hearing of the death of his own son, is broken-hearted.

On this alteration of his mind we have these lines:

Now, when they urge these things, their endeavor is to prove that nature is absolutely and wholly irresistible; and yet the same people allow that we take greater grief on ourselves than nature requires. What madness is it, then, in us to require the same from others? But there are many reasons for our taking grief on us. The first is from the opinion of some evil, on the discovery and certainty of which grief comes of course. Besides, many people are persuaded that they are doing something very acceptable to the dead when they lament bitterly over them. To these may be added a kind of womanish superstition, in imagining that when they have been stricken by the afflictions sent by the Gods, to acknowledge themselves afflicted and humbled by them is the readiest way of appeasing them. But most men appear to be unaware what contradictions these things are full of. They commend those who die calmly, but they blame those who can bear the loss of another with the same calmness, as if it were possible that it should be true, as is occasionally said in love speeches, that any one can love another more than himself. There is, indeed, something excellent in this, and, if you examine it, something no less just than true, that we love those who ought to be most dear to us as well as we love ourselves; but to love them more than ourselves is absolutely impossible; nor is it desirable in friendship that I should love my friend more than myself, or that he should love me so; for this would occasion much confusion in life, and break in upon all the duties of it.

This is only a fragment, preserved by Stobaeus :

Toi/9 o' av ncficrTOvs Kai (ro<pu>-rurovs <ppfvi roiovai' iSott av, CHOC eo-ri vvv n&e, Kaoif Katiwy irpaaffovn <Tu/i7rapaiV('acu' OTCLV ie ia!fji<av avdpot fVTV%ovt TO irpiv judffTcy' Ipfiar) TOV /3iou Traivrpoirov,

TU iroXXu <t>puv6a Kai KaKui? cipti/ifva.