CHAPTER V

A DEAD HERO


"The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shall flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds."

So doth noble Cato philosophise when, in Addison's stately tragedy, he
gazes on his sword and plans to admit the Grim Visitor whom the most
of us wish to keep without our threshold until the last fatal moment.
How those lines used to thrill the classic hearts of our ancestors;
how Barton Booth, who

"shook the stage, and made the people stare,"

could put into this mild plea for suicide a fervour that caused Drury
Lane to ring with applause. What mattered it if the actor, as Pope
related, wore a long wig and flowered gown? Cato was none the less
himself for that, nor did Booth's elegance of delivery seem unwelcome
because his clothes pictured the dandified spirit of the eighteenth
century.