him with her eyes, and uttering to
the winds her fruitless lamentations.

23. The mariners, regardless of her sorrows, rowed towards land,
without a word passing among them, till Pompey, by way of breaking
silence, looking at Septim'ius, whose face he recollected. "Methinks,
friend," said he, "you once served under me." Septim'ius noticing
these words only by a contemptuous nod of the head, Pompey betook
himself to a paper, on which he had minuted a speech intended to be
made to the king, and began reading it. In this manner they approached
the shore; whilst Corne'lia, whose insufferable sorrow had never let
her lose sight of her husband, began to conceive hopes, perceiving
that the people on the strand crowded down along the coast as if eager
to receive him. 24. Alas! these hopes were soon destroyed. At the
instant that Pompey rose, supporting himself upon his freedman's arm,
Septim'ius stabbed him in the back, and Achil'las instantly seconded
the blow. 25. Pompey, perceiving his death inevitable, calmly disposed
himself to meet it with decency; and covering his face with his robe,
without a word resigned himself to his fate. 26. At this horrid sight,
Corne'lia and her attendants shrieked, so as to be heard to the very
shore. But the danger they were in allowing no time to look on, they
immediately set sail, and, the wind proving favourable, fortunately
escaped the pursuit of the Egyptian galleys. 27. In the mean time,
Pompey's murderers, having taken off his head, embalmed it for a
present to Caesar, whilst the body was thrown naked on the strand, and
exposed to the view of those whose curiosity was to be satisfied. 28.
But his faithful freedman, Philip, still kept near it; and when the
crowd dispersed, he washed it in the sea, and looking round for
materials to burn it, perceived the wrecks of a fishing-boat, of which
he composed a pile. 29. While he was thus piously employed, he was
accosted by an old Roman soldier, who had served under Pompey in his
youth. "Who art thou?" said he "that art making these humble
preparations for Pompey's funeral?"--"One of his freedmen," answered
Philip.--"Alas," replied the soldier, "permit me to share with you the
honour of this sacred action. Among all the miseries of my exile, it
will be my last sad comfort, that I have been able to assist at the
funeral of my old commander, and to touch the body of the bravest
general that ever Rome produced."

30. Thus were the last rites pe