When, however, I had opened the letter, and read it through, I could not help laughing, partly for joy at finding nothing alarming in it; partly because I likened your state of affairs to that of Demosthenes.  Demosthenes, you remember, when he was providing for a certain little company of chorus dancers and musicians, requested to be styled no longer Demosthenes, but “choragus.” Plutarch πολ. παραγγ xxii. ἢ τὸ τοῦ Δημοσθένους ὅτι νῦν οὐκ ἔστι Δημοσθένης ἀλλὰ καὶ θεσμοθέτης ἢ χορηγὸς ἢ στεφανηφόρος.  You are always the same, whether playing the “choragus” or not.  “Choragus” you are indeed to soldiers myriads more in number than the individuals to whom Demosthenes supplied necessaries; and yet you do not when you write to me stand on your dignity, but keep up the old style.  You do not give up the study of literature, but, as Plato Rep. vi. 10.  οἷον ἐν χειμῶνι κονιορτοῦ καὶ ζάλὴς ὑπὸ πνεύματος φερομένου ὑπὸ τειχίον ἀποστάς. has it, in the midst of the storm and tempest of affairs, you stand aloof, as it were, under some strong wall, and keep your mind clear of all disturbance; nay, more, as far as in you lies, you do not even let others be disturbed.  Such is your life; great and wonderful to all who have eyes to see; and yet not wonderful to any one who judges by the whole purpose of your life.