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this beauty stood weeping by his chair, and said, “ My love, forgive me, as it was in raillery only I spoke, and let our pleasures and pains be hereafter honestly shared,” I remember the tears burst from my eyes, and in that condition I went away. It was frightful to look at Eustace, as he shook, started, and wildly stared ; and the distress his lady appeared in, was enough to make the most stoney heart bleed : it was a dismal scene.
This happened at nine at night, and at ten Orlando withdrew to bed, without speaking one word, as I was informed. Soon after he lay down, he pretended to be fast asleep; and his wife rejoiced to find him so, as she believed, or was in hopes that nature's soft nurse would lull the active instruments of motion, and calm the raging operations of his mind; she then resigned herself to Numbers, and thought to abolish for that nightevery disagreeable sensation of pain: but no sooner did this furious man find that his charming wife was really asleep, than he plunged a dagger into her breast. The monster repeated the strokes while she had life to speak to him in the tenderest manner, and conjured him, in regard to his own happiness, to let her live, and not link himself into perdition here and hereafter by her death. In vain she prayed ; he gave her a thousand wounds, and I saw her the next morning a bloody, mangled corpse, in the great house in Smithfield, which stood at a distance from the street, with a wall before it, and an avenue of high trees up to the door.
Eustace Aed, when he thought she was expiring, (though the lived for an hour after, to relate the case to her maid, who heard her groan, and came into her room,) and went from Dublin to a little lodge he had in the country, about twenty miles from town, The Magistrates, in a short time, had information where he was : and one John Mansel, a constable, a bold and strong man, undertook, for a reward, to apprehend him. To this purpose he set out immediately, with a case of piftols, and a hanger, and lurked feveral days and nights in the fields, before he could find an opportunity of coming at him ; for Eustace lived by himself in the house, well secured by strong doors and bars, and only went out now and then to an ale-house, the master of which was his friend. Near it, at last, about break of day, Mansel chanced to find him, and, upon his refusing to be made a prisoner, and cocking a pistol tó shoot the Officer of justice, both their pistols were discharged at once, and they both dropped down dead men. Euftace was shot in the heart, and the constable in the brain. They were both brought back to Dublin on one of the little low-backed cars there used; and I was one of the boys that followed the car from the beginning of James-street, the out-side of the city, all through the town. Euftace's head hung dangling near the ground, with his face upwards, and his torn bloody breast bare ; and of all the faces of the dead I have seen, none ever looked like his. There was an anxiety, a rage, a horror, and a despair, to be seen in it, that no pencil could express.
Thus fell Eustace, in the 29th year of his age, and, by his hand, his virtuous, beautiful, and ingenuous wife : and what are we to learn from thence? Is it, that on such accounts we ought to dread wedlock, and never be concerned with a wife ? No, surely ; but to be from thence convinced that it is necessary, in order to a happy marriage, to bring the will to the obedience of reason, and acquire an equanimity in the general tenour of life. Of all things in this world, moral dominion, or the empire over ourselves, is not only the most glorious, as reason is the superior nature of man, but the most valuable, in respect of real human happiness. A conformity to reason, or good sense, and to the inclination of our neighbours, with very little money, may produce a great and laiting felicity ; but without this subservience to our own reason, complaisance to company, and softness and benevolence to all around us, the greatest misery does frequently sprout from the largest stock of fortunes.
It was by ungoverned passions that Eustace murdered his wife, and died himself the most miserable and wretched of all human beings. He might have been the happiest of mortals, if he had conformed to the dictates of reason, and softened his passions, as well for his own ease, as in compliance to a creature formed with a mind of a quite different make from his own. There is a sort of sex in souls ; and, exclusive of that love and patience which our religion requires, every couple should remember, that there are things which grow out of their very natures that are pardonable, when considered as such. Let them not, therefore, be spying out faults,. nor find a satisfaction in reproaching; but let them examine to what consequences their ideas tend, and resolve to cease from cherishing them, when they lead to contention and mischief. Let them both endeavour to amend what is wrong, teach others, and act as becomes their characters, in practising the social duties of married persons, which are so frequently and strongly inculcated by Revelation and natural reason; and then, instead of matrimony's being. a burthen, and hanging a weight upon our very beings, there will be no appearance of evil in it; but harmony and joy will shed unmixed felicities on them : they will live in no low degree of beatitude in the suburbs of Heaven.
A Signal Instance of the Ingratitude and TreachęRY of
KINGS FAVOURITES. T is hardly possible for a man in public stationespecially if he is vested with regal authority, not to discover partialities in by them.
favour of those by whom he is plentifully flattered, and who do all in their power to make him believe that he is so clear in his high office as to be something more than mortal in conducting the machine of government, under his royal direction. When such men are so flattered, they are too apt to listen to the grosseft falsehoods, as if they were the most indisputable truths, and to think themselves beloved by their subjects, when they are really detested
No man was ever more flattered by his Courtiers than Wil. liam, Duke of Aquitain, a Prince naturally disposed to administer justice with an equal hand, and possessed of many virtues, which made him appear in an amiable light; but being too much under the guidance of one of his Nobles, who did not make a proper use of the great influence he had over him, he was sometimes led to act in a manner which rendered his paternal regard for the welfare of his people very problematical, and exhibited him to their eyes rather as a severe master, than an affectionate parent. The follows ing anecdote of him will shew him at once in colours unpleasing and advantageous. Happily, indeed, for his subjects, he was, upon the whole, much more to be praised than condemned..
The name of the man who had so far insinuated himself into William's favour, as to govern with almost a plenitude of power, was Gerbert, nearly related to a Monk of the same name, and was by him furnished, from time to time, with instructions to preserve the authority of a favourite without abusing it.
Gerbert, presuming too much upon his parts and address, which were, indeed, confiderable, proceeded, at length, to imagine that he might attempt to remove his benefactor from his exalted feat, and place himself in his room. This project was certainly bold in the conception ; but there was a weakness in the execution of it, which plainly proved that he was by no means capable, with all his fancied abilities, of bringing about the wished-for revolution.
William, notwithstanding the complaints which his partial administration of justice fometimes occalioned among certain individuals, who suffered immediately by it, was, in general, beloved ; and as his most censured deviations from the rule of right were rather imputed to the strength of his attachment, than to the corruption of his heart, he was pitied when he could not be applauded.
When a favourite is arrived at such a pitch of self-sufficiency, as to imagine that none of his requests can be denied, bis presumption is surely more conspicuous than his discretion. With regard. to Gerbert, he one day discovered a no small want of prudence, by soliciting a complete pardon for one of his creatures who had been guilty of crimes of the blackest die, and for which the whole Đukedom demanded an exemplary punishment. By foliciting the pardon of such a delinquent, Gerbert discovered a daring spirit,
and a feeble understanding. He made his request with his usual boldness, but he was not heard with the usual attention. William, provoked ---for the firft time---at the nature of his petition, as well as the insolence in the mode of delivery, refused to grant the prayer of it, and commanded him never to say a fyllable, more to him upon a subject fo painful to his ear ; doubly painful, indeed, he added, from his appearing in defence of a man who was a disgrace to his country, and who merited no indulgence from the throne.
Mortified by this repulfive answer, delivered in stern accents, and in a full Court, Gerbert (pride now throwing prudence off her guard) retired from the presence with a contemptuous abruptnefs, and from that instant planned his dethronement.
Animated by this project, he repaired to the Monk, of whose political talents he had the highest opinion. To this Monk Gerbert related---with many fevere reflections as he proceeded-- the treatment he had met with from the Duke, and the affront he had received from him in the most public manner.----- When he had finished his communications, he acquainted him with the design he had formed with regard to his elevation, and then requested him to forward the execution of it by his wise admonitions and secret affiftance.
The Monk was struck with the boldness of the favourite's defign; and told him, haftily, that he hoped he had not given the smallest hint of his intentions to any of his friends; advising him, at the same time, to proceed with the utmost caution, as few men, were to be trusted with a secret of such importance. Có As the Duke is generally beloved,” continued he, “ though he has made himself many enemies, by some tyrannical exertions of his power, you may find it difficult to bring over a sufficient number of the discontented to your interest, who are, at the same time, sufficiently able, both with respect to their abilities and personal consequence, to promise success. You must consider also, that the prejudices which the majority of the nation have conceived against you as a favourite, will operate, it is probable, strongly against your designs : your enemics will rejoice at your fall; they will take no iteps, you may be assured, to invest you with the power which so much flatters your ambition. Diffatisfied as many of our countrymen are with the present adminiftration of affairs, the number of those who wish to see the government in your hands, is, I imagine, but small. If you will listen, therefore, to my advice, you will endeavour to regain the Duke's favour by a submisfrve deportment : from such a deportment you may reap considerable advantage ; but if you think of producing a revolution in the ftate, you will involve yourself in difficulties not to be surmounted, and run head-long to destruction. From the numberless proofs
have received of the Duke's liberality, you have the greatest reason to impute the behaviour, by which you are so much mortified, to that regard for justice, of which he has been, in consequence of some partial decisions, suspected : by returning immediately, and frankly owning that you were to blame for your ill-timed intercessions, you will, it is most likely, blunt the edge of that resentment, which it is certainly your interest to disarm. By encreasing the sharpness of it, you will make your enemies triumph, and yourself despised ---setting aside all pecuniary considerations, though they also should have their due weight upon this occasion.”
The Monk's advice was prudent, but it was not palatable: Gerbert could not relish it; his pride had been so deeply wounded by the Duke's mortifying behaviour to him, that he could not bear the thoughts of appearing before him in the form of a supplicant, to acknowledge himself guilty of an error, and to sue for the return of his favour. The idea of such an humiliating situation was inexpreflibly galling ; but the good Monk at last, by the combined force of his reasoning and his rhetoric, prevailed on him to act agreeably to the suggestions of discretion, and not to give himself up to the instigations of teinerity. Gerbert accordingly returned to Court, in order to conduct himself in the way which the pious Monk had recommended.
William, after having refused to comply with the favourite's requeit, relented. It was not, however, the mere refusal of it which had occafioned his repentance ; it was the manner in which he had corrected him for his unfeasonable solicitations, before his whole Court. He could not help marking the contemptuous looks with which he retired from his presence; but as he had provoked them by the roughness of his reprimand, he forgave them, and secretly wished for an opportunity to convince him that he was still his favourite. These penitential recollections may draw upon the Duke an imputation of imbecility ; but such is the inconsistency of the human head, such is the weakness of the human heart !
As Gerbert found the Duke in this favourable frame of mind, when herz-appeared before him, he was relieved from the disagreeable necessity of making those submislions which, while he deemed them politic, he could not digest.
William, upon his entering the room in which he was sitting, rose up, without thinking he demcancd bimself by such a condefcenfion, embraced the man whom he had so much mortified, and told him how inuch he had been pained at being obliged to refuse his last request; afsuring him, that whenever the public good was not immediately concerned in the denial, his every other future request should be granted.