Philosophers and Divines have declaimed upon the advantages of a well-spent life, as felt in articulo mortis; and their efforts have had, I hope, some effect upon the lives of many. To witness one example such as Mr. Hall held forth, would be worth volumes of precepts on this subject. The unfeigned resignation with which he met his dissolution, and the majestic fortitude with which he looked in the face the various circumstances of horror that surrounded him, rendered him the most dignified object I ever beheld or conceived, and the most glorious instance of conscious virtue triumphing over the terrors of death, and the cunning barbarity of Mankind. Were the progress of virtue attended with pain, and the practice of vice with pleasure, the adoption of the former would be amply repaid by its soothings in the dreadful moment, even if it were to accompany us no further. About a quarter of an hour before he died, Mr. Hall broached a most tender subject of conversation, which he followed up with a series of observations, so truly refined, so exquisitely turned, so delicate and so pathetic, that it seemed almost the language of inspiration, as if, in proportion to the decay of the body, intellect increased, and the dying man had become all mind. Such a conversation I never remembered to have heard, or heard of. Its effects upon me were wonderful; for, though the combination of melancholy circumstances attending my now critical situation had almost raised my mind to frenzy, the salutary influence of his words and example controuled the excesses of my sensations; and I met the afflicting moment of his departure with a degree of tranquillity, which, though not to be compared to his, has on reflection appeared to me astonishing. This conversation continued to the very instant of his death; during which time he held my hand clasped in his, frequently enforcing his kind expressions to me with a squeeze——while my sorrow, taking its most easy channel, bedewed my face with tears. As he proceeded, my voice was choaked with my feelings; and I attempted once or twice in vain to speak. His hand grew cold: he said his lower limbs were all lifeless, and that he felt death coming over him with slow creeping steps——He again moralized, thanking God with pathetic fervour for his great mercy in leaving him his intellects unclouded, and the organ of communication (the tongue) unenfeebled, that, to the last, he might solace his friend and fellow-sufferer——“Ah! Campbell!” continued he, “to what a series of miseries am I now leaving you! Death in such circumstances is a blessing——I view mine as such; and should think it more so, if it contributed, by awakening those people to a sense of their cruelty, to soften their rigour to you: but cruelty like their’s is systematic, and stoops not to the controul of the feelings. Could I hope that you would yet escape from their clutches, and that you would once more press your family to your bosom, the thought would brighten still the moment of our separation: and, oh! my friend! could I still further hope that you would one day see my most beloved and honoured parents, and tell them of my death without wringing their hearts with its horrid circumstances, offer them my last duties, and tell how I revered them——If, too, you could see my ——-, and tell her how far, far more dear than ——-!” Here he turned his eyes toward the lamp, then faintly on me——made a convulsive effort to squeeze my hand——cried out, “Campbell! oh, Campbell! the lamp is going out!” and expired without a groan.
The recital of this afflicting event has called up to my fancy so lively a picture of the scene as it passed with all its horrors——horrors which outstrip all efforts of description, and baffle all power of language——that my feelings are in part renewed, and I find myself incapable of proceeding further at present.
LETTER LIV.
For some time I was lost in grief for the death of Mr. Hall. Though I had long expected it, and might consequently be supposed to have wasted great part of my sorrow in anticipation; yet, having only considered and felt the point before his death merely as it respected him and his misfortunes, a great portion of the calamity remained unconceived: and, now that he was dead, I began for the first time to consider and feel the subject as it concerned myself. Reflection told me, that he was happily relieved from woe, and in a state of bliss——
“After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well:
——- Nor steel nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy—nothing
Can touch him further!”