[Now Homer shews us clearly enough how surprise gives the advantage; who represents Ulysses weeping at the death of his dog; and not weeping at the tears of his mother; the first accident, trivial as it was, got the better of him, coming upon him quite unexpectedly; he sustained the second, though more potent, because he was prepared for it.  ’Tis light occasions that humble our lives. ]

I am no philosopher; evils oppress me according to their weight, and they weigh as much according to the form as the matter, and very often more.  If I have therein more perspicacity than the vulgar, I have also more patience; in short, they weigh with me, if they do not hurt me.  Life is a tender thing, and easily molested.  Since my age has made me grow more pensive and morose,

          “Nemo enim resistit sibi, cum caeperit impelli,”

     ["For no man resists himself when he has begun to be driven
     forward.”—­Seneca, Ep., 13.]

for the most trivial cause imaginable, I irritate that humour, which afterwards nourishes and exasperates itself of its own motion; attracting and heaping up matter upon matter whereon to feed: 

“Stillicidi casus lapidem cavat:” 

     ["The ever falling drop hollows out a stone.”—­Lucretius, i. 314.]

these continual tricklings consume and ulcerate me.  Ordinary inconveniences are never light; they are continual and inseparable, especially when they spring from the members of a family, continual and inseparable.  When I consider my affairs at distance and in gross, I find, because perhaps my memory is none of the best, that they have gone on hitherto improving beyond my reason or expectation; my revenue seems greater than it is; its prosperity betrays me:  but when I pry more narrowly into the business, and see how all things go: 

“Tum vero in curas animum diducimus omnes;”

          ["Indeed we lead the mind into all sorts of cares.” 
          —­AEneid, v. 720.]

I have a thousand things to desire and to fear.  To give them quite over, is very easy for me to do:  but to look after them without trouble, is very hard.  ’Tis a miserable thing to be in a place where everything you see employs and concerns you; and I fancy that I more cheerfully enjoy the pleasures of another man’s house, and with greater and a purer relish, than those of my own.  Diogenes answered according to my humour him who asked him what sort of wine he liked the best:  “That of another,” said he.—­[Diogenes Laertius, vi. 54.]

My father took a delight in building at Montaigne, where he was born; and in all the government of domestic affairs I love to follow his example and rules, and I shall engage those who are to succeed me, as much as in me lies, to do the same.  Could I do better for him, I would; and am proud that his will is still performing and acting by me.  God forbid that in my hands I should ever suffer any image of life,