the things which are, And to make new things like them. . . . For everything that exists is, in a manner, the seed of that which will be, and to think only of seeds that are cast into the earth, or into a womb, is a very vulgar notion. . . . In the series of things, those which follow are always aptly fitted to those which have gone before; and the things which come into existence exhibit no mere succession, but a certain wonderful relationship. . . . You exist as a part; you will disappear in that which produced you; or, rather, you will be received back into its seminal principle by transmutation. And, by consequence of such a change, I too exist, and those who begat me, and so on forever in the direction of the past; for nothing hinders us from saying so, even if the universe is administered according to definite periods of revolution."
Although habitually thoughtful and theoretical, his main desire is to be equal to the work of the day, whatever it may be. He expects to meet with opposition, as a matter of course, and tries to be always light-armed, cheerful, and ready for a run to the nearest summit, from which a new view may be obtained.
His experience shows the immense advantage of good fortune, when crystallized in the form of a liberal, far-reaching education; and one feels that to produce a man so cool, complete, and many-sided, none of his advantages were less than he required. The instinct that suggests the possession of wealth as a desideratum to nine-tenths of the race, finds here a sufficient defense. We want to have leisure, opportunity, plenty of right to occupy other people's time, and plenty of time to exercise our rights. In Antoninus we find a man, an emperor, who has been liberally brought up from the first; who confesses to having always had everything good under the sun; who complains of nothing in his personal experience; and who is as far as possible from repeating the words of his Oriental predecessor, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." Nothing of the kind appears in his notes. He is a shrewd, busy, responsible man of the world; always giving orders and attending to the details of his position. He is, of course, never free from the influence of flatterers, hypocrites, and time-servers. He is exposed to selfish, baneful influences, as every emperor must be, but he is equal to the emergency; his self-respect encourages him constantly to draw the line between his own and other people's experiences, and to keep his own unconfused. He is temperate and simple in his personal habits from taste and from principle.
When the Russian Emperor Nicholas, who was a military chief in the fullest sense, visited England, he took his iron camp-bedstead into every palace that was placed at his service. The Duke of Wellington had the same habit to his dying day, his bedroom being a bare and almost unfurnished apartment. Antoninus had this soldier's custom, but "he loved temperance for its elegance, not for its austerity." It is possible, he says, for a man to live in a palace without
