The man whose tender sensibility of conscience and strict regard to the rules of morality makes him scrupulous and fearful of offending, is often heard to complain of the disadvantages he lies under in every path of honor and profit.  “Could I but get over some nice points, and conform to the practice and opinion of those about me, I might stand as fair a chance as others for dignities and preferment.”  And why can you not?  What hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours which stands so grievously in your way?  If it be a small thing to enjoy a healthful mind, sound at the very core, that does not shrink from the keenest inspection; inward freedom from remorse and perturbation; unsullied whiteness and simplicity of manners; a genuine integrity,

     “Pure in the last recesses of the mind;”

if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense for what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a slave-merchant, a parasite, or—­what you please.

     “If these be motives weak, break off betimes;”

and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of virtue, be wise enough not to forego the emoluments of vice.

I much admire the spirit of the ancient philosophers, in that they never attempted, as our moralists often do, to lower the tone of philosophy, and make it consistent with all the indulgences of indolence and sensuality.  They never thought of having the bulk of mankind for their disciples; but kept themselves as distinct as possible from a worldly life.  They plainly told men what sacrifices were required, and what advantages they were which might be expected.

     “Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omissis
     Hoc age deliciis ...”

If you would be a philosopher, these are the terms.  You must do thus and thus; there is no other way.  If not, go and be one of the vulgar.

There is no one quality gives so much dignity to a character as consistency of conduct.  Even if a man’s pursuits be wrong and unjustifiable, yet if they are prosecuted with steadiness and vigor, we cannot withhold our admiration.  The most characteristic mark of a great mind is to choose some one important object, and pursue it through life.  It was this made Caesar a great man.  His object was ambition:  he pursued it steadily; and was always ready to sacrifice to it every interfering passion or inclination.

There is a pretty passage in one of Lucian’s dialogues, where Jupiter complains to Cupid that though he has had so many intrigues, he was never sincerely beloved.  In order to be loved, says Cupid, you must lay aside your aegis and your thunderbolts, and you must curl and perfume your hair, and place a garland on your head, and walk with a soft step, and assume a winning, obsequious deportment.  But, replied Jupiter, I am not willing to resign so much of my dignity.  Then, returns Cupid, leave off desiring to be loved.  He wanted to be Jupiter and Adonis at the same time.