“Brevis esse laboro,
                         Obscurus fio.”

          [ Endeavouring to be brief, I become obscure.” 
          —­Hor., Art.  Poet., 25.]

Plato says, that the long or the short are not properties, that either take away or give value to language.  Should I attempt to follow the other more moderate, united, and regular style, I should never attain to it; and though the short round periods of Sallust best suit with my humour, yet I find Caesar much grander and harder to imitate; and though my inclination would rather prompt me to imitate Seneca’s way of writing, yet I do nevertheless more esteem that of Plutarch.  Both in doing and speaking I simply follow my own natural way; whence, peradventure, it falls out that I am better at speaking than writing.  Motion and action animate words, especially in those who lay about them briskly, as I do, and grow hot.  The comportment, the countenance; the voice, the robe, the place, will set off some things that of themselves would appear no better than prating.  Messalla complains in Tacitus of the straitness of some garments in his time, and of the fashion of the benches where the orators were to declaim, that were a disadvantage to their eloquence.

My French tongue is corrupted, both in the pronunciation and otherwise, by the barbarism of my country.  I never saw a man who was a native of any of the provinces on this side of the kingdom who had not a twang of his place of birth, and that was not offensive to ears that were purely French.  And yet it is not that I am so perfect in my Perigordin:  for I can no more speak it than High Dutch, nor do I much care.  ’Tis a language (as the rest about me on every side, of Poitou, Xaintonge, Angoumousin, Limousin, Auvergne), a poor, drawling, scurvy language.  There is, indeed, above us towards the mountains a sort of Gascon spoken, that I am mightily taken with:  blunt, brief, significant, and in truth a more manly and military language than any other I am acquainted with, as sinewy, powerful, and pertinent as the French is graceful, neat, and luxuriant.

As to the Latin, which was given me for my mother tongue, I have by discontinuance lost the use of speaking it, and, indeed, of writing it too, wherein I formerly had a particular reputation, by which you may see how inconsiderable I am on that side.

Beauty is a thing of great recommendation in the correspondence amongst men; ’tis the first means of acquiring the favour and good liking of one another, and no man is so barbarous and morose as not to perceive himself in some sort struck with its attraction.  The body has a great share in our being, has an eminent place there, and therefore its structure and composition are of very just consideration.  They who go about to disunite and separate our two principal parts from one another are to blame; we must, on the contrary, reunite and rejoin them.  We must command the