
the church, St. Austin, or St. Cyprian, or Barnard, who affirms that it is an
irresistable and natural passion to weep for the loss of our friends or children
- and Seneca (I'm positive) tells us somewhere, that such griefs evacuate
themselves best by that particular channel. - And accordingly we find, that
David wept for his son Absolom - Adrian for his Antinous - Niobe for her
children, and that Apollodorus and Crito both shed tears for Socrates before his
death.
    My father managed his affliction otherwise; and indeed differently from most
men either ancient or modern; for he neither wept it away, as the Hebrews and
the Romans - or slept it off, as the Laplanders - or hang'd it, as the English,
or drowned it, as the Germans - nor did he curse it, or damn it, or
excommunicate it, or rhyme it, or lillabullero it. --
    -- He got rid of it, however.
    Will your worships give me leave to squeeze in a story between these two
pages?
    When Tully was bereft of his dear daughter Tullia, at first he laid it to
his heart, - he listened to the voice of nature, and modulated his own unto it.
- O my Tullia! my daughter! my child! - still, still, still, - 'twas O my
Tullia! -- my Tullia! Methinks I see my Tullia, I hear my Tullia, I talk with my
Tullia. - But as soon as he began to look into the stores of philosophy, and
consider how many excellent things might be said upon the occasion - no body
upon earth can conceive, says the great orator, how happy, how joyful it made
me.
    My father was as proud of his eloquence as MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO could be
for his life, and for aught I am convinced of to the contrary at present, with
as much reason: it was indeed his strength - and his weakness too. -- His
strength - for he was by nature eloquent, - and his weakness - for he was hourly
a dupe to it; and provided an occasion in life would but permit him to shew his
talents, or say either a wise thing, a witty, or a shrewd one - (bating the case
of a systematick misfortune) - he had all he wanted. - A blessing which tied up
my father's tongue, and a misfortune which set it loose with a good grace, were
pretty equal: sometimes, indeed, the misfortune was the better of the two; for
instance,
