to have missed his way
_en route_ for Athens; but when I got to Tanagra I heard the news from
my niece. I suppose the funeral has already taken place, and I hope
everything went off so as to give you least sorrow both now and
hereafter. But if you left undone anything you wished to do, waiting for
my opinion, and thinking your grief would then be lighter, be it without
ceremoniousness or superstition, both which things are indeed foreign to
your character.

Sec. II. Only, my dear wife, let us both be patient at this calamity. I
know and can see very clearly how great it is, but should I find your
grief too excessive, it would trouble me even more than the event
itself. And yet I have not a heart hard as heart of oak or flintstone,
as you yourself know very well, who have shared with me in the bringing
up of so many children, as they have all been educated at home by
ourselves. And this one I know was more especially beloved by you, as
she was the first daughter after four sons, when you longed for a
daughter, and so I gave her your name.[191] And as you are very fond of
children your grief must have a peculiar bitterness when you call to
mind her pure and simple gaiety, which was without a tincture of passion
or querulousness. For she had from nature a wonderful contentedness of
mind and meekness, and her affectionateness and winning ways not only
pleased one but also afforded a means of observing her kindliness of
heart, for she used to bid her nurse[192] give the teat not only to
other children but even to her favourite playthings, and so invited them
as it were to her table in kindliness of heart, and gave them a share of
her good things, and provided the best entertainment for those that
pleased her.

Sec. III. But I see no reason, my dear wife, why these and similar traits
in her character, that gave us delight in her lifetime, should now,
when recalled to the memory, grieve and trouble us. Though, on the other
hand, I fear that if we cease to grieve we may also cease to remember
her, like Clymene, who says in the Play[193]--

"I hate the supple bow of cornel-wood,
And would put down athletics,"

because she ever avoided and trembled at anything that reminded her of
her son, for it brought grief with it, and it is natural to avoid
everything that gives us pain. But as she gave us the greatest pleasure
in embracing her and even in seeing and hearing her, so ought her memory
living and dwelling with us to