5.  We are none of us strangers to those unhappy times, when Rome, grown weary of her vast renown in arms, began to think of striking into new paths of fame, no longer willing to depend on the glory of our ancestors.  The whole power of the state was centred in a single ruler, and by the policy of the prince, men were taught to think no more of ancient honour.  Invention was on the stretch for novelty, and all looked for something better than perfection; something rare, far-fetched, and exquisite.  New modes of pleasure were devised.  In that period of luxury and dissipation, when the rage for new inventions was grown epidemic, Seneca arose.  His talents were of a peculiar sort, acute, refined and polished; but polished to a degree that made him prefer affectation and wit to truth and nature.  The predominance of his genius was great, and, by consequence, he gave the mortal stab to all true eloquence [a].  When I say this, let me not be suspected of that low malignity which would tarnish the fame of a great character.  I admire the man, and the philosopher.  The undaunted firmness with which he braved the tyrant’s frown, will do immortal honour to his memory.  But the fact is (and why should I disguise it?), the virtues of the writer have undone his country.

6.  To bring about this unhappy revolution, no man was so eminently qualified [a].  His understanding was large and comprehensive; his genius rich and powerful; his way of thinking ingenious, elegant, and even charming.  His researches in moral philosophy excited the admiration of all; and moral philosophy is never so highly praised, as when the manners are in a state of degeneracy.  Seneca knew the taste of the times.  He had the art to gratify the public ear.  His style is neat, yet animated; concise, yet clear; familiar, yet seldom inelegant.  Free from redundancy, his periods are often abrupt, but they surprise by their vivacity.  He shines in pointed sentences; and that unceasing persecution of vice, which is kept up with uncommon ardour, spreads a lustre over all his writings.  His brilliant style charmed by its novelty.  Every page sparkles with wit, with gay allusions, and sentiments of virtue.  No wonder that the graceful ease, and sometimes the dignity of his expression, made their way into the forum.  What pleased universally, soon found a number of imitators.  Add to this the advantages of rank and honours.  He mixed in the splendour, and perhaps in the vices, of the court.  The resentment of Caligula, and the acts of oppression which soon after followed, served only to adorn his name.  To crown all, Nero was his pupil, and his murderer.  Hence the character and genius of the man rose to the highest eminence.  What was admired, was imitated, and true oratory was heard no more.  The love of novelty prevailed, and for the dignified simplicity of ancient eloquence no taste remained.  The art itself, and all its necessary discipline, became ridiculous.  In that black period, when