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there are so many confidences, that we do not trust even our secretaries for fear anything should get wind," there is not a hint that any distrust of Cæsar survives. "One thing," he writes, "at any rate I have gained, that I have full evidence of Cæsar's esteem and affection"; and again: "The delightful friendship with Cæsar is the one plank saved from my shipwreck, which gives me real pleasure. Just see with what honour, consideration, and favour he treats our dear Quintus! Good Heavens! I could do no more, if I were commander-in-chief myself."

Though he is thus appreciative of Cæsar's personal charm, which blinds him for the moment to the dangers which the commonwealth has to fear from him, it must not be supposed that Cicero does not feel keenly the destruction of his old ideals. "We have lost, my dear Atticus, not only the blood and substance but the very outward hue and complexion of the State as it used to be. There is no Republic left which can give me any pleasure or on which my eye can rest with satisfaction. 'And do you take that so easily?' you will say. Well yes, even that. . . . The place in my heart, where resentment used to dwell, has grown callous." In the year 53 B.C. occurred the destruction of