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<h2> LETTER XXXI </h2>
<p>MR. BELFORD, TO WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ. SATURDAY, SEPT. 16.</p>
<p>DEAR SIR,</p>
<p>I once had thoughts to go down privately, in order, disguised, to see the
last solemnity performed. But there was no need to give myself this
melancholy trouble, since your last letter so naturally describes all that
passed, that I have every scene before my eyes.</p>
<p>You crowd me, Sir, methinks, into the silent slow procession—now
with the sacred bier, do I enter the awful porch; now measure I, with
solemn paces, the venerable aisle; now, ambitious of a relationship to
her, placed in a pew near to the eye-attracting coffin, do I listen to the
moving eulogy; now, through the buz of gaping, eye-swoln crowds, do I
descend into the clammy vault, as a true executor, to see that part of her
will performed with my own eyes. There, with a soul filled with musing, do
I number the surrounding monuments of mortality, and contemplate the
present stillness of so many once busy vanities, crowded all into one poor
vaulted nook, as if the living grudged room for the corpse of those for
which, when animated, the earth, the air, and the waters, could hardly
find room. Then seeing her placed at the feet of him whose earthly delight
she was; and who, as I find, ascribes to the pleasure she gave him the
prolongation of his own life;* sighing, and with averted face, I quit the
solemn mansion, the symbolic coffin, and, for ever, the glory of her sex;
and ascend with those, who, in a few years, after a very short blaze of
life, will fill up other spaces of the same vault, which now (while they
mourn only for her, whom they jointly persecuted) they press with their
feet.</p>
<p>* See Vol. I. Letter V.</p>
<p>Nor do your affecting descriptions permit me here to stop; but, ascended,
I mingle my tears and my praises with those of the numerous spectators. I
accompany the afflicted mourners back to their uncomfortable mansion; and
make one in the general concert of unavailing woe; till retiring as I
imagine, as they retire, like them, in reality, I give up to new scenes of
solitary and sleepless grief; reflecting upon the perfections I have seen
the end of; and having no relief but from an indignation, which makes me
approve of the resentments of others against the unhappy man, and those
equally unhappy relations of her's, to whom the irreparable loss is owing.</p>
<p>Forgive me, Sir, these reflections, and permit me, with this, to send you
what you declined receiving till the funeral was over.</p>
<p>[He gives him then an account of the money and effects, which he sends<br/>
him down by this opportunity, for the legatees at Harlowe-place,<br/>
and in its neighbourhood; which he desires him to dispose of<br/>
according to the will.<br/></p>
<p>He also sends him an account of other steps he has taken in pursuance of<br/>
the will; and desires to know if Mr. Harlowe expects the discharge<br/>
of the funeral-expenses from the effects in his hands; and the<br/>
re-imbursement of the sums advanced to the testatrix since her<br/>
grandfather's death.]<br/></p>
<p>These expeditious proceedings, says he, will convince Mr. James Harlowe
that I am resolved to see the will completely executed; and yet, by my
manner of doing it, that I desire not to give unnecessary mortification to
the family, since every thing that relates to them shall pass through your
hands.</p>
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