THE FUNERAL.
Marcolphus, Phœdrus.
Ma. Where have you been, Phædrus! What, are you just come out of Trophonius's cave? Ph. What makes you ask me that question? THE FUNERAL. 291 Ma. Because you look so horridly sad, sour, and slovenly in short, you do not look at all like what you are called. Ph. If they that have been a long time in a smith's shop commonly have a dirty face, do you wonder that I that have been so many days with two friends that were sick, dying, and are now dead, should look a little more sad than I used to do, especially when they were both of them my very dear friends 1 Ma. Who are they that you talk of? Ph. I suppose you know George Balearicus, don't you I Ma. I know him by name, and that is all, I never saw his face. Ph. I know the other was wholly a stranger to you; his name was Cornelius Montius. They were both of them my particular friends, and had been so for many years. Ma. It was never my lot to be by where any one was dying. Ph. But it has been mine too often, if I might have had my wish. Ma. Well, but is death so terrible a thing as they make itl Ph. The way to it is worse than the thing itself, so that if a man could free his mind from the terror and apprehension of it, he would take away the worst part of it. And, in short, whatsoever is tormenting either in sickness or in death itself is rendered much more easy by resignation to the will of God ; for as to the sense of death, when the soul is departing from the body, I am of opinion they are either wholly insensible or the faculty is become very dull and stupid, because nature, before it comes to that point, lays asleep and stupefies all the sensible faculties. Ma. We are born without sense of pain as to ourselves. Ph. But we are not born without pain to our mother. Ma. Why might we not die so? why would God make death so full of pain? Ph. He was pleased to make birth painful and dangerous to the mother to make the child the dearer to her, and death formidable to mankind, to deter them from laying violent hands upon, themselves; for when we see so many make away themselves as the case stands, what do you think they would do if death had no terror in it ? As often as a servant or a son is corrected, or a woman is angry at her husband, anything is lost, or anything goes cross, men would presently repair to halters, swords, rivers, precipices, or poisons. Now the bitterness of death makes us put a greater value upon life, especially since the dead are out of the reach of the doctor. Although, as we are not all born alike, so we do not all die alike some die suddenly, others pine away with a languishing illness; those that are seized with a lethargy and such as are stung by an asp are, as it were, cast into a sound sleep, and die without any sense of pain. I have made this observation that there is no death so painful but a man may bear it by resolution. Ma. But which of them bore his death the most like a Christian ? Ph. Why, truly, in my opinion, Geoi'ge died the most like a mail of honour. Ma. Why, then, is there any sense of ambition when a man comes to that point 1 Ph. I never saw two people make such different ends. If you will give me the hearing I will tell you what end each of them made, and you shall judge which of them a Christian would choose to make. Ma. Give you the hearing ! Nay, I desire you will not think much of the trouble, for I have the greatest mind in the world to hear it. Ph. Well, then, you shall first hear how George died. As soon as ever the certain symptoms of death appeared the physicians who had attended upon him during his sickness, saying 292 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES. never a word of the despair they had of his life, demanded their fees. Ma. How many doctors had he? Ph. Sometimes ten, sometimes twelve, but never under six. Ma. Enough, in conscience, to have done the business of a man in perfect health. Ph. As soon as ever they had got their money they privately hinted to some of his near relations that his death was near at hand, and that they should take care of the good of his soul, for there was no hope of his recovery ; and this was handsomely intimated by some of his particular friends to the sick man himself, desiring him that he would commit the care of his body to God, and only mind those things that related to a happy exit out of this world. George, hearing this, looked wonderful sourly at the physicians, taking it very heinously that they should leave him now in his distress. They told him that physicians were but men, and not gods, and that they had done what art could do, but there was no physic would avail against fate, and so went into the next chamber. Ma. What did they stay for after they were paid ? Ph. They were not yet agreed upon the distemper : one would have it to be a dropsy, another a tympany, another an imposthume in the guts, every man of them would have it to be a different disease, and this dispute they were very hot upon all the time he was sick. Ma. The patient had a blessed time of it all this while. Ph. And to decide this controversy, they desired by his wife that the body might be opened, which would be for his honour, being a thing very usual among persons of quality, and very beneficial to a great many others, and that it would add to the' bulk of his merits; and lastly, they promised they would purchase thirty masses at their own charge for the good of his soul. It was a hard matter to bring him to it; but at last, by the importunities and fair words of his wife and near relations, he was brought to consent to it; and this being done the consultation was dissolved, for they say it is not convenient that physicians, whose business it is to preserve life, should be spectators of their patients' death, or present at their funeral. By and by Bernardino was sent for to take his confession, who is, you know, a very reverend man, and warden of the Franciscans. His confession was scarce over, but there was a whole houseful of the four orders of begging friars, as they are called. Ma. What, so many vultures to one carcase 1 Ph. And now the parish priest was called to give him the extreme unction and the sacrament of the eucharist. Ma. That was very religiously done. Ph. But there had like to have been a very bloody fray between the parish priest and the monks. Ma. What, at the sick man's bedside ? Ph. Nay, and Christ himself looking on too. Ma. Pray, what was the occasion of so sudden a hurly-burly? Ph. The parson of the parish, so soon as ever he found the sick man had confessed to the Franciscan, did point blank refuse to give him either the extreme unction, the eucharist, or afford him a burial, unless he heard his confession with his own ears. He said he was the parson of the parish, and that he was accountable for his own flock, and that he could not do it unless he was acquainted with the secrets of his conscience. Ma. And don't you think he was in the right? Ph. Why, indeed, they did not think so, for they all fell upon him, especially Bernardino and Vincent the Dominican. Ma. What THE FUNERAL. 293 had they to say 1 ? Ph. They rattled off the parson soundly, calling him ass, and one fitter to be a pastor of swine than men's souls. I, says Vincent, am a bachelor of divinity, and am shortly to be licensed and take my degree of doctor, and you can scarce read the collect, you are so far from being fit to dive into the secrets of a man's conscience. But if you have such an itch of curiosity, go home and inquire into the privacies of your concubine and bastards. And a great deal more of such stuff, that I am ashamed to mention. Ma. And did he say nothing to all this 1 Ph. Nothing, do you say ? Never was any man so nettled. I, says he, will make a better bachelor than you of a beanstalk; as for your masters, Dominic and Francis, pray, where did they ever learn Aristotle's philosophy, the argu- ments of Thomas, or the speculations of Scotus 1 Where did they take their degree of bachelors 1 You have crept into a credulous world, a company of mean wretches, though some, I must confess, were devout and learned. You nested at first in fields and villages, and thence anon you transplanted yourselves into opulent cities, and none but the best part of them neither would content you. Your business lay then only in places that could not maintain a pastor, but now, forsooth, none but great men's houses will serve your turn. You boast much of your being priests, but your privileges are not worth a rush, unless in the absence of the bishop, pastor, or his curate. Not a man of you shall ever come into my pulpit, I will assure you, as long as I am pastor. It is true I am no bachelor, no more was St. Martin, and yet he discharged the office of a bishop for all that. If I have not so much learning as I should, I will never come a begging to you for it. Do you think the world is so stupid as to think the holiness of Dominic and Francis is entailed upon the habit 1 Is it any business of yours what I do at my own house ] It is very well known in the world what you do in your cells, and how you handle your holy virgins. Nobody is ignorant that you make those rich men's houses you frequent no better than they should be. For the rest, Marcolphus, you must excuse me, it is too foul to be told ; but in truth he handled the reverend fathers very scurvily ; and there had been no end of it if George had not held up his hand in token he had something to say, and it was with much ado that the storm was laid at last, though but for a little while. Then says the sick man, Peace be among you, I will confess myself over again to you, Mr. Parson; and as for the charge of tolling the bell, my funeral-rites, ray monument and burial, they shall all be paid down to you before you go out of the house ; I will take order that you shall have no cause to complain. Ma. Did the parson refuse this fair proposal ? Ph. He did not absolutely refuse it, but he muttered something to himself about confession ; but he remitted it at last, and told them there was no need of troubling the patient or the priest with the same things over again ; but if he had confessed to me in time, said he, perhaps he would have made his will upon better conditions ; but if it be not as it should be, you must now look to it. This equity of the sick man vexed the monks to the heart, who thought very much that any part of the booty should go to the parson of the parish. But upon my intercession the matter was composed ; the parson gave the sick man the unction and the sacrament, received his dues, and went away. s 294 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES. Ma. Well, now, certainly a calm followed this storm, did there not ? Ph. So far from it, that this storm was no sooner laid than a worse followed. Ma. Upon what ground, pray 1 Ph. I will tell you. There were four orders of begging friars in the house already, and now in comes a fifth of cross-bearers, against which all the other four orders rise lip in a tumult, as illegitimate and spurious, saying, Where did you ever see a waggon with five wheels ? or with what face would they reckon more orders of mendicants than there were evangelists ? At this rate ye may even as well call in all the beggars to you from the bridges and cross-ways. Ma. What reply made the cross-bearers to this 1 Ph. They asked them how the waggon of the church went before there were any mendicants at all ? and so after that, when there was but one order, and then again when there were three? As for the number of the evangelists, say they, it has no more affinity with our orders than with the die for having on every side four angles. Pray, who brought the Augustines or Carmelites into the order 1 When did Austin or Elias go a begging? for they make them to be principals of their order. These and a great deal more they thundered out violently ; but being overpowered with numbers of the four orders, they could not stand the charge, but were forced to quit the ground, but threatening them with dreadful things. Ma. Well, but I hope all was quiet now. Ph. Nay, not so, for this confederacy against the fifth order was come almost to daggers drawing ; the Franciscan and Dominican would not allow the Augus- tines and Carmelites to be true mendicants, but bastards and sup- posititious. This contention rose to that height, that I was afraid it would have come to blows. Ma. And could the sick man endure all this 1 ? Ph. They were not in his bed-chamber now, but in a court that joined to it, but so that he could hear every word they said ; for there was no whispering, believe me, but they very fairly exercised their lungs. Besides, men, as you know, are quicker of heai-ing than ordinary in sickness. Ma. But what was the end of this dispute ? Ph. Why, the sick man sent them word by his wife that if they would but hold their tongues a little he would set all to rights ; and therefore desired that the Augustines and Carmelites should go away for the present, and that they should be no losers by it, for they should have the same portion of meat sent them home that those had that staid there. He gave direction that all the five orders should assist at his funeral, and that every one of them should have an equal share of money ; but that they should not all be set (down) at the common table, lest they should fall together by the ears. Ma. The man understood economy, I perceive, that had the skill to compose so many differences, even upon his death-bed. Ph. Phoo; he had been an officer in the army for many years, where such sort of mutinies are common among the soldiers. Ma. Had he a great estate? Ph. A very great one. Ma. But ill-gotten, perhaps, as is common, by rapine, sacrilege, and extortion. Ph. Indeed officers commonly do so, and I will not swear for him that he was a jot better than his neighbours. But if I do not mistake the man, he made his fortune by his wit, rather than by downright violence. Ma. After what manner? Ph. He understood arithmetic very well. Ma. And what of that ? fh. What of that ! why, he would reckon 30,000 soldiers when, there THE FUNERAL., 295 were but 7,000, and a great many of those he never paid neither. Ma. A very compendious way of accounting ! Ph. Then he would lengthen out the war, and raise contributions monthly, both from friends and foes ; from his enemies that they might not be plundered, and from his friends that they might have commerce with the enemy. Ha. I know the common way of soldiers ; but make an end of your story. Ph. Bernardine and Vincent staid with the sick man, and the rest had their provisions sent them. Ma. Well, and did they agree among themselves that staid upon duty 1 Ph. Not very well ; they continually grumbled something about the prerogative of their bulls ; but th'ey were fain to dissemble the matter, that they might go the better on with their work. Now the will is produced, and covenants entered into before witnesses, according to. what they had agreed upon, b.etween, themselves. Ma. I long to hear what that was. Ph. I will tell you in brief, for the whole would be a long history. He leaves a widow of thirty-eight years of age, a discreet, virtuous woman ; and two sons, the one of nineteen, and the other fifteen years of age ; and two daughters, both under age. He provided by this testament, that his wife, seeing she would not be prevailed " upon to confine hex-self to a cloi&ter, should put on the habit of a Beguin, which is a middle order between a laic and a religious ; and the eldest son, because he could not be prevailed upon to turn monk Ma. There is no catching old birds with chaff. Ph. That as soon as his father's funeral was over, he should ride post to Rome, and there being made a priest before his time, by the pope's dispensation, he should say mass once a day, for one whole year, in the Lateran Church, for his father's soul, and creep up the holy steps there upon his knees every Friday. Ma. And did he take this task upon himself willingly 1 Ph.. To deal ingenuously with you, as willingly as an ass takes his burden. His younger son was dedicated to St. Francis, his eldest daughter to St. Clare, and the younger to Catherine Senensis. This was all that could be obtained ; for it was George's purpose that he might lay the greater obligation upon God, to dispose of the five survivors into the five orders of the mendicants ; and it was very hard pressed too. But his wife and his eldest son could not be wrought upon by any terms, either fair or foul. Ma. Why, this is a kind of disinheriting. Ph. The whole estate was so divided, that the funeral charges being first taken out, one twelfth-part of it was to go to his wife ; one half of that for her maintenance, and the other half to the stock of the place where she should dispose of herself, upon condition that, if she should alter her mind, the whole should go to that order. Another twelfth was to go to the eldest son, who was to have so much money paid him down upon the nail as would bear the charges of his journey, purchase him a dispensation, and maintain him at Rome ; provided always, that if he should at any time change his mind, and refuse to be initiated into holy orders, his portion should be divided between the Franciscans and Dominicans ; and I fear that will be the end of it, for he had a strange aversion to that course of life. Two twelfth-parts were to go to the monastery that should receive his younger son, and two more to those that should entertain his daughters ; but upon this con- dition, that if they should refuse to profess themselves, the money 296 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES. should go entire to the cloister. And then Bernardine was to have one twelfth, and Vincent another ; a half share to the Carthusians, for the communion of the good works of the whole order. The remaining twelfth and moiety was to be distributed among such private poor as Bernardine and Vincent should think worthy of the charity. Ma. It would have been more lawyer-like to have said quos vel quas, instead of quos only. Ph. The testament was read, and the stipulation ran in these words : George Balearicus, dost thou, being alive, and of sound and disposing mind and memory, approve of this testament, which thou madest long since according to thy own mind 1 I approve it. Is this thy last and unchangeable will 1 It is. Dost thou constitute me and this bachelor Vincent the executors of this thy last will ? I do so. And then he was commanded to subscribe it. Ma. How could he write when he was dying ? Ph. Why, Bernardine guided his hand. Ma. What did he subscribe 1 Ph. Whosoever shall attempt to violate this testament, may he incur the displeasure of St. Francis and St. Dominic. Ma. But were they not afraid to have an action testamenti inoffiaiosi [of a forged will] brought against them 1 Ph. That action does not take place in things dedicated to God, nor will any man willingly go to law in a suit with Him; When this was over the wife and children give the sick man their right hands, and swear to the observance of his directions. After this they fell to treating of the funeral pomp, and there was a squabble about that too ; but it was carried at last that there should be nine out of every one of the five orders> in honour of the five books of Moses, and the nine choirs of angels ; every order to carry its proper cross, and sing the funeral songs. To these, besides the kindred, there should be thirty torch-bearers hired, and all in mourning, in memory of the thirty pieces of silver our Saviour was sold for ; and for honour's sake, twelve mourners to accompany them, as a number sacred to the apostolical order. That behind the bier should follow George's horse, all in mourning, with his head tied down to his knees in such a manner that he might seem to look upon the ground for his master. That the pall should be hung about with escutcheons, and that the body should be laid at the right hand of the high altar, in a marble tomb, some four feet from the ground, and he himself lying in effigy at length on the top of it, cut in the purest marble, all in armour from head to foot. To his helmet a crest, which was the neck of an onocrotalus, and a shield upon his left arm, charged with three boars' heads or, in a field argent ; his sword by his side, with a golden hilt, and a belt embroidered with gold and pearl, and golden spurs, he being a knight of the Golden Order. That there should be a leopard at his feet, and an inscription on his tomb worthy of so great a man. His heart he would have to be buried separately in St. Francis's chapel, and his bowels he bequeathed to the parish, to be honourably interred in Our Lady's chapel. Ma. This was a noble funeral, but a dear one. Now, a cobbler at Venice should have as nmch honour done him, and with very little or no charge at all ; the company gives him a handsome coffin, and they have many times 600 monks, all in their habits, to attend one corpse. Ph. I have seen it myself, and could not but laugh at the vanity of THE FUNERAL. 297 those poor people. The fullers and tanners march in the ran, the cobblers bring up the rear, and the monks march in the body ; you would have said it had been a chimera, if you had seen it. And George had this caution too, that the Franciscans and Dominicans should draw lots which should go first at the funeral, and after them the rest, that there might be no quarrelling for place. The parson and clerk went in the lowest place (that is, first), for the monks would not endure it otherwise. Ma. I find George had skill in marshalling of a cere- mony as well as an army. Ph. And it was provided that the funeral service, which was to be performed by the parish priest, should be per- formed with a concert of music, for the greater honour of the deceased. While these and such like things were doing, the patient was seized with a convulsion, which was a certain token that he was near his end, so that they were now come to the last act. Mu. Why, is not all done yet 1 Ph. Now, the pope's bull is to be read, wherein he is promised a full pardon of all his sins, and an exemption from the fear of purgatory, and with a justification over and above of his whole estate. Ma. What, of an estate got by rapine? Ph. Got by the law of arms and fortune of war. But one Philip, a civilian, his wife's brother, happened to be by at the reading of the bull, and took notice of one passage that was not as it should be, and raised a scruple upon it of its not being authentic. Ma. It might very well have been let pass at this time, and no notice taken of it, if there had been any error, and the sick never the worse for it. Ph. I am of your mind, and I will assure you it so wrought upon George, that it had like to have cast him into despair ; and in this case Vincent shewed himself a man indeed; he bid George be satisfied, for that he had an authority to correct or supply any error or omission that might be in the bull. So that, says he, if this bull should deceive you, this soul of mine shall stand engaged for thine, that thine shall go to heaven, or mine be damned. Ma. But will God accept of this way of changing souls ? or, if he does, is the pawn of Vincent's soul a sufficient security for George's ? What if Vincent's soul should go to the devil, whether he changes it or no ! Ph. I only tell you matter of fact. It is certain that Vincent effected this by it, that the sick man was much comforted. By and by the covenants are read, by which the whole society promise to transfer to George the benefits of the works which were done by all the four orders, and also a fifth, that of the Carthusians. Ma. I should be afraid that such a weight would sink me to hell, if I were to carry it. Ph. I speak of their good works only; for they bear down a soul that is about to fly to heaven no more than feathers do a bird. Ma. But who will they bequeath their evil works to then 1 Ph. To. the German soldiers of fortune. Ma. By what right 1 Ph. By gospel right ; for, " to him that has shall be given." And then was read over how many masses and psalms were to accompany the soul of the deceased, a,nd there was a vast number of them. After this, his confession was repeated, and they gave him their benediction. Ma. And so he died 1 Ph. Not yet. They laid a mat upon the ground, rolled up at one end in the form of a pillow. Ma. Well, and what is to be done now ] Ph. They strewed ashes upon it, but very thin, and there they laid the sick man's body ; and then they conse298 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES. crated a Franciscan's coat with prayers and holy water, and that they laid over him, and a cowl tinder his head (for there was no putting it on then), and his pai 4 don and the covenants with it. Ma. This is a new way of dying. Ph. But they affirm that the devil has no power over those that die in this manner ; for so they say St. Martin and St. Francis and others died. Ma. But their holy lives were correspon- dent to their deaths. But, prithee, what followed 1 Ph. They then presented the sick man with a crucifix and a wax candle. Upon the holding out the crucifix, Says the sick man, I used to be safe in war under the protection of my own buckler, but now I will oppose this buckler to my enemy; and having kissed it, laid it at his left side. And fcs to the holy taper, I was, said he, ever held to be a good pikeman in the field, and now I will brandish this lance against the enemy of souls. Ma. Spoken like a man of war ! Ph. These were the last words he spake, for death presently seized his tongue, and he breathed his last. Bernardine kept close to him in his extremity, on his right hand, and Vincent on his left ; and they had both of them their pipes open. One shewed him the image of St. Francis, the other that of St. Dominic, while the rest up and down in the chamber were mumbling over certain psalms to a most melancholy tune, Bernardine bawling in his right ear, and Vincent in his left. Ma. What was it they bawled 1 Ph. Bernardine spake to this pur- pose : George Balearicus, if thou approvest of all that is here done, lean thy head toward thy right shoxilder ; and so he did. Vincent on the other side, said, George, fear not, yon have St. Francis and St. Dominic for your "defenders, therefore be of good courage. Think on what a great number of merits are bestowed upon thee, of the validity of thy pardon, and remember that I have engaged my soul for thine, if there be any clanger. If you understand all this, and approve of it, lean your head upon yotif left shoulder ; and so he did. And then they cried out as loud as before, If thou art sensible of all this, squeeze my hand ; then he squeezed his hand. So that, what with turning of his head and squeezing of the hand, there were almost three hours spent. And when George began to yawn, Bernardine stood up and pronounced the absolution, but could not go through with it before George's soul was out of the body. This was about midnight, and in the morning they went about the anatomy. Ma. And pray, what did they find out of order in the body 1 ? Ph. Well remembered, for I had like to have forgot it. There was a piece of a bullet that stuck to the diaphragm. Ma. How came that? Ph. His wife said he had been wounded with a musket-shot, and from thence the physicians conjectured that some part of the melted lead remained in his body. By and by they pub the mangled corpse (after a sort) into a Franciscan's habit, and after dinner they buried him with pomp, as it had been ordered. Ma. I never heard of more bustle about a man's dying, or of a more pompous funeral; but I suppose you would not have this story made public. Ph. Why not 1 ? Ma. Lest you should provoke a nest of hornets. Ph. There is no danger, for if what I relate be done well, it is 'convenient the whole world should know it, but if it be ill done, all good men will thank me for discover- ing it; and they themselves being seized with shame for what they have doae, will do so no more. Besides, it may possibly preserve the THE FUNERAL 299 simple from falling into the like mistakes ; for some learned and pious men have frequently complained to me that the superstition and wickedness of some few brings a scandal upon the whole order. Ma. This is well and bravely said. But I would fain know what became of Cornelius. Ph. Why, truly, he died as he lived, without troubling anybody. He had an anniversary fever, which took him every year at such a certain time; but being now worse than ordinary, either by reason of age (for he was above sixty years old), or some other cause, finding that his fatal day was drawing on, he went to church upon a Sunday, four days before he died> confessed to the parish priest, heard divine service and the sermon, and having received the sacra- ment, went home. Ma. Had he no physicians 1 Ph. Only one, who was as good in morals as he was in his profession ; his name is James Castrutius. Ma. I know him, as honest a man as any in the world. Ph. He told him he should be ready to serve him in anything he could as a friend, but that, in his opinion, his business lay rather with God than the doctor. Cornelius received his answer as cheerfully as if he had assured him of his recovery. Wherefore, although he had been always very charitable according to his power, yet he then bestowed upon the needy all that he coiild possibly spare from the necessities of his wife and children, not upon such as take a seeming pride in a sort of poverty that are everywhere to be met withal, but upon those good men that oppose a laborious industry to an innocent poverty. I desired him that he would betake himself to his bed, and send for a minister to him, rather than fatigue his weak body. He replied that it had been always his desire rather to make his friends easy where he could, by doing good offices, than to make himself trouble- some to them by receiving, and that he was now willing to die as he had lived. Nor would he take to his bed till the very last day, and part of the last night of his life. In the interim he supported his weak body with a stick, or else sat in a chair, but very rarely went into the naked bed, but lay down in his clothes, his head being raised. And in this time he was either giving orders for the relief of the poor, especially those of his acquaintance and neighbours, or reading something of the scriptures proper to strengthen his faith in God, or that shew His love to mankind. And when he was so tired that he could not read himself, he heard some friend read to him, and would very frequently, and with wonderful affection, exhort his family to mutual love and concord, and the exercise of true piety; comforting his friends, who were solici- tous for his death, with great tenderness, and gave it often in charge to his family to take care to see all his debts paid, Ma. Had he not made a will 1 Ph. Yes, a long time before ; lie had taken care to do that when he was in perfect health ; for he was used to say, that what a man did at his last gasp was rather a dotage than a testament. Ma. Had he given anything to monasteries or poor people? Ph. No, not a cross; I have, says he, already in my lifetime given according to my ability, and now, as I leave the posses- sion of what I have to my family, I leave them the disposing of it too, and I trust that they will employ it better than I have done. Ma. Did he send for no holy men, as George did ? Ph. Not a man ; there was nobody about him but his own family and two intimate friends. Ma. I wonder what he meant by that. Ph. He said he was not will300 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES. ing to trouble more people when he went out of the world than he did when he came into it. Ma. I want to hear .this story out. Ph. You shall hear it presently. Thursday came, and finding himself extremely weak, he kept his bed. The parish priest being then called, gave him the extreme unction, and again the sacrament ; but he made no confession, for he said he had no scruple upon his mind. The parson then began to talk to him about his burial, with what pomp and in what place he would be buried. Bury me, says he, as you would bury the meanest Chris- tian ; nor do I concern myself where you lay this worthless body of mine it will be found all one at the day of judgment wheresoever you lay it ; and as to the pomp of my funeral, I matter it not. When he came to mention the ringing of bells and saying masses (tricenary and anniversary), pardons, and purchasing a communion of merits, he replied, My good pastor, I shall find myself never the worse if no bell be rung at all; if you will afford me but one funeral office it will abundantly content me, but if there be anything else that the public custom of the church has made necessary, and that cannot well be omitted without scandal to the weak, I leave that to your pleasure. Nor am I at all desirous to buy any man's prayers or rob any man of his merits; there is merit enough in Christ, and to spare; and I trust that I myself shall be the better for tke prayers and merits of the whole church, if 1 be but a living member of it. My whole hope is in these two assurances : the one is, that the Lord Jesus, the chief Shepherd, hath taken all my sins upon Him, nailing them to His cross ; the other is, that which Christ Himself hath signed and sealed with His own holy blood, which gives us assurance of eternal salvation if we place all our trust in Him. Far be it from me to insist upon being furnished with merits and pardons, and provoke my God to enter into judgment with His servant, in whose sight no flesh living shall be jus- tified ; because His mercy is boundless and unspeakable, to it I appeal from His justice. The parson hearing this went away; and Cornelius, with great joy and cheerfulness (as one transported with the hope of a better life), caused some texts to be read out of the Holy Scriptures, that confirm the hope of the resurrection and set before him the rewards of immor- tality ; as that out of Isaiah, concerning the death of Hezekiah, together with the hymn ; and then the fifteenth chapter of the First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians, the death of Lazarus out of John, but espe- cially the history of Christ's passion out of the Gospels. But, oh, with what affection did he take in all these scriptures, sighing at some passages, folding his hands, as in thankfulness, at others ; one while rapt and overjoyed at some passages, and another time sending up short ejaculations. After dinner, having taken a little rest, he ordered the twelfth chapter of St. John to be read to the end of the story. Here you would have said the man was transfigured and possessed with a new spirit. When it grew towards evening he called for his wife and children, and raising himself as well as he* could, he thus bespake them : My dear wife, the same God that once joined us together doth now part us, but only in our bodies, and that too for a short time. That care, kind- ness, and piety that thou hast hitherto used to divide betwixt me and the tender pledges of our mutual love, do thou now transfer wholly to THE FUNERAL. 301 them. Think thou canst do nothing more acceptable either to God or to me than to educate, cherish, and instruct those whom God has given as the fruit of our conjugal relation, that they may be found worthy of Christ. Double therefore thy piety upon them, and account upon my share too as translated unto thee. If thou shalt do this, as I trust thou wilt, they will not be accounted orphans ; and if ever thou shouldst marry again at which word his wife burst out into tears, and was about to forswear ever to think of marrying again, but Cornelius inter- posed My dearest sister in Christ, if the Lord Jesus shall vouchsafe to thee resolution and strength of spirit, be not wanting to the heavenly gift, for it will be more commodious as well for thyself as the children. But if the infirmity of the flesh shall carry thee another way, know that my death has indeed freed thee from the bonds of wedlock, but not from that obligation which in both our names thou owest in common to the care of our children. As to marriage itself, make use of the freedom that God has given thee ; only let me entreat and admonish thee of this one thing, to make choice of a husband of such a disposition, and discharge thyself so towards him that he, either by his own goodness or for thy good carriage, may be kind to our children. Therefore have a care of tying thyself up by any vow; keep thyself free to God and to our children, and bring them up in all points religiously, and take care that they do not fix upon any course of life till by age and experience they shall come to understand what is fittest for them. Then, turning to his children, he exhorted them to the study of piety, obedience to their mother, and mutual love and concord among themselves. And having done, he kissed his wife and them, prayed for them, and making the sign of the cross recommended them to the mercy of Christ. And then, looking round upon all about him, By to-morrow morn- ing, says he, the Lord who renewed this morning to me will graciously please, out of His infinite mercy, to call this poor soul of mine out of the sepulchre of my body, and out of the darkness of this mortality, into His heavenly light. I will not have you fatigue yourselves in your tender age with unprofitable watching, and as for the rest, let them take their rest by turns ; one is enough to sit up with me, and read to me. Having passed the night, about four o'clock in the morn- ing, all the family being present, he caused that psalm to be read which our Saviour praying recited upon the cross. And when that was done he called for a taper and a cross, and taking the taper in his hand, he said, The Lord is my light and salvation, whom shall I fear ] And then, kissing the cross, he said, The Lord is the defender of my life, of whom shall I be afraid ? And by and by, laying his hands upon his breast in a praying posture, with his eyes lift up to heaven, he said, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit ; and immediately he closed his eyes, as if he were only going to sleep, and with a gentle breath delivered up his spirit. You would have thought he had only been in a slumber, and had not expired. Ma. I never heard of a less painful death in my life. Ph. His life was as calm as his death. These two men were both of them my friends, and perhaps I am not so good a judge which of them died most like a Christian ; but you that are unbiassed may perhaps make a better judgment. Ma. I will think of it, and give you my opinion some time or other at leisure.