The sentiments put into the mouth of Cato, are acknowledged by Cicero as his own; but, notwithstanding this, and also a more elegant and polished style of composition than could be expected from the Censor, many characteristics of his life, conversation, and manners, are brought before us—his talk is a little boastful, and his sternness, though softened down by old age into an agreeable gossipping garrulity, is still visible; and, on the whole, the discourse is so managed, that we experience, in reading it, something of that complaisant respect, which we feel in intercourse with a venerable old man, who has around him so much of the life to come, as to be purified at least from the grosser desires of this lower world. It has been remarked as extraordinary, that, amidst the anxious enumeration of the comforts of age, those arising from domestic society are not mentioned by Cicero; but his favourite daughter Tullia was now no more, and the husband of Terentia, the father of Marcus Cicero, and the father-in-law of Dolabella, may have felt something on that subject, of which he was willing to spare himself the recollection. But though he has omitted what we number among its chief consolations, still he has represented advanced age under too favourable a view. He denies, for instance, that the memory is impaired by it—asserting, that everything continues to be remembered, in which we take an interest, for that no old man ever forgot where he had concealed his treasure. He has, besides, only treated of an old age distinguished by deeds or learning, terminating a life great and glorious in the eyes of men. The table of the old man whom he describes, is cheered by numerous friends, and his presence, wherever he appears, is hailed by clients and dependants. All his examples are drawn from the higher and better walks of life. In the venerable picture of the Censor, we have no traces of second childhood, or of the slippered pantaloon, or of that melancholy and almost frightful representation, in the tenth satire of Juvenal. But even persons of the station, and dignity, and talents of Cato, are, in old age, liable to weaknesses and misfortunes, with which the pleasing portrait, that Tully has drawn, is in no way disfigured:— “In life’s last scene, what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! From Marlborough’s eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driveller and a show.”