ree, that I am out of countenance that I ever read Seneca.
When I look upon the conduct of others in such occurrences, as well as
behold their equanimity in the general tenor of their life, it very much
abates the self-love, which is seldom well-governed by any sort of men,
and least of all by us authors.

The fortitude of a man who brings his will to the obedience of his
reason is conspicuous, and carries with it a dignity in the lowest state
imaginable. Poor Martius,[275] who now lies languishing in the most
violent fever, discovers in the faintest moments of his distemper such a
greatness of mind, that a perfect stranger who should now behold him,
would indeed see an object of pity, but at the same time that it was
lately an object of veneration. His gallant spirit resigns, but resigns
with an air that speaks a resolution which could yield to nothing but
fate itself. This is conquest in the philosophic sense; but the empire
over ourselves is, methinks, no less laudable in common life, where the
whole tenor of a man's carriage is in subservience to his own reason,
and conformity both to the good sense and inclination of other men.

Aristaeus[276] is, in my opinion, a perfect master of himself in all
circumstances. He has all the spirit that man can have, and yet is as
regular in his behaviour as a mere machine. He is sensible of every
passion, but ruffled by none. In conversation, he frequently seems to be
less knowing to be more obliging, and chooses to be on a level with
others rather than oppress with the superiority of his genius. In
friendship he is kind without profession; in business, expeditious
without ostentation. With the greatest softness and benevolence
imaginable, he is impartial in spite of all importunity, even that of
his own good nature. He is ever clear in his judgment; but in
complaisance to his company, speaks with doubt, and never shows
confidence in argument, but to support the sense of another. Were such
an equality of mind the general endeavour of all men, how sweet would be
the pleasures of conversation? He that is loud would then understand,
that we ought to call a constable, and know, that spoiling good company
is the most heinous way of breaking the peace. We should then be
relieved from these zealots in society, who take upon them to be angry
for all the company, and quarrel with the waiters to show they have no
respect for anybody else in the room. To be in a rage before you, is in
a ki