e senate, and in all the duties of a good citizen, ought to think,
likewise, of making an end worthy of an honest man and the sanctity of
his ministry: not that during the course of his life he ought to cease
being of service to society, or that, endowed with such integrity of
mind and such talent of eloquence, he can continue too long in the
exercise of so noble an employment; but because it is fitting that he
should guard against degrading his character, by doing anything which
may fall short of what he has already done. The orator is indebted for
what he is, not only to knowledge, which increases with his years, but
to his voice, lungs, and strength of body; and when the latter are
impaired by years, or debilitated by infirmities, it is to be feared
that something might be lacking in this great man, either from his
stopping short through fatigue, and out of breath at every effort, or by
not making himself sufficiently heard, or, lastly, by expecting, and not
finding, him to be what he formerly was.

When the orator does sound a retreat, no less ample fruits of study will
attend on him. He either will write the history of his time for the
instruction of posterity, or he will explain the law to those who came
to ask his advice, or he will write a treatise on eloquence, or that
worthy mouth of his will employ itself in inculcating the finest moral
precepts. As was customary with the ancients, well-disposed youth will
frequent his house, consulting him as an oracle on the true manner of
speaking. As the parent of eloquence will he form them, and as an old
experienced pilot will he give them an account of shores, and harbors,
and what are the presages of storms, and what may be required for
working the ship in contrary or favorable winds. To all this will he be
induced not only by a duty of humanity common to mankind, but also by a
certain pleasure in it; for no one would be glad to see an art going
into decay, in which he himself excelled, and what is more laudable than
to teach others that in which one is perfectly skilled?

For all I know, the happiest time in an orator's life is when he has
retired from the world to devote himself to rest; and, remote from envy,
and remote from strife, he looks back on his reputation, as from a
harbor of safety; and while still living has a sense of that veneration
which commonly awaits only the dead; thus anticipating the pleasure of
the noble impression posterity will conceive of hi