Nay, it was more than thought.. I saw and touched To rob myself, and court so vast a loss? [Enter Old Wilmot.] Old Wilmot. The mind contented, with how little pains The wandering senses yield to soft repose, And die to gain new life! He's fallen asleep Already happy man! What dost thou think, He seems to me a youth of great humanity. Begged me to comfort thee; and—dost thou hear me? What art thou gazing on? Fie! 't is not well. This casket was delivered to you closed; Why have you opened it? Should this be known, Agnes. And who shall know it? O. Wil. There is a kind of pride a decent dignity, Due to ourselves, which, spite of our misfortunes, May be maintained and cherished to the last. To live without reproach, and without leave To quit the world, shows sovereign contempt And noble scorn of its relentless malice. Agnes. Shows sovereign madness, and a scorn of sense! Pursue no further this detested theme; I will not die; I will not leave the world, For all that you can urge, until compelled. O. Wil. To chase a shadow, when the setting sun Is darting his last rays, were just as wise As your anxiety for fleeting life, Now the last means for its support are failing. This warmth might be excused. But take thy choice; shall not die alone. Die how you will, you Agnes. Nor live, I hope. O. Wil. There is no fear of that. Agnes. Then we 'll live both. O. Wil. Strange folly! Where's the means? Perhaps thou dost but try me; yet, take heed. When flattering opportunity enticed, And desperation drove, have been committed O. Wil. The inhospitable murder of our guest? And yet so cruel, and so full of horror? Agnes. 'Tis less impiety—less against nature, O. Wil. It is no matter, whether this or that Or none could act amiss. And that all err, O! what is man his excellence and strength When, in an hour of trial and desertion, Reason, his noblest power, may be suborned, To plead the cause of vile assassination! Agnes. You're too severe; Reason may justly plead For her own preservation. O. Wil. Rest contented; Agnes. Then nought remains But the swift execution of a deed O. Wil. True, his strength, Single, is more, much more, than ours united. Ours in duration, should he 'scape this snare. Of wretches mad with anguish ! Agnes. By what means, By stabbing, suffocation, or by strangling,- O. Wil. Why, what a fiend! How cruel, how remorseless, how impatient, Agnes. Barbarous man! Whose wasteful riots ruined our estate, And drove our son, ere the first down had spread To seek his bread 'mongst strangers, and to perish In some remote, inhospitable land! The loveliest youth, in person and in mind, DR. PHILIP DODDRIDGE. To waste my fortune, rob me of my son, To drive me to despair, and then reproach me! I ought not to reproach thee. I confess That thou hast suffered much, so have we both. But chide no more; I'm wrought up to thy purpose. Ere he reclined him on the fatal couch, From which he 's ne'er to rise, took off the sash 'Tis a dreadful office; and I'll spare Thy trembling hands the guilt. Steal to the door, And bring me word if he be still asleep. Or I'm deceived, or he pronounced himself Thy thoughts are perishing; thy youthful joys, 167 (Exit Agnes.) Are withering in their bloom. But though extinguished, Of every joy, and even hope itself, As I have done. Why do I mourn him, then? DR. PHILIP DODDRIDGE.` 1702-1751. This distinguished divine was taught the history of the Bible by his mother, before he was able to read, by the aid of some Dutch tiles in the chimney; and her pious reflections were the means of producing permanent religious impressions upon his mind. He was so conscientious a non-conformist, that he rejected the offer of the Duchess of Bedford to educate him for the Church of England. As a preacher, Dr. Doddridge was very much admired. He published some Sermons, and The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul, but his Family Expositor of the New Testament is considered his ablest work. In 1829, a grandson of his published his correspondence, which is written in a correct and playful style. It seems, from this, that "the young divine was of a susceptible temperament, and was generally in love with some fair one of the neighborhood, with whom he kept up a constant and lively interchange of letters." LETTER TO A FEMALE FRIEND. You know I love a country life, and here we have it in perfection. I am roused in the morning with the chirping of sparrows, the cooing of pigeons, the lowing of kine, the bleating of sheep, and, to complete the concert, the grunting of swine, and neighing of horses. We have a mighty pleasant garden and orchard, and a fine arbor, under some tall, shady limes, that form a kind of lofty dome, of which, as a native of the great city, you may perhaps catch a glimmering idea, if I name the cupola of St. Paul's. And then on the other side of the house, there is a large space which we call a wilderness, and which, I fancy, would please you extremely. The ground is a dainty greensward; a brook runs sparkling through the middle, and there are two large fish-ponds at one end; both the ponds and the brook are surrounded with willows; and there are several shady walks under the trees, besides little knots of young willows, interspersed at convenient distances. This is the nursery of our lambs and calves, with whom I have the honor to be intimately acquainted. Here I generally spend the evening, and pay my respects to the setting sun, when the variety and beauty of the prospect inspire a pleasure that I know not how to express. I am sometimes so transported with these inanimate beauties, that I fancy I am like Adam in Paradise; and it is my only misfortune, that I want an Eve, and have none but the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field, for my companions. |