in this you have gone so far in love of me, that you flatter me with false praises, when you say that you desire something from the store of my speech. What need have you, amid the hoarse horns of your soldiery, for the noise of my chattering? It is indeed characteristic of virtue to apply soothing distractions to the senses. For the greatest of poets tells that even Achilles eased the cares of a troubled mind with the lyre.

But I confess my own poverty of musical eloquence, and I seek nourishment for my speech from the letters of those whom both fame reports, and your own writings attest, to cling close to your company. Farewell.

The sight of your own people will indeed satisfy you unto all joy. But I conjecture that this gladness can be increased still further, if our own word too be joined to it. For since domestic blessings are dear to you above all others, the care of friends rightly defends for itself the next place in your joy. Therefore, when the loving bonds of kinship have satisfied your longing, let your eyes turn also to our letter: whose whole substance is this, that you may know I am well. For I do not wish to draw you away from converse with your own by a longer page. Farewell.

Two things happen pleasantly to me whenever letters are requested of me: both that I bestow upon you the honor of a greeting, and that I offer the service of commendation to those who ask it. Therefore, when Paregorius, our client, was preparing his return to Africa, and earnestly begged for a letter of this sort, I gladly granted the fulfillment of his wish, knowing that with one who loves me neither his petition would lack its favor, nor my word be ineffective. Farewell.

You have not even yet returned the reciprocity due to my earlier letter. But it was my duty to double my writing, lest I be defrauded of so trustworthy an occasion. Especially since our mutual friend Auxentius judged that some favor would accrue to him from my letters. Whom I ought not to commend to you on this account, because you are accustomed to be a witness for him before others rather than I. Farewell.

Though I hesitated, you have driven me by your letter to cultivate now, being challenged, the friendship which I had long silently desired. I embrace the good will that presages our future intimacy. And though I was anticipated by your own wish, I will strive, as I am able, not to be outdone in good offices. For I see these parts reserved for me, that the devotion which took its beginning at your urging may, through my effort, receive its increase. Farewell.

To your first letter I quickly repaid reciprocity. But because more service is owed to the beginnings of a new friendship, I persist in cultivating friendship by the gift of letters, that you may perceive that the bond of souls is well joined with those who know how to return a more abundant grace to devotion. Farewell.

I judge myself blessed with many good things, whenever I am delighted by the honor and splendor of your discourse. And that I may deserve this, I too do not neglect the diligence of frequent correspondence. Let there stand between us, then, as a faithful sincerity of souls, so too a friendly rivalry in this office. Farewell.

I was chafing at your silence. But after you gave me word of my brother's honor, pleasure overcame my displeasure. And the matter has come to such a state, that I now give thanks to him whom I had planned to gently rebuke. But do you, under cover of this petition, keep silent as long as you wish, provided you afterward redeem the truce of your pen with good letters. O message so like your own wish! No one else was fit to write these things, save one whom it is known to have desired them. And yet, apart from the joy which I gain from my brother's advancement, you rather tarnish somewhat your own judgment. For you thought that I alone could rejoice at the rewards of virtue restored. But as for what you say—that with the wicked excluded, hope has been restored to the good—I do not congratulate this as something unaccustomed or newly begun.

For it is customary for our lord Theodosius to exercise censure over his own, and to conduct a discrimination of morals, weighing each man and always afresh, and not indulging judgment to mere habit. Hence it is that he receives your most sincere character the more kindly, since he examined it severely and diligently. What of the fact that he even casts his gaze far and wide, and searches through the immense expanse for the veins of good men, and draws none more eagerly to himself than those who desire nothing? As he lately summoned my Flavianus—or rather yours—whom modesty would still have concealed, had not his clear merits betrayed him. These are the things which joy has prompted me to say for the occasion. Now, that you may love my most loving brother, or rather, to speak more truly, a part of myself, I ask what you will do of your own accord. Love in him his own pursuits, and whatever you recognize as close to your own virtues.

As it is a care to me that I am parted from my brother, so it will be a consolation, if I know that he has truly found a Symmachus in you. Farewell.

Still you are silent. But my talkativeness is not restrained by your example, and I have leisure suitable for an abundance of words. For I am in the country, yet I do not play the rustic. I only gaze from the bank of the Tiber (for the river glides through my lands) upon laden ships; no longer anxious, as before, about the hunger of the citizens. For the public fear has been turned from want into joy, since the venerable father of our country balanced the losses of Africa with Macedonian supplies: whom all now love as the nourisher of the human race, a god. For he has suffered nothing to be permitted against Rome by the defiant south winds. Therefore from the watchtower of my field I count the passing throng of foreign ships, and I rejoice that the sustenance of the Roman people depends not on the fortunes of the provinces, but on the devotion by which you are wont not to conceal the public good.

Rightly do I speak more sparingly, leaving it to your eloquence to set forth more elegantly, if it shall so please, what I have related in unadorned truth. Farewell.

You have accomplished your journey better than expected: which alone spoke in favor of your silence. Now let the repose of a fixed station restore to your pen and mind the habit of writing to us: although the eloquence of your speech, even while you were on the road, might have watered our thirst with brilliant address. But let the excuse of toil serve you against the charge of silence. Now nothing remains to plead in your defense, since both the eloquence, which was never impeded before, still remains, and the leisure, which was desired, has now been added. Farewell.

I follow you with letters, because I do not abandon you in mind and affection. Nor do I seem to myself to seize these consolations too soon, since even now the memory of your recent pleasant company still flourishes among us. For I feel that the separation of good men seems at once long. But if, as I presume, your own mind too has felt this, let me know, by a hastened exchange of letters, that you also think this interval of days long. Farewell.

Custom and reason demanded that, being about to remain at home, I should seek pardon from the most august prince for the journey enjoined upon me. I have set forth the reason for my excuse in a letter, which your favor may commend by a gentle approach and a winning delivery. For nothing of mine would find favor without the help of every good man. I speak of a matter known to all, one I must never keep silent: this both friends and rivals know. Of whom some rejoice that there is a place with you for merits, others grieve that there is none for riches. Farewell.

I understood that it was not without reason that you refrained so long from writing. At last it became clear that, your sight being impaired by illness, the diligence of your duties had come to a stop. And so, though anxious about that silence, I confess I approve that you delayed the report of a painful matter until the joyful news of your recovered health; lest I should conceive concern about you before the trouble arose rather than a sense of security once it was past. Now, since your health returns to favor with you, reward our friendship with more indulgent letters: otherwise, should they cease again, I shall fear something similar once more. But enough words on this. That Flavianus, the lord of my heart, your companion, clings to your mind even to the vexation of the wicked, I congratulate exceedingly. For he often boasts to me of such a friendship: I had foreseen this beforehand, considering the virtues of each, whose likeness produces concord.

And therefore I take more joy than wonder in it, and I beg you, let no evil eye be permitted against such friends. For he need not be entreated by me, for whom it is not expedient to wish otherwise. Farewell.

Let those unknown be commended by a lengthy circuit of speech. But the merits of Severianus, a most distinguished man, proved by the evidence of years of service, require no elaborate testimony. He obtained the foremost place in governing the cohorts of the urban prefecture; he was enrolled by law into the senatorial order. It remains that, after the dignity of the curia, which is greater than offices, he should also give proof of himself in provincial administration: which he believes will come to pass, if you, a ready guarantor, assist with a letter to my lord the prefect of the City on this matter. Farewell.

You have stung my silence about the death of our fellow citizen Emeritus with a most charming turn of letter. For what could have been devised more wittily, to chastise the news I suppressed, than that I, a dweller on the Caelian hill, should learn of it in Rome through a letter come from abroad? But the well-known gravity of your judgment led me into scrupulousness. For I feared to seem glad to you by such a report. You know this to be the rule of humanity, that to those little approved, and previously at odds, we owe at least the reverence of silence in place of the grief that death is wont to inflict. Wherefore spare your oblique pen from cutting at what I feared would displease your ears. Rather, give thanks to my circumspection, which makes room for your wit. And would that you often wrote in jest the letters you refuse to write in earnest! Why do you use the riches of your talent so sparingly?

I fear that hereafter it may be more useful for me to refrain from sending letters. For it was by the offense of silence that I drew forth your last page concerning yourself. And so perhaps you will grant to my fault what you do not grant to duties rendered. Farewell.

I would commend to you Flavianus, my son, were he not summoned already by your own wish. I shall therefore detract nothing from your kindness. It is enough proof for my young man of his grateful disposition toward you, that he does not need the aid of his father's letters. Yet I think it fitting to devotion that I too confess myself obligated to you in his name. From this it will follow that you heap more gifts of your favor upon him, for whom not one alone is indebted to you. Farewell.

Often you are the author of my joy, either the first or the only one; formerly you announced by letter my brother as quaestor, now as praetorian governor. In all your letters, then, there is some great cause of my joy. What of the fact that the very words overflow, and by the polish of your style attest the liveliness of your mind? Since I cannot match these with equal words, I join in a divine prayer, that the fortune of the best of men may always be pleasing to your happiness. Farewell.

To men strong in integrity and honor, another's speech adds nothing. For those conspicuous by their own light are not helped by borrowed testimonies. What sort of man, then, and how great my lord and brother is, is plain to see. Rightly does my own talent yield to his praises. Yet this one thing I think should not be passed over, that I have with him the closest fellowship in familiar duties: a fact which often commends even lesser merits to you. Whence I judge that your excellent mind's affection will be ready for him in abundance, an affection which both his own honor and the privilege of my friendship win for him. Farewell.