A N° 90. SATURDAY, March 18. 1780. Verum etiam amicum qui intuetur tanquam exemplar aliquod intuetur fui. Quocirca et abfentes adfunt, et egentes abundant, et imbecilles valent, et, quod difficilius dictu eft, mortui vivunt; tantus eos honos, memoria, defiderium profequitur amicorum. Ex quo il lorum beata mors videtur, horum vita laudabilis. CICERO. ་ "LIFE," fays Sir William Temple, " is like wine; who would drink it pure, muft "not draw it to the dregs." Such, I confefs, has ever been my opinion, although, in reckoning up the good things of this world, long life is commonly estimated as one of its chief bleffings. I am ready to allow, that an old man, looking back on a well-fpent life, in which he finds nothing to regret, and nothing to be athamed of, and waiting with dignity for that event which is to put a period to his existence, is one of the moft venerable and refpectable of VOL. III. M all all objects. The idea that he is foon to quit the busy scenes of life, throws a tenderness around him fimilar to that we feel in bidding adieu to a friend who is to leave us for a long time. There is, however, fomething wonderfully unpleasant in the decay of the powers of mind and body, the neceffary confequence of extreme old age. To thofe around them, particularly to those with whom they are more nearly connected, the imbecility which almost always attends perfons in a very advanced period of life, affords one of the most affecting fpectacles that can well be conceived. It is a fituation truly interesting; and, while it teach es us to make every allowance for the weaknefs of age, it difpofes us, by every attention, by every mark of obfervance, to fmooth the steps of the aged, and to remove, as much as poffible, thofe clouds that hang on the evening of life. It muft, at the fame time, be admitted, that there are men who live to a very great age, in the full poffeffion of their faculties, and, what is ftill more, with all the affections of the mind alive and unabated. Yet, even where this is the the cafe, I cannot, for my part, confider long life as an object much to be desired. There is one circumftance, which, with me, is alone fufficient to decide the question. If there be any thing that can compenfate the unavoidable evils with which this life is attended, and the numberlefs calamities to which mankind are subject, it is the pleasures arising from the fociety of those we love and esteem. Friendship is the cordial of life. Without it, who would wish to exift an hour? But every one who arrives at extreme old age, muft make his account with furviving the greater part, perhaps the whole, of his friends. He muft fee them fall from him by degrees, while he is left alone, fingle and unfupported, like a leaflefs trunk, exposed to every storm, and fhrinking from every blaft. I have been led to thefe reflections by a lofs I lately fuftained in the fudden and unlookedfor death of a friend, to whom, from my earlieft youth, I had been attached by every tie of the most tender affection. Such was the confidence that fubfifted between us, that, in his bofom, I was won't to repofe every thought of my mind, and every weaknefs of my heart. Poffeffed of excellent natural parts, and of e very accomplishment education could bestow, he pleafed ftill more by the gentlenefs of his manners, and the uncommon sweetness of his difpofition. It is not many months fince I paid him a vifit at his feat in a remote part of the kingdom. I found him engaged in embellishing a place, of which I had often heard him talk with rapture, and the beauties of which I found his partiality had not exaggerated. He showed me all the improvements he had made, and pointed out thofe he meant to make. He told me all his fchemes, and all his projects. And, while I live, I must ever retain a warm remembrance of the pleasure I then enjoyed in his fociety. The day I meant to fet out on my return, was feized with a flight indifpofition, which he feemed to think fomewhat ferious; and, indeed, if he had a weakness, it confifted in rather too great anxiety with regard to his health I remained with him till he thought himself almoft perfectly recovered; and, in order to avoid the unpleafant ceremony of taking leave, I refolved to fteal away early in the morning, before any of the family fhould be aftir. About daybreak, I got up, and let myfelf myfelf out. At the door I found an old and favourite dog of my friends, who immediately came and fawned upon me. He walked with me through the park. At the gate he ftopped, and looked up wifhfully in my face; and, though I do not well know how to account for it, I felt, at that moment when I parted with the faithful animal, a degree of tenderness, joined with a melancholy fo pleafing, that I had no inclination to check it. In that frame of mind I walked on (for I had ordered my horfes to wait me at the first ftage) till I reached the fummit of a hill, which I knew commanded the last view I should have of the habitation of my friend. I turned to look back on the delightful fcene. As I looked, the idea of the owner came full into my mind; and, while I contemplated his many virtues and numberless amiable qualities, a fuggeftion arofe, if he should be cut off, what an irreparable lofs it would be to his family, to his friends, and to fociety. In vain I endeavoured to combat this melancholy foreboding, by reflecting on the uncommon vigour of his conftitution, and the fair profpect it afforded of his enjoying many days. The impreffion ftill recurred, and it was fome confiderable |