Mr. Belford, to William Morden, Esq. 
Saturday, Sept. 16.

DEAR SIR,

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.

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.

* See Vol.  I. Letter V.

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.

Forgive me, Sir, these reflections, and permit me, with this, to send you what you declined receiving till the funeral was over.

[He gives him then an account of the money and effects, which he sends
      him down by this opportunity, for the legatees at Harlowe-place,
      and in its neighbourhood; which he desires him to dispose of
      according to the will.

He also sends him an account of other steps he has taken in pursuance of
      the will; and desires to know if Mr. Harlowe expects the discharge
      of the funeral-expenses from the effects in his hands; and the
      re-imbursement of the sums advanced to the testatrix since her
      grandfather’s death.]