A Heart To Resolve, A Head To

[the] Emperor Of The West, The Feeble And Dissolute Valentinian, [had] Reached His Thirty-fifth Year Without Attaining The Age Of Reason Or Courage.

We Stand In Need Of Such Reflections To Comfort Us For The Loss Of Some Illustrious Characters, Which In Our Eyes Might Have Seemed The Most Worthy Of The Heavenly Present. The Names Of Seneca, Of The Elder And The Younger Pliny, Of Tacitus, Of Plutarch, Of Galen, Of The Slave Epictetus, And Of The Emperor Marcus Antoninus, Adorn The Age In Which They Flourished, And Exalt The Dignity Of Human Natures.

Where The Subject Lies So Far Beyond Our Reach, The Difference Between The Highest And The Lowest Of Human Understandings May Indeed Be Calculated As Infinitely Small; Yet The Degree Of Weakness May Perhaps Be Measured By The Degree Of Obstinacy And Dogmatic Confidence.

I Will Not Dissemble The First Emotions Of Joy On The Recovery Of My Freedom, And, Perhaps, The Establishment Of My Fame. But My Pride Was Soon Humbled, And A Sober Melancholy Was Spread Over My Mind, By The Idea That I Had Taken An Everlasting Leave Of An Old And Agreeable Companion, And That Whatsoever Might Be The Future Date Of My History, The Life Of The Historian Must Be Short And Precarious.

History Has Scarcely Deigned To Notice [libius Severus's] Birth, His Elevation, His Character, Or His Death.