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"You might as well come along o' me for a change," said he to Willoughby. "We'll git on grand together. Come on; you won't be sorry after." "Quocunque trahunt fata sequamur," rejoined Willoughby, bowing gaily to me.
Man remained, the sad stern manhood of the Stoic, the spirit that breathes through the character of Æneas, enduring, baffled, yet full of a faith that the very storms that drove him from sea to sea were working out some mysterious and divine order. Man was greater than his fate: "Quo fata trahunt retrahuntque sequamur, Quicquid erit, superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est."
The very heroes show their authors; Achilles is hot, impatient, revengeful, Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer, &c. Aeneas patient, considerate, careful of his people, and merciful to his enemies; ever submissive to the will of heaven, quo fata trahunt, retrahuntque, sequamur. I could please myself with enlarging on this subject, but am forced to defer it to a fitter time.
As soon as we were quite ready, M. Fridriksson advanced, and by way of farewell, called after me in the words of Virgil words which appeared to have been made for us, travelers starting for an uncertain destination: "Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur." The weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous and perilous journey.
I constructed a few fine Latin sentences to express my cordial farewell. Then we bestrode our steeds and with his last adieu M. Fridrikssen treated me to a line of Virgil eminently applicable to such uncertain wanderers as we were likely to be: "Et quacumque viam dedent fortuna sequamur." "Therever fortune clears a way, Thither our ready footsteps stray."
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