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heart, he has been ill enough, poor lad! I'll answer for him—for he is dead.
When Agrippina was told of her son's death, Tacitus informs us, that not being able to moderate the violence of her passions, she abruptly broke off her work—My father stuck his compasses into Nevers, but so much the faster.—What contrarieties! his, indeed, was matter of calculation—Agrippina's must have been quite a different affair; who else could pretend to reason from history?
How my father went on, in my opinion, deserves a chapter to itself.—
CHAP. III.
——— ——— And a chapter it shall have, and a devil of a one too—so look to yourselves.
'Tis either Plato, or Plutarch, or Seneca, or Xenophon, or Epictetus, or Theo-phrastus,
