" Anthony and
he talked for a while, then took leave for the night; in
few minutes more, Anthony was summoned to the bedside, and
at eleven o'clock, as I said, the curtain dropt, and it was
all ended.--_Euge!_
Whether the American _Manuscripts_ had arrived I do not yet know,
but probably shall before this Letter goes; for Anthony is to
return hither on Tuesday, and I will inquire. Our Friend is
buried in Ventnor Churchyard; four big Elms overshadow the
little spot; it is situated on the southeast side of that green
Island, on the slope of steep hills (as I understand it) that
look toward the Sun, and are close within sight and hearing of
the Sea. There shall he rest, and have fit lullaby, this brave
one. He has died as a man should; like an old Roman, yet with
the Christian Bibles and all newest revelations present to him.
He refused to see friends; men whom I think he loved as well as
any,--me for one when I obliquely proposed it, he refused. He
was even a little stern on his nearest relatives when they came
to him: Do I need your help to die? Phocion-like he seemed to
feel degraded by physical decay; to feel that he ought to wrap
his mantle round him, and say, "I come, Persephoneia; it is not
I that linger!"--His Sister-in-law, Anthony's Wife, probably
about a month ago, while they were still in Wight, had begged
that she might see him yet once; her husband would be there too,
she engaged not to speak.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104