neca plagiarizes every argument put forth by
Colonel Ernest Crosby, even to mentioning a butcher as an "executioner,"
his goods as "dead corpses," and the customers as "cannibals."

This kind of talk did not help the family peace, and the father spoke of
disowning the son, if he did not cease affronting the Best Society.

Soon after, the Emperor Tiberius issued an edict banishing all "strange
sects who fasted on feast-days, and otherwise displeased the gods." This
was a suggestion for the benefit of the Crosbyites. It is with a feeling
of downright disappointment that we find Seneca shortly appearing in an
embroidered robe, and making a speech wherein the moderate use of wine
is recommended, also the flesh of animals for those who think they need
it.

This, doubtless, is the same speech we, too, would have made had we been
there; but we want our hero to be strong, and defy even an Emperor, if
he comes between the man and his right to eat what he wishes and wear
what he listeth, and we blame him for not doing the things we never do.
But Seneca was getting on in the world--he had become a lawyer, and his
Sophist training was proving its worth. Henry Ward Beecher, in reply to
a young man who asked him if he advised the study of elocution, said,
"Elocution is all right, but you will have to forget it all before you
become an orator." Seneca was shedding his elocution, and losing himself
in his work. A successful lawsuit had brought him before the public as a
strong advocate. He was able to think on his feet. His voice was low,
musical and effective, and the word, "dulcis," was applied to him as it
was to his brother, Gallio. Possibly there was something in ol' Marcus
Micawber's pedagogic schemes, after all!

In moderating his Stoic philosophy, Seneca gives us the key to his
character: the man wanted to be gentle and kind; he wished to affront
neither his father nor society; so he compromised--he would please and
placate. Ease and luxury appealed to him, and yet his cool intellect
stood off, and reviewing the proceeding pronounced it base. He succumbed
to the strongest attraction, and attempted the feat of riding two horses
at once.

From his twentieth year, Seneca dallied with the epigram, found solace
in a sentence, and got a sweet, subtle joy by taking a thought captive.
Lucullus tells us of the fine intoxication of oratory, but neither opium
nor oratory imparts a finer thrill than successfully to drive a flock of
cl