strong to express the misfortune which has deprived me of so
excellent a man. Corellius Rufus is dead; and dead, too, by his
own act! A circumstance of great aggravation to my affliction: as
that sort of death which we cannot impute either to the course of
nature, or the hand of Providence, is, of all others, the most to be
lamented. It affords some consolation in the loss of those friends
whom disease snatches from us that they fall by the general destiny
of mankind; but those who destroy themselves leave us under the
inconsolable reflection, that they had it in their power to have
lived longer. It is true, Corellius had many inducements to be fond
of life; a blameless conscience, high reputation, and great dignity
of character, besides a daughter, a wife, a grandson, and sisters;
and, amidst these numerous pledges of happiness, faithful friends.
Still, it must be owned he had the highest motive (which to a wise
man will always have the force of destiny), urging him to this
resolution. He had long been tortured by so tedious and painful a
complaint that even these inducements to living on, considerable
as they are, were over-balanced by the reasons on the other side. In
his thirty-third year (as I have frequently heard him say) he was
seized with the gout in his feet. This was hereditary; for diseases,
as well as possessions, are sometimes handed down by a sort of
inheritance. A life of sobriety and continence had enabled him to
conquer and keep down the disease while he was still young,
latterly as it grew upon him with advancing years, he had to
manfully bear it, suffering meanwhile the most incredible and
undeserved agonies; for the gout was now not only in his feet, but
had spread itself over his whole body. I remember, in Domitian's
reign, paying him a visit at his villa, near Rome. As soon as I
entered his chamber, his servants went out: for it was his rule,
never to allow them to be in the room when any intimate friend