MacMillan's Reading Books Part 40

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense and some learning; of a very regular life and obliging conversation: he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependent.

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance which makes them particularly _his_, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his conversation highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man I have just now mentioned? And without staying for an answer, told me, "That he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table; for which reason he desired a particular friend of his at the University to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning; of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man that understood a little of backgammon. My friend," says Sir Roger, "found me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish; and, because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years, and though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, though he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his paris.h.i.+oners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish since he has lived among them: if any dispute arises, they apply themselves to him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice, at most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I made him a present of all the good sermons that have been printed in English, and only begged of him that every Sunday he would p.r.o.nounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly, he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one another naturally, and make a continued series of practical divinity."

ADDISON.

THE DEAD a.s.s.

"And this," said he, putting the remains of a crust into his wallet, "and this should have been thy portion," said he, "hadst thou been alive to have shared it with me." I thought by the accent it had been an apostrophe to his child; but 'twas to his a.s.s, and to the very a.s.s we had seen dead on the road. The man seemed to lament it much; and it instantly brought into my mind Sancho's lamentation for his; but he did it with more true touches of nature.

The mourner was sitting on a stone bench at the door, with the a.s.s's pannel and its bridle on one side, which he took up from time to time--then laid them down--looked at them--and shook his head. He then took his crust of bread out of his wallet again, as if to eat it; held it some time in his hand--then laid it upon the bit of his a.s.s's bridle--looked wistfully at the little arrangement he had made--and then gave a sigh.

The simplicity of his grief drew numbers about him, and La Fleur among the rest, whilst the horses were getting ready; as I continued sitting in the postchaise, I could see and hear over their heads.

He said he had come last from Spain, where he had been from the farthest borders of Franconia; and he had got so far on his return home, when his a.s.s died. Every one seemed desirous to know what business could have taken so old and poor a man so far a journey from his own home.

"It had pleased heaven," he said, "to bless him with three sons, the finest lads in all Germany; but having in one week lost two of them by the small-pox, and the youngest falling ill of the same distemper, he was afraid of being bereft of them all; and made a vow, if Heaven would not take him from him also, he would go in grat.i.tude to St. Iago, in Spain."

When the mourner got thus far on his story, he stopped to pay nature her tribute, and wept bitterly.

He said Heaven had accepted the conditions, and that he had set out from his cottage, with this poor creature, who had been a patient partner of his journey--that it had eat the same bread with him all the way, and was unto him as a friend.

Everybody who stood about heard the poor fellow with concern. La Fleur offered him money; the mourner said he did not want it; it was not the value of the a.s.s, but the loss of him. "The a.s.s," he said, "he was a.s.sured, loved him;" and upon this, told them a long story of a mischance upon their pa.s.sage over the Pyrenean mountains, which had separated them from each other three days; during which time the a.s.s had sought him as much as he had sought the a.s.s, and they had neither scarce eat or drank till they met.

"Thou hast one comfort, friend," said I, "at least in the loss of the poor beast; I'm sure thou hast been a merciful master to him." "Alas!"

said the mourner, "I thought so when he was alive; but now he is dead I think otherwise. I fear the weight of myself and my afflictions together have been too much for him--they have shortened the poor creature's days, and I fear I have them to answer for." "Shame on the world!" said I to myself. "Did we love each other as this poor soul but loved his a.s.s, 'twould be something."

STERNE.