We last night received a piece of ill news at our club (209: 5)
which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question
not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the
hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense,--Sir
Roger de Coverley _is dead_. He departed this life at his
house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir (10)
Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents
in those parts, that informs him the old man caught
a cold at the county sessions, as he was very warmly
promoting an address of his own penning, in which he
succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular (15)
comes from a Whig justice of peace, who was always Sir
Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from
the chaplain and Captain Sentry which mention nothing
of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of
the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the (20)
butler, who took so much care of me last summer when
I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler
mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances
the others have passed over in silence, I shall
give my reader a copy of his letter without any alteration (210: 5)
or diminution.
"Honoured Sir,--
"Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could
not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which
has afflicted the whole country, as well as his poor servants, who (10)
loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid
he caught his death the last county sessions, where he would go
to see justice done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless
children, that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman; for
you know, sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend. (15)
Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he
had lost his roast beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin,
which was served up according to custom; and you know he used
to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse
and worse, but still kept a good heart[154] to the last. Indeed, (20)
we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that
was sent him from the widow lady whom he had made love to the
forty last years of his life; but this only proved a light'ning before
death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a
great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with (25)
jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother. He has
bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a hunting
upon, to his chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him,
and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to
the chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It (30)
being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning,
to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman
a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take
leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst
we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are
grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left (211: 5)
us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon,
the remaining part of our days. He has bequeath'd a great deal
more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it is
peremptorily said in the parish, that he has left money to build a
steeple to the church; for he was heard to say some time ago, that (10)
if he lived two years longer, Coverley Church should have a steeple
to it. The chaplain tells everybody that he made a very good end,
and never speaks of him without tears. He was buried according
to his own directions, among the family of the Coverley's, on the
left hand of his father, Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six (15)
of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The whole
parish follow'd the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning
suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Captain
Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of the hall
house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him a (20)
little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him
joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to
make good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts
of charity which he told him he had left as quitrents upon the
estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says (25)
but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and
shows great kindness to the old house dog, that you know my poor
master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have
heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's
death. He has ne'er joyed himself since; no more has any (30)
of us. 'Twas the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever
happened in Worcestershire. This being all from,
"Honoured Sir,
"Your most Sorrowful Servant,
"Edward Biscuit." (35)
"P. S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a
book which comes up to you by the carrier should be given to Sir
Andrew Freeport, in his name."
[154] Good courage.
This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner
of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, (212: 5)
that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in
the club. Sir Andrew, opening the book, found it to be
a collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in particular
the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it
marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found (10)
that they related to two or three points which he had
disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the
club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such
an incident on another occasion, at the sight of the old
man's handwriting burst into tears, and put the book (15)
into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the
knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the
club. O.
XXXIII. CAPTAIN SENTRY AS MASTER OF
COVERLEY HALL
[No. 544. Monday, Nov. 24, 1712. STEELE.]
Nunquam ita quisquam bene subducta ratione ad vitam fuit
Quin res, aetas, usus semper aliquid apportet novi,
Aliquid moneat: ut illa, quae te scire credas, nescias;
Et, quae tibi putaris prima, in experiundo ut repudies.