to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown grey-
headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions and
legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the remaining
part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity,
which is not yet come my knowledge,3 and it is peremptorily said 5
in the parish, that he has left money to build a steeple to the
church; for he was heard to say some time ago, if he lived two
years longer, Coverly church should have a steeple to it. The
chaplain tells everybody that he made a very good end, and
never speaks of him without tears. He was buried, according to 10
his own directions, among the family of the Coverlies, on the left
hand of his father Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of
his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum: the
whole parish followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their
mourning suits, the men in frize, and the women in riding-hoods. 15
Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of
the hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw
him a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and
wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring
him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, 20
and the gifts of charity which he told him he had left as quit-rents
upon the estate.
The Captain truly seems a courteous man,
though says but little. He makes much of those whom my
master loved, and shows great kindness to the old house-dog,
that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have 25
gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature
made on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed him-
self since; no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day
for the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This
being all from,
"Honoured Sir, your most sorrowful servant,
"EDWARD BISCUIT.
"P.S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book which comes up to you by the carrier should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name."
This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew open5 ing the book, found it to be a collection of acts of parliament. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or three points, which he had 10 disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. Cap15 tain Sentry informs me, that the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club.
CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture: In his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn sword on the table by him.
It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well!—
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If is there's a power above us, (And that there is all nature cries aloud
Through all her works) he must delight in virtue ;
And that which he delights in, must be happy.
But when! or where !-This world was made for
I'm weary of conjectures-This must end them.
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me:
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point,
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
Nature oppressed, and harassed out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awakened soul may take her flight,
Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest: Cato knows neither of them,
Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die.
But hah! how's this, my son why this intrusion? Were not my orders that I would be private ?
What means this sword? this instrument of death?
Let me convey it hence!
O let the prayer, th' entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you.
Would'st thou betray me? would'st thou give me up
A slave, a captive, into Cæsar's hands?
Retire, and learn obedience to a father,
Or know, young man !
Look1 not thus sternly on me;
You know I'd rather die than disobey you.
'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates,
And bar each avenue, thy gathering fleets
O'erspread the sea, and stop up every port;
Cato shall open to himself a passage,
And mock thy hopes-
Whose griefs hangs heavy on him! O my father!
How am I sure it is not the last time
I e'er shall call you so! be not displeased,
O be not angry with me whilst I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!
1 1713, does not contain this speech of Portius and the following one by Cato.
|