PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 Shelf. 
 
 BR 768 .B8 1827 v.l 
 Burder, Samuel, 1773-1837. 
 Memoirs of eminently pious 
 women 
 

MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 EMINENTLY PIOUS WOMEN, 
 
 By THOMAS ^GIBBON, D.D. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, 
 
 REVISED AND ENLARGED BY 
 
 THE REV. SAMUEL BURDER, D.D. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ORIENTAL CUSTOMS." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. DUNCAN, LONGMAN AND Co. HATCHARD AND 
 
 SON, SEELEY AND SON, HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND Co. 
 
 SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, AND J. NISBET. 
 
 M.DCCC.XXVI1. 
 
LONDON . 
 PWNTBDBYJ.MOYICS, BOUVEBIB STBKBT. 
 
DIRECTIONS 
 
 FOR 
 
 PLACING THE PORTRAITS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 LADY JANE GREY Frontispiece. 
 
 QUEEN CATHARINE PARR Rage 39 
 
 QUEEN MARY 31 
 
 LADY RACHEL RUSSELL 295 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET 324 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 LADY HUNTINGDON Frontispiece. 
 
 VISCOUNTESS FALKLAND Page 14 
 
 MRS. II UTCH1NSON "3 
 
 MRS. ANN DUTTON 227 
 
 MRS. HANNAH WOODD 330 
 
 M RS. WALKER 344 
 
 VOLUME III. 
 
 MISS BACON Frontispiece. 
 
 MISS CATHARINE TALBOT ^ a ? e 1 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH CARTER i8 
 
 MRS. SARAH TRIMMER 33 
 
 LADY GLENORCHY 50 
 
 MRS. ANN THORNTON 8o 
 
 MISS ELIZABETH SMITH li6 
 

 PRI 
 
 ,R£ 
 
 THEGLQGIC 
 
 'nvv.v 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 
 LADY JAKE GREY 
 
 .... 3Q 
 QUEEN CATHARINE PARR 
 
 JANE, QUEEN OF NAVARRE 
 
 81 
 
 QUEEN MARY 
 
 ]26 
 
 LADY WARY VERE 
 
 COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK 
 
 ... 143 
 LADY MARY ARMYNE 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM 14Q 
 
 166 
 COUNTESS OF WARWICK » 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE 187 
 
 207 
 MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS 
 
 218 
 
 LADY .ALICE LUCY 
 
 . 224 
 LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON 
 
 230 
 
 MRS. ANN BAYNARD 
 
 236 
 
 LADY FRANCES HOBART 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Pag« 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. LADY CUTIS 248 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS C58 
 
 MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE 577 
 
 LADY RACHEL RUSSELL 295 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET 3?4 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH BURY S32 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE 3yi 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The Work, of which an improved Edition is now presented 
 to the religious public, has progressively advanced to the 
 state in which it now appears. What is now comprised in 
 the first volume, was compiled by the Rev. Dr. Gibbons, 
 and appeared in 1777, in two volumes 8vo. It was repub- 
 lished in 1804 ; with an additional volume, compiled by 
 the Rev. Dr. Jerment. To these a third volume was 
 added, in the year 1815, on the publication of a new and 
 corrected edition. The Editor, in the preface to that 
 edition, stated, however, that while he considered the 
 Memoirs as exhibiting an interesting picture of genuine 
 Christianity, he did not hold himself responsible for all the 
 sentiments and opinions thus recorded; especially in the 
 former two volumes, which were given without any mate- 
 rial alteration. 
 
 In the present edition, it has been deemed advisable to 
 adopt a different plan ; and while the first volume, which 
 may be considered as the original work, has undergone 
 only a few immaterial retrenchments, the second and third 
 appear under an entirely new arrangement. This part of 
 the work has been submitted to a severe revision, for the 
 purpose not only of rendering the work more generally 
 acceptable, but of introducing a mass of new and valuable 
 
Vlll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 matter without increasing the bulk, of the volumes. Some 
 memoirs of inferior interest, and two or three which have 
 been deemed not wholly unobjectionable, are entirely 
 omitted, while others have undergone an advantageous 
 abridgement ; and a greater attention has been paid, in 
 arranging the lives, to their connexion and chronological 
 order. The memoirs which now appear for the first time 
 in this work, or have been expressly rewritten for the 
 present edition, are those of Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, 
 Mrs. Evelyn, Mrs. Savage, and Mrs. Hulton, in the 
 second volume ; and, in the third, those of the Viscountess 
 Glenorchy, Lady Maxwell, Mrs. Berry, Miss Sin- 
 clair, Mrs. Fletcher, and Mrs. Graham. These 
 extensive additions, it is presumed, are of a character to 
 give an enhanced value and interest to the publication, 
 which has long been a favourite with a large class of the 
 religious public. 
 
 London, May 1, 1823. 
 

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 ^ 
 
 OF 
 
 EMINENTLY PIOUS WOMEN. 
 
 LADY JANE GREY. 
 
 IiADY JANE GREY was of a very noble stock. Her 
 father, Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, descended in 
 a direct line from Sir Thomas Grey, knight of the 
 garter, Lord Harrington in right of his wife, and 
 created Marquis of Dorset by Edward the Fourth, 
 who married his mother. Her mother was Lady 
 Frances Brandon, the eldest of the two surviving 
 daughters of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, by 
 Mary, Queen Dowager of France, youngest daughter 
 of King Henry the Seventh, and sister to King Henry 
 the Eighth. 
 
 Lady Jane very early in life gave astonishing proofs 
 of the greatness of her mind ; and though there was 
 very little difference in age between her and King 
 Edward the Sixth*, who was thought almost a miracle, 
 yet in learning she was not only equal to him, but his 
 
 * We cannot exactly ascertain the time of her birth. Mr. 
 Fuller represents her as eighteen when she suffered; and Sir 
 Thomas Chaloner, as but very little beyond that age. If so, it is 
 but counting back eighteen years from February 12, 1553-4, when 
 she was beheaded, and we shall fix her birth in the latter end of 
 the year 1535, or the beginning of the year 1536. — Mr. Foxe 
 expressly says, that there was little difference in age between her 
 and Edward the Sixth, who was born October 12, 1537. 
 VOL. 1. B 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 superior. Her person was extremely pleasing ; but 
 the beauties of her mind were still more engaging. 
 She had great abilities, and greater virtues ; and, as 
 Bishop Burnet says of her, " She was the wonder and 
 " delight of all that knew her*." 
 
 Female accomplishments were not improbably the 
 first part of her education. Her genius appeared in 
 the performances of her needle, and in the beautiful 
 character in which she wrote. She played admirably 
 on various instruments of music, and accompanied 
 them with a voice exquisitely sweet in itself, and 
 assisted by all the graces which art could bestow. 
 
 Her father, the Marquis of Dorset, had himself a 
 tincture of letters, and was a patron of learned men. 
 He had two chaplains, Harding and Aylmer, both 
 eminent for their literature, whom he employed as 
 tutors to his daughter. Under their instructions she 
 made a most extraordinary proficiency. She spoke 
 and wrote her own language with peculiar accuracy : 
 and it is said, that the French, Italian, Latin, and 
 especially the Greek tongues, were as natural to her 
 as her own ; for she not only understood them per- 
 fectly, but wrote them with the utmost freedom ; and 
 this, not in the opinion of superficial judges, but of 
 Mr. Ascham, and Dr. Aylmer ; men who, in point of 
 veracity, were as much above suspicion, as in respect 
 of abilities they were incapable of being deceived ; 
 men, who were, for their learning, the wonder of 
 their own times, and of ours ; the former, famous for 
 Koman accuracy ; the latter, one of the ablest critics 
 in those learned days. She was also versed in Hebrew, 
 Chaldee, and Arabic, and all this when she was in a 
 manner a child in age. She was remarkable for a 
 sedateness of temper, a quickness of apprehension, 
 and a solidity of judgment, which enabled her not 
 only to become the mistress of languages, but of 
 sciences ; so that she thought, reasoned, and spoke 
 
 * History of the Reformation, vol. iii. p. 225, folio edition. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 3 
 
 upon subjects of great importance in a manner 
 which greatly surprised even persons of the best 
 judgment and abilities. And yet she was in no 
 respect elated by these extraordinary endowments • 
 but was remarkably gentle, humble, and modest in 
 her demeanour. 
 
 Her parents, as appears from her own account 
 were both of them strangely severe in their behaviour 
 towards her; and as she was naturally very fond of 
 literature that fondness was much heightened as 
 well by the seventy of her parents, as by the gentle- 
 ness of her tutor, Aylmer; and, when mortified and 
 confounded by the unmerited chidings of her parents 
 she returned with double pleasure to the lessons of 
 her learned preceptor ; and sought in Demosthenes 
 and Plato her favourite authors, that delight which 
 was denied her in all the other scenes of life in 
 which she very little mingled, and seldom with any 
 satisfaction. J 
 
 Her alliance with the crown, as well as the o;reat 
 kvourm which the Marquis of Dorset stood with 
 Edward the Sixth, necessarily brought her sometimes 
 to court, where she received particular marks of the 
 young king's esteem, who was nearly, as observed 
 before, of the same age with herself, and who took 
 great pleasure m her conversation. But, for the most 
 part of her time, she seems to have continued at her 
 fathers seat, at Broadgate, in Leicestershire where 
 she was with her beloved books in the summer'season 
 of 15o0, when the famous Roger Ascham* paid her a 
 visit, as we are informed from himself. " Before I 
 '< went into Germany," says he, " I came to Broad- 
 gate, w Leicestershire, to take my leave of that 
 * noble lady, Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding 
 much beholden. Her parents, the duke and 
 dutchess, with all the household, gentlemen and 
 
 * Roger Ascham Esq., two years tutor to the Princess, after- 
 wards Queen Elizabeth. ' 
 
 B 2 
 
4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found 
 M her in her chamber reading Pfuedo Platonis in 
 (( Greek, and that with as much delight, as some 
 " gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccace. 
 '* After salutation and duty done, with some other 
 ft talk, I asked her, why she should lose such pastime 
 " in the park? Smiling, she answered me: ' 1 wist 
 i( all their sport in the park is but a shadow, to that 
 " pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas ! good folk, 
 M they never felt what true pleasure meant.' — ' And 
 " how came you, madam,' quoth I, ' to this deep 
 " knowledge of pleasure ? And what did chiefly allure 
 M you unto it, seeing not many women, and but very 
 " few men, have attained thereunto?' * I will tell 
 " you/ quoth she, ' and tell you a truth which per- 
 " chance ye will marvel at. One of the greatest 
 " benefits that ever God gave me, is, that he sent me 
 il so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a school- 
 il master ; for when I am in the presence either of 
 '* father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, 
 " sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad, be 
 " sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else, 
 " I must do it, as it w 7 ere, in such weight, measure, 
 " and number, even so perfectly as God made the 
 " world ; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly 
 " threatened, yea, presently sometimes with pinches, 
 " nips, and bobs, and other ways, which I will not 
 " name for the honour I bear them, so without 
 " measure misordered, that I think myself in hell till 
 " time come that I must go to Mr. Aylmer*, who 
 " teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such 
 u fair allurements to learning, that I think all the 
 " time nothing, while I am with him. And when I 
 " am called from him, I fall on weeping, because 
 " whatsoever I do else but learning, is full of grief, 
 " trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And 
 l< thus my book hath been so much my pleasure, and 
 
 * Dr. John Avlmer, afterwards Bishop of London. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 5 
 
 ** bringeth daily to me more pleasure, and more, that 
 ** in respect of it all other pleasures in very deed be 
 u but trifles and troubles unto me.' — I remember," 
 adds Mr. Ascham, " this talk gladly, both because 
 i( it is so worthy of memory, and because also it was 
 " the last talk I ever had, and the last time that ever 
 " I saw that noble and worthy lady *." 
 
 What a speech was here from so young a lady ! 
 What reader is not melted with it ! What a fine taste, 
 and what a noble and enriched mind, are here dis- 
 covered ! Mr. Ascham appears (and where is the 
 wonder ?) to have been deeply affected with this inter- 
 view, and to have retained a most pleasant and 
 honourable remembrance of it. In a letter written 
 the December following, to his friend Sturmius, 
 having informed him that he had had the honour and 
 happiness of being admitted to converse familiarly 
 with this young lady, and that she had written a very 
 elegant Latin letter to him, he proceeds to mention 
 this visit at Broadgate, and his consequent surprise at 
 what occurred there, not without some degree of 
 rapture. Thence he takes occasion to observe, that 
 she both spoke and wrote Greek to admiration, and 
 that she had promised to write him a letter in that 
 language, upon condition that he would send her one 
 first from the emperor's court f. But this rapture 
 rose much higher, while he was composing a letter 
 addressed to herself, in the month following. There, 
 speaking of his interview, he assures her, '* That 
 " among all the agreeable varieties he had met with 
 u in his travels abroad, nothing had occurred to raise 
 " his admiration like that incident in the preceding 
 " summer, when he found her, a young maiden, by 
 " birth so noble, in the absence of her tutor, and in 
 
 * Ascham's Schoolmaster, b. i. p. 37. 
 
 f Ascham's Epist. lib. i. epist. 4. It is to be observed, that 
 Mr. Ascham, at the time of his making his visit to Lady Jane, 
 ^vas going to London to attend Sir Richard Morrison on his 
 embassy to the Emperor Charles the Fifth, in Germany. 
 
6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " the sumptuous house of her most noble father, at 
 " a time too when all the rest of the family, both 
 u male and female, were regaling themselves abroad 
 " with the pleasures of the chase, I found," continues 
 he, " the divine virgin diligently studying the divine 
 " Phaido of the divine Plato, in the original Greek. 
 " Happier, certainly, in this respect, than in being 
 u descended, both on the father's and mother's side, 
 " from kings and queens." He then puts her in mind, 
 " of the Greek epistle she had promised him, and 
 " prompted her also to write another to his friend 
 " Sturmius, that what he had said of her, wherever 
 u he came, might be rendered credible by such 
 il authentic evidence*." 
 
 If Lady Jane received this letter in the country, 
 yet it is probable that she did not stay there long 
 after, since some changes happened in the family, 
 which, it is not unlikely, brought her to town. For 
 her maternal uncles, Henry and Charles Brandon, 
 both dying at Bugden, the Bishop of Lincoln's 
 palace, of the sweating sickness, her father was 
 created Duke of Suffolk, in October, 1551 ; Dud- 
 ley, Earl of Warwick, being also created Duke of 
 Northumberland at the same time. 
 
 These Dukes of Suffolk and Northumberland, upon 
 the fall of the Duke of Somerset, having reached to 
 the pinnacle of power, upon the decline of the king's 
 (Edward the Sixth) health, 1553, began to contrive 
 how to prevent that reverse of fortune they foresaw 
 must happen upon his demise. To accomplish this 
 end, no other method was judged effectual but a 
 change in the succession to the crown, and the trans- 
 ferring it into their own families. The Lady Jane 
 was destined to the principal part in this intended 
 revolution ; nay, in reality, the whole of it centered 
 in her. Those most excellent and amiable qualities, 
 which had rendered her dear to all who had the hap* 
 
 * Biographical Dictionary, vol. vi. p. 136. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 7 
 
 piness of knowing her, joined with her near affinity 
 to the king, subjected her to become the chief tool of 
 an ambition notoriously not her own. On this very 
 account she was married to the Lord Guilford 
 Dudley 'fourth son of the Duke of Northumberland, 
 without any discovery to her of the real design of the 
 match, which was celebrated with great pomp in the 
 latter end of May, 1553, so much to the king's satis- 
 faction, that he largely contributed to the expenses 
 of it from the royal wardrobe. 
 
 Butthe magnificence and splendour attending their 
 nuptials was the last gleam of joy that shone in the 
 palace of King Edward, who grew so weak in a few 
 days after, that the Duke of Northumberland thought 
 it high time to carry his project into execution. 
 Accordingly, in the beginning of June, he commu- 
 nicated the matter to the young monarch ; and having 
 first made all such colourable objections as the affair 
 would admit against his majesty's two sisters, Mary 
 and Elizabeth, he observed, That the Lady Jane, who 
 was of the royal line, was a person of extraordinary 
 qualities ; that her zeal for the Reformation was un- 
 questioned ; that nothing could be more acceptable to 
 the nation than the prospect of such a princess ; and, 
 that in this case he was bound to set aside all par- 
 tialities of blood, and nearness of relation, which were 
 inferior considerations, and ought to be over-ruled by 
 the public good. To corroborate and secure the 
 success of this discourse, care was taken to place 
 about the king those who should make it their busi- 
 ness to touch frequently upon this subject, enlarge 
 upon the accomplishments of Lady Jane, and describe 
 her with all imaginable advantages. In the result, 
 the king's affections standing for this disposition of 
 the crown, he yielded to overlook his sisters, and 
 set aside his father's will. Agreeably to which, a 
 deed of settlement being drawn up in form by the 
 judges, was signed by his majesty, and all the lords 
 of the council. 
 
8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 This difficult affair being accomplished, and the 
 letters patent having passed the seals before the 
 close of the month, the next step was to concert the 
 properest method for carrying this settlement into 
 execution ; and, till this was done, to keep it as 
 secret as possible. To this end the Duke of 
 Northumberland formed a project, which, if it had 
 succeeded, might have made all things easy and 
 secure. He directed letters to the Lady Mary, in 
 her brother's name, requiring her attendance at 
 Greenwich, where the court then was; and she had 
 got within half a day's journey of the place when 
 King Edward expired, July 6, 1553 ; but, having 
 timely notice of his decease, she escaped the snare 
 which had been so artfully laid for her. 
 
 The two dukes, Suffolk and Northumberland, 
 found it necessary to conceal the king's death, that 
 they might have some time to gain the Citv of 
 London, and get the consent of Lady Jane, who was 
 so far from having any concern in the business, that 
 as yet she was unacquainted with the steps which had 
 been taken to procure her the crown. At this 
 juncture, the Princess Mary sent a letter to the privy 
 council, in which, though she did not take the title 
 of Queen, yet she clearly asserted her right to the 
 throne, and took notice of the concealment of her 
 brother's death, and of the practices into which they 
 had since entered ; intimating, that there was still 
 room for reconciliation, and that, if they complied 
 with their duty in proclaiming her queen, she would 
 forgive, and even forget what was past. But, in 
 answer to her letter, they insisted upon the indu- 
 bitable right of Lady Jane, and their own unalterable 
 fidelity to her as their queen, to whom they per- 
 suaded her to submit. 
 
 These previous steps being taken, and the Tower 
 and City of London secured, the council quitted 
 Greenwich, and came to London : and on Monday, 
 July the 10th, in the forenoon, the two last-mentioned 
 
LADY JANE GREY. V 
 
 dukes repaired to Durham House, where the Lady 
 Jane resided with her husband, as part of Northum- 
 berland's family. There the Duke of Suffolk with 
 much solemnity opened to his daughter the dispo- 
 sition the late king had made of his crown by letters 
 patent, the clear sense the privy council had of her 
 right, the consent of the magistrates and citizens of 
 London ; and, in conclusion, himself and Northum- 
 berland fell on their knees, and paid their homage to 
 her as Queen of England. The poor lady, somewhat 
 astonished at their discourse, but not at all affected 
 with their reasons, or in the least elevated by such 
 unexpected honours, returned them an answer to 
 this effect: " That the laws of the kingdom and 
 " natural right standing for the king's sisters, she 
 <s would beware of burdening her weak conscience 
 " with a yoke which did belong to them ; that she 
 " understood the infamy of those who had permitted 
 " the violation of right to gain a sceptre ; that it 
 " were to mock God and deride justice, to scruple at 
 " the stealing of a shilling, and not at the usurpation 
 u of a crown. Besides/' said she, " I am not so 
 '-' young, nor so little read in the guiles of fortune, to 
 " suffer myself to be taken by them. If she enrich 
 " any, it is but to make them the subject of her spoil ; 
 u if she raise others, it is but to pleasure herself with 
 " their ruin ; what she adored yesterday, is to-day 
 " her pastime : and if I now permit her to adorn and 
 " crown me, I must to-morrow suffer her to crust 
 " and tear me to pieces. Nay, with what crown dotl 
 " she present me ? A crown which hath been violently 
 u and shamefully wrested from Catherine of Arragon, 
 " made more unfortunate by the punishment of 
 ■' Anne Boleyne, and others that wore it after her ; 
 u and why then would you have me add my blood 
 i( to theirs, and be the third victim from whom this 
 *■' fatal crown may be ravished with the head that 
 " wears it? But in case it should not prove fatal to 
 ** me, and that all its venom were consumed, if for* 
 
 B 
 
10 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 "tune should give me warranties of her constancy, 
 tl should I be well advised to take upon me those 
 " thorns, which would dilacerate, though not kill me 
 " outright? To burden myself with a yoke which 
 " would not fail to torment me, though I were as- 
 " sured not to be strangled with it ? My liberty is 
 u better than the chain you proffer me, with what 
 u precious stones soever it be adorned, or of what 
 '* gold soever framed. I will not exchange my peace 
 " for honourable and precious jealousies, for magni- 
 " ficent and glorious fetters. And if you love me 
 " sincerely, and in good earnest, you will rather wish 
 " me a secure and quiet fortune, though mean, than 
 " an exalted situation exposed to the wind, and 
 " followed by some dismal fall." 
 
 But notwithstanding the prudence, goodness, and 
 eloquence of this speech, she was at length prevailed 
 upon by the exhortations of her father, the interces- 
 sion of her mother, the artful persuasions of the 
 Duke of Northumberland, and, above all, the earnest 
 desires of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, to 
 yield her assent to what had been already, and what 
 was still to be done*. And thus, with a heavy, dis- 
 
 * The mention of the crown, says Bishop Burnet, when her fa- 
 ther, with her father-in-law, saluted her queen, did rather heighten 
 her disorder upon the king's death. She said, she knew by the 
 laws of the kingdom, and by natural right, the crown was to go to 
 the king's sisters, so that she was afraid of burdening her conscience, 
 by assuming that which belonged to them ; and that she was un- 
 willing to enrich herself by the spoils of others. But they told 
 her, that all that had been done was according to the law, to 
 which all the judges and counsellors had set their hands. This, 
 joined with their persuasions, and the importunity of her husband, 
 at length prevailed with her to submit, of which her father-in-law 
 afterwards said in council, that she was rather by enticement of 
 the counsellors, and force, made to accept of the crown, than 
 came to it by her own seeking and request. — 'Burnet's History 
 of the Reformation, vol. ii. p. 235. 
 
 Lady Jane, says the writer of the British Biography, was alto- 
 gether uninfluenced by any ambitious views, and the settlement 
 of the succession was by no means agreeable to her. Indeed it 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 11 
 
 inclined heart, she suffered herself to be conveyed to 
 the Tower, where she entered with all the state of a 
 queen, attended by the principal nobility ; and, what 
 was very extraordinary, with her train supported by 
 the Dutchess of Suffolk, her mother ; in whom, if in 
 any of this line, the right of succession lay. About 
 six o'clock in the afternoon she was proclaimed queen 
 with all due solemnities in the city. The same day, 
 also, she assumed the royal title, and afterwards pro- 
 ceeded to exercise some acts of sovereignty. But 
 the royalty of this worthy lady was of very short 
 duration, a sunbeam of glory, which was soon utterly 
 extinguished in clouds and darkness ; for, on the 
 19th of the same month, the Princess Mary was 
 proclaimed queen in London, so that the reign of 
 this lady was only a vapour of about nine days 
 continuance. 
 
 As soon as the Duke of Suffolk, who now resided 
 with his daughter in the Tower, was informed of 
 the Princess Mary's proclamation, he went to his 
 daughter's apartments, and in the softest terms he 
 could, acquainted her that matters had taken such a 
 different turn, that laying aside the state and dignity 
 of a queen, she must fall back into the condition of 
 a private person. To which intelligence she, with a 
 composed and serene countenance, made the follow- 
 ing answer : u Sir, I better brook this message than 
 " that of my advancement to royalty. Out of obe- 
 " dience to you, and to my mother, I have grievously 
 " sinned, and offered violence to myself. I now 
 " willingly, and as obeying the motions of my soul, 
 " relinquish the crown, and endeavour to salve those 
 " faults committed by others, if at least so great a 
 " fault can be salved, by a willing relinquishment and 
 u ingenuous acknowledgment of them." 
 
 does not appear that she was at all consulted about it, either by 
 her father, or by the Duke of Northumberland ; nor does she 
 seem even to have been acquainted with it till after King Edward's 
 decease. — Vol. ii. p. 420. 
 
J 2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Thus ended her reign; but, with the end of her 
 reign commenced the severest afflictions. She who 
 had been lately a queen in the Tower, soon found her 
 palace turned into a prison. She also saw the father 
 of her husband, with all his family, and many of the 
 nobility and gentry, in the same circumstances, for 
 supporting her claim to the crown ; and this grief 
 must have been considerably increased by his being 
 so soon after brought to the block. Before the 
 end of the month, she had also the sad mortification 
 of finding her own father, the Duke of Suffolk, in the 
 same circumstances of imprisonment with herself. 
 On the third of November, in the same year, 1553. 
 she and her husband were carried from the Tower to 
 Guildhall, with Archbishop Cranmer, and others, and 
 were there arraigned and convicted of high treason by 
 Judge Morgan, who pronounced sentence of death 
 upon them. However, the strictness of her own and 
 her husband's confinement was mitigated in De- 
 cember, by a permission to take the air in the 
 queen's garden, and other little indulgences. These 
 circumstances might give some gleam of hope ; but 
 Queen Mary at length determined to take off both 
 Lady Jane and her husband. The fatal news made 
 no great impression upon her ; the bitterness of 
 death was past ; she had long expected it ; and was 
 so well prepared for the worst, that she was very 
 little discomposed. 
 
 What has been already related concerning the 
 subject of our Memoirs, affords us strong proofs of 
 this lady's fine understanding, her most uncommon 
 proficiency in learning, and her most noble and excel- 
 lent spirit, that ascended to the highest elevation of 
 human life with sincere reluctance, and descended 
 from it with as sincere pleasure. But the brighter 
 part of her character, her piety and goodness, are still 
 behind ; of which, that we may have a clear and full 
 view, let us particularly attend her in the sunset of 
 life, and collect, if I may so speak, every ray which 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 13 
 
 adorned her in her preparation for death, and even 
 in her last moments. 
 
 Lady Jane was early instructed in the principles of 
 the Reformed Religion, which she seriously and at- 
 tentively studied, and for which she was extremely 
 zealous ; and this, together with other excellent and 
 amiable accomplishments, greatly endeared her to 
 King Edward. Her dislike of popery, particularly 
 in one of its worst abominations, that of idolatry, 
 was shown, as it is credibly reported of her, when 
 she was very young. Upon a visit to the Princess 
 Mary, at New-Hall, in Essex, she took a walk with 
 the Lady Anne Wharton. Happening to pass by 
 the chapel, Lady Anne made a low courtesy to the 
 host ; at which Lady Jane testified some surprise, 
 and asked whether the Princess Mary was there. 
 Lady Anne answered, " No : but I made my courtesy," 
 said she, " to Him who made us all." " Why," 
 replied Lady Jane, " how can that which hath been 
 " made by the baker, be He who hath made us all?" 
 This speech of hers, it is said, being carried to the 
 Princess Mary, gave her a dislike to the Lady Jane, 
 which she retained ever after. 
 
 But her attachment to the Reformed Religion, her 
 knowledge of it, and her capacity to defend it, are 
 more especially evinced in a conversation between 
 herself and him who was afterwards Dr. Feckenham, 
 otherwise Howman*, who w 7 as sent by the queen 
 but two days before her death, to discourse with 
 
 * John de Feckenham was so called because he was born in a 
 cottage near the forest of Feckenham, in Worcestershire ; his right 
 name being Howman. He was first admitted into Evesham 
 monastery, and at eighteen years of age he was sent to Gloucester 
 College, in Oxford. After studying there some years, and taking 
 his degree of batchelor of divinity, he became chaplain to Bonner, 
 Bishop of London; and on Queen Mary's accession, was made her 
 chaplain. In May 1556, he was made doctor of divinity by the 
 University of Oxford; and in September following, appointed 
 Abbot of Westminster-Abbey. lie is said to have been a generous 
 and benevolent man. 
 
14 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 r 
 
 Lady Jane, and to use his best endeavours to re- 
 concile her to the church of Rome. 
 
 The conversation was to the following effect : 
 
 Feckenham. — Madam, I lament your heavy case ; 
 and yet I doubt not but you bear out this sorrow of 
 yours with a constant and patient mind. 
 
 Lady Jane. — You are welcome to me, sir, if your 
 coming be to give Christian exhortation. And as for 
 my heavy case, I thank God I do so little lament it, 
 that rather I account the same for a more manifest 
 declaration of God's favour towards me, than ever he 
 showed me at any time before. And, therefore, there 
 is no cause why you, or other which bear me good 
 will, should lament, or be grieved with this my case, 
 being a thing so profitable for my soul's health. 
 
 Feckenham. — I am here come to you at this pre- 
 sent, sent from the queen and her council, to instruct 
 you in the true doctrine of the right faith; al- 
 though I have so great confidence in you, that I 
 shall have, I trust, little need to travail with you 
 much therein. 
 
 Lady Jane. — Forsooth, I heartily thank the 
 queen's highness, who is not unmindful of her 
 humble subject, and I hope likewise that you no 
 less will do your duty therein both truly and faith- 
 fully according to that you were sent for. 
 
 Feckenham. — What is then required of a Christian 
 man? 
 
 Lady Jane. — That he should believe in God the 
 Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost ; three persons, 
 and one God. 
 
 Feckenham. — What! is there nothing else to be 
 required, or looked for, in a Christian, but to believe 
 in him ? 
 
 Lady Jane. — Yes, we must love him with all our 
 heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind, and 
 our neighbour as ourself. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why then, faith justifieth not, or 
 saveth not ? 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 15 
 
 Lady Jane. — Yes, verily ; faith, as Paul saith, 
 only justifieth. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why St. Paul saith, If I have all 
 faith, without love it is nothing. 
 
 Lady Jane. — True it is ; for how can I love him 
 whom I trust not? or how can I trust him whom I 
 love not? Faith and love go together; and yet, 
 love is comprehended in faith. 
 
 Feckenham. — How shall we love our neighbour? 
 
 Lady Jane. — To love our neighbour is, to feed 
 the hungry, to clothe the naked, and give drink to 
 the thirsty, and to do to him as we would do to 
 ourselves. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why, then, it is necessary unto sal- 
 vation to do good works also, and it is not sufficient 
 only to believe. 
 
 Lady Jane. — I deny that; and I affirm that faith 
 only saveth. But it is meet for a Christian, in token 
 that he followeth his master Christ, to do good works. 
 Yet may we not say that they profit to our salvation ; 
 for, when we have done all, yet we be unprofitable 
 servants, and faith only in Christ's blood saveth us. 
 
 Feckenham. — How many sacraments are there? 
 
 Lady Jane. — Two; the one the sacrament of 
 Baptism, and the other the sacrament of the Lord's 
 Supper. 
 
 Feckenham. — No, there are seven. 
 
 Lady Jane. — By what scripture find you that? 
 
 Feckenham. — Well, we will talk of that hereafter. 
 But what is signified by your two sacraments? 
 
 Lady Jane. — By the sacrament of Baptism I am 
 washed with water, and regenerated by the Spirit, 
 and that washing is a token to me that I am the 
 child of God. The sacrament of the Lord's Supper 
 offered unto me, is a sure seal and testimony that I 
 am, by the blood of Christ which he shed for me on 
 the cross, made partaker of the everlasting kingdom. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why, what do you receive in that 
 sacrament? Do you not receive the very body and 
 blood of Christ? 
 
16 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Lady Jane. — No, surely, I do not so believe. I 
 think that at the supper I neither receive flesh nor 
 blood, but bread and wine ; which bread, when it is 
 broken, and which wine, when it is drunken, putteth 
 me in remembrance how that for my sins the body 
 of Christ was broken, and his blood shed on the 
 cross, and with that bread and wine I receive the 
 benefits that came by the breaking of his body, and 
 shedding his blood for our sins on the cross. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why, doth not Christ speak these 
 words, Take, eat, this is my body? Require you any 
 plainer words? Doth he not say, it is his body? 
 
 Lady Jane. — I grant he saith so; and so he saith, 
 I am the vine, I am the door : but he is never the 
 more the door nor the vine. Doth not St. Paul say, 
 He calleth things that are not, as though they were? 
 God forbid that 1 should say that I eat the very 
 natural body and blood of Christ ; for then either I 
 should pluck away my redemption, or else there were 
 two bodies, or two Christs. One body was tormented 
 on the cross, and if they did eat another body, then 
 had he two bodies; or if his body were eaten, then 
 was it not broken on the cross ; or if it were broken 
 on the cross, it was not eaten of his disciples. 
 
 Feckenham. — Why, is it not as possible that 
 Christ by his power could make his body both to 
 be eaten and broken, and to be born of a woman 
 without man, as to walk upon the sea having a body, 
 and other such like miracles as he wrought by his 
 power only ? 
 
 Lady Jane. — Yes verily. If God would have done 
 at his supper any miracle, he might have done so ; 
 but I say that then he minded to work no miracle, 
 but only to break his body, and to shed his blood on 
 the cross for our sins. But I pray you to answer 
 me to this one question, Where was Christ when he 
 said, Take, eat, this is my body? Was he not at 
 the table when he said so? He was at that time 
 alive, and suffered not till the next day. W^hat took 
 he but bread ? What brake he but bread ? Look, 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 17 
 
 what he took he brake, and look, what he brake he 
 gave, and look, what he gave they did eat ; and yet, 
 all this time he himself was alive, and at supper 
 before his disciples, or else they were deceived. 
 
 Feckenham. — You ground your faith upon such 
 authors as both say and unsay with a breath, and not 
 upon the church, to whom ye ought to give credit. 
 
 Lady Jane. — No, I ground my faith on God's 
 word, and not upon the church ; for, if the church be 
 a good church, the faith of the church must be tried 
 by God's word, and not God's word by the church, 
 neither my faith. Shall I believe the church because 
 of antiquity ? or shall I give credit to the church be- 
 cause it taketh away from me the half part of the 
 Lord's supper, and will not let any man receive it in 
 both kinds? Which thing if they deny to us, then 
 deny they to us part of our salvation. And I say it 
 is an evil church, and not the spouse of Christ, but 
 the spouse of the devil, that altereth the Lord's 
 supper, and both taketh from it and addeth to it. 
 To that church, say I, God will add plagues to it, 
 and from that church will he take their part out of 
 the book of life. Do they learn that of St. Paul, 
 when he ministered to the Corinthians in both kinds? 
 Shall I believe this church? God forbid. 
 
 Feckenham. — That was done for a good intent of 
 the church, to avoid an heresy that sprung in it. 
 
 Lady Jane. — Why, shall the church alter God's 
 will and ordinance for a good intent? How did 
 King Saul ? 
 
 The Lord God defend. 
 
 With these and such like persuasions, says Mr. 
 Foxe, from whom this conference is transcribed*, he 
 would have had her lean to the church, but it would 
 not be. There were many more things whereof they 
 reasoned, but these were the chief. After this, Mr. 
 Feckenham took his leave, saying, " That he was 
 
 * Foxe's Acts and Monuments, vol. iii. p. 31, 32. 
 
18 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " sorry for her ; for I am sure," saith he, u we two 
 " shall never meet." — " True it is," said Lady Jane, 
 " that we shall never meet, except God turn your 
 " heart ; for I am assured unless you repent, and 
 f turn to God, you are in an evil case. And I pray 
 " God, in the bowels of his mercy, to send you his 
 u Holy Spirit, for he hath given you his great gift of 
 " utterance, if it pleased him also to open the eyes 
 " of your heart*/' 
 
 It has been mentioned before, that Lady Jane's 
 father had two chaplains, Messrs. Harding and Ayl- 
 mer, who were also her preceptors. Mr. Harding, 
 it seems, was, in King Edward's days, a zealous 
 protestant, and was not only a preacher of the Re- 
 formed Religion, but was very fervent in animating 
 its professors to abide by it in the face of all perse- 
 cution and danger. But, upon the return of popery 
 in Queen Mary's reign, he renounced his protestant- 
 ism, and became a papistf. Upon his apostacy, Lady 
 Jane wrote him a letter, which will abundantly show, 
 that however he was qualified to instruct her in the 
 matters of learning, she was no less capable to in- 
 struct him in the greater concerns of religion. Should 
 the letter appear to be rather too severe and poignant, 
 let it be remembered, that Lady Jane must have 
 known Mr. Harding well, and was warranted by her 
 intimate acquaintance to deal more freely with him ; 
 that she might probably have heard him often repre- 
 sent the Romish errors, and guard others against 
 
 * We must conceive that this was understood as it was spoken, 
 as flowing from a religious zeal, and not from any distaste of con- 
 tradiction, or any dislike to his person; since we find that Mr. 
 Feckenham, far from deserting, attended her to the very last, and 
 that the Lady Jane showed a very proper sense of his attention and 
 respect for her in the sight and hearing of all who were upon or 
 near the scaffold. — Biographia Britannica, vol. iv. p. 2421. 
 
 f It does not appear but that Mr. Harding, after his embracing 
 popery, persisted in its profession to the end of his days; and 
 accordingly, we find him afterwards engaged on the popish side as 
 a writer against Bishop Jewel. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 19 
 
 their infection ; and that the good lady might well 
 have a keen edge set upon her mind against popery, 
 as it is in itself such a dreadful corruption, and in- 
 deed subversion of the Christian faith, and in her 
 days made such cruel slaughter of the saints of God, 
 for their testimony to the truth as it is in Jesus. 
 Lady Jane's letter is as follows : — 
 
 " So often as I call to mind the dreadful and fear- 
 
 " ful saying of God, that he which layeth hold on the 
 
 u plough, and turneth back, is not meet for the king- 
 
 " dom of heaven ; and on the other side the comfort- 
 
 " able words of our Saviour Christ to all those that, 
 
 " forsaking themselves, do follow him, I cannot but 
 
 " marvel at thee, and lament thy case, which seemed 
 
 u sometime to be the lively member of Christ, but 
 
 u now the deformed imp of the devil; sometime the 
 
 u beautiful temple of God, but now the stinking and 
 
 " filthy kennel of Satan ; sometime the unspotted 
 
 i( spouse of Christ, but now the unshamefast para- 
 
 " mour of Antichrist ; sometime my faithful brother, 
 
 " but now a stranger and apostate ; sometime a stout 
 
 " Christian soldier, but now a cowardly runaway. 
 
 " Yea, when I consider these things, I cannot but 
 
 " speak unto thee, and cry out upon thee, thou seed 
 
 " of Satan, and not of Judah, whom the devil hath 
 
 u deceived, the world hath beguiled, and the desire 
 
 " of life subverted, and made thee of a Christian an 
 
 " infidel. Wherefore hast thou taken the testament 
 
 " of the Lord in thy mouth ? Wherefore hast thou 
 
 " preached the law and the will of God to others? 
 
 " Wherefore hast thou instructed others to be strong 
 
 " in Christ, when thou thyself dost now so shame- 
 
 •' fully shrink, and so horribly abuse the testament 
 
 " and law of the Lord? when thou thyself preachest 
 
 " not to steal, yet most abominably stealest, not from 
 
 " men, but from God ; and committing most heinous 
 
 " sacrilege, robbest Christ thy Lord of his right 
 
 * members, thy body and soul ; and choosest rather 
 
 " to live miserably with shame to the world, than to 
 
20 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " die, and gloriously with honour reign with Christ, 
 " in whom, even in death, is life. Why doest thou 
 " now show thyself most weak, when indeed thou 
 " oughtest to be most strong? The strength of a 
 ' fort is unknown before the assault; but thou 
 " yieldest thy hold before any battery be made. 
 
 " Oh wretched and unhappy man ! what art thou 
 " but dust and ashes? And wilt thou resist thy 
 " Maker that fashioned and framed thee ? Wilt thou 
 '•' now forsake him that called thee from the custom- 
 " gathering among the Romish antichristians, to be 
 " an ambassador and messenger of his eternal word? 
 " He that first framed thee, and since thy first crea- 
 " tion and birth, preserved thee, nourished, and kept 
 u thee, yea, and inspired thee with the spirit of 
 " knowledge, (I cannot say of grace,) shall he not 
 " now possess thee ? Darest thou deliver up thyself 
 u to another, being not thine own, but his? How 
 " canst thou, having knowledge, or how darest thou 
 " neglect the law of the Lord, and follow the vain 
 u traditions of men, and whereas thou hast been a 
 1 public professor of his name, become now a de facer 
 u of his glory ? Wilt thou refuse the true God, and 
 " worship the invention of man, the golden calf, the 
 u whore of Babylon, the Romish religion, the abo- 
 ie minable idol, the most wicked mass ? Wilt thou 
 " torment again, rent and tear the most precious 
 " body of our Saviour Christ with thy bodily and 
 " fleshly teeth ? Wilt thou take upon thee to offer 
 " up any sacrifice unto God for our sins, considering 
 " that Christ offered up himself, as Paul saith, upon 
 " the cross a lively sacrifice once for all ? Can 
 " neither the punishment of the Israelites, which 
 " for their idolatry they so oft received, nor the 
 " terrible threatening^ of the prophets, nor the curses - 
 '* of God's own mouth, fear thee to honour any other 
 " God than him ? Dost thou so regard him that 
 " spared not his dear and only Son for thee, so 
 u diminishing, yea, utterly extinguishing his glory, 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 21 
 
 rt that thou wilt attribute the praise and honour due 
 " unto him, to the idols, which have mouths and 
 u speak not, eyes and see not, ears and hear not, 
 " which shall perish with them that made them? 
 
 " What saith the prophet Baruch, where he recited 
 " the Epistle of Jeremy, written to the captive Jews? 
 " Did he not forewarn them, that in Babylon they 
 " should see gods of gold, silver, wood, and stone, 
 " borne upon men's shoulders to cast a fear before 
 " the heathen? But be not ye afraid of them, saith 
 " Jeremy, nor do as others do. But when you see 
 " others worship them, say you in your heart, It is 
 " thou, O Lord, that oughtest only to be worshipped ; 
 il for, as for those gods, the carpenter framed them, 
 " and polished them, yea, gilded be they, and laid 
 u over with silver, and vain things, and cannot speak. 
 " He showeth, moreover, the abuse of their dealings, 
 u how the priests took off their ornaments, and ap- 
 " parelled their women withal ; how one holdeth a 
 " sceptre, another a sword in his hand, and yet can 
 " they judge in no matter, nor defend themselves, 
 l< much less any other, from either battle or murder, 
 " nor yet from gnawing of worms, nor any other evil 
 " thing. These and such like words speaketh Jeremy 
 " unto them, whereby he proveth them to be but vain 
 '* things, and no gods. And at last he concludeth 
 14 thus : Confounded be all they that worship them. 
 u They were warned by Jeremy ; and thou, as Jeremy, 
 " hast warned others, and art warned thyself by 
 u many scriptures in many places. God saith, he is 
 " a jealous God, which will have all the honour, 
 " glory, and worship given to him only. And Christ 
 " saith, in the fourth of Luke, to Satan which tempted 
 " him, even to the same Satan, the same Beelzebub, 
 " the same devil, which hath prevailed against thee : 
 u It is written, said he, Thou shalt honour the Lord 
 " thy God, and him only shalt thou serve. 
 
 u These and such like do prohibit thee and all 
 " Christians to worship any other god than that 
 
22 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u which was before all worlds, and laid the founda- 
 " tions both of heaven and earth ; and wilt thou 
 " honour a detestable idol, invented by Romish 
 " popes, and the abominable college of crafty cardi- 
 " nals ? Christ offered himself up once for all ; and 
 " wilt thou offer him up again daily at thy pleasure ? 
 " But thou wilt say, thou dost it for a good intent. 
 " Oh sink of sin ! Oh child of perdition ! Dost thou 
 tl dream therein of a good intent, where thy con- 
 M science beareth thee witness of God's threatening 
 u wrath against thee? How did Saul? who, for that 
 " he disobeyed the word of the Lord for a good 
 " intent, was thrown from his worldly and temporal 
 11 kingdom. Shalt thou then, that dost deface God's 
 t{ honour, and rob him of his right, inherit the eternal 
 u and heavenly kingdom? Wilt thou for a good 
 " intent dishonour God, offend thy brother, and en- 
 '■ danger thy soul ? Wilt thou for a good intent 
 " pluck Christ out of heaven, and make his death 
 ** void, and deface the triumph of his cross, by offer- 
 '* ing him up daily? Wilt thou, either for fear of 
 tl death or hope of life, deny and refuse thy God, 
 " who enriched thy poverty, healed thy infirmity, 
 " and yielded to thee his victory, if thou couldest 
 " have kept it? Dost thou consider that the thread 
 " of thy life hangeth upon him that made thee ; who 
 " can, as his will is, either twine it harder to last the 
 " longer, or untwine it again to break the sooner? 
 " Dost thou not then remember the saying of David, 
 u a notable king, to teach thee a miserable wretch, 
 " in his 104th psalm, where he saith thus, When 
 (t thou takest away thy spirit, O Lord, from men, 
 " they die, and are turned again to their dust ; 
 " but when thou lettest thy breath go forth, they 
 " shall be made, and thou shalt renew the face of the 
 " earth? Remember the saying of Christ in the 
 " gospel, Whosoever seeketh to save his life, shall 
 " lose it; but whosoever will lose his life for my 
 el sake, shall find it. And in the same place, Who- 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 23 
 
 " soever loveth father or mother above me, is not 
 " meet for me. He that will follow me, let him for- 
 " sake himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. 
 " What cross 1 The cross of infamy and shame, of 
 u misery and poverty, of affliction and persecution 
 (( for his name's sake. Let the oft-falling of these 
 " heavenly showers pierce thy stony heart ! Let the 
 " two-edged sword of God's holy word tear asunder 
 " the sinews of worldly respects, even to the very 
 " marrow of thy carnal heart, that thou mayest once 
 " again forsake thyself, and embrace Christ ; and 
 " like as good subjects will not refuse to hazard all 
 '•' in the defence of their earthly and temporal 
 " governor, so, fly not like a white-livered milksop, 
 '* from the standing wherein thy chief captain Christ 
 " hath set thee in array of this life. Viriiiter age, 
 " confortetur cor tuum, sustinet Do minus. Fight 
 " manfully, come life, come death : the quarrel is 
 " God's, and undoubtedly the victory is ours. 
 
 '* But thou wilt say, I will not break unity. 
 u What! not the unity of Satan and his members? 
 " not the unity of darkness? the agreement of Anti- 
 " christ and his adherents? Nay, thou deceivest 
 " thyself with the fond imagination of such an unity 
 " as is among the enemies of Christ. Were not the 
 " false prophets in an unity? Were not Joseph's 
 " brethren and Jacob's sons in an unity ? Were not 
 " the heathen, as the Amalekites, the Perizzites, and 
 " the Jebusites, in an unity ? Doth not King David 
 " testify, ' Convenerunt in unum adversus Dominum V 
 (t Yea, thieves, murderers, conspirators, have their 
 " unity. But what unity ? Tully saith of amity : 
 " ■ Amicitia non est nisi inter bonos.' But mark, my 
 "■ friend, yea, friend, if thou be not God's enemy, — 
 " there is no unity but where Christ knitteth the 
 " knot among such as He is. Yea, be well assured, 
 " that where his truth is resident, there it is verified 
 " that he himself saith, * Non veni mittere pacem in 
 " terram, sad gkdwm,' 8tc but to set one against an- 
 
24 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u other, the son against the father, and the daughter 
 " against the mother-in-law. Deceive not thyself, 
 " therefore, with the glittering and glorious name of 
 " unity; for Antichrist hath his unity, not yet in 
 " deed, but in name. The agreement of ill men is 
 " not an unity, but a conspiracy. Thou hast heard 
 " some threatenings, some cursings, and some ad- 
 " monitions out of the Scripture to those that love 
 " themselves above Christ. Thou hast heard also 
 " the sharp and biting words to those that deny him 
 " for love of life. Saith he not, ' He that denies me 
 " before men, I will deny him before my Father in 
 "heaven?' And to the same effect writeth Paul, 
 " Heb. vi. ' It is impossible,' saith he, ' that they 
 " which were once enlightened, and have tasted of 
 " the heavenly gift, and were partakers of the Holy 
 " Ghost, and have tasted of the good word of God, 
 " if they fall and slide away, crucifying to them- 
 " selves the Son of God afresh, and making of him 
 " a mocking-stock, should be renewed again by 
 ** repentance.' And again saith he : 'If we shall 
 '* willingly sin, after we have received the know- 
 *' ledge of his truth, there is no oblation left for sin, 
 f * but the terrible expectation of judgment, and fire, 
 " which shall devour the adversaries.' Thus St. 
 " Paul writeth, and this thou readest, and dost thou 
 " not quake and tremble? 
 
 " Well, if these terrible and thundering threaten- 
 u ings cannot stir thee to cleave unto Christ and for- 
 u sake the world, yet, let the sweet consolations and 
 " promises of the Scriptures, let the example of 
 " Christ and his apostles, holy martyrs, and confes- 
 " sors, encourage thee to take faster hold by Christ. 
 " Hearken what he saith, ' Blessed are you when 
 " men revile you, and persecute you for my sake : 
 •* rejoice, and be glad, for great is your reward in 
 " heaven, for so persecuted they the prophets that 
 " were before you.' Hear what Isaiah the prophet 
 " saith, ' Fear not the curse of men, be not afraid 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 25 
 
 u of their blasphemies ; for worms and moths shall 
 " eat them up like cloth and wool ; but my rigbte- 
 " ousness shall endure for ever, and my saving health 
 " from generation to generation/ * What art thou 
 " then,' saith he, ' that fearest a mortal man, the 
 " child of man, which fadeth away like the flower, 
 " and forgettest the Lord that made thee, that spread 
 " out the heavens, and laid the foundation of the 
 " earth ? I am the Lord thy God, that make the 
 u sea to rage, and be still, whose name is the Lord of 
 " Hosts. I shall put my word in thy mouth, and 
 u defend thee with the turning of an hand.' And our 
 " Saviour Christ saith to his disciples, * They shall 
 " accuse you, and bring you before princes and 
 " rulers for my name's sake, and some of you they 
 u shall persecute and kill ; but fear you not,' saith 
 " he, ' nor care you what you shall say, for it is the 
 '* Spirit of your Father that speaketh within you. 
 " Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.' 
 <l * Lay up treasure for yourselves,' saith he, e where 
 '* no thief cometh, nor moth corrupteth. Fear not 
 " them that kill the body, but are not able to kill 
 " the soul ; but fear him that hath power to destroy 
 " both soul and body. If ye were of the world, the 
 " world would love his own ; but because ye are not 
 " of the world, but I have chosen you out of the 
 " world, therefore the world hateth you.' 
 
 *' Let these and such like consolations, taken out 
 *' of the Scriptures, strengthen you to God-ward. 
 l< Let not the examples of holy men and women go 
 *' out of your mind; as Daniel and the rest of the 
 " prophets, of the three children, of Eleazarus, that 
 u constant father, of the seven of the Maccabees' 
 " children, of Peter, Paul, Stephen, and other 
 " apostles and holy martyrs in the beginning: of the 
 " church ; as of good Simeon, archbishop of Seloma, 
 " and Zetrophone, with infinite others under Sa- 
 11 phores the King of the Persians and Indians, who 
 " contemned all torments devised by the tyrants for 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
26 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 fl their Saviour's sake. Return, return again into 
 " Christ's war; and, as becometh a faithful warrior, 
 " put on that armour that St. Paul teacheth to be 
 " most necessary for a Christian man. And above 
 ?' all, take to you the shield of faith, and be you 
 u . provoked by Christ's own example to withstand 
 " the devil, to forsake the world, and to become 
 " a true and faithful member of his mystical body, 
 f who spared not his own body for our sins. 
 
 *' Throw down yourself with the fear of his threat- 
 " ened vengeance for this so great and heinous an 
 " offence of apostacy; and comfort yourself on the 
 " other part with the mercy, blood, and promise of 
 " him that is ready to turn unto you whensoever you 
 " turn unto him. Disdain not to come again with 
 " the lost son, seeing you have so wandered with 
 (i him. Be not ashamed to turn again with him 
 " from the swill of strangers, to the delicates of 
 {' your most benign and loving Father, acknow- 
 " ledging that you have sinned against heaven and 
 " earth : against heaven, by staining the glorious 
 lt name of God, and causing his most sincere and 
 H pure word to be evil spoken of through you ; 
 " against earth, by offending so many of your weak 
 " brethren, to whom you have been a stumbling- 
 " block through your sudden sliding. Be not 
 " abashed to come home again with Mary, and to 
 " weep bitterly with Peter ; not only shedding the 
 "tears of your bodily eyes, but also pouring out the 
 " streams of your heart, to wash away out of the 
 " sight of God the filth and mire of your offensive 
 u fall. Be not ashamed to say with the publican, 
 !? ' Lord, be merciful unto me a sinner !' Remember 
 '* the horrible history of Julian of old, and the 
 lt lamentable case of Spyra of late, whose case, me- 
 V thinks, should be yet so green in your remem- 
 " brance, that being a thing of our time, you should 
 " fear the like inconvenience, seeing you are fallen 
 '• into the like offence. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 27 
 
 " Last of all, let the lively remembrance of the 
 " last day be always afore your eyes, remembering 
 " the terror that such shall be in at that time, with 
 '* the runagates and fugitives from Christ, which, 
 * l setting more by the world than by heaven, more 
 " by their life than by him that gave them life, did 
 " shrink, yea, did clean fall away from him that 
 "forsook not them; and, contrariwise, the inesti- 
 * mable joys prepared for them that, fearing no 
 " peril, nor dreading death, have manfully fought, 
 " and victoriously triumphed over all power of 
 u darkness, over hell, death and damnation, through 
 " their most redoubted captain, Christ, who now 
 " stretcheth out his arms to receive you, ready to 
 " fall upon your neck and kiss you, and, last of all, 
 " to feast you with the dainties and delicacies of his 
 " own precious blood, which undoubtedly, if it 
 " might stand with his determinate purpose, he 
 " would not let to shed again, rather than you 
 " should be lost. To whom, with the Father, and 
 " the Holy Ghost, be all honour, praise, and glory 
 " everlasting. Amen. 
 
 " Be constant, be constant, fear not for any pain ; 
 
 " Christ hath redeemed thee, and heaven is thy gain." 
 
 We shall next present our readers with a letter 
 from this pious lady, written to her father during 
 the time of her imprisonment; her father who, by 
 his solicitations to her to take the crown, became 
 the unhappy instrument of her untimely death. 
 
 " Fathek, 
 
 " Although it hath pleased God to 
 " hasten my death by you, by whom my life should 
 u rather have been lengthened, yet can I so pa- 
 " tiently take it, as I yield God more hearty thanks 
 " for shortening my woful days, than if all the 
 " world had been given unto my possessions with 
 " life lengthened at my own will. And albeit I am 
 
 c 2 
 
28 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " well assured of your impatient dolors, redoubled 
 " manifold ways, both in bewailing your own woes, 
 " and especially, as I hear, my unfortunate state ; 
 " yet, my dear father, if I may without offence 
 fl rejoice in my own mishaps, me seems in this I 
 " may account myself blessed, that washing my 
 " hands with the innocency of my fact, my guiltless 
 ** blood may cry before the Lord mercy to the in- 
 " nocent. And yet, though I must needs acknow- 
 " ledge, that being constrained, as you wot well 
 " enough, and continually assayed, in taking upon 
 " me, I seemed to consent, and therein grievously 
 " offended the queen and her laws ; yet do I assur- 
 i( edly trust, that this my offence towards God is so 
 " much the less, in that, being in so royal estate as 
 " I was, mine enforced honour never blended with 
 " mine innocent heart. And thus, good father, I 
 u have opened to you the state in which I presently 
 " stand, whose death at hand, although to you per- 
 " haps it may seem right woful, to me there is 
 " nothing that can be more welcome, than from 
 " this vale of misery to aspire to that heavenly throne 
 " of all joy and pleasure with Christ our Saviour : in 
 " whose stedfast faith, if it may be lawful for the 
 u daughter to write to the father, the Lord that 
 " hitherto hath strengthened you, so continue you, 
 " that at the last we may meet in heaven with the 
 i( Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." 
 
 Another letter of this lady's is preserved, which 
 was written at the end of a Greek Testament, and 
 was sent by her to her sister Catherine*, the night 
 before Lady Jane was beheaded. 
 
 " I have here sent you, good sister Catherine, a 
 l( book, which although it be not outwardly trimmed 
 " with gold, yet inwardly it is more worth than pre- 
 
 * The Lady Jane had two sisters younger than herself; this 
 Lady Catherine the eldest, and Lady Mary the younger. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 29 
 
 *• cious stones. It is the book, dear sister, of the 
 *' law of the Lord. It is his testament and last will, 
 " which he bequeathed unto us wretches, which 
 ** shall lead you to the path of eternal joy ; and, if 
 " you with a good mind read it, and with an earnest 
 H mind do purpose to follow it, it shall bring you to 
 " an immortal and everlasting life. It shall teach 
 
 * you to live, and learn you to die. It shall win 
 " you more than you should have gained by your 
 " woful father's lands : for, as if God had prospered 
 u him, you should have inherited his lands ; so, if 
 ** you apply diligently this book, seeking to direct 
 " your life after it, you shall be an inheritor of such 
 <l riches, as neither the covetous shall withdraw 
 " from you, neither thief shall steal, neither yet the 
 
 * moths corrupt. Desire with David, good sister, 
 
 * to understand the law of the Lord God. Live still 
 " to die, that you by death may purchase eternal 
 i( life ; and trust not that the tenderness of your age 
 " shall lengthen your life ; for as soon, if God call, 
 " goeth the young as the old ; and labour always to 
 
 * learn to die. Defy the world, deny the devil, and 
 
 * despise the flesh, and delight yourself only in the 
 " Lord. Be penitent for your sins, and yet despair 
 ** not ; be strong in faith, and yet presume not ; and 
 u desire with St. Paul to be with Christ, with whom 
 " even in death there is life. Be like the good 
 " servant, and even at midnight be waking, lest, 
 u when death cometh, and stealeth upon you as a 
 " thief in the night, you be with the evil servant 
 
 * found sleeping, and lest, for lack of oil, you be 
 m found like the five foolish women, and like him 
 " that had not on the wedding-garment, and then 
 M ye be cast out from the marriage. Rejoice in 
 " Christ, as I do. Follow the steps of your master 
 " Christ, and take up your cross. Lay your sins on 
 " his back, and always embrace him. And as 
 " touching my death, rejoice as I do, good sister, 
 " that I shall be delivered of this corruption, and pat 
 
30 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " on incorruption ; for I am assured that I shall, for 
 " losing of a mortal life, win an immortal life; the 
 " which I pray God grant you, and send you of his 
 " grace to live in his fear, and to die in the true 
 " Christian faith, from the which in God's name I 
 " exhort you, that you never swerve, neither for 
 " hope of life, nor for fear of death ; for, if you will 
 tl deny his truth for to lengthen your life, God will 
 " deny you, and yet shorten your days ; and if you 
 u will cleave unto him, he will prolong your days, 
 " to your comfort, and his glory ; to the which glory 
 tC God bring me now and you hereafter, when it 
 " pleaseth him to call you ! Fare you well, good 
 ft sister, and put your only trust in God, who only 
 tl must help you." 
 
 We shall, in a manner, conclude the excellent 
 composures of this worthy lady with a prayer drawn 
 up by her in the time of her trouble, which will 
 open to our readers the state of her mind in the near 
 views of death and eternity. 
 
 *' O Lord, thou God and Father of my life, hear 
 <e me poor and desolate woman, which flieth unto 
 " thee only in all troubles and miseries. Thou, O 
 " Lord, art the only defender and deliverer of those 
 (i that put their trust in thee ; and therefore I, being 
 " denied with sin, encumbered with afflictions, un- 
 " quieted with troubles, wrapped in cares, over- 
 " whelmed with miseries, and grievously tormented 
 "with the long imprisonment of this vile mass of 
 " clay, my sinful body, do come unto thee, O merci- 
 " ful Saviour, craving thy mercy and help, without 
 " the which so little hope of deliverance is left, that 
 " I may utterly despair of any liberty. Albeit it is 
 " expedient, that seeing our life standeth upon trying, 
 " we should be visited sometime with some adversity, 
 " whereby we might both be tried whether we be of 
 " thy flock or no, and also know thee and ourselves 
 " the better; yet, thou that saidest thou wouldest 
 " not suffer us to be tempted above our power, be 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 31 
 
 merciful unto me, a miserable wretch, I beseech 
 thee, that I may neither be too much puffed up 
 with prosperity, neither too much pressed down 
 with adversity ; lest I, being too full, should deny 
 thee, my God, or, being too low brought, should 
 despair, and blaspheme thee, my Lord and Saviour. 
 O merciful God, consider my misery, best known 
 unto thee, and be thou now unto me a strong tower 
 of defence, I humbly require thee. Suffer me not 
 to be tempted above my power, but either be thou 
 a deliverer to me out of this great misery, either 
 else give me grace patiently to bear thy heavy hand, 
 and sharp correction. It was thy right-hand that 
 delivered the people of Israel out of the hands of 
 Pharaoh, which, for the space of four hundred years, 
 did oppress them, and keep them in bondage. Let 
 it, therefore, seem good to thy fatherly goodness, 
 to deliver me, sorrowful wretch, for whom thy Son 
 Christ shed his precious blood on the cross, out of 
 this miserable captivity and bondage, wherein I am 
 now. How long wilt thou be absent? For ever? 
 Oh Lord, hast thou forgotten to be gracious, and 
 hast thou shut up thy loving-kindness in displea- 
 sure ? Wilt thou no more be intreated ? Is thy 
 mercy clean gone for ever, and thy promise come 
 utterly to an end for evermore ? Why dost thou 
 make so long tarrying? Shall I despair of thy 
 mercy, O God? Far be that from me. I am thy 
 workmanship, created in Christ Jesus; give me 
 grace, therefore, to tarry thy leisure, and patiently 
 to bear thy works, assuredly knowing, that, as thou 
 canst, so thou wilt deliver me, when it shall please 
 thee ; nothing doubting or mistrusting thy good- 
 ness towards me, for thou knowest better what is 
 good for me than I do. Therefore, do with me in 
 all things what thou wilt, and plague me what way 
 thou wilt. Only in the meantime arm me, I 
 beseech thee, with thy armour, that I may stand 
 fast, my loins being girt about with verity, having 
 
32 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " on the breast-plate of righteousness, and shod with 
 " the shoes prepared by the gospel of peace ; above 
 '* all things, taking to me the shield of faith, where- 
 " with I may be able to quench all the fiery darts of 
 u the wicked ; and taking the helmet of salvation, 
 tl and the sword of the Spirit, which is thy most holy 
 " word ; praying always with all manner of prayer 
 il and supplication, that I may refer myself wholly 
 " to thy will, abiding thy pleasure, and comforting 
 " myself in those troubles which it shall please thee 
 " to send me, seeing such troubles be profitable for 
 " me, and seeing I am assuredly persuaded that it 
 ** cannot but be well all that thou dost. Hear me, 
 " O merciful Father ! for his sake whom thou would- 
 " est should be a sacrifice for my sins : to whom, 
 c< with thee, and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and 
 M glory. Amen/' 
 
 These are the principal remains of this most excel- 
 lent lady. It may not be displeasing to our readers 
 to hear what judgment Bishop Burnet has passed 
 upon them. " One effect," says he, " of this," (that 
 is, of the frustrated rising of Sir Thomas Wyat,) 
 " was the proceeding severely against the Lady Jane, 
 " and her husband, the Lord Guildford, who both 
 " suffered on the 12th of February, 1554. The Lady 
 " Jane was not much disordered at it, for she knew 
 " upon the first jealousy that she must be the sacri- 
 " fice, and therefore had now lived six months in 
 " the constant expectations of death. Feckenham, 
 " afterwards Abbot of Westminster, was sent to her 
 u by the queen, three days before, to prepare her to 
 " die. He had a long conversation with her; but 
 " she answered him with that calmness of mind, and 
 " clearness of reason, that it was astonishing to hear 
 " so young a person of her sex and quality look on 
 " death so near her with so little disorder, and talk 
 " so sensibly both of faith and holiness, of the sacra- 
 " ments, the Scriptures, and the authority of the 
 " church. Feckenham left her, seeing he could work 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 33 
 
 ** nothing on her, but procured her, as it is said, the 
 " continuance of her life three days longer, and 
 " waited on her on the scaffold. She wrote to her 
 " father to moderate his grief for her death, which 
 " must needs have been great, since his folly had 
 u occasioned it. She expressed her sense of her sin 
 ** in assuming the royal dignity, though he knew how 
 " unwillingly she was drawn into it, and that, in her 
 ** royal estate, her enforced honour had never defiled 
 " her innocent heart. She rejoiced at her approach- 
 " ing end, since nothing could be to her more welcome 
 <f than to be delivered from that valley of misery into 
 u that heavenly throne to which she was to be ad- 
 <e vanced, where she prayed they might meet at last. 
 ** There was one Harding, who had been her father's 
 " chaplain, and that was a zealous preacher in King 
 u Edward's davs, before whose death he had ani- 
 " mated the people much to prepare for persecution, 
 " and never depart from the truth of the gospel, but 
 " he had now fallen away himself. To him she 
 " wrote a letter full of severe expostulations and 
 " threatenings for his apostacy ; but it had no effect 
 <( upon him. It is of an extraordinary strain, full of 
 " life in the thoughts, and of zeal, if there is not too 
 " much, in the expressions. The night before her 
 " execution, she sent her Greek Testament, which 
 41 she had always used, to her sister, with a letter, in 
 " which, in most pathetic expressions, she sets out 
 " the value she had of it, and recommended the 
 " study and practice of it earnestly to her. She 
 '" had also composed a devout prayer for her retire- 
 ** ments ; and thus had she spent the last moments 
 " of her life*." 
 
 I cannot restrain myself from adding what the 
 same bishop, in another place, says concerning her, 
 which, if it is a digression in the order of our account 
 of this lady, it will be more than excused for the excel- 
 
 * Burnet's History of the Reformation, vol. ii. p. 271, 272. 
 
 c5 
 
34 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lency of the character this celebrated historian draws 
 of her. " She read," says he, " the Scriptures much, 
 " and had attained great knowledge in divinity. But, 
 tS with all these advantages of birth and parts, she 
 " was so humble, so gentle, and pious, that all people 
 " both admired and loved her. She had a mind 
 u wonderfully raised above the world ; and at the 
 " age when others are but imbibing the notions of 
 " philosophy, she had attained to the practice of the 
 " highest precepts of it. She was neither lifted up 
 " with the hope of a crown, nor cast down when she 
 " saw her palace made afterwards her prison, but 
 " carried herself with an equal temper of mind in 
 '' those great inequalities of fortune, that so suddenly 
 " exalted and depressed her. All the passion she 
 u expressed in it was, that which is of the noblest 
 " sort, and is the indication of tender and generous 
 tl natures, being much affected with the troubles 
 " into which her husband and father fell on her 
 " account *." 
 
 We are now to attend this excellent lady to her 
 closing scene, and view in what a manner she met 
 her violent, though unmerited death. The day finally 
 appointed for her execution, as well as that of her 
 husband Lord Dudley, was the 12th of February, 
 1554. The fatal morning being come, her husband 
 earnestly desired the officers that he might take his 
 last farewell of her, which, though they willingly 
 permitted, yet, upon notice, she advised the contrary, 
 assuring him, " that such a meeting would rather add 
 " to his afflictions, than increase that quiet wherewith 
 " they had possessed their souls for the stroke of 
 *' death ; that he demanded a lenitive which would put 
 " fire into the wound, and that it was to be feared her 
 u presence would rather weaken than strengthen him ; 
 11 that if his soul were not firm and settled, she could 
 " not settle it by her eyes, nor confirm it by her 
 
 * Burnet's Hist, of the Reformation, vol. ii. p. 234, 235. Fol.edit. 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 35 
 
 " words ; that he would do well to remit this inter- 
 " view to the other world ; that there, indeed, friend- 
 " ships were happy, and unions indissolvable, and 
 " that theirs would be eternal, if they carried nothing 
 *' with them of terrestrial, which might hinder them 
 ** from rejoicing." She expressed great tenderness 
 when she saw her husband led out to execution, but 
 soon overcame it, when she considered how closely 
 she was to follow him. All she could do was to give 
 him a farewell out of the window as he passed 
 toward the place of his execution, which he suffered 
 on a scaffold on Tower-hill with much Christian 
 meekness. His dead body being laid in a car, and 
 his head wrapped up in a linen cloth, were carried to 
 the chapel within the Tower, in the way to which 
 they were to pass under the window of the Lady 
 Jane, which sad spectacle she beheld with a settled 
 countenance. After this affecting sight, she wrote 
 three short sentences in her table-book, in Greek, 
 Latin, and English ; which book, upon Sir John 
 Bridges's* entreaty, that she would bestow upon 
 him some memorial, she presented to him as an 
 acknowledgment for the civility she had received 
 from him. The sense of the Greek sentence was : 
 u If his slain body shall give testimony against me 
 " before men, his most blessed soul shall render an 
 u eternal proof of my innocence in the presence of 
 " God." The Latin sentence was to this effect : 
 " The justice of men took away his body, but the 
 * { Divine mercy has preserved his soul." And the 
 English sentence ran thus : " If my fault deserved 
 " punishment, my youth at least, and my imprudence, 
 " were worthy of excuse. God and posterity will 
 " show me favour." She was led out by the lieute- 
 
 * This Sir John Bridges, the ancestor of the late noble family 
 of that name, dukes of Chandos, was lieutenant of the Tower at 
 this time, and was present with Lady Jane in her apartment, froia 
 the windows of which she had the last sight of her husband living 
 and dead. 
 
36 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 nant of the Tower to the scaffold that was prepared 
 upon the green, over-against the White Tower. It is 
 said, that the court had once taken a resolution to 
 have her beheaded upon the same scaffold with her 
 husband; but, considering how much they were both 
 pitied, and how generally Lady Jane was beloved, it 
 was determined, to prevent any commotions, that 
 her execution should be performed within the Tower. 
 She was attended to and upon the scaffold by Mr. 
 Feckenham. But she was observed not to give much 
 heed to his discourses, keeping her eyes steadily fixed 
 on a book of prayers she had in her hand. After 
 some short recollection, she saluted those who were 
 present, with a countenance perfectly composed ; 
 then, taking her leave of Mr. Feckenham, she said, 
 " God will abundantly requite you, good sir, for your 
 " humanity to me, though your discourses gave me 
 " more uneasiness than all the terrors of my approach- 
 " ing death." She next addressed herself to the 
 spectators in the following speech : " My lords, and 
 " you good Christian people which come to see me 
 <s die. I am under a law, and by that law, as a 
 " never-erring judge, I am condemned to die ; not for 
 " any thing I have offended the queen's majesty, for 
 " I will wash my hands guiltless thereof, and deliver 
 " to my God a soul as pure from such trespass, as 
 " innocence from injustice, but only for that I con- 
 " sented to the thing I was forced unto, constraint 
 " making the law believe I did that which I never 
 " understood. Notwithstanding I have offended 
 " Almighty God in that I have followed over-much 
 " the lust of my own flesh, and the pleasures of this 
 " wretched world ; neither have I lived according to 
 " the knowledge that God hath given me ; for which 
 " cause God hath appointed to me this kind of death, 
 ft and that most worthily according to my deserts. 
 " Howbeit, I thank him heartily that he hath given 
 " me time to repent of my sins here in this world, 
 si and to reconcile myself to my Redeemer, whom my 
 
LADY JANE GIIEY. 37 
 
 u former vanities had in a great measure displeased. 
 " Wherefore, my lords, and all you good Christian 
 " people, I most earnestly desire you all to pray with 
 a me, and for me, while I am yet alive, that God of 
 " his infinite goodness and mercy will forgive my sins, 
 " how numberless and grievous soever against him ; 
 u and 1 beseech you all to bear me witness that I 
 " here die a true Christian woman, professing and 
 " avouching from my soul that I trust to be saved 
 " by the blood, passion, and merits of Jesus Christ, 
 " my Saviour only, and by no other means, casting 
 " far behind me all the works and merits of mine 
 " own actions, as things so short of the true duty I 
 " owe, that I quake to think how much they may 
 '• stand up against me." Having delivered this 
 speech, she kneeled down, and repeated the fifty- 
 first psalm in a most devout manner from beginning 
 to end ; after w 7 hich, she stood up, and gave her 
 gloves and her handkerchief to her women, Mrs. 
 Eliz. Tilney, and Mrs. Helen, and her prayer-book 
 to Sir John Bridges. On her untying her gown, the 
 executioner offered to assist her ; but she desired 
 him to let her alone, and turning herself to her 
 women, they helped her off with it, and gave her a 
 handkerchief to bind about her eyes. The execu- 
 tioner, kneeling down, requested her forgiveness, 
 which she most willingly gave him. Upon this, he 
 desired her to stand upon the straw, which bringing 
 her within sight of the block, she said, " 1 pray 
 " despatch me quickly." Then, kneeling down, she 
 asked, " Will you take it off before I lay me down V 
 To which the executioner replied, " No, madam." 
 She then tied her handkerchief about her eyes, and 
 feeling for the block, said, " What shall I do ? 
 " Where is it?" Upon which, one of the standers-by 
 guiding her to it, she laid her head down upon the 
 block, and then stretched herself forward, and said, 
 " Lord, into thine hands I commend my spirit;" and 
 
38 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 immediately the executioner at one stroke severed 
 her head from her body. 
 
 Thus fell this most accomplished lady, resigning 
 her life in a manner worthy of her employing and 
 improving it. " And a true Christian faith," as one 
 observes, " having uniformly produced a Christian 
 " life, with what triumph did it trample on the sting 
 " of death, and spread a glory round the Lady Jane, 
 " that eclipsed the faint lustre of the superstitious 
 " and cruel Queen Mary on her throne # !" 
 
 The smallest remains of this incomparable person 
 are too precious to be lost ; and we shall therefore 
 insert the following verses, written by her in the 
 place of her confinement, and it is said, with a pin. 
 
 Non aliena putes homini qua obtingere possunt : 
 Sors hodierna mihi eras erit ilia tibi. 
 
 IN ENGLISH. 
 
 Think not, O mortal, vainly gay, 
 That thou from human woes art tree : 
 The bitter cup I drink to-day, 
 To-morrow may be drunk by thee. 
 
 Deojuvantc, nil nocet livor mains; 
 Et nonjuvante, niljuvat labor gravis. 
 Post tenebras spero lucem. 
 
 IN ENGLISH. 
 
 Endless all malice, if our God is nigh; 
 Fruitless all pains, if he his help deny. 
 Patient I pass these gloomy hours away, 
 And wait the morning of eternal day. 
 
 * Glocester Ridley's Life of Bishop Ridley, p. 42?. 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 39 
 
 CATHARINE PARR 
 
 Was born about the beginning of the reign of King 
 Henry the Eighth, who succeeded to the throne 
 of England April 22, 1509. She was the eldest of 
 the two daughters of Sir Thomas Parr, of Kendal, 
 by Dame Maud his wife, who bestowed on her a 
 learned education, as the most valuable addition he 
 could make to her other accomplishments. Her 
 progress in literature fully answered her father's 
 culture and expectations, so that she soon became 
 celebrated, not only for her good sense, but her 
 learning, and made a most excellent use of her abili- 
 ties in the employment of them for the best purposes 
 in every stage of her future life. 
 
 She was first married to John Neville, Lord 
 Latymer; and after his decease, her perfections both 
 in body and mind so powerfully attracted the affec- 
 tions of King Henry, that she was married to him at 
 Hampton Court, July 12, 1543. 
 
 She always took great delight in conversing with 
 the sacred writings, and the investigation of divine 
 truths, which soon dissipated the clouds of igno- 
 rance, and set before her in a true light the nature 
 of the gospel. She seems, indeed, to have had a 
 religious tincture from her infancy; but the religious 
 duties she so carefully practised in early life were 
 according to the blind devotion of that age. These 
 errors she not only afterwards retracted, but for- 
 warded the Reformation, and advanced and encou- 
 raged the Protestant cause. She pursued these 
 good designs as far as the mutable and perverse 
 disposition of an arbitrary prince, and the iniquity 
 of the times, would admit, and even further than 
 she could go without exposing herself to the utmost 
 danger; for, though her laudable attempts were 
 
40 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 carried on with all proper prudence, and as much 
 secrecy as the nature of the thing would allow, yet 
 they were maliciously observed by Stephen Gardiner, 
 Bishop of Winchester, who with the Chancellor 
 Wriothesley and others, conspired against her so 
 artfully, that at length, having drawn up articles, 
 they procured a warrant subscribed by the king's 
 own hand to remove her to the Tower, which being 
 accidentally dropped, w T as happily found by a person 
 who conveyed it to her majesty. The sight of it, 
 and the reflections upon the hard fate of other 
 queens, threw her into a violent disorder, which 
 confined her to her bed. The king, hearing of her 
 illness, made her a very kind and seasonable visit, 
 spoke all the comfortable things imaginable to her, 
 and sent her one of his physicians, Dr. Wendy, as is 
 believed, to take care of her health. The doctor, it 
 seems, was apprized of the design, and guessed from 
 outward symptoms the cause of the queen's indis- 
 position ; upon which, well knowing her singular 
 prudence, and relying upon her fidelity, he ventured 
 to open the matter to her. The king himself being 
 at the same time a little indisposed, the doctor 
 advised the queen to make his majesty a visit, not 
 doubting but that by her good sense and prudent 
 management, she might avert the impending danger. 
 The queen took the doctor's advice, and soon after 
 made his majesty a visit, attended only by her sister, 
 the Lady Herbert, and the Lady Lane. She found 
 the king sitting and talking with some gentlemen of 
 his chamber. He seemed pleased with her visit, and 
 addressed her in a very obliging manner; and, 
 breaking off his discourse with his attendants, he 
 began of his own accord, contrary to his usual 
 custom, to confer with her about matters of religion, 
 seeming, as it were, desirous to be resolved, by the 
 queen, of certain doubts, which he then proposed to 
 her. The queen instantly perceiving the tendency 
 
CATHARINE PAUR. 41 
 
 of his discourse, answered with great humility and 
 submission : 
 
 " Your majesty doth know right well, neither am 
 " I myself ignorant, what great imperfection and 
 " weakness by our first creation are allotted to us 
 " women, so as to be ordained and appointed as 
 " inferior and subject to men as our head, from which 
 u head all our direction ought to proceed ; and that, 
 u as God made man to his own shape and likeness, 
 " whereby he being endowed with more special gifts 
 " of perfection, might rather be stirred to the con- 
 " templation of heavenly things, and to the earnest 
 " endeavour to obey his commandments, even so also 
 H made he woman of man, of whom and by whom 
 u she is to be governed, commanded, and directed : 
 u whose womanly weakness and natural imperfections 
 " ought to be tolerated, aided, and borne withal, so 
 " that by his wisdom such things as be wanting in 
 " her, ought to be supplied. 
 
 f* Since, therefore, that God hath appointed such a 
 " natural difference between man and woman, and 
 " your majesty being so excellent in gifts and orna- 
 " ments of wisdom, and I,, a simple poor woman, so 
 " much inferior in all respects of nature unto you ; 
 " how then comes it now to pass that your majesty, 
 " in such diffuse causes of religion, will seem to 
 ** require my judgment? which, when I have uttered, 
 a and said what I can, yet must I, and will I refer 
 " my judgment, in this and all other cases, to your 
 " majesty's wisdom, as my only anchor, supreme 
 •' head, and governor here in earth, next under God, 
 " to lean unto." 
 
 " Not so, by St. Mary !" replied the king, u you 
 " are become a doctor, Kate, to instruct us, as we 
 " take it, and not to be instructed or directed by us." 
 
 " If your majesty take it so," answered the queen, 
 " then hath your majesty very much mistaken me, 
 u who have ever been of the opinion to think it very 
 " unseemly and preposterous for the woman to take 
 
42 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 a upon her the office of an instructor, or teacher, to 
 " her lord and husband, but rather to learn of her 
 " husband, and be taught by him : and where I have, 
 " with your majesty's leave, presumed heretofore to 
 " discourse with your majesty, in which I have sorae- 
 tC times seemed to dissent from you, I did it not so 
 " much to maintain my opinion, as to minister dis- 
 " course ; not only to the end that your majesty might 
 '/ with the less grief pass over this painful time of 
 " your infirmity by this kind of engagement, which I 
 " fancied might afford you some relief, but also that 
 " I, hearing your majesty's learned arguments, might 
 " from thence gain to myself great advantage : and I 
 " assure your majesty, I have not missed any part of 
 * ( my desired end in that behalf, always referring my- 
 " self, in all such matters, unto your majesty, as by 
 " ordinance of nature it is convenient for me to do." 
 
 '* And is it even so, sweetheart?" said the king, 
 " and tended your arguments to no worse an end ? 
 t( then are we now perfect friends again, as ever we 
 " were before." And, as he sat in his chair, em- 
 bracing her in his arms, and saluting her, he declared, 
 f* That it did him more good at that time to hear 
 " these words from her own mouth, than if he had 
 t( heard present news of an hundred thousand pounds 
 " in money having fallen to him." Afterwards, 
 having entertained the queen and attendants with 
 some diverting conversation, he gave her leave to 
 depart, and in her absence gave her the highest com- 
 mendation. 
 
 The day, and almost the hour appointed, being 
 come, in which the queen was to be conveyed to the 
 Tower, the king went into his garden, with only two 
 gentlemen of the bedchamber, and sent for the queen, 
 who immediately came to wait upon his majesty, 
 attended by Lady Herbert, Lady Lane, and Lady 
 Tyrwhyt, who were all to have been apprehended 
 with the queen. The king seemed in high spirits, and 
 entertained them with all imaginable gaiety. In the 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 43 
 
 midst of their mirth, the lord chancellor approached 
 his majesty's presence, with forty of the king's guards 
 at his heels. The king looked upon him with a very 
 stern countenance, and walking a small distance from 
 the queen, called the chancellor to him, who, upon his 
 knees, spoke softly to his majesty. The king, in great 
 anger, called him knave, arrant knave, beast, and 
 fool, and commanded him instantly to be gone out of 
 his presence. Being gone, the king immediately 
 returned to the queen, who, perceiving him to be 
 much chagrined, employed all the powers of her 
 eloquence to soften his displeasure, humbly entreating 
 his majesty, if the chancellor's fault were not too 
 heinous, to pardon him for her sake. 
 
 '.' Ah, poor soul," says the king, " thou little know- 
 u est how evil he hath deserved this grace at thy 
 V hands. Of my word, sweetheart, he hath been to 
 " thee an arrant knave, and so let him go." To 
 which the queen returned an answer expressive of 
 her charitable disposition. 
 
 Thus remarkably did Divine Providence defend 
 her from the snares and malice of her enemies, and 
 rescue her from this most imminent danger, which 
 being over, she passed safely through the remainder 
 of this tempestuous reign. 
 
 This dreadful alarm seems to have awakened all 
 the faculties of her soul, and to have put her upon 
 the employment of her thoughts in pious meditations 
 and prayer, and upon making due preparation for 
 eternity. 
 
 She saw very plainly, that the principles of religion 
 she had first imbibed, did not correspond with the 
 inspired writings. But, though she had a considerable 
 shareoflearning,joinedtoan excellentunderstanding, 
 yet, her great modesty would not permit them to be 
 her only guide in matters of such great importance, 
 for she kept several eminent divines constantly with 
 her to solve her doubts, and instruct her in the true 
 religion. With these learned men, who were her 
 
44 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 chaplains, she used to have private conferences, as 
 often as opportunity would permit, about the doc- 
 trines of the Reformation, and the abuses which were 
 then crept into the church, but particularly in Lent. 
 She had a sermon preached to her every day in the 
 afternoon, in her chamber, which generally lasted 
 about an hour, at which time the ladies and gentlemen 
 of her privy-chamber, and others who were disposed 
 to hear, were present. To all this she added great 
 application and industry in the study of books of 
 divinity, particularly of the Holy Scriptures. Being 
 thus qualified, she began to commit some of her own 
 thoughts to writing. Her first composition seems to 
 have been that entitled, * Queen Katharine Parr's 
 Lamentation of a Sinner, bewailing the ignorance of 
 her blind life." This discourse was found among her 
 papers after her death, and was published by Secretary 
 Cecil, who prefixed to it a preface of his own writing. 
 In it she acknowledges the sinful course of her life 
 for many years, in which she, relying on external per- 
 formances, such as fasts and pilgrimages, was all the 
 time a stranger to the true internal power of religion, 
 which she came afterwards to experience by the study 
 of the Scriptures, and prayer to God for the assistance 
 of that Holy Spirit, by whose direction they were 
 indited. She explains, clearly, the ideas she had of 
 justification by faith, so that holiness was its neces- 
 sary consequence, and lamented the great scandals 
 given by many Gospellers ; a name by which they 
 were distinguished who gave themselves to the read- 
 ing of the Scriptures. 
 
 She also drew up psalms, prayers, and pious 
 discourses, which she herself published. The psalms 
 were in number fifteen, each of considerable length, 
 and composed in imitation of the Psalms of David, 
 being digested into versicles, of which many were bor- 
 rowed from the book of Psalms, and other portions 
 of Scripture. Each Psalm had its proper subject. 
 The first w 7 as " for the remission of sins/' beginning, 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 45 
 
 " O Lord of lords, God Almighty, great and dread- 
 il ful, which by thy word hast made heaven, earth, the 
 " sea, and all things contained in them! nothing is 
 " able to resist thy power: thy mercy is over all thy 
 " works : all things be under thy dominion and rule, 
 " both man and beast, and all living creatures : thou 
 '* art merciful to whom thou wilt, and hast compas- 
 " sion on whom it pleaseth thee," &c. 
 
 The second Psalm also was "for remission of sins," 
 beginning, 
 
 " O most mighty God of angels and men, whose 
 " judgments be unsearchable, and whose \v\s- 
 " dom is profound and deep ; 
 
 '•' Hear the prayers of thy servant, and cast not 
 " away the humble suit of thy poor creature and 
 " handy-work," &c. 
 
 The third Psalm was u for remission of sins" also. 
 The fourth, u A complaint of a penitent sinner which 
 is sore troubled, and overcome with sins." The 
 fifth, " For obtaining of godly wisdom." The sixth, 
 '■ A Christian man prayeth that he may be healed of 
 God." The seventh, u For an order and direction of 
 good living." The eighth, " A Christian prayeth that 
 he may be delivered from his enemies." The ninth, 
 " Against enemies." The tenth, " When enemies be 
 so cruel that a Christian cannot suffer them." The 
 eleventh, " Of confidence and trust in God." The 
 twelfth, " If God defer to help long time." The 
 thirteenth, " In which a Christian gives thanks to 
 God that his enemies have not gotten the over-hand 
 of him." The fourteenth, " In which the goodness of 
 God is praised." The fifteenth, " Of the benefits of 
 God, with thanks for the same." To which were 
 subjoined the twenty-second Psalm, entitled, " The 
 complaint of Christon the cross," and " A Psalm of 
 Thanksgiving." 
 
 Then followed the book of prayer, entitled, " Pray- 
 ers or Meditations," wherein the mind is stirred up 
 
46 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 patiently to suffer all afflictions here, and to set at 
 nought the vain prosperity of this world, and alway 
 to long for everlasting felicity, collected out of holy 
 works, &c. These prayers were all digested, as were 
 the psalms aforesaid, into verses and sentences, and 
 contain a great spirit of true piety and devotion, sense 
 of God, and dependence upon him ; and many of 
 them were excellently suited to her condition. Then 
 follow two prayers for the king, and for men to say 
 on entering battle; the latter of which the queen very 
 probably composed upon the king's expedition into 
 France with a great army, when she was left regent at 
 home. In this prayer she has this truly pious peti- 
 tion : " Our cause being now just, and being enforced 
 ' into war and battle, we most humbly beseech thee, 
 ' O Lord God of Hosts ! so to turn the hearts of our 
 ' enemies to the desire of peace, that no Christian 
 ' blood be spilt ; or else grant, O Lord ! that with 
 ' small effusion of blood, and to the little hurt and 
 * damage of innocents, we may to thy glory obtain 
 ' victory ; and that the wars being soon ended, we 
 ' may all, with one heart and mind knit together in 
 concord and unity, laud and praise thee." The 
 next is a devout prayer to be daily said, together 
 with one or two besides. 
 
 There was also printed another piece of the devout 
 studies of this good queen, entitled, rt A goodly 
 Exposition of the fifty-first Psalm, which Hierom of 
 Ferrary made at the latter end of his days." This 
 work begins : " Wretch that I am, comfortless and 
 " forsaken of all men, which have offended both 
 " heaven and earth," &c. Then follow in conclusion 
 other things, as " Of Faith — The power of Faith — 
 The Work of Faith — Good Works — The Prayer of 
 the Prophet Daniel." 
 
 Before we proceed any further in the memoirs of 
 this truly excellent person, we shall present our 
 readers with a pious prayer of hers, composed in 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 47 
 
 short ejaculations, suited to her condition which 
 
 herVoT ^ " SPeCimen ° f the devout Seises of 
 
 " Most benign Lord Jesu, grant me thy grace, that 
 
 it may alway work in me, and persevere with me 
 
 unto the end ! 
 
 "Grant me that I may ever desire and will that 
 which is most pleasant and acceptable unto thee » 
 
 "alw T ay y s7hy w'mr 7 ** 1 "* "* "* t0 Ml ™ 
 
 ua Let th Y\ be dw ? y in me one wilI > and one 
 desire with thee, and that I have no desire to will 
 or not to will, but as thou wilt ! 
 
 "Lord Thou knowest what thing is most profit- 
 able, and most expedient for me : 
 '< Give me, therefore, what thou wilt, as much as 
 thou wilt, and when thou wilt ! 
 ''Do with me what thou wilt, as it shall please 
 thee, and as shall be most to thine honour 1 
 " Putme where thou wilt, and freely do with me 
 in all things after thy will ! 
 
 " Thy creature 1 am*, and in thy hands : lead me 
 and turn me where thou wilt ! 
 
 u ^ L °! l atn th y se rvant, ready to do all things 
 
 that thou commandest; for I desire not to live to 
 " myself, but to thee. 
 
 " Lord Jesu ! I pray thee grant me thy grace, that 
 ^ 1 never set my heart on the things of this world 
 
 but that all carnal and worldly affections may 
 
 utterly die, and be mortified in me ! 
 ^ '< Grant me, above all things, that I may rest in 
 
 thee, and fully pacify and quiet my heart in thee ! 
 
 " Jbor thou, Lord, art the very true peace of heart 
 „ „ , the Perfect rest of the soul, and without thee 
 
 all things be grievous and unquiet. 
 
 " My Lord Jesu, I beseech thee, be with me in 
 ^ every place, and at all times ; and let it be to me 
 
 a special solace gladly for to love to lack all 
 
 worldly solace ! 
 
48 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 a And if thou withdraw thy comfort from me 
 " at any time, keep me, O Lord, from separation 
 " (desperation), and make me patiently to bear thy 
 u will and ordinance ! 
 
 " O Lord Jesu, thy judgments be righteous, and 
 u thy providence is much better for me than all that 
 " I can imagine or devise ! 
 
 " Wherefore, do with me in all things as it shall 
 " please thee ! 
 
 " For it may not be but well, all that thou dost. 
 '* If thou wilt that I be in light, be thou blessed ; 
 " if thou wilt that I be in darkness, be thou also 
 " blessed ! 
 
 " If thou vouchsafe to comfort me, be thou highly 
 * blessed ; and if thou wilt I lie in trouble and 
 " without comfort, be thou likewise ever blessed ! 
 
 " Lord, give me grace gladly to suffer whatsoever 
 u thou wilt shall fall upon me, and patiently to take 
 " at thy hand good and evil, bitter and sweet, joy 
 *' and sorrow ; and for all things that shall befall unto 
 " me heartily to thank thee ! 
 
 " Keep me, Lord, from sin, and I shall then dread 
 " neither death nor hell ! 
 
 " Oh ! what thanks shall I give unto thee, w 7 hich 
 " hast suffered the grievous death of the cross, to 
 " deliver me from my sins, and to obtain everlasting 
 " life for me ? 
 
 " Thou gavest us a most perfect example of pa- 
 " tience, fulfilling and obeying the will of thy Father, 
 " even unto death. 
 
 " Make me, wretched sinner, obediently to use 
 u myself after thy will in all things, and patiently to 
 u bear the burden of this corrupt life ! 
 
 " For, though this life be tedious, and as an heavy 
 V burthen to my soul, yet, nevertheless, through thy 
 " grace, and by example of thee, it is now made 
 " much more easy and comfortable than it was before 
 " thy incarnation and passion. 
 
 11 Thy holy life is our way to thee, and by follow- 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 49 
 
 ct ing that, we walk to thee that art our head and 
 " Saviour : and except thou hadst gone before, and 
 " shewed us the way to everlasting life, who would 
 u endeavour himself to follow thee, seeing we be 
 " yet so slow and dull, having the light of thy 
 " blessed example and holy doctrine to lead and 
 " direct us ? 
 
 " O Lord Jesu, make that possible by grace, that 
 u is to me impossible by nature ! 
 
 " Thou knowest well that I may little suffer, and 
 " that I am soon cast down, and overthrown with a 
 " little adversity : wherefore I beseech thee, O Lord, 
 u to strengthen me with thy Spirit, that I may will- 
 " ingly suffer for thy sake all manner of troubles and 
 " afflictions ! 
 
 " Lord, I will acknowledge unto thee all mine 
 " unrighteousness, and I will confess to thee all the 
 " unstableness of my heart. 
 
 " Oftentimes a very little thing troubleth me sore, 
 u and maketh me dull and slow to serve thee : 
 
 " And sometimes I purpose to stand strongly, but 
 *' when a little trouble cometh, it is to me great 
 " anguish and grief, and of a right little thing riseth 
 " a grievous temptation to me ; 
 
 rt Yea, when I think myself to be sure and strong, 
 u as it seemeth I have the upper hand, suddenly I 
 " feel myself ready to fall with a little blast of 
 " temptation. 
 
 " Behold therefore, good Lord, my weakness, and 
 " consider my frailness, best known to thee ! 
 
 " Have mercy on me, and deliver me from all 
 " iniquity and sin, that I be not entangled there- 
 " with ! 
 
 " Oftentimes it grieveth me sore, and in a manner 
 " confoundeth me, that I am so unstable, so weak, 
 " and so frail in resisting sinful motions ; 
 
 " Which, although they draw me not away to 
 " consent, yet, nevertheless their assaults be very 
 " grievous unto me. 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u And it is tedious to me to live in such battle i 
 u albeit I perceive that such battle is not unprofitable 
 "• unto me, for thereby I know myself, and mine own 
 " infirmities, and that I must seek help only at thine 
 " hands. 
 
 '■ It is to me an unpleasant burthen, what pleasure 
 11 soever the world offereth me here. 
 
 " I desire to have inward fruition in thee, but I 
 u cannot attain thereto." 
 
 The number as well as piety of these compositions 
 sufficiently shew how much of her time and thoughts, 
 amidst all the business and ceremonies of her exalted 
 station, were employed in order to secure her ever- 
 lasting happiness, and sow the seeds of piety and 
 virtue in the minds of her people. And as she very 
 well knew how far good learning was subservient to 
 these great ends, so she used her utmost endeavours for 
 its establishment and increase. A remarkable proof 
 of which we have in the following authentic piece of 
 history. When the act was made, that all colleges, 
 chantries, and free chapels, should be in the king's 
 disposal, the University of Cambridge were filled 
 with terrible apprehensions ; but, well knowing the 
 queen's great regard to learning, they addressed 
 letters to her by Dr. Smith, afterwards Sir Thomas 
 Smith, the learned secretary of state to King Edward, 
 in which they entreated her majesty to intercede 
 with the king for their colleges, which accordingly 
 she effectually did, and wrote to them in answer. 
 " That she had attempted the king's majesty for the 
 " stay of their possessions, and that, notwithstanding 
 <( his majesty's property and interest to them by 
 " virtue of that act of parliament, he was," she said, 
 " such a patron to good learning, that he would rather 
 " advance and erect new occasions thereof, than 
 " confound those their colleges ; so that learning 
 " might hereafter ascribe her very original, whole 
 " conservation, and sure stay to him ;" adding, '■'■ that 
 u the prosperous state of whom long to preserve, she 
 
ic 
 
 <( 
 
 CATHARINE PARR. 51 
 
 *• doubted not but every one would with daily invo- 
 
 " cation call upon Him, who alone and only can 
 
 u dispose all to every creature." In the same letter 
 
 she tells them, " That forasmuch as she well under- 
 
 "' stood that all kinds of learning flourished amono- 
 
 them as it did among the Greeks at Athens long 
 
 ^ ago, she desired and required them ail, not so to 
 
 " hunger for the exquisite knowledge of profane 
 
 ^ learning, that it might be thought that the Greek 
 
 ^ University was but transported, or now in England 
 
 ' again revived, forgetting our Christianity, since the 
 
 * excellency of the Greeks only attained to moral 
 
 ' and natural things ; but that she rather gently 
 
 " exhorted them to study and apply those doctrines 
 
 " (the variety of human learning) as means and apt 
 
 '* degrees to the attaining and setting forth the 
 
 1 better, Christ's revered and most sacred doctrine, 
 
 * that it might not be laid against them in evidence 
 
 " at the tribunal seat of God, how they were ashamed 
 
 1 of Christ's doctrine. For this Latin lesson," she 
 
 goes on, « I am taught to say of St. Paul, ' Non me 
 
 " pudet evangeUi;'" and then adds, " To the sincere 
 
 " setting forth whereof I trust universally, in all your 
 
 " vocations and ministries, you will apply and con- 
 
 ^ form your sundry gifts, arts, and studies, to such 
 
 ' end and sort, that Cambridge may be accounted 
 
 " rather an university of divine philosophy, than of 
 
 " natural or moral, as Athens was." 
 
 This so satisfactory an answer to the petition of 
 the University of Cambridge, shews as well the great 
 influence she had over the king, as the good use she 
 made of it ; nor can the reader fail of observing from 
 her letter how well she deserved his majesty's favour. 
 Indeed she merited every instance of it she could 
 desire ; for, next to the study of the Holy Scriptures, 
 and the performance of the duties enjoined by them, 
 she seems to have made it her principal care to be 
 obsequious to his will. And as that part of his life 
 which it fell to her lot to share with him, was attended 
 
 d 2 
 
52 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with almost continual indispositions, so, his ill health 
 joined such a fierceness of manners to his former 
 untractable disposition, as rendered it a task ex- 
 tremely difficult even for his prime favourites to 
 make themselves agreeable to him, and preserve his 
 esteem. Yet, such were the amiable qualities of 
 the queen, that, by a most obliging tenderness, and 
 charming turn of conversation, she not only secured 
 his affection under all his pain and sickness, but 
 greatly contributed to the alleviation of them ; which 
 so cemented the king's affections, and grounded her 
 so firmly in his good graces, that after the Bishop of 
 Winchester was known to have been disappointed in 
 his scheme for her ruin, none of her adversaries durst 
 make any attempts against her. 
 
 As a confirmation of what we have said con- 
 cerning this lady's extraordinary virtues, and the 
 true sense which the king had of them, we shall 
 here exhibit the last testimony of his affection to 
 her from his will, which bears date December the 
 30th, 1546, but one month before his decease, which 
 is as follows : 
 
 '* And for the great love, obedience, chaste- 
 
 " ness of life, and wisdom being in our foresaid wife 
 " and queen, we bequeath unto her for her proper 
 " use, and as it shall please her to order it, three 
 " thousand pounds in plate, jewels, and stuff of 
 " household, besides such apparel as it shall please 
 " her to take, as she hath already ; and further we 
 " give unto her one thousand pounds in money, with 
 " the enjoying her dowry and jointure, according to 
 u our grant by act of parliament." 
 
 Her great zeal for the Reformation, and earnest 
 desire to have the Scriptures understood by the com- 
 mon people, put her upon the procuring several 
 learned persons to translate Erasmus's Paraphrase 
 on the New Testament into the English language for 
 the service of the public. And this she did at her 
 own great expense. She engaged Lady Mary, after- 
 
CATHARINE PARR. 53 
 
 wards Queen Mary, in translating the paraphrase on 
 the Gospel of St. John ; upon which occasion she 
 sent an epistle in Latin to that Princess, of which 
 the following is a translation : 
 
 " Though there are several considerations, my 
 <l most noble and beloved lady, which readily invite 
 " me at this juncture to write to you, yet there is 
 " none that equally induces me with that of my so- 
 " licitude for your health, which, as I hope it is 
 " perfectly enjoyed by you, so I feel myself most 
 " earnestly desirous to receive assurance concerning 
 u it. It is for this reason that I have dispatched 
 " this messenger to you, who I doubt not will be 
 u most welcome, both on account of his eminent 
 * skill in music, which I know is a most delightful 
 u entertainment to both of us, and as he will be able, 
 l< coming immediately from me, to give you certain 
 u information of my health, and all that relates to 
 " me. I had it indeed in my intention to have 
 " made you a visit, and to have paid my respects to 
 " you in person, but things have not fallen out to 
 " my mind. I now promise myself that in the 
 " winter, before long, we shall have an interview, 
 " than which nothing can be more acceptable and 
 " pleasant to me. 
 
 * As I have been informed that the finishing hand 
 " has been put by Dr. Mallet to Erasmus's ■ Para- 
 " phrase on the New Testament/ so far as it regards 
 " its translation into English, and that nothing now 
 " remains but an accurate review and care in its 
 " correction, I earnestly request you to transmit me 
 " this most elegant and useful work, now revised by 
 " Dr. Mallet, or some other able person whom you 
 " have employed, in order that it may be printed in 
 " due time ; and that you would also signify to me, 
 " whether it is your pleasure, which would indeed 
 " be most auspicious to the work, to have it pub- 
 " lished with your name, or have it suppressed. 
 *■ Indeed, if I might give my opinion, you will con- 
 
54 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 '.' siderably obstruct the work, if it does not go down 
 " to posterity under the sanction of your name; by 
 " which, in the most accurate translation, you have 
 " undertaken a most lasting service for the great 
 " benefit of the people, and are ready, as it is well 
 '* known, to make further additions in the same kind, 
 " if your health will permit. For my part, I see no 
 " reason, as mankind will undoubtedly ascribe the 
 " work to yourself, why you should endeavour, by 
 " suppressing your name, to decline the honour 
 u which they will so deservedly confer upon you. 
 " But I leave the whole affair so entirely to your 
 " prudence, that I shall readily fall in with whatever 
 '' method may seem most eligible to you. 
 
 " I give you abundant thanks for the present of 
 " the purse you was so kind as to send me. I be- 
 " seech the all-gracious and almighty God to crown 
 " your days with true undisturbed felicity, and to 
 "give you a long life for its enjoyment! From 
 " Hanworth the 20th of September. 
 
 " Yours in the most attached and affectionate 
 " friendship, 
 
 ■'■ Catharine Queen K. P." 
 King Henry dying upon the 28th of January, 
 1546-7, when she had been his wife three years six 
 months and five days, she was, not long after, 
 married to Sir Thomas Seymour, Lord Admiral of 
 England, and uncle to King Edward the Sixth. 
 This unhappy marriage put a stop to all her temporal 
 enjoyments: for, between the matchless pride and 
 imperiousness of her sister-in-law the Dutchess of 
 Somerset, and the boundless ambition and other bad 
 qualities of the admiral, such furious animosities 
 ensued, as proved the destruction of both families, 
 and must have interrupted the studies and contem- 
 plations of this excellent lady, now embarked with 
 them ; so that, after this marriage, we find no more 
 of the pious productions of her pen, or any thing 
 considerable, besides her procuring the publication 
 
CATHARINE PARK. 55 
 
 of the above-mentioned work, the Translation of 
 Erasmus's Paraphrase on the New Testament into 
 English. 
 
 She lived but a short time with this gentleman; 
 for, after being delivered of a daughter, she died in 
 child-bed in the month of September, 1548, not 
 without suspicion of poison, as several of our writers 
 observe. And, indeed, she herself was apprehensive 
 of unfair dealings, and roundly reproached the 
 admiral on her death-bed for his great unkindness 
 to her. 
 
 Where she died, or in what place she lies buried, 
 we know not ; nor can we meet with any information 
 on the head among our historians, though many of 
 them mention her death, and speak of her with such 
 regard as makes the omission of such a circum- 
 stance appear somewhat extraordinary : but we 
 have a Latin epitaph composed in memory of her 
 by Dr. Parkhurst, one of her domestic chaplains, and 
 afterwards Bishop of Norwich. It bears the follow- 
 in£ title, and is as follows : 
 
 Incomparabilis fceminai Catharine, nuper Angliae, Francis, ot 
 Hiberniae Reginse, domince meze clementissimae, epitaplnuui 
 Anno 1548. 
 
 Hoc llegina novo donnit Catharina sepulchro, 
 
 Sexus foerainei flos, honor, atque decus. 
 Haec i'uit Henrico conjux fidissima Regi, 
 
 Quern postquam e vivis Parca tulisset atrox, 
 Thomae Seymero, (cui tu, Neptune, tridentum 
 
 Porrigis) eximio nupserat ilia viro. 
 Huic perperit natam : a partu cum septimus orbem 
 
 Sol illustrasset, mors truculenta necat. 
 Defunctam madidis famuli deflemus ocellis ; 
 
 Humectat tristes terra Britanna genas. 
 jNos infelices mceror consumit- acerbus : 
 
 Inter ccelestes gaudet at ilia choros. 
 
56 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 IN ENGLISH. 
 
 An Epitaph on the incomparable Lady Catharine, late Queen 
 of England, France, and Ireland, my most amiable mistress 
 
 This new-erected tomb contains 
 The mortal, but rever'd remains 
 Of her, who shone through all her days 
 Her sex's ornament and praise. 
 To Henry, Albion's mighty King, 
 With whose renown all nations ring, 
 She prov'd a most accomplished wife, 
 The crown and comfort of his life. 
 Her lord no more, in Hymen's bands 
 With Seymour next she joins her hands ; 
 Seymour, who o'er the wat'ry plains 
 Wielding th' imperial trident reigns : 
 To him a female babe she bore, 
 But, when the sun had travell'd o'er 
 For seven successive days the skies, 
 A breathless corpse the mother lies. " 
 Her family her loss bemoans ; 
 Britannia echoes to their groans : 
 In night and griefs we pine away ; 
 She triumphs in the blaze of day, 
 And, with th' angelic choirs above^ 
 Attunes the harp to joy and love. 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 57 
 
 JANE, QUEEN OF NAVARRE*. 
 
 Jane of Albert, the subject of our Memoirs, was 
 daughter to Henry the Second, King of Navarre, 
 and Margaret of Orleans f, sister to Francis, the first 
 
 * Navarre was a small kingdom south of France, near the Pyre- 
 nean mountains. It is now a part of France itself. 
 
 f The mother of the subject of our Memoirs bore a very emi- 
 nent character, being distinguished for her piety, virtue, and fine 
 understanding. Perhaps it may not be unacceptable to our readers, 
 as it will not be entirely foreign to our work, to recite the follow- 
 ing account of a very edifying and pleasing event in which she had 
 her share, in a translation from the elegant Witsius. Vid. Miscel. 
 Sacr. vol. ii. p. 185. 
 
 " As an instance," says our excellent author, " of a placid and 
 *' pleasant death, James Faber Stapulensis, a name famous in 
 " France among the revivers of evangelical truth and sound 
 *' learning, deserves to be recorded. He, in a very advanced 
 " age, flying from the violence of the persecution with which the 
 " professors of the Reformed Religion were oppressed in France, 
 *' withdrew himself to the country of the Queen of Navarre, the 
 " magnanimous and wise protectress of the protestant cause 
 " On a certain day the queen sent and invited him to dine with 
 " her, gathering a number of learned and pious men, with whose 
 " conversation she was wonderfully delighted, to be guests with 
 " him. While the rest of the company, with a great deal of cheer- 
 " fulness, enjoyed their meal, Faber discovered many signs of a 
 a deep sorrow. The queen asked the reason ; to which he 
 *' replied, ' How can I, O queen ! be cheerful myself, or contribute 
 " to the cheerfulness of others, who am the most wicked creature 
 *' upon the face of the earth ?' — ' But what,' said she, * my friend, 
 " can that wickedness be which you have committed, who, from 
 u your youth up, have appeared to lead a most holy lifer' He 
 " answered, ' I have lived to an hundred and one years pure from 
 " every stain of lewdness, and do not recollect any thing parfi- 
 " cularly on the account of which I should fear leaving life with a 
 *' troubled conscience, except one, which, however, 1 hope, may 
 " be forgiven.' For awhile he could not proceed on account ot 
 " the tears that gushed from his eyes ; but at length recovering 
 " himself, he said : ' How shall I appear before the high tribunal 
 tl of God, who have sincerely instructed others in his holy gospel, 
 " and rendered them more brave and constant in its profession 
 " than myself so that not a few among them have courageously 
 
SB MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of that name, King of France, and was carefully 
 educated in the Protestant religion from her child- 
 hood, to which she stedfastly adhered all her days. 
 She married Anthony of Bourbon, son to Charles 
 Duke of Vendome, by whom she had Henry, the 
 fourth of that name, King of France by his father's 
 right, and King of Navarre by his mother's. 
 
 This Anthony, King of Navarre, in the minority 
 of Charles the Ninth, being the first prince of the 
 blood, was to be his protector; but the queen- 
 mother, and the Guises, aiming to get the power 
 
 " endured a thousand tortures, and even death itself; and yet I, 
 
 tf their poor dastardly minister, contrary to the will of the Lord, 
 
 " have by a shameful flight sought to lengthen out that life which 
 
 " will very soon of itself forsake a decrepit old man, to whom 
 
 " nothing more glorious could have happened than that I should 
 
 M have willingly sealed those divine truths, whose power I have so 
 
 " often experienced, with that little residue of blood that is now 
 
 " creeping in my veins.' To which the queen, as she was remark- 
 
 u able for her eloquence, and richly furnished with the knowledge 
 
 " of the Scriptures, suggested several considerations which were 
 
 " quite adapted to mitigate his grief, and which were strengthened 
 
 11 and confirmed by the concurrence of the rest of the guests that 
 
 " were sitting at the table ; upon which the venerable man, re- 
 
 ** suming his spirit, thus spoke : ' Well, then, I see nothing remains 
 
 tl but that T should go home to God, having first, if it is agreeable 
 
 " to you, made my will ; and I do not choose to defer it, for I 
 
 " perceive the summons from my God is come.' Presently fixing 
 
 " his eyes upon the queen, ' I appoint you,' says he, ' my heir. 
 
 '* I bequeath all my books to Mr. Gerard, the minister; and as to 
 
 <l my clothes, and all else I have in the world, I give them to the 
 
 " poor. The rest I commit to God.' Upon which the queen 
 
 " smiling, said, ' But in this disposal what shall I get, my friend, 
 
 * by my appointment of being your heir?' — ' The care,' he replied, 
 
 « of distributing my effects among the poor.'- - ' I accept it,' says 
 
 " she, ' and protest that this heirship is more acceptable to me 
 
 " than if my brother had left me the whole kingdom of France.' 
 
 11 The good man by this time becoming quite pleasant, signified 
 
 " that he should be glad to take a little sleep, and bidding the 
 
 " guests be cheerful, and taking leave of them, he lay down upon 
 
 4< a couch that was near at hand. The company apprehended him 
 
 " to be only asleep ; but it proved that he slept in the Lord, 
 
 " without one struggle, sigh, or groan. The queen often mentioned 
 
 11 the remarkable death of this holy man." 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 59 
 
 and management of affairs into their own hands, 
 endeavoured by all means to detach the Kino- of 
 Navarre from the Protestant interest, that so, by 
 weakening it, they might carry every thing accord- 
 ing to their pleasure. For which purpose they 
 employed the ambassador of Spain, the Cardinal of 
 Tournon, Escars, and some other of his flatterers, 
 who persuaded him, that by his observing a neutral- 
 ity, and causing the prince, his son, to go once to 
 the mass, the King of Spain would give him the 
 kingdom of Sardinia in recompense for that of 
 Navarre, which had lately been taken from him. 
 The Pope also confirmed him in this hope, though 
 he was only depriving him of all means for the 
 recovery of the kingdom of Navarre, whenever he 
 should attempt it. The King, overcome by these 
 artifices, estranged himself by degrees from the 
 Protestants, and solicited the queen, his wife, to 
 return into the bosom of the Romish Church, and 
 induce her children to follow her steps. But she, 
 being better grounded in the truth, than so easily to 
 renounce it, refused ; upon which a breach took 
 place between her and her husband. 
 
 The above-mentioned persons seeing this, seized 
 the advantage, and persuaded him that heresy was 
 a sufficient cause of dissolving marriage, and that, 
 therefore, he might be divorced from his queen, as 
 she had imbibed its poison. They also suggested, 
 that notwithstanding his divorce he would retain to 
 himself the possession of all the dominions and 
 territories belonging to his abdicated queen, of 
 which she, upon the account of her heresy, would 
 be deprived, as unworthy of them; and they added, 
 that he should marry Mary, Queen of Scots, whose 
 dowry they said was the kingdom of England, and 
 of which the Pope, upon the consummation of the 
 marriage, would strip Elizabeth, as undeserving of 
 it for the same reason of heresy, and settle it upon 
 them. 
 
60 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 But the King of Navarre abhorring a divorce, it 
 remained that he should accept the conditions for 
 being made King of Sardinia; for the effecting 
 which, the above counsellors left no methods unat- 
 tempted, and at length succeeded so far, that they 
 gulled the King of Navarre, and set him at variance 
 with the Prince of Conde, Coligni the admiral, and 
 the other Protestants. The queen his wife, disliking 
 his change of religion, and his connexion with the 
 popish party, retired to Podium, in the country of 
 Berne, and there kept her court. 
 
 But it pleased Providence, that soon after, at the 
 siege of Orleans, the King of Navarre was wounded 
 in the shoulder, of which he languished about three 
 weeks, and then died. 
 
 The next design of the above-mentioned faction 
 was, to seize upon the queen, together with her son 
 Henry and her daughter Catherine, and bring them 
 before the tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition. The 
 conspirators entertained no doubt but that Philip 
 King of Spain would the more readily fall in with 
 this measure, as it would be so favourable to the 
 popish religion, of which he boasted himself to be 
 the supporter, and as all the dispute about the 
 kingdom of Navarre, which he unjustly detained, 
 would be ended by the extinction of its lawful heirs. 
 They flattered themselves also, that the project 
 might be easily accomplished by the King of Spain's 
 soldiers, who lay at Barcelona ready to be trans- 
 ported into Africa, and who by the way of the 
 mountains might come upon and surprise the Queen 
 of Navarre and her children at Podium, without any 
 warning. One Dominick, a captain, born in the 
 territories of Berne, was pitched upon to go to the 
 Court of Spain to communicate these designs to the 
 king, and to receive his instructions. But Provi- 
 dence so ordered it, that Dominick falling sick by 
 the way, one Annas Hospius, an honest man, who 
 attended him, learnt the cause of his journey, and, 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 61 
 
 by giving timely notice, prevented the success of 
 the plot, and saved the Queen of Navarre and her 
 children from the ruin intended them. 
 
 Not long after, in the time of the third civil war 
 on account of religion, the good queen having raised 
 a considerable force, led them to Rochelle, together 
 with her son Henry and her daughter Catherine. 
 From this place she wrote letters to the king, the 
 queen-mother, the Duke of Anjou, and the Cardinal 
 of Bourbon. To the king she represented, that, in 
 the common cause of religion, in regard of the duty 
 she owed him, and her alliance by blood to the 
 Prince of Conde, she could not be wanting to him 
 upon such an occasion as the present, as she had 
 always rejected the bloody counsels of the Guisian 
 faction, and especially the ambition of the Cardinal 
 of Lorraine, from whose friendship she earnestly 
 dehorted the Duke of Anjou, entreating him not to 
 give up himself as a minister of his wicked will, in 
 extirpating the royal family. In her letter to the 
 Cardinal of Bourbon, she sharply reproves him for 
 not being warned by his former danger. " How 
 * long," says she, " will you be the suffragan of the 
 •* Cardinal of Lorraine? Have you forgotten the 
 •* mischievous plots that were laid by him for your 
 " life ? And are you so credulous as to rely upon 
 " his oaths, when he swears that he intends no 
 u treachery?" &c. But these monitions taking no 
 effect upon him, the war went on ; and in the battle 
 of Bassac, the Protestants were defeated, and the 
 Prince of Conde was slain. Upon the melancholy 
 news arriving at Rochelle, the Queen of Navarre 
 hasted away to the Protestant army, where, before 
 a great assembly of nobles and soldiers, she made a 
 speech to confirm their minds, applauding the virtue 
 and constancy of the Prince of Conde, who had 
 faithfully exerted himself even to death in the defence 
 of so good a cause, and exhorting the rest to imitate 
 his example, and to persevere in maintaining the truth 
 
62 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of Christ, and the liberty of their country : " For," 
 added she, " the good cause is not dead with the 
 " Prince of Conde, neither ought worthy men to yield 
 " to despondency in such cases ; God having so pro- 
 " vided for his cause, that he gave Conde companions 
 " while he lived, who may succeed him now he is no 
 u more. I have brought with me/' said she, " my 
 " only son Henry, who, as he is the heir of Conde's 
 '{ name, so he is also of his virtues. These, with 
 " other nobles, I trust, will never be wanting in so 
 li good a cause." After this address to the nobles 
 and army, and many things said in private to her son 
 to put an edge upon his spirit, she returned to 
 Rochelle to raise new succours. 
 
 In the meantime, a commission was granted to 
 Terride, governor of Quercie, to summon the Queen 
 of Navarre, and the prince her son, to quit the Pro- 
 testants, and, in case of refusal, to invade the countries 
 of Berne, Foix, and Navarre ; in which he so far 
 succeeded, that he reduced ail to the king's obedience 
 except only Navarre, which he besieged, it being the 
 only strong place which remained to the Queen. 
 
 Upon this the Queen and the princes sent the Earl 
 of Montgomery to engage him, who with a small 
 army of five hundred horse and four thousand foot 
 obliged Terride to raise the siege, and retire himself 
 to Ortheze. His men were dispersed ; and to prevent 
 him from collecting them again, the Earl besieged him 
 and forced the town ; and that he might beat Terride 
 with his own weapons, he turned the cannon which 
 he found in the town against the castle ; upon which 
 it was surrendered to him. After which, all other 
 places were soon reduced to the Queen's obedience, 
 and the Earl, having garrisoned the towns of his new 
 conquest, speedily returned to the princes. 
 
 Not long after, peace being concluded between the 
 King and the Protestants, the King published an edict, 
 in which among other things there is this passage. 
 
 " Let it be lawful for the Queen of Navarre, the 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 63 
 
 u King's aunt, besides the benefit which is common 
 " to all those who have the highest jurisdiction, to 
 u enjoy the free exercise of her religion in the earl- 
 " doms of Armigniac, Foix, and Bigorre, in one place 
 " of all those dominions which she holds in her own 
 " possession, or which may be consigned to her by 
 " the king ; so that all who come to that place, though 
 " she herself be absent, may enjoy it without danger. 
 " Moreover, lest any doubt should arise about his 
 " right intention respecting the Queen of Navarre, 
 " the king's aunt, as also of the princes of Conde, 
 u both father and son, the king doth declare, that he 
 " acknowledges them all for his faithful cousins and 
 " subjects, and that they and all who have managed 
 " the wars under them shall be free, and not bound 
 u to render an account for monies received or 
 " taken," &c. 
 
 But, though the peace was concluded, the malice 
 of the popish party was not in the least abated; but 
 they sought by policy to effect that which they could 
 not accomplish by power. For this purpose, Biron 
 was sent to Rochelle in the King's name, to treat with 
 the Queen of Navarre about the marriage between her 
 son Henry and the King's sister, the Lady Margaret, 
 for which end he invited them to come to court, where 
 matters might be fully discussed and concluded. He 
 added also, that hereby a fair occasion was offered 
 from God to settle their affairs in peace, &c. 
 
 The Queen of Navarre having returned her thanks 
 in a set oration, answered, " That the matter was 
 " of that importance that she should take time to 
 " herself to deliberate concerning it ; and that, though 
 rt she professed and acknowledged that the alliance 
 " would be an honour and advantage to her, yet, that 
 " she was for the present doubtful how to act on 
 " account of the near relation between her son and 
 " the lady, and the difference as to their religions. 
 " Wherefore," said she, * I will consult with my 
 
84 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ** divines ; and what 1 find may contribute to the glory 
 " of God, and the good of the kingdom, and that 
 " may consist with a good conscience, that I will 
 " readily and willingly embrace, being desirous, in all 
 " that I can, to fall in with the pleasure of the King 
 ** and Queen, to whom I owe all due deference." 
 
 There were two matters to be settled between the 
 King and Queen of Navarre, in respect of the place 
 and the manner of the celebration of the marriage. 
 The Queen was averse from its being done at Paris, 
 fearing that the city, being extremely addicted to the 
 Romish religion, was long since an enemy to the 
 family of Navarre, and therefore she judged it not 
 safe to have the marriage celebrated there. The King, 
 on the contrary, said, " That it would be a certain 
 ** sign of sure peace, to have the marriage celebrated 
 <l in the metropolis of the kingdom, which would be, 
 *' as it were, on a public theatre." The other diffi- 
 culty was about the manner of the celebration, as the 
 Queen of Navarre, being attached to the Reformed 
 Religion, disliked that the marriage should be con- 
 tracted after the popish manner, and the Queen-mother 
 as much disliked that of the Protestants. But the 
 King entreated the Queen of Navarre to pardon him 
 in that matter, for that it would tend to his great 
 dishonour if he should suffer the marriage of his 
 sister to be solemnized in any other form than ac- 
 cording to that ancient religion which he had received 
 from his forefathers. To remove this difficulty, time 
 was taken on both sides. 
 
 In the meantime, the Queen of Navarre consulted 
 with the ministers of the Reformed Religion what 
 was to be done in this matter. Some of them, 
 insisting upon the simplicity of the word of God, 
 said that it was utterly unlawful for marriages to be 
 contracted in the popish manner, especially by illus- 
 trious personages, in whom a compliance would be 
 more hurtful, because of more public concern. Others, 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 65 
 
 apprehending that this marriage would be a firm and, 
 as it were, an everlasting foundation of an happy 
 peace, assented to it. 
 
 The Queen of Navarre and the Protestant nobles 
 striving to find out remedies both for the kingdom, 
 which was grievously distressed, and for their own 
 impoverished estates, approved the judgment of the 
 last-mentioned divines, and so the affair proceeded, 
 and the conditions of marriage were agreed upon by 
 the parties. The King was to give his sister for her 
 dowry three hundred thousand crowns, each crown 
 being valued at four and fifty shillings. 
 
 About this time, the Queen of Navarre, being 
 zealous to propagate the Protestant religion in 
 Cantabria, a province of the jurisdiction of Navarre, 
 sent thither pastors who had learned the country 
 language, which is understood by almost none of the 
 neighbours, and was before believed incapable of 
 being written. She took care also that the New 
 Testament, the Catechism, and the prayers used in 
 the Church of Geneva, should be translated into the 
 Gascoin or Cantabrian tongue, which she caused to 
 be printed at Rochelle in a most fine letter, and sent 
 to the Cantabrians. 
 
 Upon the earnest solicitation of the King, the Queen 
 of Navarre went on the March following, anno 
 Christi 1572, from Rochelle to the court, which was 
 then at Blois, with a great retinue, where it is incre- 
 dible to think what a welcome she had on all sides, 
 and especially from the King and his brothers, who 
 yet, when all was done, could most treacherously and 
 inhumanly boast to his mother, " Now, madam, have 
 " I not acquitted myself well ? Let me alone, and I 
 " will bring them all into the net." 
 
 In the April following, the articles of marriage 
 between the Prince of Navarre and the King's sister 
 were concluded. In the beginning of May, the king 
 solicited her to come to Paris, that she might make 
 suitable preparations for the marriage, to which she at 
 
66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 length consented ; and accordingly, on May the 6th 
 she took her journey from Blois, and arrived on the 
 15th at Paris. After which, she went from place to 
 place in the city into several houses and shops, in 
 order to furnish herself with such things as were 
 suitable to adorn the approaching nuptials. 
 
 The Queen-mother, in the meantime, who could 
 not endure this good Queen, but was at a loss for a 
 colourable pretext to despatch her with the rest she 
 had devoted to destruction, and who feared also the 
 greatness of her spirit in case she should survive 
 them, and judged it impossible to work upon the 
 flexibility of the young prince her son, so long as 
 his mother lived, — the Queen-mother in the mean- 
 time used the most base and wicked stratagem to 
 take away the Queen of Navarre's life. She con- 
 sulted with one Rene, an Italian, who had the art of 
 poisoning, by whose diabolical assistance she accom- 
 plished the horrid purpose of murdering the queen, 
 who had not the least suspicion of any danger, and 
 so could not be upon her guard against it. This 
 Rene sold the Queen of Navarre certain poisoned 
 perfumes, and was afterwards heard to make his 
 boast of what he had done, and to add also, that he 
 had the like in store for two or three besides, who 
 suspected nothing of the matter. 
 
 By this poison thus conveyed to her, on June the 
 4th following, the good Queen fell sick of a conti- 
 nued fever. Upon finding how strong the disease 
 (though slighted by others) was upon her, and appre- 
 hending that it would end in her death, she prepared 
 herself to receive from the hand of God, her merciful 
 Father, that stroke which he had appointed her. 
 Calling her son Henry to her, she commanded him 
 above all things else, carefully to serve God accord- 
 ing to the confession of faith in which he had been 
 educated, and not to suffer himself to be diverted 
 from it by the empty pleasures and delights of the 
 world. She charged him to take care that the con- 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. G7 
 
 stitutions concerning it, which she had published in 
 the principality of Berne, and the Lower Navarre, 
 should be inviolably kept. She exhorted him to 
 purge his family, and banish all evil counsellors 
 thence, who thought ill of God, as also all flatterers, 
 the abuses of princes, and all other vicious persons ; 
 but that he should retain with him all good men, as 
 Beliovarius, Francutius, and Batulus, who were men 
 of unspotted reputation. She recommended to him 
 a special regard to his sister Catherine, by treating 
 her gently and tenderly without bitterness, and 
 causing her to be brought up in the town of Berne, 
 in the same school of piety in which he himself had 
 been educated ; bidding him, when she was at proper 
 years, to marry her to a prince of equal dignity, pro- 
 fessing the Protestant religion. She also signified 
 to him that he should love Henry Bourbon, his 
 cousin german, as his brother, and also Francis, 
 Marquis of Contium, endeavouring to his utmost 
 power that as great harmony as possible should be 
 maintained between them and the Admiral Coligni, 
 for the advancement and promotion of God's glory. 
 She then made her son her heir, entreating the King, 
 the Queen-mother, the Duke of Anjou, and the Duke 
 of Alencon, the King's brothers, to take upon them 
 the protection of the prince her son, and of Catherine 
 her daughter, and to allow them the free exercise of 
 their religion. 
 
 She next requested that she might have such per- 
 sons about her who might comfort her in her sick- 
 ness from the word of God, and might also pray with 
 her and for her, according to the direction of the 
 apostle James : " Is any sick among you ? Let him 
 call for the elders of the church, and let them pray 
 over him, knowing that the prayers of a righteous 
 man avail much with God # ." Accordingly, a minister 
 came to her, and shewed her from the Scripture, 
 
 * James, v. 14, 16. 
 
68 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " That Christians ought in all things to submit to 
 " the will of God as to the Father of their spirits, 
 ** that they might live, and that, though by reason 
 u of the sharpness of his chastisements, they may 
 '*■ seem to our flesh as if they were inflicted for no 
 H other end but for our destruction, yet, that we 
 u ought to consider that the just God can do nothing 
 " but what is just, and that being withal a merciful 
 " Father, he cannot in his corrections but intend the 
 ** good of his afflicted children." 
 
 To this discourse of the minister, the Queen re- 
 plied : " I take all this as sent from the hand of 
 
 * God my most merciful Father : nor have I, during 
 ** this extremity, been afraid to die, much less have 
 " I murmured against God for inflicting this chas- 
 " tisement upon me, knowing that whatsoever he 
 u does, he does so order it, as that in the end it shall 
 " turn to my everlasting good." 
 
 The minister then observed, " That the causes of 
 ** sicknesses and diseases must be sought beyond 
 " the course of physic, which always looks to the 
 ** corruption of the humours, or the distemper in the 
 " more noble parts of the body, and that though it is 
 " not amiss to have respect to these things as second 
 " causes, yet that we ought to ascend higher, even 
 
 * to the first cause, God himself, who disposes of all 
 " creatures as it seems good in his sight. He wounds, 
 " and he heals, he kills, and he makes alive, Deut. 
 " xxxii. 39. And therefore that we ought to direct 
 u our prayers to him for comfort in all our sorrows 
 
 * and sufferings, and in the end to expect from him 
 ** full deliverance, since it is easy with him to restore 
 H our health, if it is agreeable to his will." 
 
 To this speech the Queen answered, " That she 
 
 * depended wholly on the providence of God, know- 
 " ing that all things are wisely disposed of by him, 
 *' and that therefore she besought him to vouchsafe 
 il her all such graces as he saw necessary for her 
 '* salvation. As for this life," said she, " I am in a 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 69 
 
 cf good measure weaned from it through the afflictions 
 " which have followed me from my youth to the 
 " present hour, but especially because I cannot live 
 " without offending my God, with whom I desire to 
 " be with all my heart." 
 
 Hereupon the minister remarked, " That long life, 
 " how full soever it may be of troubles, is to be 
 u esteemed among the blessings of God, seeing his 
 u promise implies as much ; and not only so, but 
 " because our lives may in many ways promote his 
 " glory ; and that long life is not only an honour, but 
 " a pledge of the favour of God, even as it is an 
 " honour and token of special regard to a person 
 " whom a prince long employs in his service, having 
 " had experience of his fidelity for many years." 
 Hereupon the minister earnestly requested the Queen 
 to pray, " That if it was the will of God, he would 
 t€ employ her yet longer in his service for the further 
 f< spread of his gospel, and that he would grant her 
 " such a recovery of health, and such a good state 
 " of body, that with renewed strength she might be 
 " enabled to pursue her course better than she had 
 " done before." 
 
 To this she answered, " That, as to what con- 
 u . cerned herself, her life was not dear unto her, 
 94 since, so long as she lived in this frail flesh, she 
 M was still prone and apt to sin against God ; only," 
 she said, u she had a concern for the children whom 
 *• God had given her, as they would, if she was now 
 " to die, be deprived of her in their early years. 
 u Yet," said she, " I doubt not, though he should 
 " see fit to take me from them, but that he himself 
 " will be a Father to them, and a Protector over 
 " them, as I have ever experienced him to be to me 
 " in my greatest afflictions ; and therefore I commit 
 " them wholly to his government and fatherly care." 
 
 The minister then blessed God for working in her 
 >nind this assurance of faith, and this ability to cast 
 her care upon the Divine Providence, " entreating 
 
70 MEMOTRS OF 
 
 " her still to persevere therein, which would seal to 
 
 " her the truth of her faith. And thus," said she, 
 
 " did the patriarchs in times past commit the care of 
 
 " their posterity into the hands of God, as appears 
 
 " by the several blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and 
 
 " Jacob/' Upon this the minister observed, " that 
 
 " yet it was very requisite that she should make choice 
 
 " of such who, from the purity of their doctrine, and 
 
 " the holiness of their lives, might continue to water 
 
 *' in the young princes the seeds of piety that had 
 
 u been sown in them by her so great pains and 
 
 " labour, seeing it was to be hoped that the example 
 
 u of her faith and constancy in the service of God, 
 
 " in which she had gone before them, would serve 
 
 " as a perpetual inducement to them to follow her 
 
 " noble virtues." She then declared to the minister, 
 
 " That death was not terrible to her, because it was 
 
 " the way to pass to her eternal rest." The minister 
 
 hereupon observed, " That Christians had little cause 
 
 " to fear death, since they should not die, according 
 
 " to what our Saviour says, that he that lives and 
 
 " believes in me, shall never die, John, viii. 51 : for," 
 
 added the minister, *\ to speak properly, death is no 
 
 " death to true believers, but a sweet sleep, being 
 
 " often so called in the Scriptures, and therefore 
 
 " Christ for their sakes hath overcome and triumphed 
 
 " over death in his own person, so that now we may 
 
 " cry out with St. Paul, O death! where is thy sting? 
 
 " O grave ! where is thy victory V After this the 
 
 minister admonished her to make confession of her 
 
 sins before God, shewing, " that bodily diseases 
 
 " tend to the dissolution of nature, and that death is 
 
 u the wages of sin ;" further saying, " that by this 
 
 " her chastisement, she might learn what she had 
 
 " deserved, if God should enter into judgment with 
 
 "• her, not only in regard of the fall of our first 
 
 " parents, in which guilt she was involved as well as 
 
 " others, but also by her own personal sins, seeing 
 
 " that the best in the world are in themselves but 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 71 
 
 " poor, miserable, and wretched sinners ; and that, 
 " if the Lord should punish us according to our 
 " demerits, we could expect nothing at his hand but 
 " eternal death and damnation." 
 
 At these words the Queen, with her hands and 
 eyes lifted up to heaven, began to acknowledge, 
 ct That the sins she had committed against the Lord 
 " were innumerable, and therefore more than she 
 " could reckon up ; but yet, that she hoped that God, 
 " for Christ's sake, in whom she put her whole 
 " trust, would be merciful to her." 
 
 Hence the minister took occasion to open at large 
 upon what ground she was to expect the mercy of 
 God in Christ ; adding, " That the whole have no 
 " need of a physician, but such as are sick ; and that 
 " Christ said, that he came not to call the righteous, 
 " but sinners to repentance, and that he is ready to 
 " fill the hungry with good things, while he sends 
 " the rich empty away. Of these things," said he, 
 " you ought so much the rather to be persuaded in 
 " your conscience, by how much the more the Spirit 
 " of God witnesses to your spirit that you are the 
 " child of God, and enables you to cry, Abba, 
 " Father ; for what is faith but a firm trust and 
 " assurance of the good will of God manifested 
 " towards us in his blessed Son?" 
 
 The minister, fearing lest by his long discourse he 
 might be troublesome to her, or too much exhaust 
 her spirits, would have given over, which she taking 
 notice of, earnestly requested him not to forbear 
 speaking to her about these matters of life and eternal 
 salvation ; adding, " That now she felt the w T ant of 
 " such discourses, for that since her coming to Paris 
 " she had been somewhat remiss in hearing such 
 " exhortations from the word of God ; and therefore," 
 said she, " I am more glad to receive comfort thence 
 " in this my great extremity." 
 
 Upon which the minister endeavoured " to set 
 -' before her the happiness of heaven, and what those 
 
72 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 "joys were which the saints possess in the beatific 
 " presence of God, which the Scriptures intending to 
 u discover, assure us, that eye hath not seen, nor ear 
 u heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to 
 " conceive, what God hath prepared for them who 
 " love him. For," saith he, " it is as if a king in- 
 ie tending greatly to honour some noble personage, 
 " should bring him to his court, and there show his 
 i( state and attendance, his treasures and his most 
 " precious jewels. In like manner the Lord will one 
 " day reveal to all his people his magnificence and 
 " gl° r y> with all the riches of his kingdom, after he 
 " has gathered them home to himself, arraying and 
 <€ adorning them with light, incorruption, and immor- 
 " tality. Therefore," added he, " since this happi- 
 " ness is so great, your highness ought to be the less 
 '* solicitous about leaving this transitory life, and 
 " know that you are to exchange an earthly kingdom 
 " for an heavenly inheritance, these temporal good 
 " things which consume and perish in the using, to 
 " enjoy those things which are incorruptible, and 
 " everlasting ; for your faith being firmly fixed upon 
 " the Lord Jesus Christ, you may be certain of ob- 
 '* taining eternal salvation by him." He then pro- 
 ceeded to propose to her these questions, " Do you 
 " verily believe that Jesus Christ came into the 
 u world to save you ? And do you expect the full 
 " forgiveness of your sins by the shedding of his 
 " blood for you ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied she, " I do : believing that he is 
 " my only Saviour and Mediator, and I look for sal- 
 w vation from none other, knowing that he hath 
 u abundantly satisfied for the sins of his people, and 
 " therefore I am assured that God for his sake, ac- 
 " cording to his gracious promise in him, will have 
 " mercy upon me." 
 
 During all the time of her sickness, she ceased not 
 such edifying and comfortable discourses ; sometimes 
 intermixing them with most affectionate aspirations 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 73 
 
 to God, as a testimony of the hope and desire she 
 had of enjoying him; often uttering these words, 
 " O my God ! in thy due time deliver me from this 
 " body of death, and from the miseries of the present 
 '* life, that I may no more offend thee, and that I 
 " may attain to that felicity which thou in thy word 
 " hast promised to bestow upon me." Neither did 
 she manifest her pious affection by words only, but 
 by her serene and cheerful countenance, so far as 
 the strength of her disease would allow ; thereby 
 giving a full evidence to all who beheld her, that no 
 apprehensions of death could unhinge the stedfast- 
 ness of her faith. The minister also often prayed 
 with her. 
 
 During the time of prayer she ceased not with 
 hands and eyes lifted up to heaven to fetch many 
 sighs, especially when mention was made of the 
 mercy of God in Christ, which he extends to poor 
 sinners, so that all who were present might evidently 
 see that her heart and affections were united in the 
 prayer which was offered for her. And while she 
 thus lay, she continued in her holy desires to depart 
 hence, that she might be with Christ, taking great 
 delight in the holy and Christian exhortations which 
 were given her by many godly and learned men who 
 came to visit her, to whom also she manifested no 
 small testimonies of her faith and hope in God, as to 
 the salvation of her soul, by her holy and savoury 
 speeches. 
 
 It was observable, that though the Lord exercised 
 her much with the feeling of her inward disease, yet, 
 that there was no word that at any time fell from 
 her bordering upon discontent or impatience ; nay, 
 scarcely did she ever utter so much as a groan. 
 
 It may be also added, that, if at any time she 
 found any intermissions of the violence of her dis- 
 temper, she declared her willingness to obtain the 
 recovery of her former health, and for that purpose 
 she refused no proper means prescribed for her by 
 
 VOL. I. e 
 
74 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Iver learned physicians ; and that on the other hand,, 
 when she perceived her disease to increase upon her, 
 and that she grew worse, she showed that she was 
 armed with an invincible constancy to undergo the 
 utmost that death could do against her, willingly 
 preparing herself for that last conflict. 
 
 When she saw the ladies and gentlemen with her 
 weeping about her bed, she blamed them for it, say- 
 ing, " 1 pray you do not weep for me, since God 
 u doth by this sickness call me hence to the enjoy- 
 " ment of a better life, and I am now entering the 
 u desired haven towards which this frail vessel of 
 u mine has been so long steering/' She also ex- 
 pressed her grief that she wanted the opportunity 
 she could have wished to reward them, and many 
 more of her family and train, who had done her 
 faithful service, apologizing for herself to them, and 
 professing that the not rewarding them according to 
 her mind, did not arise from a defect of her good 
 will, but from the prevention of her illness. " But," 
 said she, " I will not fail to give orders about the 
 " matter to the utmost of my ability." 
 
 In the end, perceiving her strength more and more 
 decaying, she gave orders for making her last will 
 and testament, and thus settled her outward estate. 
 On the 8th of June, the day before she left the 
 world, she called for a minister, and, rinding that 
 she was drawing near her end, she desired him to 
 discourse to her something largely of the temptations 
 with which Satan is used to assault the people of 
 God in their last conflict. 
 
 The minister answered her : " Indeed this is the 
 " hour in which the sworn enemy of all the faithful 
 " is wont most zealously to bestir himself, that, if 
 e< possible, he may deprive them of the comfort of 
 " their salvation, not sparing, especially at that time, 
 " to set upon them with might and cunning ; but 
 <( yet, even then the Lord is not, and will not be 
 u wanting to his people, filling their hearts with 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 75 
 
 " such joy and comfort of the Holy Ghost, as shall 
 " make them in the end more than conquerors. 
 " Satan's first engine, by which he would drive them 
 " to despair, is the presentation before their eyes of 
 " their innumerable sins and pollutions, with which 
 " they have been any way defiled in their whole 
 " lives. Next he presents before them the justice 
 of God, before which none is able to stand, unless 
 f he were pure and spotless ; upon which he infers, 
 ' that such miserable sinners can look for nothing 
 " but utter death and damnation. But against these 
 ' assaults we are, as David, in Psalm li., to set the 
 " infinite multitudes of God's compassions, which 
 " surpass the multitudes of our sins. And as for 
 " the justice of God, we confess that no creature 
 '. that is polluted with sin can bear to be strictly 
 1 examined by it ; but we are to encourage ourselves, 
 " that God will never enter into judgment with those 
 '■ who believe in his Son, but that he imputes to 
 " them that righteousness and obedience which were 
 " wrought out by him, and which are sufficient to 
 " oppose to Divine justice ; so that in Christ's righte- 
 " ousness and obedience we are to expect to stand 
 " before God, and not by our own deserts and 
 " worthiness. Indeed, if we were to appear before 
 " the tribunal of justice to receive there what we 
 " have merited, we should have good reason to 
 " be overwhelmed in utter despair; but turning our 
 u eyes upon the Lord Jesus Christ, who, being the 
 " eternal Son of God, hath clothed himself with the 
 " human nature, to bear upon himself the punishment 
 ' that was due to our sins, and who hath thereby 
 " acquitted us, the justice of God does not at all 
 " terrify us, but rather yields us assured comfort, 
 " because God being just, cannot twice require the 
 " payment of the same debt. He therefore having 
 " received full and perfect satisfaction from Christ, 
 " whom he hath ordained to be our Surety, and who 
 " hath paid our debts for us, we thence gather 
 
 e2 
 
76 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " assurance that God will no more demand them at 
 
 " our hands. To which purpose these passages of 
 
 '■ Scripture are to be well observed ; that Christ 
 
 { * hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows ; 
 
 '/ that the chastisement of our peace was upon him, 
 
 " and that by his stripes we are healed ; that all we 
 
 u like sheep have gone astray, but that the Lord 
 
 " hath laid on him the iniquity of us all ; that Christ 
 
 " is our peace, and the propitiation for our sins, and 
 
 tf that he is the Lamb of God who takes away the 
 
 " sins of the world. On these considerations the 
 
 "justice of God need not terrify such who believe in 
 
 u Christ, of whose righteousness and redemption 
 
 " they are made partakers, seeing that Jesus Christ, 
 
 " who knew no sin, was made sin, that is, an obla- 
 
 " tion for sin for us, that we might be made the 
 
 u righteousness of God in him. I grant/' said he, 
 
 " that this blessedness does not belong to all indif- 
 
 " ferently, but only to such as, believing in the Son 
 
 " of God, wholly cast themselves upon the merit of 
 
 " his death and passion, which, as St. Peter declares, 
 
 " is sufficient for their salvation. Acts, iv. 12 ; neither 
 
 ts is there salvation in any other, for there is none 
 
 " other name under heaven given among men whereby 
 
 " we can be saved." The minister asked the Queen, 
 
 u Whether she placed her whole trust and confidence 
 
 " upon Christ crucified, who died for her sins, and 
 
 u rose again for her justification?" To which she 
 
 answered, " That she expected neither salvation, 
 
 " nor righteousness, nor life, from any else, but only 
 
 u from her Saviour Jesus Christ, being assured that 
 
 " his merits alone abundantly sufficed for the full 
 
 " satisfaction for all her sins, although they were in- 
 
 " numerable." — " This being your faith," replied the 
 
 minister, " you cannot come into condemnation, 
 
 " but are passed from death to life ; neither need 
 
 " you to be afraid of God's seat of justice, since it is 
 
 " turned into a throne of grace and mercy to you, 
 
 " and therefore the hour of death will be exceeding 
 
Jane of navarre. 77 
 
 x * welcome to you, as death will be a sweet passage 
 *' into a far better life, and the time in which all 
 "* tears shall be wiped away from your eyes. I 
 H beseech you, therefore, madam, think often on 
 *• that delightful text, ' Blessed are the dead which 
 u die in the Lord, for they rest from their labours, 
 <l and their works follow them.' Now the time 
 " approaches when you shall enjoy the beatifical 
 " vision of God, the society of your Head and 
 - Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, the fellowship of 
 " the blessed angels and celestial spirits, with the 
 ** holy patriarchs, prophets, apostles, and martyrs 
 <l for Christ, partaking with them in the same feli- 
 *• city and glory/' He also added : u Madam, if it 
 u should please God by this your sickness to put an 
 u end to this weary pilgrimage of yours, and call 
 4t you home to himself, as by some evident signs it 
 " appears he will, are you willing to go to him ?" To 
 which she answered with much Christian courage, 
 <l With all my heart." Upon which the minister 
 said, " Then, madam, open the eyes of your faith, 
 " and behold Jesus your Redeemer sitting at the 
 " right hand of his Father, reaching out his hand to 
 *•*■ receive you to himself; are you willing, madam, 
 " to go to him ?" — " Yes, I assure you," said she, 
 u much more willing than to linger here below in this 
 *' world, where I see nothing but vanity." He then 
 asked her if they should pray with her, which upon 
 her desire they performed by her, while the pious 
 lady manifested her ardent affection in calling upon 
 God. 
 
 Not long after came in the Admiral Coligni, and 
 with him a minister, to whom the Queen attended 
 for a considerable time, the minister's speech tending 
 to prepare her for her dissolution. When he had 
 finished his address, he also prayed with her, to 
 which she listened with great attention. Upon this 
 she requested that these two ministers would con- 
 
78 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tinue all night with her in her chamber, and that 
 they would by no means leave her. 
 
 The greatest part of the night was employed in 
 holy advices, which these ministers gave to the lady 
 one after another ; besides which, she desired them 
 to read to her some chapters of the Holy Scriptures, 
 pertinent to her condition ; and accordingly they 
 read to her out of St. John's Gospel from the four- 
 teenth to the end of the seventeenth chapter. After 
 which they prayed with her. Prayer being ended, 
 the Queen desired to take some rest; but it was not 
 long before she bade them read again. Upon which, 
 one of the ministers made choice of some particular 
 psalms of David, full of ardent and affectionate 
 prayers, suited to the Queen's present circumstances, 
 and, for a conclusion, read the thirty-first psalm, in 
 which the prophet, among other things, commends 
 his spirit into the hands of God, because, saith he, 
 '' Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth!" 
 
 The Queen then signified her desire that they 
 would pray with her again ; and thus the greater 
 part of the night was spent in these holy exercises, 
 during all which time the ministers never discerned 
 in her the least signs of impatience, notwithstanding 
 the violence of her affliction. It was also worthy of 
 observation, that whereas immediately before her 
 sickness she had shewn how much she was con- 
 cerned to provide most magnificently for the day of 
 her son's marriage, according as the nature of so 
 grand an alliance required, yet that, as soon as this 
 sickness had seized upon her, she seemed to have 
 such a total neglect and forgetfulness of all such 
 matters, that she never discovered so much as one 
 thought about them. 
 
 The night being thus spent by this noble Queen, 
 who persevered in the expressions of such like 
 affections and ardency of faith, the next morning, 
 between eight and nine o'clock, she departed this 
 
JANE OF NAVARRE. 79 
 
 life to take possession of a far better, sweetly yield- 
 ing up her spirit into the hands of God, June 9, anno 
 Christi 1572, and in the 44th year of her age. 
 
 She enjoyed her perfect speech and memory even 
 to the hour of her death, shewing not only that 
 staidness and soundness of judgment which she 
 ever had in times past in the care about the salva- 
 tion of her soul, but also in the proper settlement of 
 her worldly affairs. 
 
 The King pretended he was greatly afflicted for 
 her death, and went into mourning, in which also 
 the whole court followed him, lest, as we may well 
 suppose, by an apparent indifference about her death, 
 their counsels and future desperate designs might be 
 discovered and prevented. 
 
 The good Queen, though taken off by poison, yet 
 seemed to be mercifully housed from the storm which 
 burst upon the protestants on the 24th of August 
 following, the day of the massacre of Paris, which 
 began a general slaughter of them over the kingdom, 
 in which the number taken off is computed at an 
 hundred thousand. The horrors of that night are 
 not to be conceived, much less expressed. The fatal 
 signal being given by the tolling of the bell of St. 
 Germain, the butchery began. Coligni, the Admiral 
 of France, was murdered in his own house, his body 
 thrown out of his window, and treated with the vilest 
 indignities. The murderers ravaged the whole city 
 of Paris, and butchered in three days above ten 
 thousand lords, gentlemen, presidents, counsellors, 
 advocates, lawyers, scholars, physicians, merchants, 
 tradesmen, and others. Mothers, maidens, and 
 children, were all involved in the destruction; and 
 the gates and entrances of the king's palace all be- 
 smeared with their blood. And yet, as though this 
 had been the most heroic transaction, and would 
 shed immortal glory over the authors of it, medals 
 were struck at Paris in honour of it, on the face of 
 which was the French king sitting on a throne with 
 
80 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 this inscription, Virtus in rebelles, " Virtue against 
 rebels ;" and on the reverse, Pietas excitavit justitiam, 
 " Piety hath roused justice." And when the news 
 of this horrible massacre reached Rome, a jubilee 
 was granted, and the people were commanded to go 
 every where to church, and bless God for the success 
 of the action ; and it was decreed, the pope should 
 march with his cardinals to the church of St. Mark, 
 and in the most solemn manner give God thanks for 
 so great a blessing conferred on the See of Rome, 
 and on the Christian world. 
 
 We shall close our account of this excellent Queen 
 with a passage from Bishop Burnet *, in which he 
 says, that " if Jane of Navarre had had a larger 
 " sphere, she was indeed a perfect pattern. Nothing 
 " was ever suggested to lessen her, but that which 
 ?' was her true glory, her receiving the Reformation. 
 u She both received it, and brought her subjects to 
 a it. She not only reformed her court, but her whole 
 " principality to such a degree, that the golden age 
 a seemed to have returned under her; or rather, 
 " Christianity appeared again with the purity and 
 " lustre of its first beginnings. Nor is there one 
 " single abatement to be made her. Only her prin- 
 i( cipality was narrow. Her dominion was so little 
 11 extended, that, though she had the rank and 
 " dignity of a queen, yet it looked rather like the 
 " shadow than the reality of sovereignty ; or rather 
 " it was sovereignty in miniature ; though the colours 
 " were bright, it was of the smallest form." But 
 still may not Mr. Waller's lines, with a little altera- 
 tion, be applied to this great and good Queen in her 
 small domains? 
 
 Circles are prnis'd, not that abound 
 In largeness, but th' exactly round : 
 Such praise they merit, who excel, 
 Not in wide spheres, but acting well. 
 
 * Essay on the Memory of Queen Mary, p 29. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 81 
 
 QUEEN MARY 
 
 Was the daughter of James, Duke of York, 
 afterwards King James the Second, and the Lady 
 Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon. 
 They were privately married at Worcester-House, 
 September 5, 1660, by Dr. Joseph Crowcher, the 
 duke's chaplain. 
 
 She was born April 30, 1662, and in the six- 
 teenth year of her age, was married, at St. James's, 
 November 4, 1677, to William Prince of Orange, 
 afterwards King William the Third. 
 
 She appeared to be most happily disposed from 
 her very birth. She was good and gentle, before 
 she was capable of knowing that it was her duty to 
 be so. This temper grew up with her in the whole 
 progress of her childhood. She might need instruc- 
 tion, but she wanted no persuasion. And it is said, 
 that she never once in the whole course of her edu- 
 cation gave any occasion to reprove her. She went 
 into every thing that was good, often before she 
 knew it, and always after she once understood it. 
 
 She was but growing out of childhood when she 
 went among strangers, and removed from her own 
 country to Holland ; but she went under the guard of 
 so exact a conduct, and so much discretion, she 
 expressed such a gentleness, access to her was so 
 easy, and her deportment was so obliging, her life 
 was such an example, and her charity was so free, 
 that perhaps no age could furnish a parallel. Never 
 were there such universal love and esteem paid to 
 any as she received from persons of all ranks and 
 conditions in the United Provinces. They were like 
 transport and rapture. The veneration was so pro- 
 found, that, how just soever it might be, it seemed 
 rather excessive. Neither her foreign birth, nor 
 regal extraction, neither the diversity of interests or 
 
 e5 
 
82 
 
 MEMOIRS OV 
 
 opinions, nor her want of power and treasure equal 
 to her bounty, diminished the respects that were 
 offered her, even from a people, whose constitution 
 2jave them naturally a jealousy of too great a merit 
 in those who are at the head of their government. 
 
 It may well be considered as a very happy event, 
 not only to our country, but to Christendom itself, 
 that the Princess did not imbibe the popish religion, 
 the religion sooner or later in life both of her father 
 and her mother. She was a Protestant upon prin- 
 ciple ; and when her father, then upon the throne of 
 Great Britain, wrote her a letter in favour of popery, 
 she returned him an answer, drawn up by herself, to 
 the following purport. " She acquainted him, that 
 " she had taken much pains to be settled in religion ; 
 e< that those of the Church of England who had 
 ■ instructed her, had freely laid before her that 
 " which was good in the Romish religion, that so, 
 '- seeing the good and bad of both, she might judge 
 " impartially, according to the apostle's rule of 
 u proving all things, and holding fast that which 
 " was good ; that though she had come young out 
 " of England, yet, that she had not left behind her 
 " either the desire of being well informed, or the 
 " means for it; that she had furnished herself with 
 " books, and had those about her who might clear 
 f any doubts to her; that she saw clearly in the 
 " Scriptures that she must work out her own salva- 
 ** tion with fear and trembling, and that she must 
 " not believe by the faith of another, but according 
 " as things appeared to herself; that it ought to be 
 " no prejudice against the Reformation, if many of 
 " them who professed it led ill lives ; and if any of 
 " them lived ill, none of the principles of their 
 " religion allowed them in it; that many of them led 
 " good lives, and that more might do it by the grace 
 " of God, but that there were many devotions in the 
 " Church of Rome on which the Reformed could set 
 " no value. She acknowledged, that if there was an 
 
QUEEN MARY. 83 
 
 t( infallibility in the Church, all other controversies 
 u must fall to the ground ; but that she could never 
 " yet be informed where that infallibility was lodged, 
 " whether in the pope alone, or in a general council, 
 " or in both ; and she desired to know in whom the 
 " infallibility rested, when there were two or three 
 " popes at a time acting one against another, with 
 " the assistance of councils which they called gene- 
 " ral ; for at least the succession was then much 
 " disordered. She observed, that as for the autho* 
 " rity that is pretended to be given to St. Peter over 
 %t the rest, that that place which was chiefly alleged 
 " for it*, was otherwise interpreted by those of the 
 " Church of England, as importing only the con- 
 <c formation of an apostle, when, in answer to that 
 " question, *■ Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?' 
 ie he had by a triple confession washed off his triple 
 " denial ; that the words which the King had cited 
 " were spoken to (concerning) the other apostles, as 
 '* well as to himf; that it was agreed by all, that 
 " the apostles were infallible, who were guided by 
 •' God's Holy Spirit, but that that gift, as well as 
 " many others, had ceased long ago ; that St. Peter 
 " had no authority over the rest of the apostles, or 
 '* otherwise St. Paul understood our Lord's words 
 " ill, who withstood St. Peter to his face, because he 
 " was to be blamed. And she further took notice, 
 '* that if St. Peter himself could not maintain that 
 u authority, she could not see how it could be given 
 " to his successors, whose bad lives had ill agreed 
 " with his doctrine. She also alleged, that she did 
 " not see why the ill use that some made of the 
 " Scriptures, ought to deprive others of them ; that 
 " it was true that all sects made use of them, and 
 found something in them which they drew out to 
 support their opinions, and yet, that for all this 
 our Saviour bade the Jews search the Scriptures \ 
 
 * Matt. xvi. 18. f Acts, xv. 28. 
 
 t< 
 
84 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " and that St. Paul ordered his epistles to be read io 
 " all the saints in the churches ; and that in one 
 " place he says, ' I write as to wise men, judge what 
 ". I say ;' and if they might judge an apostle, much 
 " more any other teacher. She likewise observed, 
 " that, under the law of Moses, the Old Testament 
 *' was to be read, not only in the hearing of the 
 " scribes and the doctors of the law, but likewise in 
 u the hearing of the women and children ; and that, 
 " since God had made us reasonable creatures, it 
 " seemed necessary to employ our reason chiefly in 
 u the matters of the greatest concern ; that, though 
 " faith was above our reason, yet, that it proposed 
 iC nothing to us that was contradictory to it ; that 
 " every one ought to satisfy himself in these things, 
 u as our Saviour convinced Thomas, by making him 
 " thrust his own hand into the print of the nails, not 
 ": leaving him to the testimony of the other apostles, 
 " who were already convinced. She added, that she 
 " was confident that, if the king would hear many of 
 " his own subjects, they would fully satisfy him as 
 " to all those prejudices that he had against the 
 " Reformation, in which nothing was acted tumultu- 
 " ously, but all was done according to law ; that the 
 " design of it was only to separate from the Romish 
 " Church, so far as it had separated from the Primitive 
 " Church, in which the Reformers had brought 
 " things to as great a perfection as those corrupt 
 ie ages were capable of. 
 
 " Thus, she concluded, she gave him the trouble 
 " of a long account of the grounds upon which she 
 li was persuaded of the truth of her religion, in which 
 •" she was so fully satisfied, that she trusted, by the 
 " grace of God, that she should spend the rest of her 
 " days in it, and that she was so well assured of the 
 " truth of our Saviour's words, that she was con- 
 u fident the gates of hell should not prevail against 
 " it, but that he would be with it to the end of the 
 " world. All ended thus, that the religion she pro- 
 
QUEEN MAIIV. 85 
 
 u fessed, taught her her duty to him, so that she 
 " should ever be his most obedient daughter and 
 " servant." Bishop Burnet tells us, that he set down 
 very minutely every particular that was in those 
 letters, that of the King, and this of the Princess, and 
 very nearly in the same words ; and adds, " That he 
 " had an high opinion of the Princess's good under- 
 " standing, and of her knowledge in these matters, 
 " before he saw this letter ; but that the letter sur- 
 " prised him, and gave him an astonishing joy, to see 
 " so young a person, all on the sudden, without 
 u consulting any one person, to be able to write so 
 " solid and learned a letter, in which she mixed with 
 rt the respect which she had paid her father, so great 
 " a firmness, that by it she cut off all further treaty ; 
 '* so that her repulsing the attack that the King had 
 11 made upon her with so much resolution and force, 
 " let the popish party see that she understood her 
 u religion as well as loved it */* 
 
 After the Princess had lived several years in Hol- 
 land, the ornament of her sex and station, upon the 
 wonderful success of her husband the Prince of 
 Orange, in his great enterprise to rescue our country 
 from popery and slavery, both which were endea- 
 voured with his utmost power by James the Second 
 her father, she ascended the throne of these realms in 
 conjunction with her husband, at the joint invitation 
 of both Houses of Parliament ; and they were accord- 
 ingly proclaimed king and queen, February 13, 1688, 
 to the great joy of the nation. 
 
 In this step of hers, that might carry a face which, 
 at first appearance, seemed liable to censure, as her 
 father was now king no more, and herself and hus- 
 band reigned in his room, she weighed the reasons 
 on which she went, with a caution and exactness 
 that well became the importance of them ; the bias 
 
 •Burnet's History of his Own Time, vol.ii. p. 411 -—414. 
 edit, of 1815. 
 
86 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lying still against that which, to vulgar minds, seemed 
 to be her interest. She was convinced that the public 
 good of mankind, the preservation of that religion 
 which she was assured was the only true one, and 
 those real extremities to which matters were driven, 
 ought to supersede all other considerations. She had 
 generous ideas of the liberty of human nature, and of 
 the true ends of government ; she thought it was 
 designed to make mankind safe and happy, and not 
 to raise the power of those into whose hands it was 
 committed, upon the ruins of property and liberty ; 
 nor could she think that religion was to be delivered 
 up to the humours of misguided princes, whose per- 
 suasion made them as cruel in imposing on their 
 subjects the dictates of others, as they themselves 
 were implicit in submitting to them. But yet, after 
 all, her inclinations lay so strong to the duty, that of 
 honouring her father, which nature had put upon her, 
 that she made a sacrifice of herself in accepting that 
 high elevation of being queen of these realms, that 
 perhaps was harder to her to bear than if she had 
 been to be made a sacrifice in the severest sense. 
 She saw that not only her own reputation might be 
 eclipsed by her taking the throne, but that religion 
 too might suffer in those reproaches which she must 
 expect. These considerations were much more with 
 her, than crowns with all the lustres that adorn 
 them ; but yet, the saving whole nations determined 
 her in the matter, as her acceptance of the royal 
 dignity was the only visible means left to preserve 
 the Protestant Religion, not only in Great Britain, 
 but every where beside. 
 
 Though her mind discovered no tincture of enthu- 
 siasm, yet, she could not avoid thinking that her 
 preservation during her childhood in that "flexibility 
 of age and understanding, without so much as one 
 single attempt made upon her, was to be ascribed to 
 a special Providence watching over her. To this she 
 added her early deliverance from the danger of all 
 
QUEEN MARY. 87 
 
 temptations, and the advantages she enjoyed after- 
 wards to employ much privacy in so large a course 
 of study, which had not been possible for her to have 
 attained, if she had lived in the constant dissipation 
 of a public court. These things concurring, con- 
 vinced her that God had conducted her by an imme- 
 diate hand, and that she was raised up to preserve 
 that religion which was then every where in its last 
 agonies ; but yet, when these and many other con- 
 siderations to which she had carefully attended, 
 determined her to take the throne, nature still felt 
 itself loaded. She bore her elevation with the out- 
 ward appearances of satisfaction, because she thought 
 it became her not to discourage others, or give them 
 an occasion to believe that her uneasiness was of 
 another nature than it really was ; but, in the whole 
 matter, she put a constraint upon herself, that is, upon 
 her temper, (for no consideration whatsoever could 
 have induced her to have forced her conscience,) 
 that was more sensible and violent to her than any 
 
 thing that could have been wished her bv her most 
 
 i • "" 
 
 virulent enemies. 
 
 Her sense of religion and duty not only operated 
 in this great step of life, of such moment to herself, 
 and benefit to the world, but the whole of her cha- 
 racter and behaviour abundantly evinced what an 
 extraordinary piety and virtue possessed her soul. 
 Her punctual exactness not only to public offices, but 
 to her secret retirements, was so regular, that it was 
 never put off in the greatest crowd of business, or 
 little journeys ; for then, though the hour was anti- 
 cipated, the duty was never neglected. She took 
 care to be so early on these occasions, that she might 
 never either quite forget, or very much shorten that 
 devotion upon which she reckoned that the blessings 
 of the whole day turned. She observed the Lord's- 
 day so religiously, that, besides her hours of retire- 
 ment, she was constantly thrice a day in the public 
 worship of God, and for a great part of the year four 
 
88 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 times a day, while she lived beyond sea. She was 
 constant to her monthly attendances at the Sacrament 
 of the Lord's Supper, and withdrew herself more 
 than ordinary in preparation for some days before 
 them. In them, as well as in all the other parts of 
 the worship of God, an uncommon seriousness ever 
 appeared in her, without one glance allowed for 
 observation. She spread a spirit of devotion among 
 all who were about her, who could not see so much 
 in her without being affected in something of the 
 same manner themselves, though few attained to 
 such a steady application as they beheld in her. In 
 her demeanour in the house of God, there was 
 nothing theatrical, nothing given to show. Every 
 thing was sincere as well as solemn, and genuine as 
 well as majestic. 
 
 Her attention to sermons was so entire, that, as her 
 eye never wandered from a good preacher, so she 
 discovered no weariness at an indifferent one. When 
 she was asked, how she could be so attentive to 
 some sermons that fell remarkably below perfection, 
 she would answer, st that she thought it did not become 
 " her by any part of her behaviour to discourage, 
 " or so much as seem to dislike, one who was doing 
 " his best." The hardest censure that she passed 
 upon the poorest preachers was, to say nothing to 
 their advantage ; for she never withheld her commend- 
 ations from any who deserved them. She was not 
 content to be devout herself, but she strove to infuse 
 the same temper into all who came near her, and 
 chiefly into those whom she took into her more imme- 
 diate care, whom she studied to form to religion 
 with all the love and watchfulness of a mother. She 
 charmed them with her instructions, and won them 
 with her kindness. Never was mistress both feared 
 and loved so entirely as she was. She dispersed good 
 books of instruction to all who were around her, and 
 gave frequent orders that they should be laid in 
 places of attendance, that such as waited might not 
 
QUEEN MARY. 89 
 
 be condemned to idleness, but might profitably 
 entertain themselves, while they were in their turns 
 of service. 
 
 The raising the reputation and authority of the 
 clergy, as the chief mean for advancing religion, was 
 that to which she intended to apply herself with the 
 utmost diligence. She knew that the only true way 
 to secure this point was, to engage them to be 
 exemplary in their lives, and abundant in their 
 labours, to watch over their flocks, and to edify 
 them by good preaching and diligent catechising. 
 She was resolved to have the whole nation understand, 
 that by these methods only, divines were to be 
 recommended to favour and preferment. She made 
 it visible that the steps were to be made by merit, and 
 not by friendship and importunity. She charged those 
 whom she trusted most in such matters, to look out 
 for the best men, and the best preachers, that they 
 might be made known to her. She was under a real 
 anxiety when church preferments, especially such as 
 were most eminent, were to be disposed of. She 
 reckoned that the disposition of them was one of the 
 main branches of her care. When she apprehended 
 that friendship might give a bias to those whom she 
 allowed to speak to her on those heads, she told them 
 of it with the authority that became her, and which 
 they well deserved. She could deny the most earnest 
 solicitations with a true firmness, when she thought 
 the person for whom they were made did not merit 
 them ; for desert was superior with her to all other 
 considerations. But when she denied applications of 
 this sort, she did it with so much softness, and upon 
 such good reason, that they who might be mortified 
 by the repulse, were yet obliged to confess that 
 she was in the right, even at the time, for the sake 
 of a friend, they wished for once she had been in the 
 wrong. 
 
 It grieved her to hear in what a condition many 
 of the churches in England were, which were sunk 
 
90 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 into such extreme poverty, that it was scarce possible, 
 even by the help of a plurality, to find a subsistence 
 in them. She had formed a design to bring them 
 all to a just state of plenty, and to afford a due 
 encouragement to ministers among them. But plu- 
 ralities and non-residence, when not enforced by real 
 necessity, were so odious to her, that she determined 
 to throw such perpetual disgraces upon them, as 
 should oblige all persons to let go the hold they had 
 gotten of these cures of souls, over whom they did 
 not watch, and among whom they did not labour. 
 In a full discourse upon this very subject, the day 
 before she was seized with her fatal disease, she said, 
 u She had no great hopes of rectifying matters, but 
 1* that she was resolved to go on, and never suffer 
 " herself to be discouraged, or lose heart. She would 
 }' still try what could be done, and pursue her 
 ''' design, how slow or insensible soever the progress 
 " might be." 
 
 No intimation was ever let fall before her in any 
 discourse, that offered a probable mean of reforma- 
 tion, which was lost by her ; and she would call 
 upon persons to turn the motion over and over again, 
 till she had formed her own thoughts concerning it. 
 It was amazing to see how well she understood such 
 matters, and how zealous she was in promoting 
 them. 
 
 She rightly judged, that the true end of power, 
 and the best exercise of it, were to do good, and to 
 make the world the better for it. She often said, 
 that she found nothing in it to make it supportable, 
 not to say pleasant, besides that consideration ; and 
 she wondered that the true pleasure which accom- 
 panied it, did not engage princes to pursue it more 
 effectually. Without this, she thought that a private 
 life, with moderate circumstances, was the happier as 
 well as safer state. When reflections were once 
 made before her of the sharpness of some historians, 
 who had left very dishonourable imputations on the 
 
QUEEN MARY. 91 
 
 memory of some princes, she answered, " That if 
 " those prinees were truly such as their historians 
 f> represented them, they had well deserved that 
 " treatment; and that others who tread in their steps 
 if might look for the same, for that truth would be 
 " told at last, and that with the more severity of 
 tf style for being so long restrained." She observed, 
 u that it was a gentle suffering for such princes to 
 ** be exposed to the world in their true colours, 
 " much below what others had suffered at their 
 i( hands. She thought that all such sovereigns 
 u ought to read Procopius # ; for how much soever 
 " he may have aggravated matters, and how unbe- 
 " comingly soever he may have written, yet, by such 
 " books they might see what would be probably 
 " said of themselves, when all terrors and restraints 
 ?? should fall off with their lives.'' She encouraged 
 those whom she admitted to frequent access, to lay 
 before her all the occasions of doing good that might 
 occur to their thoughts, and was always well-pleased 
 when new opportunities were offered to her, in 
 which she might exercise that which was the most 
 esteemed by her of all her prerogatives. So desirous 
 was she to know both how to correct what might be 
 amiss, and to promote every good design, that she 
 not only allowed of great freedom in bringing propo- 
 sitions of that kind to her, but she charged the con- 
 sciences of some with a command to keep nothing 
 of that nature from her, which they thought she 
 ought to be acquainted with. Nor were such motions 
 ever unacceptable to her, even when circumstances 
 made it impossible for her to put them in execution. 
 She was the delight of all who knew her, by the 
 obliging tenderness with which she treated all those 
 who came near her. She made the afflictions of the 
 unhappy easier to them, by the share she took in them, 
 and the necessities of the miserable the more support- 
 
 * An historian who flourished anno Dom. 530. 
 
92 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 able, by the relief she gave them. She was tender of 
 those who deserved her favour, and compassionate to 
 those who wanted her pity. It was easy for her to 
 reward ; for all sorts of bounty came readily from her 
 hands ; but it was hard for her to punish, except when 
 the nature of the crime made mercy become a cruelty, 
 and then she was inflexible not only to importunity, 
 but to the tenderness of her own disposition. 
 
 Her bounty and her compassion had great matter 
 given them upon which to exert themselves. And 
 how wide soever her sphere may have been, she rather 
 went beyond than confined herself within it. Those 
 worthy confessors and exiles, whom the persecution 
 of France sent over hither, as well as to the United 
 Provinces, felt the tenderness as well as the munifi- 
 cence of the welcome she gave them. The confusions 
 of Ireland drove over multitudes of all ranks, who fled 
 hither for shelter, and were soon reduced to great 
 straits from a state of as great plenty. Most of these, 
 by her means, were both supported during their stay, 
 and enabled to return home after the storm was over. 
 The largeness of the supplies that were given, and 
 the tender manner of giving them, made their exile 
 both the shorter and the more tolerable. The miser- 
 able among ourselves, particularly such who suffered 
 by the accidents of war, found a relief in her that 
 was easily obtained, and was copiously furnished. 
 She would never limit any from laying proper objects 
 for her charity in her way, nor confine that care to 
 the ministers who were her almoners. She encou- 
 raged all about her, or who had free access to her, to 
 acquaint her with the necessities under which persons 
 of true merit might languish : and she never was 
 uneasy at applications of that kind, nor was her 
 hand ever scanty, when the person was worthy, or the 
 extremity great. She was regular and exact in this 
 her bounty. She found that even a royal treasure, 
 though dispensed by a hand that was yet more royal, 
 could not answer all demands : for which reason she 
 
QUEEN MARY. 93 
 
 took care to have a just account both of the worthi- 
 ness and the necessities of those who were candidates 
 for her liberality, and in the conducting of her charity 
 shewed as great an exactness, and as attentive a 
 regard, as much memory, and as much diligence, as 
 if she had no cares of an higher nature lying upon 
 her. But what crowned all, was her exact conformity 
 to the rule of the gospel in her munificence, so that 
 none knew to whom, or what she gave, but those 
 whom she was forced to employ in the communication 
 of her bounty. When it was to fall on persons who 
 had access to her, her own hand was the conveyance. 
 What went through other hands, was charged on 
 them with an injunction of secrecy; and she herself 
 was so far from speaking of her charities, that, when 
 some persons were mentioned as objects, who had 
 been already named by others, and relieved by herself, 
 she would not let those who spake to her understand 
 any thing that had been done; but either she let the 
 matter pass over in silence, or, if the necessity was 
 represented as heavier than she had apprehended it, 
 a new supply was given, without so much as an hint 
 of what had gone before. 
 
 The piety of this excellent person, as it was a noble 
 support to her under some kinds of trouble, so, it gave 
 the sharper edge to others. The deep sense she had 
 of the judgments that seemed to be hanging over the 
 nation, often broke out in many sad strains to those 
 to whom she gave a free vent to her thoughts. The 
 impieties and blasphemies, the open contempt of 
 religion, and the scorn of virtue, which she heard of 
 from so many hands, and in so many different parts 
 of the nation, gave her a secret horror, and presented 
 her with such a black prospect, as filled her with 
 melancholy reflections. She was the more sensibly 
 touched, when at any time she heard that some who 
 pretended to much zeal for the Crown and the Revo- 
 lution, seemed thence to think they had some sort of 
 right to be indulged in their licentiousness and 
 
94 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 irregularities. She often said, (< Can a blessing be 
 '* expected from such hands, or on any thing that 
 '* must pass through them?" She longed to see a set 
 of men of uprightness and probity, of generous tem- 
 pers and public spirits, in whose hands the concerns of 
 the crown and people might be lodged with reasonable 
 hopes of success, and a blessing from heaven on their 
 services. She had a just esteem of all persons whom 
 she found truly religious and virtuous ; nor could any 
 other considerations weigh much with her when these 
 excellencies were not to be found. Next to open 
 impiety, the want of heat and life in those who 
 pretended to religion, and the deadness and disunion 
 of the Protestants in general, very sensibly affected 
 her ; and she often said, with feeling and cutting regret, 
 " Can such dry bones live ?" When she heard what 
 crying sins abounded in our fleets and armies, she gave 
 such directions as seemed practicable, to those who 
 she thought might in some measure correct them ; and 
 she gave some in very eminent stations to understand, 
 that nothing could both gratify, and even oblige her 
 more, than that care should be taken to stop those 
 growing disorders, and to reduce things to the serious- 
 ness and sobriety of former times. The last great 
 project that her thoughts were working upon, with 
 relation to a noble and royal provision for maimed and 
 decayed seamen, w 7 as particularly designed to be so 
 constituted, as to put them in a probable way of con- 
 cluding their days in the fear of God. It gave her a 
 sensible concern to hear that Ireland was scarce 
 emerged from its abyss of miseries, before it was re- 
 turning to the levities, and even to the abominations of 
 former times. She took particular methods to be well 
 informed of the state of our plantations, and of those 
 colonies that we have among infidels. But it was no 
 small grief to her to hear, that those colonies were but 
 too generally a reproach to the religion by which thev 
 were named. She gave a willing ear to a proposition 
 that was made for erecting schools, and the founding 
 
QUEEN MARY. 
 
 of a college among them. She considered the whole 
 scheme of it, and the endowment which was desired 
 for it. It was a noble one, and was to rise out of 
 some branches of the revenue, which made it liable to 
 objections ; but she took care to consider the whole 
 matter so well, that she herself answered all objec- 
 tions, and espoused it with such an affectionate con- 
 cern, that she digested and prepared it for the Kino-. 
 And as she knew how large a share of zeal his majesty 
 had for good projects, she took care also to give him 
 the largest share of the honour of them. Nor, indeed, 
 could any thing inflame her more than the prospect 
 of advancing religion, especially where there were 
 hopes of working upon infidels. 
 
 Her concern and charity were not limited to that 
 which might seem to be her peculiar province, and 
 was more especially put under her care. The foreign 
 churches had also a liberal share of her regard and 
 
 m O 
 
 munificence. She was not insensible of the kindness 
 of the Dutch : she remembered it always with a 
 tender gratitude, and was heartily touched with their 
 interests. The refugees of France were considered bv 
 her as those whom God had sent to sit safe under 
 her shadow, and to be made easy through her favour. 
 Those scattered remains of our Protestant brethren, 
 that had been hunted out of their valleys in Piedmont, 
 were again brought together by their majesties' means. 
 It was the King's powerful intercession that restored 
 them to their seats as well as to their edicts ; and it 
 was the Queen's charity that formed them into bodies, 
 and opened the way for their enjoying those advan- 
 tages, and transmitting them down to succeeding 
 ages. She took care also for preserving the little that 
 was left of the Bohemian churches. She formed 
 nurseries of religion in some of those parts of Germany 
 which were exhausted by war, and were disabled 
 from carrying on the education of their youth, that 
 they might secure to the next age the faith which 
 they themselves professed. 
 
96 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 If we consider the subject of our memoirs more 
 particularly as a Queen, and sometimes at the head 
 of government, we shall be struck with admiration, 
 and shall behold her on a summit of greatness, in 
 which she appeared with the highest glory to herself, 
 and the greatest benefit to her people. She was 
 punctual to her hours, patient in her audiences, gentle 
 in commanding, prudent in speaking, cautious in pro- 
 mising, soft in reprehending, ready in rewarding, and 
 diligent in ordering ; and she had an ear open to all 
 that was suggested to her. That there might be a 
 fulness of leisure for every thing, the day was early 
 begun. Nothing was done in haste. There were no 
 appearances of hurry or impatience. Her devotions, 
 both private and public, were not shortened, and yet, 
 she found time enough for keeping up the cheerful- 
 ness of a court, and the admission of all persons to 
 her, whom it was proper for her to receive. She was 
 not so entirely possessed by the greatest cares that 
 she forgot the smallest. 
 
 If any thing was ever found in her that might seem 
 to fall too low, it was that her humility and modesty 
 really depressed her too much in her own eyes, and 
 that she might too soon be made to think that the 
 reasons which were offered to her by others were 
 better than her own. But this diffidence only took 
 place in such matters in which the want of practice 
 might make a modest distrust seem more reasonable, 
 and when she saw nothing in what was before in 
 which conscience had any share ; for, whensoever 
 that appeared, she was firm and immoveable. 
 
 Her administration of public affairs had a peculiar 
 felicity attending it. There was somewhat in her that 
 disarmed many of her enemies. When they came 
 near her, they were soon conquered by her ; while 
 the wisdom and secrecy of her conduct defeated the 
 designs of such of her adversaries who were restless 
 and implacable. The nation seemed once, while she 
 was at the helm, to be much exposed. Unprosperous 
 
QUEEN MARY. 97 
 
 events at sea afforded the French the appearance of 
 a triumph. They lay along the British coasts, and 
 were some time masters of the British seas. But a 
 secret guard seemed to environ our country. All 
 the harm that our enemies did us in one instance of 
 barbarity # , which might shew what our general treat- 
 ment might probably have been, if we had become 
 their prey, was but small, and seemed rather permitted 
 by Heaven to unite the nation against them. The 
 people lost no courage by it. Their zeal was the 
 more inflamed. This was the Queers first essay of 
 government; in which she, who upon ordinary oc- 
 casions was not out of countenance to own a fear 
 that did not misbecome her, now, when a visible dan- 
 ger threatened her, shewed a firmness of mind, and 
 composure of behaviour, that made even men of the 
 greatest courage ashamed of themselves. She co- 
 vered the inward apprehensions she had, with such 
 an equality of conduct, that she seemed afraid of no- 
 thing, when she had reason to fear the w r orst that 
 could happen. She was resolved, if things should 
 have proceeded to extremities, to have ventured her- 
 self with her people, and either to have saved them, 
 or to have perished with them. 
 
 This was such a beginning of the exercise of royal 
 power, as might for ever have given her a disgust of 
 
 * The French fleet, (says Bishop Burnet, History of his Own 
 Time, vol. iii. p. 69, edit. 1815, after he had related the unsuccessful 
 engagement our fleet had with it near Beachy, in Sussex, in the 
 year 1690) lay for some days in Torbay; but before they sailed, 
 they made a descent on a miserable village called Tinmouth, that 
 happened to belong to a papist. They burnt it, and a few fisher- 
 boats that belonged to it, but the inhabitants got away; and as a 
 body of militia was marching thither, the French made great haste 
 back to their ships. The French published this in their gazettes 
 with much pomp, as if it had been a great trading town, that had 
 many ships, with some men of war in port. This both rendered 
 them ridiculous, and served to raise the hatred of the nation against 
 them, for every town on the coast saw what they must expect if 
 the French should prevail. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 it ; but she appeared all the time to possess her soul 
 in patience, and to live in a constant resignation of 
 herself to the will of God, without any anxiety con- 
 cerning events. The happy news of the signal victory 
 at the Boyne, where King James's army was routed 
 by King William's, and the preservation of his ma- 
 jesty's person from the surest instruments of death, 
 which seemed to be sent with that direction that it 
 might shew the immediate watchfulness of Providence 
 about him, soon reversed the scene, and put another 
 face on public affairs. The Queen only seemed the 
 least changed. She looked more cheerful, but with 
 the same tranquillity. The appearances of it had 
 never left her. Nor was it a small addition to her joy, 
 that her father, for whom she still retained profound 
 regard, was preserved *-. Though she was no part of 
 the cause of the war, yet, she would willingly have 
 sacrificed her own life to have preserved either of 
 those lives (her husband's or father's), who were in 
 danger. She spoke of that matter two days after the 
 intelligence came, with so tender a sense of the good- 
 ness of God to her, that it drew tears from her eyes ; 
 and then she freely confessed, " that her heart had 
 " trembled, not so much from the apprehension of 
 " the danger that she herself was in, as from the scene 
 et that was then in action at the Boyne ; that God 
 " had heard her prayers, and she blessed him for it, 
 " with as sensible a joy as for any thing that had ever 
 et happened to her." 
 
 The next season of her administration concluded 
 the reduction of Ireland. The expectations of success 
 there were once so much sunk, that it seemed that 
 
 * The Earl of Nottingham told me, that when he carried the 
 news to the Queen, and acquainted her in a few words that the 
 King was well, that he had gained an entire victory, and that the 
 late King had escaped, he observed her looks, and found that the 
 last article made her joy complete, which seemed in some suspense, 
 till she understood that. — Burnet's History of his Own Time, 
 vol. iii. p. 70. edit. 1815. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 99 
 
 that island was to be yet, for another year, the field 
 of blood, and an heap of ashes. The good Queen 
 laid the blame of this, in a great measure, on the li- 
 centiousness and other disorders that she heard had 
 rather increased than abated anions; them. A sudden 
 turn came from a bold, but necessary resolution, which 
 was executed as gallantly as it was generously under- 
 taken ; and in the face of a great army, an handful 
 of men passed the river Shannon, forced Athlone, and 
 made the enemy to retire in haste. A great victory 
 followed a few days after, that of General Ginkle 
 over St. Ruth, at Agrem : from which time success 
 was less doubtful. All was concluded with the happy 
 reduction of the whole island. The reflections the 
 Queen made on this happy event, were of the same 
 tincture with that of all her thoughts, namely, 
 " that our forces elsewhere, both at sea and land, 
 " were thought to be considerable, and so promising, 
 f that we were in great hopes of somewhat that might 
 " be decisive ; only Ireland was apprehended to be 
 " too weakly furnished for a concluding campaign ; 
 " yet, so different," said she, " are the methods of 
 " Providence from human expectations, that nothing 
 " memorable happened any where except in Ireland, 
 " where little or nothing was expected." 
 
 She was again in the administration of affairs when 
 the nation was threatened with a descent and an in- 
 vasion, which was conducted with that secrecy that 
 the kingdom was in danger of being surprised by it, 
 when the preparations at sea were not finished, and 
 the force by land was not considerable. The struggle 
 was like to have been formidable, and there was a 
 particular violence to be done to herself by reason of 
 him, her father, who was to have conducted it. A 
 long uninterrupted continuance of boisterous weather, 
 that came from the point that was most contrary to 
 the designs of our enemies, made the project impracti- 
 cable. A succession of changes of weather followed 
 after, as happily to ourselves, and as fatal to our foes. 
 
 f2 
 
100 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The same wind that stopped their fleets, joined ours. 
 The wind went not out of that direction till it ended 
 in one of the most glorious actions that England ever 
 saw ; that of the victory over the French fleet, by 
 Admiral Russel, at La Hogue, in the year 1692, 
 when those, who were brought together to invade 
 our kingdom, were forced to be the melancholy 
 spectators of the destruction of the best part of their 
 fleet, on which all their hope was placed. 
 
 The Queen bore success with the same decency in 
 which she appeared when affairs were perplexed and 
 clouded. So firm a situation of mind as she had, 
 seemed to be in a good measure above the power of 
 any events whatever. 
 
 So far was she from entertaining an high opinion 
 of herself, that she had a tender sense of every thing 
 that looked like a miscarriage under her conduct, 
 and was afraid lest some mistake of hers might have 
 occasioned it. When difficulties grew too great to 
 be surmounted, and she felt an uneasiness in them, 
 she made God her refuge, and she often owned that 
 she found a full calm upon her thoughts, after she 
 had given them a free vent before him in prayer. 
 
 When melancholy events came from the immediate 
 hand of Heaven, particularly a great loss at sea, she 
 said, " That though there was no occasion for com- 
 " plaint or anger upon these cross events, yet, there 
 " was a juster cause of grief, since God's hand was 
 " to be seen so particularly in them." Sometimes 
 she feared there might be some secret sins at the 
 root, and blast all ; but she soon went off from that, 
 and said, " That where so much was visible, there 
 * was no need of divination concerning; that which 
 
 " might be hidden.' 
 
 When the sky grew clearer, and in her more pros- 
 perous days, as we have before observed, she was 
 never lifted up. A great resolution was taken, which 
 not only asserted a dominion over those seas which 
 Great Britain claimed as her own, but assumed a 
 
QUEEN MARY. 101 
 
 more extensive empire, by our becoming masters 
 both of the Ocean and the Mediterranean, having 
 our enemies' coasts as well as the seas open to us. 
 The Queen had too tender an heart to take any real 
 satisfaction in the destruction of any of her enemies' 
 towns, or in the ruin of their poor and innocent 
 inhabitants. She spake of such proceedings with 
 true indignation against those who had begun such 
 practices, even in full peace, or after protections had 
 been given. She was sorry that the state of war 
 made it necessary to restrain another prince from 
 such barbarities, by making himself feel the effects of 
 them ; and therefore she said, if She hoped that such 
 " practices should become so odious in all that 
 " should begin them, and by their doing so force 
 " others to retaliate, that for the future they should 
 " be for ever laid aside." 
 
 In her brightest seasons she grew not secure, nor 
 did she withdraw her dependence upon God. In all 
 the pleasures of life, she maintained a true indif- 
 ference as to the continuation of them ; and she 
 seemed to think of parting with them in so easy a 
 manner, that it plainly appeared how little possession 
 they had got of her heart. She had no occasion for 
 these thoughts from any other principle but a mere 
 disgust of this life, and the aspiration of her soul to 
 a better. She apprehended she felt once or twice 
 such indispositions upon her, that she concluded 
 nature was working toward some great sickness, and 
 accordingly she set herself to take full and broad 
 views of death, that hence she might judge how she 
 should be able to encounter her enemy. But she 
 found so quiet an indifference upon the prospect, 
 leaning rather toward the desire of a dissolution, that 
 she said, " That though she did not pray for death, 
 •' yet, she could neither wish nor pray against it. 
 " She left that before God, and referred herself to 
 *' the disposal of Providence. If she did not wish 
 " for death, yet she did not fear it." 
 
102 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 As this was her temper when she viewed death at 
 some distance, so she maintained the same calm 
 when in the closest struggle with it. In her sick- 
 ness, that of the small-pox, she only was serene 
 when all was in a storm about her. The dismal 
 sighs of all who came near her, could not discom- 
 pose her. She was rising so fast above mortality, 
 that even her husband, who was more to her than all 
 the world besides, and to all whose thoughts she 
 had been upon every other occasion entirely resigned, 
 could not now inspire her with any desires of return- 
 ing back to life. Her mind seemed to be disen- 
 tangling itself from her body, and so she rose above 
 that tenderness which had a greater influence upon 
 her than all other earthly things whatever. It seemed, 
 indeed, that all that was mortal was falling off, when 
 even that could give her no uneasiness. She re- 
 ceived the intimations of approaching death, with a 
 firmness that neither bent nor softened under that 
 which has made the strongest minds tremble. Then, 
 when even the most artificial grow sincere, when the 
 mask of hypocrisy drops and opens the full soul to 
 view, it appeared what a perfect calm, and how 
 sublime a piety possessed her. A ready willingness 
 to be dissolved, and an entire resignation to the will 
 of God, did not seem to forsake her so much as one 
 minute ; nor had any thing been left to be despatched 
 by her in her last hours. Her mind was in no hurry, 
 but soft as the small voice that seemed to be calling 
 her soul away to the regions above ; so that she 
 made her last steps with a stability and seriousness 
 that, how little ordinary soever they be, were, indeed, 
 the correspondent, harmonious conclusions of such 
 a life as she had led. In her heavy disease, she felt 
 no inward depression nor sinking of nature. She 
 then declared, " that she experienced the joys of a 
 " good conscience, and the power of religion giving 
 " her supports which even the last agonies could not 
 " shake." Her constant gentleness to all about her, ' 
 
QUEEN MARY. 103 
 
 never left her. That was indeed natural to her; but, 
 by its continuance with her in her sickness, all 
 visibly perceived that nothing could put her mind 
 out of its natural situation and usual state. A few 
 hours before she breathed her last, when he who 
 ministered to her in the best things had continued in 
 a long attendance about her, she was so free in her 
 thoughts, that apprehending he might be weary, she 
 commanded him to sit down, and repeated her orders 
 till he obeyed them : a thing too trifling in itself to 
 be mentioned, but that it discovered her presence 
 of mind, as well as the sweetness of her disposition. 
 Prayer was then her constant exercise, as often as 
 she was awake ; and so sensible was the refreshment 
 that her mind found in it, that she said she thought 
 it did her more good, and gave her more ease, than 
 any thing that was done to her. Nature sank apace. 
 She received the blessed Sacrament with a devotion 
 that inflamed as well as melted all who saw it. That 
 being over, she gave up herself so entirely to medi- 
 tation, that she seemed scarce to regard any thing 
 beside. She was then upon the wing. Such was 
 her peace in her latter end, that though the symp- 
 toms shewed that nature was much oppressed, yet, 
 she scarce felt any uneasiness. It was only from 
 what she perceived was done to her, and from those 
 intimations that were given her, that she judged 
 her life to be in danger ;' but she scarce knew herself 
 to be sick by any thing that she felt at heart. Her 
 bearing so much sickness with so little emotion, was 
 for a while imputed to that undisturbed quiet and 
 patience in which she possessed her soul. But when 
 she repeated it so often, that she felt herself well 
 inwardly, it then appeared that there was a particular 
 blessing in so easy a conclusion of a life that had 
 been led through a great variety of events, with a 
 constant equality of temper. And thus, this most 
 excellent Princess put off mortality, and passed from 
 
104 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 an earthly to an heavenly crown, a crown of glory 
 that shall never fade away. 
 
 The above account of this most amiable woman, 
 is, for substance, extracted from Bishop Burnet's 
 Essay on her Memory, who had more than common 
 advantages of knowing her, first in Holland, and 
 afterwards in England, who has not been reckoned 
 an historian by any means redundant in his praises, 
 and who declares that he said nothing but what he 
 knew to be strictly true, without the enlargement of 
 figure or rhetoric*. That we might do»full justice 
 to the character of the Queen, or at least make our 
 best attempts for the purpose, we shall collect from 
 the same writer, — from Dr. Edward Fowler, Bishop 
 of Gloucester, and from Dr. William Bates, an emi- 
 nent non-conformist minister, who preached a sermon 
 on her death, — some further memorials and descrip- 
 tions of this very extraordinary person. 
 
 In most people, even those of the truest merit, a 
 studied management will sometimes appear, with a 
 little too much varnish, like a nocturnal piece that 
 has a light cast through even the most shaded parts: 
 some disposition to set one's self off, and some satis- 
 faction in being commended, will at some time or 
 another shew itself more or less. All persons who 
 had the honour to approach the Queen, and particu- 
 larly such as were admitted to the greatest nearness 
 and the most constant attendance, never discovered 
 any thing of this nature in her. W lien due acknow- 
 ledgments were made, or decent things were said 
 upon occasions that well deserved them, they seemed 
 scarce to be heard. They were so little desired, 
 that they were presently passed over, without so 
 much as an answer that might seem to entertain 
 the discourse, even when it checked it. She went 
 off from it to other subjects, as one who could not 
 
 * Burnet's History of his Own Time, vol. iii. p. 177. edit. 1815. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 105 
 
 bear it. In her were seen the most active zeal for 
 the public, and a constant delight in doing good 
 joined with such unaffected humility and indifference 
 to applause, that the most critical observers could 
 never see reason to think, that the secret flatteries 
 of vanity or self-love wrought inwardly, or had any 
 power over her. 
 
 An open and native sincerity, which appeared in 
 genuine characters, in a manner quite free and 
 unconstrained, easily persuaded all who were about 
 her that all was uniform and consistent, and was at 
 the same time united with a charming behaviour, a 
 most amiable sweetness, and the sprightliness as 
 well as the freedom of a true good humour. A fresh 
 and graceful air, more turned to seriousness, but 
 always serene, that dwelt upon her looks, discovered 
 both the perfect calm within, and shewed the force 
 as well as the loveliness of those principles which 
 were the springs of so cheerful a temper, and so 
 lively a deportment. 
 
 The freedom of cheerfulness is not always under 
 an exact command. It will make escapes from rules, 
 and be apt to go too far, and to forget all measures 
 and bounds. It is seldom kept under a perpetual 
 guard. The openness of the Queen's behaviour was 
 subject to universal observation ; but yet, it was 
 under that regularity of conduct, that they who knew 
 her best and saw her oftenest, could never discover 
 her thoughts or intentions, further than as she 
 herself had a mind to let them be known. No half- 
 word, or change of look, no forgetfulness, or career 
 of discourse, ever drew any thing from her further 
 or sooner than she designed it. This caution was 
 managed by her in so peculiar a way, that no dis- 
 trust was shown in it, nor distaste given by it. It 
 appeared to be no other than that due reserve which 
 became her elevation, and suited those affairs which 
 were to pass through her hands. When she saw 
 reason for it, she had the truest methods to oblige 
 
 f 5 
 
106 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 others to use all becoming freedom with herself, 
 while at the same time she kept them at a proper 
 distance from her own thoughts. 
 
 She would never borrow any assistance from those 
 arts, which are so common to great stations, that 
 some, perhaps, may imagine them necessary. She 
 did not cover her purposes by doubtful expressions, 
 or such general words as, taken strictly, signify 
 little, but in common use are understood to import 
 a oreat deal more. As she would not deceive others, 
 so, she avoided the saying of that which might give 
 them an occasion to deceive themselves ; and when 
 she did not intend to promise, she took care to 
 explain her meaning so critically, that it might be 
 understood that no construction of a promise was 
 to be made from general words of favour. In a 
 course of several years, and of many turns, when 
 great temptation was given for more artificial me- 
 thods, and when, according to the maxims of the 
 world, great advantage might have been made of them, 
 yet, she maintained her sincerity so entirely, that 
 she never once needed explanations to justify either 
 her words or actions. 
 
 What was good and what was great in human 
 nature were so equally mixed, and both shone with 
 such a full brightness in her, that it was hard to tell 
 in whether of the two she was the more eminent. 
 
 She maintained that respect that belonged to her 
 sex without any of those mixtures which, though, 
 generally speaking, they do not much misbecome it, 
 yet, seem a little to lessen it. She had a courage that 
 was resolute and firm, mingled with a mildness that 
 was soft and attracting. She had in her all the graces 
 of her own sex, w T ith all the greatness of the other. 
 If she did not affect to be a Zenobia, or a Boadicea, 
 it was not because she was destitute of their cotsrage, 
 but because she understood the decencies of her 
 sex better than they did. A desire of power, or an 
 eagerness of empire, were things so far below her, 
 
QUEEN MARY. 107 
 
 though they generally pass for heroical qualities, 
 that perhaps the world never yet beheld so great a 
 capacity for government joined with so little affec- 
 tion to it ; so unwillingly assumed, so modestly 
 managed, and so cheerfully laid down. 
 
 She was distinguished for a clearness of appre- 
 hension, a presence of mind, an exactness of memory, 
 a solidity of judgment, and a correctness of expres- 
 sion. No one took things sooner, or retained them 
 longer. No one judged more truly, or spoke more 
 exactly. She wrote clear and short, with a true 
 beauty and force of style. She discovered a supe- 
 riority of genius, even in the most trifling matters, 
 which were considered by her only as amusements, 
 and so gave no occasion for deep reflections. A 
 happiness of imagination, and a liveliness of expres- 
 sion, appeared upon the commonest subjects on a 
 sudden, and in the greatest variety of accidents. 
 She was quick, but not hasty : and even without the 
 advantages which her rank gave her, she had an 
 exaltation of mind, which subdued as well as 
 charmed all who came near her. 
 
 A quickness of thought is often superficial. It 
 easily catches, and sparkles with some lustre ; but it 
 lasts not long, nor does it strike deep. In the Queen, 
 a bright vivacity was joined with an exploring dili- 
 gence. Her age and her rank had denied her oppor- 
 tunities for much study ; yet, she had made no in- 
 considerable advances in knowledge, having read 
 the best books in the three languages (English, 
 Dutch, and French,) that were almost equally familiar 
 to her. She gave the most of her hours to the 
 study of the Scriptures, and of books relating to 
 them. She had an uncommon understanding in 
 matters of divinity ; and particularly she had so 
 well considered our disputes with the Church of 
 Rome, that she was capable of managing debates 
 in them with equal degrees of address and judg- 
 ment. 
 
108 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Next to the best subjects, she bestowed much of 
 her time on books of history, principally of the later 
 ages, particularly those of her own kingdoms, as 
 being the most proper to afford her useful instruc- 
 tion. She was a good judge as well as a great lover 
 of poetry. She liked it best, when it was employed 
 on the best subjects. So tender she was of poetry, 
 though much more of virtue, that the prostitution of 
 the Muses among us gave her a more than ordinary 
 concern. She made some steps to the understanding 
 of philosophy and mathematics, but she stopped 
 soon ; only she went far in natural history and per- 
 spective, as she was also very exact in geography. 
 Upon the whole, she studied and read more than 
 could be imagined by any who had not known how 
 many of her hours were spent in her closet. She 
 would have made a much greater progress, if the fre- 
 quent returns of ill humours on her eyes had not 
 compelled her to spare them. Her very diversions 
 gave indications of a mind that was truly great. She 
 had no relish for those lazy entertainments, if they 
 may deserve the name, that are the too common 
 consumers of most people's time, and that make as 
 great waste on their minds, as they do on their for- 
 tunes. If she sometimes used them, she made it 
 visible it was only in compliance with forms, because 
 she was unwilling: to offend others with too harsh a 
 severity. She gave her minutes of leisure with the 
 greatest willingness to architecture and gardening. 
 She had a fruitfulness of invention, with a felicity 
 of contrivance, that had airs in them which were 
 nobler than what was more stiff, though it might be 
 more regular. She knew that these things drew an 
 expense after them ; but she had no inclinations 
 beyond these to any diversions that were costly ; 
 and, since these employed many hands, she was 
 pleased to say, '* That she hoped it would be for- 
 given her." 
 
 When her eyes were endangered by reading too 
 
QUEEN MARY. 109 
 
 much, she betook herself to the amusement of work; 
 and in all those hours that were not given to better 
 employment, she wrought with her own hands, and 
 that, sometimes, with as constant a diligence as if she 
 had been to earn her bread by her labour. It was a 
 new thing, and looked like a sight, to see a Queen 
 work so many hours a day. But she considered 
 idleness as the great corrupter of human nature, and 
 believed that if the mind had no employment given 
 it, it would create some of the worst sort to itself; 
 and she thought that any thing that might amuse and 
 divert, without leaving any ill effects behind, ought 
 to fill up those vacant hours that were not claimed 
 by devotion or business. Her example soon wrought 
 not only on those who belonged to her, but upon 
 the whole town, to follow it; so that it became, in 
 her time, as much the fashion to work as it had been 
 to sit idle. In this particular, which seemed to be 
 nothing, and was made, by some, a subject of rail- 
 lery, a greater step was taken than, perhaps, every 
 one was aware of, to the bettering the ao;e. While 
 the Queen thus diverted herself with work, she took 
 care to give an entertainment to her own mind, as 
 well as to those who were admitted to the honour 
 of working with her. One was appointed to read to 
 the rest; the choice was suited to the time of the 
 day and the employment : some book or poem that 
 was lively as well as instructive. Few of her sex, 
 not to say of her rank, gave ever less time to dress- 
 ing, or seemed less curious about it. Those parts 
 of it which required more patience, were not given 
 up entirely to it. She read often all the time her- 
 self, and generally aloud, that those who served 
 about her might be the better for it. When she was 
 indisposed, another was called to do it. The whole 
 was mixed with such pleasant reflections of her own, 
 that the gloss was often better than the text. An 
 agreeable vivacity diffused that innocent cheerful- 
 ness among all about her, that whereas, in most 
 
1 10 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 courts, the hours of strict attendance are the hea- 
 viest part of the day, they were, in hers, of all others, 
 the most delightful. 
 
 Her cheerfulness might well be termed innocent, 
 for none was ever hurt by it. No natural defects, 
 nor real faults, were ever the subjects of her mirth ; 
 nor could she bear it in others if their wit happened 
 to glance that way. She thought it a cruel and 
 barbarous thing to be merry at other people's cost, 
 or to make the misfortunes or follies of others the 
 matter of diversion. She scarce ever expressed a 
 more entire satisfaction in any sermon that she had 
 heard, than in that of Archbishop Tillotson against 
 evil-speaking. When she thought some were guilty 
 of it, she would ask them if they had read that ser- 
 mon. This was understood to be a reprimand, 
 though in the softest manner. She had, indeed, one 
 of the blessings of virtue, but which does not always 
 accompany it; for she was as free from censures as 
 she was far from deserving them. When reflections 
 were made on this her felicity, she said, " That she 
 " ascribed it wholly to the goodness of God to her ; 
 u for she did not doubt but that many fell under 
 " hard censures that deserved them as little." She 
 also gave the matter this further turn, " That God 
 " knew her weakness, and that she was not able to 
 " bear some imputations, and therefore he did not 
 " try her beyond her strength." In one respect, she 
 intended never to provoke censure. She was con- 
 scientiously tender of wounding others, and said, 
 " She hoped God would still bless her in her good 
 " name as long as she was careful not to hurt 
 " others." But, as she was exact in not wronging 
 any other while she diverted herself, so, upon indif- 
 ferent subjects, she had a spring of cheerfulness 
 in her that was never to be exhausted : it never 
 sunk by repetition, nor degenerated into a forced 
 mirth. 
 
 Dr. Bates's character of the Queen may be con- 
 
QUEEN MARY. HI 
 
 sidered as an abridgment, not without some very 
 acceptable additions, of what has been already 
 more diffusively said concerning her. There is an 
 elegance and beauty in his thoughts and language, 
 that cannot fail to give pleasure to our readers. 
 
 " The descent of our Queen was royal ; but this 
 " is only an external circumstance, and derives no 
 " moral virtue to a person. The splendour of ex- 
 " traction, like varnish in a picture, that gives more 
 ** life and lustre to the colours, makes the virtues or 
 " the vices of a person more conspicuous. 
 
 " Her body was the beautiful temple of a fairer 
 " soul*. Her graceful presence inspired reverence 
 " and love in those who saw her, and appeared 
 " worthy of empire. But we have much greater 
 " things to speak concerning her. 
 
 " I shall begin with her piety towards God. This 
 " is the first duty of man in order and dignity, and 
 a the most considerable in its consequences. It is 
 " the foundation of all royal virtues. In the public 
 u worship of God, she was a bright example of so- 
 u lemn and unaffected devotion. She prayed with 
 " humble reverence, heard the word with respectful 
 " silence, and with serious application of spirit, as 
 " duly considering the infinite interval between the 
 " Supremacy of Heaven and princes on earth ; that 
 " their greatness in its lustre is but a faint and va- 
 " nishing reflection of the Divine Majesty. One in* 
 " stance 1 shall specify in this kind. When her 
 
 * Mr. Boyer gives this more particular description of her. 
 u Her person was tall, and well-proportioned. Her shape, while 
 M Princess of Orange, easy and genteel; her complexion light 
 M brown; her visage oval; her eyes quick and lively; and the 
 ' rest of her features regular. Her stately port and native air of 
 " greatness commanded respect from the most confident : but her 
 " sweet and graceful countenance tempered the awfulness of ma- 
 " jesty, and her affable temper encouraged the most timorous to 
 " approach her." 
 
112 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " residence was at the Hague, a lady of noble quality 
 u coming to the court to wait on her on a Saturday, 
 " in the afternoon, was told she was retired from all 
 t( company, and kept a fast in preparation for the 
 " receiving the Sacrament the next day. The lady 
 " staying till five o'clock, the Princess came out, 
 " and contented herself with a very slender supper, 
 " it being incongruous to conclude a fast with a 
 " feast. Thus solemnly she prepared herself for 
 " spiritual communion with her Saviour. When 
 " Moses was surprised by the sight of the burning- 
 " bush, and intended to come near to it, he was 
 " warned by a voice from heaven, ' Draw not nigh 
 " hither : put off thy shoes from thy feet, for the 
 " place whereon thou standest is holy ground.' By 
 (t the familiar figure of putting off the shoes is sig- 
 f( nified the purifying ourselves from all defilements. 
 " And certainly, the presence of the Son of God is 
 " more peculiar in that sacred mysterious ordinance, 
 " than it was in the burning-bush : accordingly, we 
 " should sanctify ourselves, and approach with holy 
 " fear. 
 
 " Her religion was not confined to the chapel, but 
 " every day she had chosen hours for communion 
 " with God, of which He is the only discerner and 
 " rewarder. Some who are high in the world, think 
 " it sufficient to pay a complimental visit to God 
 u once a week, and content themselves with the 
 " external service, though destitute of holy afFec- 
 " tions, which are the life of religion ; or, at best, 
 * are satisfied with a few expiring acts of devotion. 
 " But the good Queen's conversation was in heaven. 
 " She was constant in those duties in which the soul 
 <e ascends to God in solemn thoughts and ardent 
 " desires, and God descends into the soul by the ex- 
 f citations and influences of his Spirit. 
 
 " Her religion was not only exercised in divine 
 " worship, but was influential into practice. The law 
 
QTJfcEN MARY. 113 
 
 " of God was written in her heart, and transcribed 
 u in her life, in the fairest characters. 
 
 " She had a sincere zeal for the healing of ourun- 
 '* happy divisions in religious things, and declared 
 " her resolution upon the first address of some mi- 
 u nisters, that she would use all means forthat blessed 
 " end. She was so wise as to understand the dif- 
 cc ference between matters doctrinal and ritual ; and 
 lt so good as to allow a just liberty for dissenters in 
 M things of small moment. She was not fettered 
 " with superstitious scruples ; but her clear and free 
 tl spirit was for the union of Christians in things 
 u essential to Christianity. The holiness of her life 
 M was universal. She was born and lived in a court, 
 u that shines in pomp, and flows in pleasures, and 
 u presents charming temptations to all the distem- 
 tc pered appetites. Pride, that destroyed both 
 " worlds, and cleaves so close to human nature, 
 " reigns there. The love of pleasure is a soft seducer 
 t( that easily insinuates itself through the senses, and 
 " captivates the soul. It is an observation of St. 
 " Chrysostom, that the preserving the three Hebrew 
 u martyrs unpolluted in the court of Babylon, was 
 u a greater miracle than the preserving them un- 
 " singed in the fiery furnace. In the absence of 
 '* temptations, the corrupt nature is sometimes so 
 " concealed that it is hardly known to itself; but 
 " when tempting objects, armed with allurements, 
 " offer themselves, the corrupt nature is presently 
 H discovered, especially if a person comes to the 
 " license of a sceptre, that swells pride, and autho- 
 " rizes the exorbitant desires. To be humble in 
 " such a high elevation, to be temperate in the midst 
 " of the freest fruitions, is the effect of powerful 
 •• grace. But who ever saw in the Queen an appear- 
 " ance of pride and disdain? How grateful was the 
 " condescendence of her greatness ! Who ever saw 
 u any disorder in her countenance, the crystal 
 " wherein the affections are visible'.' Her breast was 
 
114 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " like the Pacific Sea, that seldom suffers and is 
 " disturbed by a storm. She was so exempt from 
 u the tyranny of the angry passions, that we may 
 " have some conjecture of the felicity of the state 
 (l of unstained innocence, of which one ray is so 
 '? amiable. She had such an abhorrence of the sen- 
 " sual passions, that nothing impure durst approach 
 ': her presence. 
 
 "■ She had an excellent understanding, that qua- 
 '{ lifted her for government. Of this, her presid- 
 " ing in council in times of danger, and preserv- 
 " ing the tranquillity of the kingdom, were real 
 " proofs. 
 
 " Her charity, that celestial grace, was like the 
 '? sun : nothing within her circuit was hid from its 
 " refreshing heat. Love is the clearest notion we 
 " have of the Deity : God is Love. A prince in no 
 " perfection resembles God more than in his com- 
 " municative goodness. I will mention one act of 
 " her pious charity, and the noble manner of her 
 " doing it. A lord of great honour and piety pro- 
 " posed to her a very good work that was charge- 
 u able. She ordered an hundred pounds should be 
 " paid to him for it. Some time interposing before 
 " the receipt of the money, he waited upon the 
 ',' Queen, and pleasantly told her, that interest was 
 % \ due for the delay of payment. She presently 
 " ordered that fifty pounds more should be given, 
 '■' which was done accordingly. If it were known 
 " what this good Queen did, and what she designed 
 " to do, among all her resplendent virtues, charity 
 " would be illustrious. 
 
 *.' Her wise redemption of time from unconcerning 
 " vanities for domestic affairs, was the effect and 
 " indication of her tender and vigilant conscience. 
 " She considered her glass was continually running, 
 "■ and all the sands were to be accounted for. How 
 " should this great example correct those who are 
 " lavish of nothing so much as of time, which being 
 
QUEEN MARY. 1 15 
 
 " lost is irrecoverable ! The sun returns every day, 
 " but time never returns. 
 
 * 6 In her sickness, patience had its perfect work. 
 ** Her disease was uncomfortable, yet, with resigned 
 " submission she bore it. When the danger of it 
 " was signified to her, she had no fearful thoughts 
 " about her future state. It is a cruel respect to sick 
 u persons, especially to princes, to conceal from them 
 " their danger till death steals insensibly upon them. 
 " Indeed, considering their past lives, and their pre- 
 " sent anxieties, the advice of approaching death is 
 " an anticipation of it. But the spirit of this excel- 
 " lent saint was not afraid of evil tidings, but was 
 " fixed, trusting in the Lord. Her care had been to 
 u secure the love of God in the best time of her life ; 
 " and this mixed cordial drops in the bitterness of 
 " death. 
 
 f In short, all the blessed virtues were eminently 
 '* seen in her, that might render her government an 
 " entire happiness to the kingdom. This erected her 
 " a throne in the hearts of her subjects, and the 
 " honour the wise poet attributes to the Emperor 
 '•' Augustus, 
 
 Victorque volentes 
 
 Per populos dat jura Virgil. 
 
 " that * he ruled a willing people/ may more truly be 
 " said of this excellent Princess. She was queen of 
 " the affections of the people, and governed them 
 " without constraint. Her praiseworthy actions will 
 et eternize her memory, when other princes, divested 
 " of their secular pomp, shall either be buried in dark 
 " oblivion, or condemned in history." 
 
 There is a point of light in which we have not as 
 yet considered this most excellent Princess ; her affec- 
 tion and conduct as a wife to that great man, the 
 Prince of Orange, afterwards King William the 
 Third, to whom^she was married about seventeen 
 
116 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 years. Such as have given an account of her charac- 
 ter, have bestowed, and we doubt not with sufficient 
 reason, the highest praises upon her in this relation. 
 " She was/' says Bishop Burnet, " so tender and so 
 rt respectful a wife, that she seemed to go beyond the 
 " most perfect idea to which wit or invention has 
 " been able to rise. The lowest condition of life, or 
 M the greatest inequality of fortune, has not afforded 
 '.' so complete a pattern. Tenderness and compla- 
 " cency seemed to strive which of them should be the 
 " more eminent. She had no higher satisfaction in 
 " the prospect of the greatness that was descending 
 u on her, than that it gave her an occasion of making 
 u her husband a present worthy of himself; nor had 
 " crowns or thrones any charm in them that was so 
 rt pleasant to her, as that they raised him to a great- 
 u ness which he so well deserved, and could so well 
 " maintain. She was all zeal and rapture, when any 
 u thing was to be done that could either express 
 r< affection, or shew respect to him. She obeyed 
 " with more pleasure than the most ambitious could 
 u have when they command*." That the Bishop's 
 account of her in this view, and other such like repre- 
 sentations of her in the same exalted strain by other 
 writers that might be mentioned, do not surpass the 
 truth, but are only a justice to her memory, we may 
 well conclude from what both the King said and did 
 during her sickness, and after her decease. When 
 Dr. Tennison, upon her death, went to comfort the 
 King, his majesty answered, " That he could not but 
 " grieve, since he had lost a wife who, in seventeen 
 u years, had never been guilty of an indiscretion." — 
 " On the third day of her illness," says Bishop Burnet, 
 " the King called me into his closet, and gave a free 
 " vent to a most tender passion. He burst out into 
 '* tears, and cried out, that there was no hope of the 
 " Queen, and that from being the happiest, he was now 
 
 * Essay on the Memory of Queen Mary, pp. 125, 126. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 1J7 
 
 u going to be the miserablest creature on earth." He 
 said, " that during the whole course of their marriage, 
 " he had never known one single fault in her ; that 
 M there was a worth in her that nobody knew beside 
 " himself; though," headded, u I might know as much 
 " of her as any other person did # ." Presently after, 
 the same historian adds, " that the King's affliction 
 " for her death was as great as it was just. It was 
 " greater than those who knew him best, thought his 
 " temper capable of. He went beyond all bounds in 
 ** it. During her sickness, he was in an agony that 
 " amazed us all, fainting often, and breaking out into 
 " most violent lamentations. When she died, his 
 " spirits sunk so low, that there was great reason to 
 a apprehend that he was following her. For some 
 u weeks after he was so little master of himself, that 
 " he was not capable of minding business, or of see- 
 U ing company f." 
 
 But, besides the testimony of her uncommon merit 
 as a wife, in the above declarations and behaviour of 
 the King her husband, the letters written by her to 
 him while he was in Ireland, in the year 1690, bear 
 the most convincing proofs of the tenderest affection 
 for him, and the high esteem and honour in which 
 she held him £. 
 
 The King set out for Ireland on the 4th of June, 
 the administration of affairs having first, by an act of 
 parliament, been vested in the hands of the Queen, 
 and landed at Carrickfergus on the 14th; and he ar- 
 rived at Windsor, in his return from Ireland, Septem- 
 ber the 9th, 1690. During this interval, the Queen 
 sent him no less than thirty-seven letters; out of 
 which, passing by those of national business, we 
 shall select several, or at least several passages in 
 
 • Burnet's History of his Own Time, vol. iii. p. 175. edit. 1815. 
 f Ibid. vol. iii. p. 177. edit. 1815. 
 
 t See these letters in Sir John Dalrymple's Memoirs of Great. 
 Britain and Ireland, vol. ii. part ii. p. 114 — 169. 
 
118 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 them, in which there are the brightest traces of her 
 solicitude and delight to please and approve herself 
 to him. If, in the recital of them, we should mention 
 some things not immediately to our purpose, let it be 
 considered that they may be so interwoven with the 
 parts of the letters we are desirous to communicate, 
 that they could not well be separated. 
 
 The Queen's affliction on the King's leaving her, and her 
 pleasure on hearing of his welfare. 
 
 Whitehall, June 11, (O. S.) 1690. 
 
 You will be weary of seeing every day a 
 letter from me, it may be ; yet, being apt to flatter 
 myself, I hope you will be as willing to read as I to 
 write. And indeed it is the only comfort I have in 
 this world, besides that of trust in God. I have no- 
 thing to say to you at present that is worth writing, 
 and I think it unreasonable to trouble you with my 
 grief, which I must continue while you are absent, 
 though I trust every post to hear some good news 
 or other from you. — I cannot enough thank God 
 for your being so well past the dangers of the sea. 
 I beseech him in his mercy still to preserve you, and 
 send us once more an happy meeting on earth. I 
 long to hear again from you how the air of Ireland 
 agrees with you, for I must own I am not without 
 my fears for that, loving you so entirely as I do, and 
 shall till death. 
 
 The Queen's thankful sense of the deliverance of the 
 King, when his shoulder was grazed by a cannon* 
 ball, and her tender anxiety for his safety. 
 
 Whitehall, July 6, 1690. 
 
 I can never give God thanks enough, as long 
 
 as I live, for your preservation. I hope in his mercy, 
 
 .that this is a sign he preserves you to finish the work 
 
 he has begun by you ; but I hope it may be a warning 
 
QUEEN MARY. 119 
 
 to you, to let you see you are exposed to as many 
 accidents as others ; and though it has pleased God 
 to keep you once in so visible a manner, yet, you 
 must forgive me if I tell you that I should think it a 
 tempting God to venture again without a great ne- 
 cessity. I know what I say of this kind will be 
 attributed to fear. I own I have a great deal for 
 your dear person, yet I hope I am not unreasonable 
 upon the subject, for I trust in God, and he is pleased 
 every day to confirm me more and more in the con- 
 fidence I have in him ; yet, my fears are not less, 
 since I cannot tell if it should be his will to suffer 
 you to come to harm for our sins, and when that 
 might happen ; for though God is able, yet, many 
 times he punishes the sins of a nation as it seems 
 good in his sight. Your writing me word how soon 
 you hoped to send me good news, shows me how 
 soon you thought there may be some action, and 
 that thought put me in perpetual pain. This morn- 
 ing, when I heard the express was come, before Lord 
 Nottingham came up, I was taken with a trembling 
 for fear, which has hardly left me yet, and I really 
 do not know what I do. Your letter came just 
 before I went to chapel ; and though the first thing 
 Lord Nottingham told me was, that you was very 
 well, yet, the thoughts that you expose yourself thus 
 to danger fright me out of my wits, and make me 
 not able to keep my trouble to myself; but, for 
 God's sake, let me beg you to take more care for 
 the time to come. Consider what depends upon 
 your safety. There are so many more important 
 things than myself, that I think I am not worthy 
 naming among them. But it may be, the worst will 
 be over before this time, so that I will say no more. 
 I did not answer your letter by the post last night, 
 because the express could not be despatched ; and I 
 believe more hindrances are come, for Lord Steward 
 and Lord Pembroke write word they will be here 
 to-night, but I can say very little upon the subject 
 
120 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 at present, for I really had my head and heart so full 
 of you, I could mind nothing else. I hope you will 
 forgive me if I forget half what I have to say, for 
 really my concern for you has got the mastery, and 
 I am not able to think of any thing else, but that I 
 love you in more abundance than my own life. 
 
 The Queen's tender Congratulations on his Victory at the 
 JBoyne * — Her joy on the occasion — - Her desires of 
 the King's Return — Her strong affection to him. 
 
 Whitehall, July 7, 1690. 
 
 How to begin this letter I know not, or 
 how ever to render God thanks enough for his 
 mercies. Indeed they are too great, if we look on 
 our deserts ; but, as you say, it is his own cause, 
 and since it is for the glory of his great name, we 
 have no reason to fear but he will perfect what he 
 has begun. For myself, in particular, my heart is so 
 full of joy and acknowledgment to that great God 
 who has preserved you, and given you such a victory, 
 that I am unable to explain it. I beseech him to 
 give me grace to be ever sensible, as I ought, and 
 that I and all may live suitable to such a mercy as 
 this is. I am sorry the Fleet has done no better, 
 but it is God's providence, and we must not murmur, 
 but wait with patience to see the event. I was 
 
 * "The victory of the Boyne, July J, 1690," says Bishop 
 Burnet, in his History of his Own Time, vol. iii. p. 64. edit. 1815, 
 " was a complete victory; and those who were the least disposed 
 " to flattery, said it was almost wholly due to the king's courage 
 *' and conduct. And though he was a little stiff by reason of his 
 f* wound, yet he was forced to quit his horse in the morass, and 
 *' to go through it on foot: but he came up in time to ride almost 
 " into every body of his army. He charged in many different 
 " places, and nothing stood before him " The Bishop adds, p. 71, 
 ibid, " that in this battle a musket-ball struck the heel of his 
 " boot, and recoiling, killed an horse near him ; and one of his 
 " own men, mistaking him for an enemy, came up to shoot him ; 
 " but the King gently put by his pistol, and only said, Do you not 
 (t know your friends V 1 
 
QUEEN MARY. 121 
 
 yesterday out of my senses with trouble, I am now 
 almost so with joy, so that I cannot really as yet tell 
 what I have to say to you by this bearer, who is 
 impatient to return. I hope in God by the afternoon 
 to be in a condition of sense enough to say much 
 more, but for the present I am not. 
 
 When I wrote the foregoing part of this, it was in 
 the morning, soon after I had received yours ; and 
 now it is four in the afternoon, but I am not yet 
 come to myself, and fear I shall lose this opportunity 
 of writing all my mind, for I am still in such a con- 
 fusion of thoughts that I scarce know what to say; 
 but I hope in God you will now readily consent to 
 what the lord president wrote last night, for methinks 
 there is nothing more for you to do. I will hasten 
 Kensington as much as it is possible, and I will also 
 get ready for you here, for I will hope you may come 
 before that is done. I must put you in mind of 
 one thing, believing it now the season, which is, 
 that you would take care of the church in Ireland. 
 Every body agrees that it is the worst in Christendom. 
 There are now bishopricks vacant, and other things. 
 I beg you would take time to consider who you will 
 fill them with. You will forgive me that I trouble 
 you with this now, but I hope you will take care of 
 those things which are of so great consequence to 
 religion, which I am sure will be more your care 
 every day, now that it has pleased God to bless you 
 with success. I think I have told you before, how 
 impatient I am to hear how you approve what has 
 been done here. I have but little part in it myself, 
 but I long to hear how others have pleased you. I 
 am very uneasy in one thing, which is the want of 
 somebody to speak my mind freely to, for it is a 
 great restraint, to think and be silent ; and there is 
 so much matter, that I am ready to burst. — Lord 
 Nottingham brought me your letter yesterday, and I 
 could not hold ; so he saw me cry, which I have 
 hindered myself from before every body till then 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that it was impossible ; and this morning, when I 
 heard the joyful news from Mr. Butler, I was in 
 pain to know what was become of the late King*, 
 but durst not ask him; but when Lord Nottingham 
 came, I ventured to do it, and I had the satisfaction 
 to know he was safe. I know I need not beg you 
 to let him be taken care of, for I am confident you 
 will, for your own sake, yet add that to all your 
 kindness, and for my sake let the people know you 
 would have no hurt come to his person. Forgive 
 me this. The lords of the treasury have desired me, 
 that if there is any thing to be done, I would hear 
 them all. You gave me no directions in this, but to 
 the contrary, so that I have declined it hitherto : 
 but if I must sign any warrant, it must come 
 to it. 
 
 1 have written this at so many times, that Lfear 
 you will hardly make sense of it. I long to hear 
 
 * It is very observable that Queen Mary, amidst her unbounded 
 affection for the King her husband, still retained and shewed her 
 duty to her father; and how united the royal pair were in their 
 regards to him, appears from the following instance: a proposition 
 was made to King William, that a third-rate ship, well manned by 
 a faithful crew, and commanded by one who had been well with 
 King James, but in whom he might trust, should sail to Dublin, 
 and declare for King James. The person who told Bishop Burnet 
 this, offered to be the person who should carry the message to King 
 James, for he was well known to him, and invite him to come on 
 board, which he seemed to be sure he would accept of; and that 
 when he was aboard, they should sail away with him, and land him 
 either in Spain or Italy, as the King should desire, and should have 
 twenty thousand pounds to give him when he should be set ashore. 
 King William thought this was a well-formed design, and likely 
 enough to succeed, but would not hearken to it : declaring, that he 
 would have no hand in treachery, and alleging that King James 
 would certainly carry some of his guards and of his court aboard 
 with him, who probably would make some opposition, and in the 
 struggle, some accident might happen to him, in which he would 
 have no hand. Bishop Burnet acquainted the Queen with this, 
 who shewed great tenderness for her father's person, and was 
 much touched with the answer the King had made. — Burnet'* 
 History, vol. iii. p. 59. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 123 
 
 what you will say to the proposition * that will be 
 sent to you this night by the lords, and flatter ray- 
 self mightily with the hopes to see you, for which 
 I am more impatient than can be expressed, loving 
 you with a passion which cannot end but with 
 my life. 
 
 The Queen's high esteem of the King's kindness to her, 
 and her great love for him. 
 
 Whitehall, Aug. 22, 1690. 
 You will have an account from Lord 
 Nottingham what has been done this day and yes- 
 terday. I know you will pity me ; and I hope you 
 will believe, if your letter had been less kind, 1 do 
 not know what would become of me. It is that 
 only makes me bear all that now so torments me, 
 and I give God thanks every day for your kindness. 
 It is such a satisfaction to me to find that you are 
 satisfied with me, that I cannot express it; and I do 
 so flatter myself with the hopes of being once more 
 happy with you in this world, that that thought 
 alone makes me bear all with patience. I pray God 
 preserve you from the dangers I hear you expose 
 yourself daily to, which puts me in continual pain. 
 A battle, I fancy, is soon over ; but the perpetual 
 shooting you are now in, is an intolerable thing to 
 think on. For God's sake take care of yourself. 
 You owe it to yourself and this country, and to all 
 in general. I must not name myself, where church 
 and state are equally concerned ; yet, I must needs 
 say, you owe a little care for my sake, who, I am 
 sure, love you more than you can do me ; and the 
 little care you take of your dear person, I take to 
 be a sign of it; but I must still love you more 
 than life. 
 
 * The proposition from the lords to the king was, that he should 
 return. 
 
 G 2 
 
124 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The Queen's joy on the prospect of the King's Return. 
 
 Whitehall, Sept. 8th, 1690. 
 
 Lord Winchester is desirous to go to meet 
 you, which you may believe I will never hinder any 
 one. Whether I ought to send him out of form 
 sake, I cannot tell, but it may pass for what it ought 
 to the world ; and to your dear self, at least, I 
 suppose it is indifferent. Nothing can express the 
 impatience I have to see you, nor my joy to think it 
 is so near. I have not slept all this night for it, 
 though I had but five hours sleep the night before, 
 for a reason I shall tell you. I am now going to 
 Kensington, to put things in order there, and intend 
 to dine there to-morrow, and expect to hear when I 
 shall set out to meet you — God send you a good 
 journey home, and make me as thankful as I ought 
 for all his mercies ! 
 
 We have thus endeavoured to delineate and pre- 
 sent to the public view, the true and full character 
 of this most amiable woman, — this, we had almost 
 said, angel clothed in clay ; and have been the more 
 desirous to do justice to her, as the memoirs of her 
 eminent virtues may not hitherto have been so parti- 
 cular as the subject of them might deserve. 
 
 We shall conclude with one excellent poem, which 
 was written in honour of her. 
 
 On the Sight of Queen Mary, in the Year 1694. 
 
 BY THE KEV. ISAAC WATTS, D.D. 
 
 I saw th' illustrious form ; I saw 
 Beauty that gave the nations law : 
 Her eyes, like mercy on a throne, 
 In condescending grandeur shone. 
 
 That blooming face ! how lovely fair 
 Hath Nature mix'd her wonders there ! 
 The rosy morn such lustre shows, 
 Glancing along the Scythian snows. 
 
QUEEN MARY. 125 
 
 Her shape, her motion, and her mien, 
 All heav'nly : such are angels seen, 
 When the bright vision grows intense, 
 And fancy aids our feebler sense. 
 
 Earth's proudest idols dare not vie 
 With such superior majesty : 
 A kindling vapour might as soon 
 Rise from the bogs, and meet the moon. 
 
 I'll call no Raphael from his rest : 
 Such charms can never be exprest. 
 Pencil and paint were never made 
 To draw pure light without a shade. 
 
 Britain beholds her Queen with pride, 
 And mighty William at her side 
 Gracing the throne, while at their feet 
 With humble joy three nations meet. 
 
 Secure of empire, she might lay 
 Her crown, her robes, her state away, 
 And 'midst ten thousand nymphs be seen: 
 Her beauty would proclaim the queen. 
 
 EFANOrvTHOSrS. 
 
 Iler guardian angel heard my song, 
 li Fond man," he cried, " forbear to wrong 
 " My lovely charge. So, vulgar eyes 
 ; ' Gaze at the stars, and praise the skies. 
 
 " Rudely they praise who dwell below, 
 " And heav'n's true glories never know; 
 " Where stars and planets are no more 
 " Than pebbles scatter'd on the floor. 
 
 " So, where celestial virtues join'd 
 
 " Form an incomparable mind; 
 
 " Crowns, sceptres, beauties, charms, and air, 
 
 " Stand but as shining servants there." 
 
126 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE LADY MARY VERE. 
 
 This lady derived her birth from respectable fami- 
 lies on both sides. On her father's side, she de- 
 scended from the ancient family of the Tracy s, of 
 Todding ton in Gloucestershire ; and on her mother's 
 side, she sprang from the best line of the Throg- 
 mortons. 
 
 She was the youngest of fifteen children, and was 
 born on the 18th of May, 1581. Her mother died 
 three days after her birth ; and her father when she 
 was only eight years of age. Thus was she soon 
 left an orphan in the world ; but, when her father 
 and mother forsook her, the Lord took her up ; and 
 the experience she had all her life long of God's 
 most tender care over her, made her choose this for 
 her motto, which was found written by her in the 
 front of most of her books in her closet, " God 
 will provide." 
 
 She took much delight in speaking of one of her 
 ancestors, as one of the greatest honours of her 
 family, namely, William Tracy, of Toddington, Esq., 
 who, in the reign of King Henry VII i., for the 
 sound profession of his faith contained in his last 
 will and testament, was, two years after his decease, 
 condemned to have his body taken up and burnt ; 
 which sentence was accordingly executed. 
 
 The subject of our memoirs was twice married. 
 Her first marriage was to Mr. William Hobby, when 
 she was nineteen years of age. By him she had two 
 sons, whom she religiously educated, and at whose 
 pious deaths, she reaped the blessed harvest of her 
 labours, there being good reason to conclude that 
 they were ripe for heaven, having lived long in a 
 little time. The younger died in the fourteenth year 
 
LADY MARY YERE. 127 
 
 of his age ; and the elder in his twenty-third, who 
 was much admired for his parts, and as much beloved 
 for his piety. 
 
 Her second husband was Sir Horace Vere, after- 
 wards Baron of Tilbury ; a person not to be men- 
 tioned without some honourable character, and 
 whose personal achievements in the field, especially 
 at the battle of Nieuport, in Flanders, ennobled him 
 more than the high blood derived from his ances- 
 tors. But his unstained piety was his crowning 
 glory. This noble lord was one who could wrestle 
 with God, as well as fight with men. His good 
 lady used to say, that she honoured him for his 
 valour, but more so for the grace of God that shone 
 in him. 
 
 But, passing by the civil and secular distinctions 
 of this lady, we will present her in her spiritual 
 excellencies, which, indeed, are the only things that 
 give an intrinsic value to a person. We may apply 
 to her what Nehemiah said of an eminent person in 
 his time, (chap. vii. 2.) " She was a faithful woman, 
 " and feared God above many." 
 
 Her zeal for the public worship of God was very 
 eminent : which she evidenced, 
 
 First; By her great care and diligence to provide 
 able and faithful ministers for those livings of which 
 she had the disposal ; and also by improving her 
 utmost interest to procure the like for the parish in 
 which she lived, in its several vacancies. 
 
 Secondly ; By her constant attendance on public 
 worship, so long as Providence granted her health 
 to do it. And she not only attended herself, but 
 took care that her family attended also ; and they 
 were no servants for her, who would not join in the 
 service of God with her. 
 
 Thirdly ; She was no less devout than constant at 
 the public worship. She durst not trifle with holy 
 things, nor in holy duties ; which gave occasion to 
 one to say of her, " that the Lady Vere, by her solemn 
 
128 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " and reverent deportment in divine worship, would 
 " make one believe that there is a God indeed." As 
 for the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, her desires 
 were eager and ardent to partake frequently of it, 
 declaring, that she durst not neglect, no not any one 
 opportunity that was offered for the enjoying this 
 sacred ordinance. She was also very serious and 
 intent in her preparation for it. The whole preceding 
 week was taken up by her for that work, in which 
 she would also always have a private fast kept for 
 her family, or a secret one in her closet. 
 
 As her zeal was thus eminent for the worship of 
 God in public, so, it was eminent for the worship of 
 God in private. Follow her but from the church to 
 her own house, and you will find that she brought her 
 devotion home with her. If ever any private dwelling 
 might be called a chapel, or little sanctuary, that of 
 Lady Vere's much more. Twice every day she and 
 her family w r ere upon their knees offering their 
 solemn worship to Almighty God. There you might 
 see them humbly sitting at his feet to hear his holy 
 word read to them, constantly concluding their even- 
 ing service with one of David's psalms. Whatsoever 
 strangers were present at her house, there was no 
 putting by, or adjourning the service of God to a 
 more convenient time on their account. 
 
 On the Lord's-day, the sermons preached in public, 
 were repeated to the household ; the servants were 
 called to give an account before her, of what each of 
 them remembered, and the high praises of God were 
 sung by the associated family. 
 
 Twice every day she shut up herself for some hours 
 in her closet, which was excellently furnished with 
 pious books of practical divinity. Here she spent 
 her precious time in reading the sacred Scriptures, 
 and other good books that might give her further 
 lioht into the oracles of God, and edifv her in her 
 most holy faith. Here she poured out her devout 
 soul with such fervour in prayer,, as could not be hid, 
 
LADY MARY VEUE. 129 
 
 at least sometimes, from her attendants and maid- 
 servants, when at any time their business drew them 
 near their lady's closet-door. But we are not yet at 
 an end of her devotions ; for, every night, her practice 
 was to pray with her maid-servants before she went 
 to bed. Is it any wonder that she grew so rich in 
 grace, who maintained so great and constant a traffic 
 in the means of it, and had so many ports open to 
 receive her spiritual gains ? 
 
 As her zeal for both the public and private worship 
 of her God was thus eminent, so, her love to God 
 manifested itself, beside what hath been already men- 
 tioned, in several respects, and those in very high 
 degrees. As, 
 
 First, the mournful complaint which she fre- 
 quently made, that she loved God no better. The 
 reason, indeed, of which complaint was, because she 
 loved him so much ; and she thought she loved him 
 so little, because she knew that she could never love 
 him enough. The truth was, she had such elevated 
 apprehensions of the glorious excellency of the 
 Divine Majesty, as caused her to think her highest 
 affections unworthy of him. And none, indeed, who 
 have such exalted ideas of the greatness and good- 
 ness of God, can love him little, or think their love 
 when at the highest to be great. 
 
 Secondly ; Her love to God manifested itself in 
 her vehement desires and longings to be gone hence, 
 and to be with Christ, which she accounted best of 
 all. She was one of those very few Christians who 
 stood in need of the excellent Mr. John Dod's use of 
 exhortation, which he would make to the saints in 
 his preaching, " that they would be content and 
 " patient, though they were not taken up to heaven 
 " so soon as they desired." This most heavenly 
 man having lived to a great age, and finding that to 
 stay longer on earth, without any thing like a dis- 
 content or impatience, was something difficult to 
 himself, thought that it was the common experience 
 
 g 5 
 
130 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with others ; whereas it is too true that most Chris- 
 tians are of a lower class in the school of Christ ; 
 prone rather to linger here, and to hide themselves, 
 like Saul, in the stuff, when they are sought for to be 
 crowned, than to be too much in haste for going 
 hence, so that they rather need a goad than a rein ; 
 and ministers have reason to try to take hold of them 
 with the strongest arguments they can find, to draw 
 them off from the love of life and the world, as the 
 angels urged Lot out of Sodom, rather than to per- 
 suade them to be willing to continue here. But this 
 very pious lady had by faith such a sight of heaven, 
 as made her stay below tedious and wearisome to her. 
 The earnest choice of her soul was, " Come, Lord 
 " Jesus, come quickly !" For she found, to her great 
 grief, that her imperfect state on earth made it im- 
 possible for her to obey and honour God as she 
 would, and devoutly desired ; and therefore, she 
 often complained that she was unprofitable. And 
 this deep sense of her unprofitableness, even while 
 others admired her eminent usefulness, still increased 
 her desires to arrive at that world where all these 
 infirmities and defects would be no more, and where 
 she knew her abilities would perfectly correspond to 
 her utmost wishes to serve and glorify her God and 
 Saviour. 
 
 Thirdly ; Her love to God was also clearly disco- 
 vered in her love to the saints who were born of God, 
 and had his lively image stamped upon them. This 
 love to the saints is, in Scripture, made one of the 
 fairest evidences of our love to God, (1 John, v. 1.) 
 " And every one who loves him that begat, loves him 
 also who is begotten of him." A man may love the 
 child, and yet not love his father ; but he cannot love 
 his child, because he is his child, and because he is 
 like his father, but he must of necessity love his 
 father, and, indeed, love him first and most, because 
 his love to the child springs from his love to his 
 father. This lady was doubtless, then, a great lover 
 
LADY MAHY VERE. 131 
 
 of God, because she had so dear an affection for his 
 children. She was not one who praised the dead 
 saints, and persecuted the living. She did not pre- 
 tend love to those who lived far from her, but showed 
 no kindness to such as were near her. She did not 
 factiously love some of one party, and reproach those 
 of another. In a word, she did not love the saints 
 in an equality with others, from a natural tenderness 
 which disposes some persons to all, good and bad ; 
 but her love was a cordial, spiritual, special, and 
 uniform love to the people of God. In whomsoever 
 she saw any thing of God, her love was drawn out 
 towards them, and she had the most love for those 
 who discovered most of God in them. She loved 
 them so as to delight in their converse and commu- 
 nion, and the largest measures of her chanty were 
 extended to them. 
 
 As for the faithful ministers of Christ, whose 
 office and function raise them above private Chris- 
 tians, few ever exceeded her in loving and honouring 
 them. She loved first the ministry, and then the 
 ministers ; seriously professing that the great affec- 
 tion and high esteem she bore them, was for their 
 Master's sake, whose ambassadors they were. 
 
 Fourthly ; Her love to God was strongly evinced 
 by her works of charity ; as, (1.) by the largeness of 
 her charity. Her charity was so great, that it might 
 well be matter of admiration that it was not ex- 
 hausted by so liberal a diffusion. She was like a 
 tree with this strange property, that it yielded its 
 fruit not once in the year, but at all times. Many 
 were the channels in which her charity communi- 
 cated itself. This excellent lady had money for the 
 empty purse ; meat and drink for the hungry and 
 thirsty ; physic for the sick and diseased ; and salves 
 for the sore and wounded. Abundance of good she 
 did in these ways. She was not only liberal, but 
 devised liberal things. If her servants knew of any 
 persons in great necessity, and they did not acquaint 
 
132 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 her with their cases, and she afterwards heard by 
 other hands of these distressed objects, she would 
 express her anger to her servants for their neglect. 
 It fell out that an honest poor neighbour died before 
 she knew of his illness ; for which the good lady 
 being concerned, she inquired of her servant who 
 attended her, whether the person wanted any thing 
 in his sickness, adding, " I tell you, that I had rather 
 " part with the gown from off my back, than that 
 " the poor should want." (2.) She was wonderfully 
 secret in what she grave. When she would do a work 
 of charity, she had no trumpet sounded before her, 
 but her benevolence descended like a golden stream 
 of oil into a vessel, without any noise or notice. 
 And, (3.) In the exercise of her charity, there was 
 an humble and self-denying spirit. She communi- 
 cated her charity like a good steward, acknowledging 
 that what she gave was not her own, but her Lord's 
 money. Notwithstanding all her alms-giving, she 
 had her entire dependence upon Christ, desiring to 
 be found alone in him, and in his righteousness, as if 
 she had not done any one good work in all her life. 
 Though we have taken notice of many excellent 
 qualities of this worthy lady, we shall not do her 
 character the justice it deserves, if we do not add 
 some further particulars. As, 
 
 First ; The uniformity of her holy walk. Her 
 religion was not like the driven snow, which lies very 
 thick and heavy in one place, and very thin and 
 scanty in another ; but it was one universal piety and 
 goodness. In her conversation, one part admirably 
 corresponded and agreed with another. A happy 
 symmetry appeared in her whole course, both 
 towards God, and towards man, both abroad and at 
 home ; and few persons have had a more honourable 
 testimony from those who lived near, or long with 
 them, than what this eminent woman had from all 
 who lived under her roof. 
 
 Secondly ; Her faith was very remarkable. This 
 
LADY MARY VERE. 133 
 
 grace seemed to be strongest when death seemed 
 to be nearest. Somewhat more than a twelvemonth 
 before she died, she fell into a swoon, which conti- 
 nued above half an hour, without any sensible hopes 
 of recovery. As soon as she came to herself, she 
 broke out, " I know that my Redeemer lives ;" and 
 upon her being conveyed to her chamber, she said, 
 " I know whom I have trusted." 
 
 Thirdly ; we will add, that the humility of this 
 lady was very eminent and singular. This grace, in 
 conjunction with her sincerity, appeared in the great 
 freedom which she gave to her friends, in speaking 
 to her of what they saw amiss in her. She much 
 applauded the privilege and benefit of having a 
 faithful friend, saying, " that others might see more 
 " by us, than we could do by ourselves." She used 
 also to say, u that it was a great mercy to be con- 
 " vinced of any sin." She thought meanly of herself. 
 She saw not how bright her face shone, though 
 others beheld and admired its lustre. Her frequent 
 complaint was, that she was useless, and did no 
 good. She often spoke of her imperfections, wants, 
 weakness, and unworthiness. She was easy of access, 
 even to the meanest who came into her presence. 
 Her deportment was full of courtesy, and lowliness 
 to the poorest person. Many a time, when her 
 servants had well performed any business she had 
 set them about, she would thank them for it. The 
 law of kindness was upon her tongue to whomsoever 
 she spoke. 
 
 We now come to the close of her bright and long 
 day. And it may be truly said, that at evening-time 
 it was light. In her last sickness, her pains were 
 very strong, but her patience was stronger. Never 
 was she heard to murmur, or utter one repining 
 word, but she justified God in all his dispensations 
 towards her. Even more than this, she was much 
 in admiring and blessing God for his mercies in her 
 acutest pains and greatest agonies. In what a lofty 
 
134 MEMOIRS OK 
 
 and ravishing strain does her blessed soul now sing 
 forth the praises of God in heaven, who could tune 
 them so sweetly in the darkest hours of nature, and 
 with the sharpest thorns of affliction at her breast ! 
 
 She was not entirely free from the assaults of 
 Satan ; but he came only to be repulsed with shame, 
 and to add more trophies to all her former victories 
 over him. The last words which were observed to 
 be spoken by her before that fatal lethargy seized 
 upon her weak, worn-out body, which in two days 
 brought on her dissolution, were, " How shall I do 
 " to be thankful ? How shall I do to praise my 
 " God ?" Thus she closed her life in the exercise of 
 that duty which was to be her constant and endless 
 employment and pleasure, in that better life into 
 which she was then entering ; and died in the Lord, 
 December the 25th, 1671, in the ninetieth year of 
 her age, if not, as some of her near relations after- 
 wards said, in the ninety-first. Thus did God give 
 her a remarkable long life, and crown her at last 
 with his salvation. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 135 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 SUSANNA, COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 
 
 This lady was born in or about the year 1627. She 
 was the second daughter of the Earl of Holland, and 
 was married very young to Theophilus, Earl of 
 Suffolk. 
 
 Particular notice is taken in the narrative con- 
 cerning her, of her powers of imagination, judgment, 
 and memory. The last faculty was so eminent in 
 her, that she hath sometimes on the Monday shut 
 herself up in privacy, and, from her remembrance, 
 committed to writing the sermon which she had 
 heard the Lord's-day before ; and this with such 
 exactness, as that but little has been wanting of the 
 very words in which the discourse was delivered. 
 
 As to morality, she had a perfect government over 
 her passions. She was seldom angry so far as to 
 chide ; and when it came to that, she generally 
 checked herself. It was often remarked to her, 
 that she knew to do any thing more skilfully than to 
 chide, especially if it were for any worldly matter. 
 But if any thing that concerned the cause of God 
 awakened her chiding, she would be more serious in 
 it, and often turn her resentment into a warm repre- 
 hension and displeasure. An oath, or a scurrilous 
 or profane speech, would bring the blood into her 
 face ; and if she had interest in the offenders, they 
 were sure to be reproved : if they were strangers, 
 she would drop some smart check, but yet, such as 
 was perfectly consistent with civility, or would 
 show her dislike by a withdrawment from their 
 company. 
 
 Her behaviour was undissembled towards friends, 
 familiar towards inferiors, affable and accessible to 
 all. She was constant in her friendship, and most 
 
136 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 useful in it, being willing to take any pains for the 
 persons for whom she professed an esteem. She 
 was most unapt to admit ill of any of whom she had 
 once conceived well : nothing: was so distressing to 
 her as to hear an accusation of those of whom she 
 entertained a good opinion. Her servants fared not 
 the worse for the inferiority of their stations. She 
 was as tender of their errors as she was of those of 
 her friends, and never considered any servant she 
 had, and believed to be faithful and virtuous, but as 
 an humble friend. This disposition, and the kind- 
 ness she extended to all she knew in affliction, much 
 increased the sorrow at her death. None under- 
 stood relations better; none could possibly observe 
 them better than she : husband, parents, kindred, 
 friends, servants, neighbours, were all witnesses of 
 this truth. 
 
 These may seem to be but moral virtues, but there 
 was the utmost reason to think that they were the 
 effects of a gracious disposition in her, and that, 
 flowing from the laver of regeneration, they might 
 well be baptized Christian graces; it being well 
 known that all her actions, in which there was time 
 for deliberation, sprang from a conscience of duty, 
 and were performed as in the sight of God. 
 
 Hence her holy fortitude and valour for the truth. 
 She would suffer any inconveniency, rather than she 
 would tell an untruth, or forge an excuse, or permit 
 any of her servants to do it, or by any equivocation 
 deceive, or elude a question. The intrusions of 
 company, when business, and especially the exer- 
 cises of religion, called her, were no small trouble 
 to her ; but she never would be guilty of a lie to get 
 rid of her visitants. Any rock would she venture 
 upon, rather than venture upon an untruth. 
 
 Her charity was very great. The poor and dis- 
 tressed, whom her tender heart often relieved, at her 
 death, and long after, bewailed their loss, and thank- 
 fully recognised her abundant goodness to them. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 137 
 
 She distributed her bounty without the least osten- 
 tation. Her soul seemed to be composed of Chris- 
 tian kindness and compassion; and, though she had 
 a perfect government of her passions, yet, her pity 
 always governed her. If any in want, when she was 
 from home, entreated an alms from her, she would 
 not excuse herself by saying, as might sometimes 
 be the case, that she had no money about her, but 
 would borrow from her attendants, to give some- 
 thing for the help of the poor object that solicited 
 her benevolence. But the poor she knew, needed 
 not come to her to implore her aid. She sent cloth- 
 ing, food, physic, and other comforts to their habit- 
 ations, if they had any, and provided habitations 
 for some, who must otherwise have had no dwellings ; 
 and, more than all this, she often condescended to 
 visit them, that she might inform herself of their 
 person and condition. But her charity was not 
 confined to the bodies of the poor. She had a way 
 also of relieving their souls, by the daily prayers she 
 offered up on their behalf, and by instructing the 
 ignorant, and counselling the doubtful and scru- 
 pulous. 
 
 Another kind of charity also shone in her, that of 
 forgiving injuries, which, whether they arose from 
 mistake and inadvertency, or from wilful malice, 
 were alike pardoned by her. Her memory in other 
 things was very tenacious ; but, as to an ill turn, she 
 seemed to have no memory at all. Benefits, kind- 
 nesses, good actions, and good speeches, were en- 
 graven in her heart, as if written in adamant, never 
 to be effaced ; but as to offences, they were only 
 like inscriptions upon sand, which presently va- 
 nished. An unkindness, indeed, for the time, might 
 make a deep impression upon her spirit, a great 
 wound upon a heart where all things were so con- 
 trary to it ; but it never was answered from her with 
 the like unkindness. 
 
 She gave the lively signs of her faith and hope, by 
 
138 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which her soul ascended beyond all fears and sor- 
 rows into the bosom of Christ. Sometimes, indeed, 
 her fears would be awakened, through the tender- 
 ness of her nature ; but she would soon recollect 
 herself, and by reason and religious considerations 
 get the victory over them. When she w T as exer- 
 cised with sorrows, they yielded to faith and patience, 
 and the comforts which she could readily derive 
 from the Divine storehouse. When her first-born 
 son, then her only child, had the pangs of death 
 upon him, she, after prayers and tears, sat very dis- 
 consolate. On the report of his departure, when the 
 floods of grief burst from her eyes, in order to stop 
 their current, she took her Bible, and sang psalms 
 till she had broken the violence of her passion, and 
 brought her soul to a cheerful submission to the will 
 of God. 
 
 As to the fine array of her body, she valued it not; 
 but there was a garment in which she delighted, and 
 which was seen above, and invested all the rest, the 
 most lovely garment of humility. This garment 
 clothed her from head to foot, and through this and 
 the veil of modesty, all the other ornaments of her 
 mind shone, if not with a more mollified, yet with 
 a more amiable and divine lustre. 
 
 Possessed of these excellent endowments, and 
 graces of the mind, her practice was conformable 
 to them. None of her talents were laid up in a 
 napkin; but, with the utmost diligence and vigour, 
 she improved them for her Master's use, that she 
 might glorify God the giver of them, that she might 
 edify and do good to those to whom she was re- 
 lated, and that she might make her own calling and 
 election sure. 
 
 She began the day with God, and as she opened 
 the morning, so, she shut up the evening with 
 prayer. Most commonly, as soon as she could dis- 
 perse sleep from her eyes, or, because she would 
 not take her full measure of sleep, as soon as others 
 
THE COUXTESS OF SUFFOLK. 139 
 
 had waked her, she went into her closet, and perfumed 
 it with prayer ; at the same time reading her daily 
 portion of the Bible, which was, the Psalms of David 
 usually appointed for the day of the month, and six 
 chapters besides ; intending by that course to read 
 the whole Bible over twice in the year, which she 
 never failed to do for the last seven years of her 
 life ; for, if she was compelled by necessity to omit 
 once or twice, she proportionably increased the num- 
 ber the next opportunity. She attended to her soul 
 first, and then set all other things in the exactest 
 order. She methodically ranged her hours for her 
 affairs, repasts, and reading. Besides reading her 
 portions in the Bible, which she did for the daily 
 food of her soul, she, for pious recreation and more 
 exact knowledge, set time apart for examining the 
 hard places of Scripture by Diodati's notes, and 
 other interpreters ; and, because she could not stop 
 the current of reading at the instant, to stay and 
 search into every difficulty, she set a mark where a 
 difficulty occurred, to examine it at her after leisure. 
 
 She had a zeal for the Lord's-day and times set 
 apart for devotion ; but especially before her recep- 
 tion of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, which 
 she strove to do very frequently, as experiencing 
 much comfort by it, she used the most exact strict- 
 ness and serious preparation. 
 
 We have done with what belongs to this excellent 
 person as to her course of life. We shall now add 
 something of what attended her departure from our 
 world. Her whole life was that which sound philo- 
 sophers, or rather sound Christians, would deno- 
 minate a constant meditation on death, or prepara- 
 tion for it. No wonder, then, that her behaviour in 
 the views of death, was most serene, comfortable, 
 and worthy of the true Christian. 
 
 Upon her apprehension of the fears of her friends 
 concerning her recovery, she earnestly entreated 
 them to deal plainly with her as to her condition, 
 
140 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which she could by no means bear to have dissem- 
 bled or concealed from her. Her friends confessed 
 that their hopes of her life were but small, or not 
 any, and desired her to submit to the will of God 
 in her dissolution. On receiving this intimation, 
 she discovered no fears nor sorrows at parting with 
 the world and her dear relations in it. She sent for 
 such as were nearest of kin to her, and for other 
 friends, and, with a countenance composed to the 
 most solemn and yet serene gravity, she began to 
 take leave of them ; bequeathing to them spiritual 
 comforts, fervent prayers, divine benedictions, and 
 her weighty counsels and advices, particularly 
 adapted to each of them, and especially to her 
 lord, her children, and servants ; all of which 
 were such as tended to direct them in the way of 
 well-doing, that so they might, through the merits 
 of Christ, meet again in glory. In a word, such 
 were her assurance and joy in the Holy Ghost, 
 that it seemed as if she had begun to taste the 
 happiness of the life to come, in the very tidings of 
 death. 
 
 Her legacy left for her two dear children, was her 
 desire to her lord, that whatsoever provision he 
 should make for their outward condition, of which 
 she was neither distrustful nor solicitous, they might 
 be brought up in the strictest way of religion. The 
 strictest way was always accounted best for her own 
 self, in her life ; and now, at her death, she bore 
 witness to it, and recommended it for the dearest 
 pledges of her love. 
 
 It seemed good to her heavenly Father to continue 
 her, contrary to her own and others' expectations, 
 six months longer, being restored almost by miracle 
 from the brink of the grave. Providence seemed in 
 great mercy to make this small accession to her life, 
 for she was an inexpressible comfort to her father in 
 his extreme affliction. When all hopes of life as to 
 him were past, and after she with the rest of those 
 
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 141 
 
 who were dear to him, had taken their final leave, 
 that his few remaining hours might be spent with 
 his spiritual comforters, she would not give sleep to 
 her eyes till she had once more visited and dis- 
 coursed with him, but on matters wholly relating to 
 eternity. Accordingly, coming betimes in the morn- 
 ing first timorously into his chamber, after she had 
 watched all night in a room hard by for that purpose, 
 he with joy beheld and welcomed her. They pre- 
 sently fell into conversation, in which she made 
 such questions and answers, so gently wounded, and 
 then so kindly endeavoured to heal, and, in a word, 
 so applied both law and gospel to him, that at length 
 her father, being refreshed with the comforts she 
 administered, cried out, " Happy I, that I should 
 " from a child of my own receive such consolation!" 
 After that, he told a reverend divine, who came to 
 administer the like consolation, " that he thanked 
 " God that he had a child there, who, though he said 
 " it before her face, was able to be his counsellor in 
 " all his doubts." Another divine also, who was 
 present, professed that he heard her discourse for 
 half an hour to admiration. 
 
 After her father's death, none so nearly related 
 bore the distressing stroke with such Christian pa- 
 tience as herself, acknowledging it the wise method 
 of Almighty God to bestow mercy on a soul, which, 
 without so great a measure of affliction in health, 
 and in the glory of his prosperity, could not, or 
 would not, ever have so humbly and sincerely sought 
 it. She also declared that she could not, if it were 
 possible and lawful, with her mind and judgment, 
 wish her father alive again; although it was well 
 known, that never parent lay deeper in the affections 
 of a child than he did in hers ; but she durst not wish 
 him so bad a change as to leave heaven for earth. 
 She told a friend, u that now, if God would give her 
 " leave, she would retire into the country, and that 
 M she had put her family business in such a way, 
 
342 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " that for herself she would have nothing to do but 
 " to be ready to die." 
 
 It pleased God to suffer the violence of the disease 
 which brought this excellent lady to the grave, to 
 seize upon her intellects for three or four days be- 
 fore her death. But, though her distemper reached 
 her brain, and created some disturbance there, yet, 
 she had some clear and bright moments for the ex- 
 ercises both of reason and religion. Particularly, 
 in one of those lucid intervals, she poured out her 
 soul in a large prayer, the words of which could not 
 be recollected, but it consisted of the most fervent, 
 melting passages, in which she pleaded before God 
 his name, his attributes, his mercies, his Christ, and 
 all his comfortable promises; which she drew with 
 the most admirable skill, choice, and readiness, from 
 every precious vein in the rich mine of his word. 
 This was her last act of reason for any continuance ; 
 only, when her strength was even spent, she owned 
 her dear relations when they came to her, let them 
 understand that she was assured of her interest in 
 Christ, and joined with the deepest attention in 
 prayer with one whom she desired to perform that 
 office ; after which, she gave signs of her approba- 
 tion, and requested that he who had thus prayed on 
 her behalf, would not leave the room. Within a 
 little more than an hour after, in a kind of quiet 
 sleep, she yielded up her spirit unto God who gave 
 it, May 10, 1649, leaving behind her the most loud 
 and bitter lamentations of her friends, to whom she 
 had been inexpressibly desirable and delightful. All 
 this holiness and virtue, thus full-grown and emi- 
 nent, were removed from our world when the lady 
 was but about twenty-two years of age. 
 
LADY MARY ARMYNE. 143 
 
 LADY MARY ARMYNE. 
 
 This lady was a branch of an illustrious family, that 
 of the Talbots, for a long succession of time Earls of 
 Shrewsbury, whose great achievements, both in civil 
 and military affairs, have raised their names, and 
 crowned them with distinguished honour*". 
 
 As to her natural abilities, she was quick and 
 lively, and had a very comprehensive understanding- 
 even to the last hours of her life. Though she was 
 considerably above fourscore years of age, yet she 
 could discourse as rationally on the very day on 
 which she died, as others can in the very flower of 
 their time. 
 
 As to her acquired accomplishments, she had at- 
 tained to an eminent skill in all those things which 
 belonged to her sex, degree, and place. She was 
 not without some competent knowledge of more 
 languages than her native tongue, particularly the 
 French and Latin. She was considerably skilled in 
 divinity and history. She was not only acquainted 
 with practical but polemical theology. She was 
 well versed not only in the Jewish and Roman his- 
 tories, but especially in the historical part of the 
 Scriptures, and in ecclesiastical affairs. She well 
 understood how to manage all her concerns to the 
 best advantage. She was of a very obliging deport- 
 ment. By her humble and courteous carriage and 
 address she won the esteem of all with whom she 
 conversed, or had any connexion. But nothing so 
 much ennobled and beautified her as her religion, 
 as appeared in the following particulars. 
 
 * It is to be regretted, that the original writer of the memoirs 
 of this truly worthy lady, had not more fully informed us of her 
 family and connexions, and acquainted us where she was born, 
 lived, and died. 
 
144 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 She loved it in others. She loved such who led 
 an holy life. She could not be easy in bad com- 
 pany. She valued holiness not only in those of her 
 own family, choosing her servants by this qualifica- 
 tion, but in strangers. A good evidence that she 
 loved religion for its own sake. She endeavoured 
 to promote godliness in others, not only by counsel, 
 admonition, and exhortation, in her discourses with 
 them, but by many pious letters she wrote with her 
 own hand. She used to distribute good books to 
 encourage the receivers of her charity in their pro- 
 gress towards heaven, and she gave large sums an- 
 nually for carrying on the work begun in New Eng- 
 land, for the conversion of the poor Indians. This 
 sacred benevolence she continued to her dying day. 
 
 When that Bartholomew-day came*, in which so 
 many hundreds of godly, able, and laborious minis- 
 ters were ejected from their livings, to the dreadful 
 distress, as to their outward circumstances, of them- 
 selves, their wives, and their children, out of tender 
 compassion to their sad condition, she came a few 
 days after to the Rev. Edmund Calamy, and brought 
 five hundred pounds to be distributed by him to the 
 most indigent families among them. 
 
 She readily and joyfully embraced every opportu- 
 nity of serving God in public or private, upon 
 ordinary or extraordinary occasions. She was as 
 eagerly inclined and forward to join in holy duties 
 and ordinances as others are, or can be, to run after 
 worldly vanities. She behaved herself with much 
 seriousness and humility in God's house of prayer. 
 She never mentioned the names of God or of Christ 
 but with a reverential awe upon her spirit. She 
 highly regarded and esteemed godly ministers, and 
 even bore great respect to them who were of the 
 lower form, and of meaner gifts, if she observed 
 
 * 1662. 
 
LADY MARY ARMYNE. 145 
 
 them to be holy and industrious in their heavenly 
 calling. 
 
 She abounded in charities. Besides what has 
 been instanced, she in her life-time erected and en- 
 dowed some alms-houses in three several counties. 
 Upon special occasions she made large donations to 
 charitable uses. 
 
 In the sickness of which she died, she gave some 
 remarkable proofs of the sincerity of her piety, such 
 as the fervour of her spirit to persevere in well-doino- 
 to the end — her breathing after Christ, and desiring 
 to be dissolved, and to be with him, which is best 
 of all — her deep and painful sense of the low estate 
 of religion, and the profession of it in the world — 
 her submission to the divine will and disposal, freely 
 surrendering up herself to her great Lord and owner, 
 to do with her for life or death as he pleased — her 
 peace of conscience. In former sicknesses, she had 
 enjoyed much serenity, but she never had had a 
 more placid and resigned frame of soul than at this 
 season. The strength of her faith appeared by her 
 recommending an interest in Christ as the highest 
 and most suitable cordial in a fainting hour, when 
 all other comforts forsake. These were some of 
 her last words. 
 
 A learned and experienced minister, who lived 
 not far from her, was sometimes with her. The oc- 
 casion of his going to her, and his business with 
 her, cannot be better expressed than in his own 
 words, which are as follow : 
 
 " Though," saith he, u I was seldom with her 
 u myself, yet, these fifteen years I lived so near her, 
 " as that I might have easily heard the rumour, if 
 * she had lain under any manner of scandal. But 
 " such was her pious and unblameable life, that 
 " slander itself durst not so much as nibble at it. 
 " The little converse I had with her fforded me 
 " opportunity to know her more intimately than 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " many who did not see her holy course ; for her 
 ee business with me was no other than to open the 
 u state of her soul, to confess her infirmities, to pro- 
 " duce her evidences for heaven, and to desire my 
 " judgment of them, together with my counsel and 
 " comfort, and further to ask my advice for such 
 " works of public benefit which she charitably in- 
 " tended, and afterwards liberally performed. Upon 
 " trial, I found that she had a safe and well-settled 
 " state of soul, not free from all degree of fears, 
 " and smaller doubtings of herself, and far from a 
 a presumptuous, unhumbled, and self-justifying 
 " spirit. Her evidences were sound, and her dis- 
 " cernment of them so clear and sure, as enabled 
 " her to conclude her right to everlasting life, and 
 " so with the greater peace to think on death ; the 
 u which evidences, as she had opened them to me 
 <e not long before, so she did it over again in her 
 " sickness, not many days before her death. At 
 u which time, after complaints of such imperfec- 
 " tions of grace as were her trouble, she professed 
 el the full dedication of herself to God, her firm 
 " consent to his covenant, her earnest desires after 
 c< perfect holiness, and her trust in the mediation 
 " and merits of her Redeemer/' 
 
 As this excellent woman lived to God, so, he was 
 pleased to give her a long life, enriched with many 
 and distinguishing mercies. Though she had been 
 long troubled with a sore and dangerous disorder, 
 that of the stone, and had endured painful and peril- 
 ous paroxysms and critical fits, yet, it pleased God 
 in her latter years to give her great ease and freedom 
 from it. Though it is not improbable but that this 
 distemper was the root of that fainting aguishness 
 which put a period to her days, yet, near the eigh- 
 tieth year of her age, she served God in competent 
 health, and serenity of mind. 
 
 Though she sprang from an ancient and honour- 
 
LADY MARY ARMYNE. 147 
 
 able family inclined to the Romish religion, yet, God 
 was her teacher, and confirmed her not only in the 
 Protestant faith, but also in the true love, serious- 
 ness, and practice of the pure religion she professed. 
 She was not like those deluded formalists who con- 
 tend most furiously for this religion against that, or 
 for that religion against this, while in truth they have 
 no religion at all, bat will violently persecute, or at 
 least bitterly reproach such as are not of their church, 
 or way, as erroneous, irreligious persons, while no- 
 thing can prevail with them to list themselves on 
 Christ's side, and declare war against the flesh, the 
 world, and the devil. She was not addicted to sects 
 or novelties upon pretence of rising to the highest 
 form ; but she truly took the height of her religion 
 to consist in the height of love to God and man, and 
 in close and constant obedience to Christ, and reli- 
 ance on his mediation. 
 
 Though, according to her rank, she lived in the 
 decency of a plentiful estate, yet, it was accompanied 
 with humility and lowliness of mind. Her prudence, 
 sobriety, and gravity, were very exemplary ; and her 
 impartiality in loving all who were true Christians, 
 was truly signal. She much disliked divisions and 
 contentious wranglings. She was not of their mind 
 who, one would think, take it to be a mark of Christ's 
 disciples to be accusers of the brethren, and to re- 
 proach, and vilify, and evil entreat his disciples ; 
 and, in a word, to deny them to be his, that they 
 may do these bad things with less dishonour and 
 remorse. She took it to be no countenancing; of 
 schism, to relieve such servants of Christ in their 
 distress, as men may brand and treat as schismatics, 
 though she was an enemy to a dividing and factious 
 spirit. 
 
 To live as this honourable and excellent lady did, 
 in wisdom, humility, temperance, and in a charitable, 
 peaceable, impartial religiousness, attending to the 
 
 h 2 
 
148 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 great realities of godliness, and the preparation for 
 the day of our final account, will prove more safe 
 and comfortable at the last, than the proud, wrath- 
 ful, turbulent religion, if it may be called so, of such 
 as strive to set up Christ and the Church, (more 
 truly themselves,) by persecution, or division, by 
 hurting and destroying their fellow Christians, or 
 reproaching and avoiding them as unworthy of com- 
 munion. 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 149 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM. 
 
 The descent of this eminently pious person was from 
 a noble family, the house of Huntingdon, the earl- 
 dom of which hath long continued in the name of 
 Hastings, as it does to the present day. But this 
 truly humble lady was never known, either in word 
 or in deportment, to discover any elation of spirit 
 for her high extraction ; nor was she ever observed 
 with any regret to view herself exceeded by the 
 greater pomp and more splendid retinue of others, 
 who were inferior to her in quality. When her hus- 
 band, Sir James Langham, sometimes modestly ex- 
 cused the tenuity of the condition she had espoused, 
 (as she had married into a family where she found 
 an heir in being to a great part of his estate,) 
 in comparison of that from which she descended, 
 she would interrupt such discourses of his, by pro- 
 fessing the high satisfaction she took in finding 
 herself in such a state of life, in which she enjoyed 
 both liberty and assistance for the works of true 
 piety, and at the same time the addition of an ho- 
 nourable and comfortable worldly competency. 
 
 Her education was at a school, or rather academy, 
 and nursery of virtue, as she was brought up under 
 the constant inspection, and in the constant converse 
 of her mother, the Countess of Huntingdon ; amidst 
 whose eminent parts and graces, she was formed 
 into a more than common woman and Christian. 
 Under her principally, she enjoyed an education in a 
 religious retirement, of which she often took notice, 
 and for which she blessed God, as that which not 
 only secured her from the knowledge of vice by do- 
 mestic examples, nothing of that nature daring to 
 appear under that noble lady's government ; but also 
 removed her from the very intelligence of that 
 wickedness which was acted abroad, so that she 
 
150 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had the happiness of being ignorant of the vices of 
 other great personages, even so much as only by 
 hearsay. 
 
 As for those principles that might qualify her for 
 a virtuous life, as she had an opportunity of learning 
 them from the practice of those with whom she con- 
 versed, so more especially from the grave and fre- 
 quent instructions of the lady her mother, who, that 
 the whole compass of duty might be the more easily 
 imprinted in her daughter's memory, took the pains 
 to digest her instructions into verse ; by which me- 
 thod she the more readily insinuated them into the 
 minds and hearts both of this our lady and her 
 other sisters. 
 
 By these means, it pleased God that the mother 
 had much comfort in her daughters, but especially 
 in this lady, whose soul was so pliant and ductile 
 to receive the impressions of such an excellent stamp, 
 as that they appeared in the happy improvements 
 which she made in every future stage of life ; of 
 which we shall find the striking proofs in what we 
 have farther to relate concerning her. 
 
 As to her childhood, it had something of uncom- 
 mon excellency in it, besides the presage of what was 
 yet to come. The seeds of true piety and devotion 
 broke forth and shewed themselves very early, not 
 only in the bud and blossom, but in the fruit; so 
 that, from her very early days, such an impression 
 of the fear of God possessed her heart, as made her 
 a diligent performer of religious duties, and a strict 
 observer of the Lord's-day, even to a degree of ex- 
 actness beyond most persons, and yet not beyond 
 the rule laid down in Isa. lviii. 13. She would nei- 
 ther discourse herself, nor willingly hear others dis- 
 coursing on any common concerns upon that holy 
 day. As she grew up to greater capacity, to this 
 negative accuracy, she added a conformity to the 
 rules of the strictest godliness, not only by hearing 
 the word preached, but by digesting it by medita- 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 151 
 
 tion and conference ; being no less studious, on that 
 day especially, to become a proficient in the mys- 
 teries of practical godliness, than in the common 
 days of the week to furnish herself with other know- 
 ledge that tended to accomplish her in the civil life. 
 This worthy lady was from her infancy consci- 
 entiously dutiful and obedient to her parents, even to 
 the very smallest punctilios in which she had the 
 least intimation of their pleasure. So that her mo- 
 ther upon a special occasion perceiving her, from the 
 misapprehension of some advice she gave her, to be 
 more affected than what she desired, was obliged to 
 explain herself to her, and lay this down as a gene- 
 ral rule for her, " That several things which she had 
 M spoken to her, were never intended as peremptory 
 " commands, but only as advices and counsels, 
 u which in things of indifferency must not be over- 
 " charged." More than this, her mother has been 
 heard to say, "That she was the child that never 
 " offended her in all her life." 
 
 As the young lady advanced in years, she was 
 observed to be quite strict in justice, and exact in 
 keeping her word, which that she might the more 
 carefully observe, she was very circumspect and 
 sparing in making promises, and not lavish of dis- 
 course. She spoke much to herself, and little to others. 
 Insomuch that a noble person of a very discerning 
 judgment, and no less strict piety, who had the ad- 
 vantage of being a witness to almost all her life, hath 
 been heard to say, "That she believed this lady had 
 the least account to give for words of any that she 
 ever knew." But she laid not this restraint upon 
 her tongue for want of abilities for conversation, nor 
 for want of matter upon which to discourse, for she 
 had great intellectual accomplishments, and those 
 improved by much learning, by which she was qua- 
 lified to converse with persons of eminent literature. 
 
 She was exceeding modest, and decently grave 
 in her whole behaviour, not from any heaviness of 
 
152 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 constitution, nor affection for morose and reserved 
 virtue, but from a just apprehension how contrary to 
 an exact strictness of life, which she had laid down 
 for herself, and how unsuitable to the reputation of 
 her sex, a too sanguine deportment was often found. 
 Yet, that she was not cynically averse from a decent 
 and proper degree of affability and courtesy, emi- 
 nently appeared in that she used to receive the visits 
 of the meanest of her neighbours with very great 
 kindness, and would converse with them with great 
 condescension ; and as any of them appeared to her 
 to savour more of godliness, she would, upon occasion, 
 add a becoming proportion of familiarity, studiously 
 declining to admit any into her bosom, but such 
 as by exact observation she found to answer that 
 character of worth, by which she first estimated her- 
 self, and then made choice of her intimate friends ; 
 not that of greatness, but goodness. 
 
 She shewed her courtesy to all sorts of persons, 
 even to such whose necessities made them petitioners 
 for her bounty. These she entertained with great 
 affability ; so that what was once said of Titus the 
 Roman emperor, might be truly said of her, " that 
 f< no persons departed out of her presence discon- 
 " tented." Even those to whom she refused her 
 alms, (and some persons are not proper objects for a 
 discreet charity,) she would so handsomely reprove 
 for not using their bodily strength to procure their 
 livelihood in a more creditable way, that they have 
 seemed to go away no less satisfied with her pru- 
 dent and seasonable counsel, than they would have 
 been with her bounty. 
 
 Her inviting aspect so emboldened the poor to 
 entreat her help and patronage, her compassionate 
 heart made her so sensible of their condition, and her 
 prudence so directed her to manage their causes, 
 that, as she was employed in many of their addresses 
 to several of her relations, on whom they depended, 
 so, she prosecuted their suits in such a manner, that 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 153 
 
 she generally proved successful, meeting with such 
 a blessing from God on her charitable endeavours, 
 as the goodness of the causes in which she engaged 
 might warrant her to expect. 
 
 Her very servants had a share in the obliging con- 
 descension of her conversation ; for, though she well 
 understood her own quality, and could keep them at 
 a convenient distance, yet, she mingled so much 
 mildness in her carriage towards them, that she 
 never was observed to utter an hasty or passionate 
 expression to any of them, though she had some- 
 times great provocation. 
 
 She was of so innocent a deportment, even from 
 her childhood, that one of ability sufficient to ob- 
 serve, and of integrity sufficient to clear the relation 
 from the least suspicion of flattery, gives her this 
 character: — " That during the space of ten years, 
 <e in which she lived in her mother's family, she 
 " could never observe in this lady any unbecoming 
 " word or action, or any thing, with which if the 
 " whole world had been acquainted, would have in 
 " the least degree tended to her just diminution or 
 " disparagement." 
 
 She studied much how to gratify the tempers of 
 those with whom she conversed in all lawful ways, 
 so that she hath been often observed to deny herself 
 to please others. This excellent disposition rendered 
 her even in matters of argument, which she wanted 
 not abilities to manage to good purpose, not ob- 
 stinately tenacious of her own opinions, but oblig- 
 ingly compliant to the judgment of others, where 
 conscience of duty did not require the contrary. 
 
 These qualities furnished her with excellent con- 
 stituents for a friend, and accordingly she eminently 
 shone in that character. She did not hastily admit 
 any to her bosom acquaintance ; but having once 
 received any to that intimacy, she was candidly free 
 and open in communicating what her judgment, 
 which was ever riper than her years, suggested to be 
 
 h 5 
 
154 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 most for the advantage of their spiritual interests, 
 whether in the way of advice, or comfort, or reproof; 
 for which last, the most painful exercise of friend- 
 ship, she always reserved a liberty even to her 
 choicest and nearest friends, and which she con- 
 stantly managed with remarkable moderation and 
 tenderness ; and yet, she was at the same time so 
 severely conscientious in the discharge of this truly 
 friendly office, that, having frequent occasions to re- 
 ceive visits from, and return visits to persons of her 
 acquaintance, who made the reverend names of Jesus 
 and Lord interjections in their ordinary discourse, 
 she made it a case of conscience whether she did 
 not greatly neglect her duty in not reproving them 
 for it. 
 
 And that she might not appear more rigid to others 
 in this kind than she was to herself, her own life was 
 a comment upon those words of the Apostle, Eph. 
 v. 15. a See that ye walk circumspectly ." For, so 
 exact was her own walk, that her care was not only 
 to avoid what she condemned, but what she did not 
 suspect was amiss in the conversation of others ; so 
 that her conscience would not permit her to pardon 
 in herself what her charity induced her to indulge in 
 others. And indeed she was always remarkable for 
 a tender conscience, that took the alarm at the 
 smallest sin, or but the appearance of it. Among 
 which, take these tw r o instances out of many others 
 that might be given. In her younger years, she ad- 
 dressed herself to her governess with tears, entreat- 
 ing her to forgive her, " for that in her childhood 
 u she was conscious that she had been wanting in 
 " affection to her, for that she thought she did not 
 (< then love her." A fault of which surely others are 
 far more guilty, and yet are less troubled for it. 
 Another time, in her more mature age, when she had 
 mildly enough threatened a child over whom she had 
 some inspection committed to her, that if the child 
 did not do such a thing she would not love her, she 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 155 
 
 presently recalled her speech as too hard, saying, 
 " Alas ! God deals not so with us, notwithstanding 
 " our continual disobedience/' 
 
 As a friend, she observed that the exchange of 
 kindness is the fuel that feeds the flame of mutual af- 
 fections, and keeps it from going out, or burning 
 dimly ; and she accounted it the greatest solecism in 
 friendship, to be suspicious in receiving, as well as 
 parsimonious in returning kindnesses ; and therefore, 
 what of this nature she received, she would not, 
 though sometimes possibly there were probable 
 grounds so to do, interpret it amiss, professing that 
 she abhorred the suspicion of a sinister design in kind- 
 ness, as the very bane of gratitude ; and in her re- 
 turns she was nobly obliging, as studying rather to 
 stand in her friends' books a creditor than a debtor. 
 
 We have before taken notice of her devotion as an 
 early blossom ; but it had not the fate that often hap- 
 pens to the first flowery births of the spring, to be 
 blasted and fall off before it came to maturity. As 
 she grew in years, she grew also in grace, and in 
 acquaintance and communion with God, and kept up 
 a constant correspondence with the Court of Heaven. 
 
 When she entered into the marriage state, she 
 abated not of her devotion. Her constant retire- 
 ments for that purpose were answerable to those of 
 Daniel, chap. vi. 10. three times in the day. And 
 after the decease of her excellent sister-in-law, 
 Dr. Langham's wife, who went to the grave some 
 weeks before her, as if she had taken the alarm to 
 prepare for her own dissolution, which was so shortly 
 to follow, she more than doubled that proportion, 
 even to David's seven times a day, Psalm cxix. 164. 
 
 In her devotions, she employed herself not only in 
 prayer and meditation, but also in the constant read- 
 ing and study of the sacred Scriptures, which always 
 took up a considerable part of her daily hours of re- 
 tirement, together with the reading more or less of 
 the writings of some learned practical divines, with 
 
156 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 whose books her closet was well furnished. She also 
 made it part of her devout exercises, to read over 
 one sermon every day, generally out of her note- 
 books ; for she constantly took down the sermons 
 she heard : by which practice, and by frequent in- 
 culcation, she fixed in her memory all that she heard, 
 and had it in readiness for the direction of her con- 
 versation, whensoever she had occasion to make 
 use of it. 
 
 To this proportion of constant devotion, which she 
 assigned for herself every day, if we add her great 
 care to fill up all the rest of her time in edifying con- 
 versation, we cannot but esteem her a great example 
 of Eph. v. 16. where the apostle commands us " to 
 " redeem the time;" for " she bought time out," as 
 the word signifies, of the hands of those profligate 
 wasters of our precious minutes, unprofitable pastimes 
 and recreations ; whence it was, that she never al- 
 lowed herself to see any masques, interludes, or 
 plays? or to play at cards, or the like games ; and 
 that, because she doubted whether the expense of 
 so much time as such diversions commonly consume, 
 would be allowed on the great day of her audit. 
 
 She had an high esteem of every part of the holy 
 Bible ; yet there was one part of it, the book of 
 Psalms, with which she seemed to be most passion- 
 ately affected, perhaps because she found such an 
 agreement between her own heart and the spirit of 
 that book. This her affection she shewed by reading, 
 or causing to be read, one or more of the Psalms 
 constantly at her hour of repose in the evening, 
 which, by meditation and discourse, she used to 
 improve to her own benefit, and the benefit of those 
 who were about her. 
 
 When she lay down on her bed, it was her custom 
 to repeat some Psalm or another which she had by 
 heart, and in the same manner she opened her morn- 
 ing ; so that her sleep was a parenthesis between 
 her morning and her evening devotions. 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 157 
 
 In her course of life, she was strictly careful to 
 avoid all manner of sin, and very solicitous, in all 
 emergencies that were of consequence, to understand 
 what her duty was, that she might accordingly prac- 
 tise it ; for, as she made God's testimonies her 
 delight, so she made them her counsellors, Psalm 
 cxix. 24. So that she never determined any doubt- 
 ful matter without great deliberation, and the best 
 advice she could obtain. 
 
 She regularly attended the public ordinances. 
 And that she might make the best improvement 
 of the company of good ministers, whose lips God 
 has appointed to preserve knowledge, she would in 
 their private conferences, as well as in their public 
 ministrations, seek the law at their mouth, Mai. ii. 7. 
 Accordingly, when she met with any divines of note 
 at her father-in-law, Sir John Langham's table, she 
 would desire her husband to set on foot some profit- 
 able discourse which might give the company the 
 advantage of their conversation, professing that she 
 judged it quite absurd, and incongruous to reason as 
 well as religion, that physicians and lawyers should 
 be so commonly entertained with discourses suitable 
 to their respective functions, and that divines only 
 should be treated with things out of the verge of 
 their profession, nay, indeed, with matters quite 
 foreign to their sacred office. 
 
 Such was the devotion of this excellent lady to- 
 wards God ! And she had as well learned her duty to- 
 wards her neighbours, of which she gave the bright- 
 est evidences in every relation and capacity of life. 
 
 Her husband had the chief place in her affections 
 She so entirely loved him that she has been heard to 
 say, " that she could even die for him." She ex- 
 pressed her high regard to him by her dutiful com- 
 pliance with whatsoever she observed to be his 
 pleasure. She never received the least intimation of 
 what was his mind, though delivered as a request, 
 but it had with her the force of a command. So 
 
158 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that do instances of marriage-happiness in others 
 ever led him to reflect on any deficiency in his own ; 
 but rather produced a greater complacency in his 
 own felicity, as he found himself happy in his own 
 choice, even beyond the most eminent examples. 
 And not only her love and dutiful deportment, but 
 her uncommon learning also, rendered her a most de- 
 lightful companion to her husband. She was ca- 
 pable of conversing with him upon points both of 
 divinity and humanity, and that in more languages 
 than one, for she was able to make use of learned 
 authors in their own tongues, not needing the aid of 
 translations. She understood the Latin, French, and 
 Italian languages. Amidst these extraordinary ac- 
 complishments, she was not at all elated ; so that 
 her husband was a perfect stranger to all those in- 
 conveniences which some have imagined necessarily 
 accompany a learned wife. She always behaved 
 herself to him as her lord and head, and made use of 
 her own knowledge and learning only to capacitate 
 her to make the best improvement of his, from 
 whom she was ready to receive instruction. 
 
 To her mother she did not in the least forget her 
 duty, when her marriage dismissed her from her 
 government, but she still allowed her the next seat 
 in her affections to that of her husband ; and so be- 
 haved herself towards her, that her mother not only 
 always esteemed her as a very dutiful and deserving 
 daughter, but, as her own expression was, w an ex- 
 u cellent friend." 
 
 To her father-in-law she paid the same duty (ac- 
 cording to the particular direction given her by her 
 mother at the time of her marriage) which she shewed 
 to her own mother, as considering that where the 
 ordinance of God brings persons into such a near re- 
 lation as that of husband and wife, it makes also 
 a proportionable union to their respective natural 
 relations on both sides. 
 
 To the memory of her predecessor in that relation 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 159 
 
 in which she stood to Sir James Langham, she testi- 
 fied (a thing perhaps not very usual in such a case) 
 a very singular respect, eagerly inquiring after her 
 special virtues, which she designed for her own imi- 
 tation, and giving the good which she heard con- 
 cerning her its just praises. 
 
 To the children which Sir James had by his first 
 lady, Providence having denied him any by this, ex- 
 cept one in expectation, to whom the death of the 
 mother rendered the womb a grave, she was, in her 
 great care and tenderness towards them, so much 
 more than a mother-in-law, that it was impossible for 
 any but those who knew otherwise not to have mis- 
 taken her for their own mother. So solicitously did 
 she interest herself in both the education of them 
 and provision for them, and so concerned was she 
 for them on all occasions of bodily distemper, that 
 she thereby deserved to have rendered the name of a 
 step-mother, a name of honour and delight, and ex- 
 hibited an example from which even mothers them- 
 selves might not disdain to learn a law of kindness 
 towards their own offspring. 
 
 From the daughter, about eleven years of age, she 
 constantly required a repetition by heart of the 
 sermons which she heard ; and for this task she had, 
 by, her instructions, so methodized the memory of 
 this young child, that she was able to analyze a 
 sermon containing thirty or forty particulars, with 
 the most remarkable enlargements upon them. 
 
 This religious care of her children she continued 
 not only during her health, but even in the time of 
 her sickness also, so far as her weakness would permit. 
 And to shew that she minded them so long as she 
 minded any thing in this world, even upon her dying- 
 bed she requested her husband, though he needed not 
 any such incitement to his duty, u to train them up 
 " in the exercises of strict godliness, and to take 
 u care that they were taught such evidences of 
 
160 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 '*■ salvation, as might one day support them in their 
 " dying agonies." 
 
 To her servants she carried herself with such 
 mildness and condescension, as if they had not been 
 properly servants, but a sort of inferior friends ; a 
 deportment that wrought in them a kind of awful 
 love, and produced the service of the heart, and not 
 that of the eye, the too common vice of persons in 
 that station. She extended her care even to the 
 meanest of her servants, and that not only for their 
 bodies, but for their souls, calling her maids, who 
 were more immediately under her inspection, to an 
 account in writing, if they could w r rite, of the ser- 
 mons which they heard, helping and supplying their 
 deficiencies out of her own exact notes. She would 
 call them up early to wait upon God in their morning 
 devotions, before they came to her ; and if any one 
 among them (for she w 7 ould examine them severally) 
 confessed, or by silence betrayed a neglect of private 
 devotion, she would immediately dismiss them from 
 a present attendance upon her to seek God by prayer, 
 and that not without some reprehension for giving 
 her service the precedency to that of their Maker. 
 And this care she took, as she would frequently say 
 to her husband, u from a deep conviction of this 
 " truth, that governors of families are to be account- 
 " able to God for the souls of the meanest persons 
 " under their roof." This course, so far as she could 
 bear it, she continued even in her last sickness; for 
 when her own bodily distemper kept any of them 
 from the church to attend her on the Lord's-day, 
 she would tell them, " that nothing but an absolute 
 " necessity should have been a sufficient reason with 
 " her for detaining them at home. But yet," said 
 she, " your minds are at liberty. Let God have as 
 " much worship as you can give him. Lift up your 
 4t hearts. Remember it is the Lord's-day." 
 
 She not only shewed her care of her servants while 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 161 
 
 they continued with her, but expressed it to such as 
 went from her, cf which the following is an excellent 
 example. When a servant of the lowest class came 
 to take her leave of her, she gave her, with other 
 proofs of her kindness and charity, much good 
 counsel, and entreated her husband to make some 
 additions to her benevolence, but especially to dis- 
 miss her with a second donation of good advice. 
 
 Her charity to the poor was very eminent. She 
 staid not till they made known their necessities, but 
 even drew out from them those complaints which 
 their modesty would have suppressed, by her parti- 
 cular inquiry into their conditions, that so she might 
 find out in what way she might be beneficial and 
 helpful to them. When she was informed of any of 
 their wants being so great as exceeded an ordinary 
 work of charity, she was ever solicitous how she 
 might procure a proportionable supply for them. 
 Her charity did not extend only to the bodies of 
 those whom she relieved, but she gave to most of 
 them, especially to those whose great exigencies 
 would probably render them more careful and in- 
 clinable to fall in with her wishes, a double alms, 
 that of her Christian bounty, and that of her Chris- 
 tian counsel. 
 
 But a thousand instances of her great and fre- 
 quent charity, there was reason to believe, escaped 
 the observation of any but of those who received it; 
 she being; in acts of this nature contented with the 
 notice of God, and her own conscience, guiding 
 herself by our Saviour's rule, " Let not thy left hand 
 " know what thy right hand does," Matt. vi. 3. 
 And yet, to the glory of God, and her own com- 
 mendation and honour, the good deeds of this kind 
 which she studiously concealed in her life-time, 
 came to light in a great measure after her death, as 
 appeared in the multitudes of poor people who came 
 thronging to have a sight of her hearse, and who 
 shewed that it was not so much curiosity as affection 
 
162 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that brought them, by the bitter lamentations and 
 tears with which they bewailed her death, as the 
 widows did that of Dorcas, Acts, ix. 39. as their 
 universal and irreparable loss. 
 
 In the exercise of this her charity, out of her great 
 fear lest she should be too well thought of, if others 
 knew the proportion of it, and that she might be 
 assured that it was not diverted from the right 
 channel, she commonly trusted no hands with it but 
 her own, making it her care before she went abroad 
 at any time, to furnish her poor man's purse with 
 such moneys as were proper to be distributed among 
 such necessitous objects, which Providence before 
 her return might cast in her way. 
 
 One remarkable passage must not be omitted 
 under this head of her charity, though it only shews 
 her judgment in the choice of fit persons upon whom 
 to bestow it. She was once told of the prodigious 
 bounty of some of her ancestors towards religious 
 places and persons, as also for the education of 
 young students in the Universities. As soon as this 
 last sort of charity was mentioned, she particularly 
 applauded it, and thus expressed her mind upon it. 
 u Indeed," said she, " it is the best charity to pro- 
 u mote the good of souls, and it is a much nobler 
 " bounty to be the means of thus consecrating the 
 " life of one, than to relieve the age and infirmities 
 * of twenty." 
 
 She always declared a great detestation of tale- 
 bearing, the bane of love and friendship. She always 
 suspected a passionate accuser, as being commonly 
 more faulty than the party accused. In differences 
 of this nature which came under her cognizance, she 
 constantly used this healing method, first to allay 
 the acrimony of the contending spirits, and then to 
 accommodate the difference itself. 
 
 Indeed, her charity in all points answered the 
 description which the great apostle St. Paul gives of 
 that heavenly grace, which to read is to comprise 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 163 
 
 the whole history of her life in a short epitome, 
 1 Cor. xiii. 4. " Charity suffers long, and is kind, 
 " envies not, vaunts not itself, is not puffed up, does 
 u not behave itself unseemly, seeks not her own, is 
 " not easily provoked, thinks no evil, rejoices not 
 " in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth, bears all 
 " things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures 
 " all things/' 
 
 The sickness which proved mortal to her, sud- 
 denly seized her, being the small-pox disguised 
 under the relics of a fever, from Mch, as to appear- 
 ance, she was almost recovered. The arrest of 
 death, on the very borders of expected health, might 
 well have discomposed any mind but such an one as 
 hers ; but she was always so well secured by the 
 Christian armour, that no event could befall her for 
 which she was not prepared. 
 
 During the twilight of hopes and fears, which for 
 a time held both her physicians and relations in 
 suspense concerning her, she always seemed with 
 St. Paul, (Phil. i. 23.) " to have a desire to depart, 
 " and be with Christ ;" entreating her dear husband, 
 who was humbly importunate for a longer enjoyment 
 of her, " that he would not pray for her life, but for 
 " her soul, that God would make her fit to die, or, if 
 u he pleased to gratify the desires of those who so 
 tl affectionately wished her recovery, that he would 
 u so sanctify his hand to her that she might obtain 
 u grace from him to pay her vows ;" for indeed her 
 great aim and design were to be perfecting holiness 
 in the fear of God ; and the request she made for 
 herself in the midst of her feverish paroxysm was, 
 (C that by the burning heat," as she said, " she might 
 " be purified and refined ;" conformable to which 
 was that petition of hers in a former sickness, a little 
 before her marriage, which she expressed with most 
 emphatical vehemency, " O that I could do the 
 " whole will of God!" 
 
 In other moments of her last sickness, when her 
 
164 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 husband had offered up his earnest requests for her 
 recovery to health and a longer life, she would, after 
 prayer was over, kindly chide the exuberancy of his 
 affections, and desire him to rest content in the pro- 
 mise of God, " that all things should work together 
 " for his good, (Rom. viii. 28.) and to resign himself, 
 " as she wholly did, to the Divine will ; withal tell- 
 " ing him, that he had no reason to let loose the 
 " reins to sorrow, if he saw her die with good evi- 
 " dences of her going to heaven." And to allay his 
 passions in his greatest fears of that separation which 
 he so much deprecated, she observed to him, " We 
 " came not into the world together, nor can we 
 " expect to go out of it together; yet, it is a great 
 11 satisfaction to me that 1 am going there, where, 
 " after a while, you will follow me." 
 
 During the whole time of her sickness, she was 
 much concerned about a right deportment under the 
 afflicting hand of God, and afraid lest the restless- 
 ness occasioned by her disease might be the fruit of 
 impatience ; for which reason she would oftentimes, 
 with an holy jealousy of herself, ask those who were 
 about her, " whether she did not seem to them to be 
 " deficient in patience V and she appeared to be 
 troubled at the remembrance of the carriage of some 
 Christian friends, with whom she had been present 
 on their sick beds, as conscious to herself how short 
 she came of them. 
 
 She had some conflicts with temptations, if rather 
 they were not the tenderness of her own conscience, 
 which was apt to smite her for the smallest omis- 
 sions, of which they who knew the strictness of her 
 walking with God, thought she had little reason to 
 complain ; and the very complaint, in the nature of 
 it, discovered an eminent proficiency in holiness. 
 But it pleased God that these thin and light clouds 
 were soon dispelled, the smiles of the Divine coun- 
 tenance breaking through them, and filling her soul 
 with comfort ; so that she told a friend who visited 
 
LADY LANGHAM. 165 
 
 her, " that she blessed God, that, instead of a longer 
 " stay in a world full of troubles and miseries, He 
 " had given her the sight of a better country, and had 
 * cleared her title to it, and interest in it, so that 
 u she was willing to resign her soul into the hands of 
 " her heavenly Father, as knowing whom she had 
 " trusted, and to quit her earthly tabernacle in ex- 
 " change for that house not made with hands, eternal 
 " in the heavens." 
 
 And thus fell what was mortal of this excellent 
 woman, to her own infinite gain, but to the inex- 
 pressible loss of all her surviving friends and ac- 
 quaintance, but especially of her near relations. 
 Though indeed it was her advice to her tenderly 
 loving and affectionate husband in the time of her 
 health, " to take heed of over-loving her, wishing 
 u him to beware of it, as he desired not to part with 
 " her ; for," said she, " God will endure no rival." 
 
166 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 MARY, COUNTESS OF WARWICK*. 
 
 This lady was the daughter of Richard Boyle, the 
 first Earl of Cork, who was born a private gentleman, 
 and the younger brother of a younger brother, and 
 to no other heritage than what is expressed in the 
 words, God's Providence is my Inheritance. Which 
 motto he inscribed on the magnificent buildings he 
 erected, and indeed ordered to be placed on his 
 tomb. By that Providence succeeding his unre- 
 mitting and wise industry, he raised himself to such 
 honour and estate, and left behind him such a dig- 
 nified family, as has very rarely if ever before been 
 known ; and all this with such an unspotted repu- 
 tation for integrity, as that the most envious scrutiny 
 could discover no blemish in it, and that only shone 
 the brighter by the malignant attempts made to 
 obscure and debase it. 
 
 The mother of our lady was Catherine, only 
 daughter of Sir GeofFry Fenton, principal secretary 
 of state in Ireland. She was married to Mr. Boyle, 
 July 25, 1603, and obtained this most honourable 
 testimony from her husband : " I never," says he, 
 " demanded any marriage portion, neither promise 
 " of any, it not being in my consideration ; yet, her 
 u father, after her marriage, gave me one thousand 
 " pounds in gold with her. But that gift of his 
 " daughter unto me, I must ever thankfully acknow- 
 
 * Dr. Anthony Walker, rector of Fyfield, in Essex, preached a 
 sermon at Felsted at the Countess's funeral, and afterwards 
 printed it, under the title of, " The virtuous Woman found, her 
 rt Loss bewailed, and her Character exemplified : to which are 
 " annexed, Some of her Ladyship's pious and useful Meditations." 
 To this publication we have been principally obliged for the 
 memoirs of this excellent lady, as well as her pious compositions. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 167 
 
 " ledge, as the crown of all my blessings ; for she 
 " was a most religious, virtuous, loving, and obedient 
 " wife unto me all the days of her life, and the happy 
 " mother of all my hopeful children, whom with 
 " their posterity I beseech God to bless # ." 
 
 By that excellent lady, the Earl of Cork had 
 fifteen children. The Hon. Robert Boyle, famous 
 as a philosopher, more famous as a Christian, was 
 one of them. Mary, the seventh daughter, and who 
 was married to Charles Rich, Earl of Warwick, is 
 the subject of our memoirs. In opening her cha- 
 racter to the public view, we shall begin with that 
 which had the first place in her regard, piety towards 
 God. We shall make some observations on her 
 entrance upon it — on her progress in it — on the 
 various exercises of it — and her holy zeal and industry 
 to promote and encourage religion in others. 
 
 As to her entrance upon religion, or making it her 
 business in good earnest, though she had received 
 a good education, and had been instructed in the 
 grounds of religion in her youth, yet, she would 
 confess that she understood nothing of the life and 
 power of godliness upon her heart, and indeed had 
 no spiritual sense of it till some years after she was 
 married. Nay, she declared that she came into the 
 family in which she lived and died with so much 
 honour, with prejudices and strange apprehensions 
 as to matters of religion, and was almost affrighted 
 with the disadvantageous accounts she had received 
 concerning it ; but when she came to see the regular 
 performance of Divine worship, and hear the useful, 
 edifying preaching of the most necessary, practical, 
 and substantial truths, and observe the order and 
 good government maintained in it, and met with the 
 favour of her right honourable father-in-law, who 
 had always an extraordinary esteem and affection for 
 her, her groundless prepossessions dispersed like 
 
 * Birch's Life of the Hon. Robert Boyle, p. 10. 
 
168 MEMOTRS OF 
 
 mists before the sun, and were succeeded by the 
 most cordial approbation. 
 
 The providence of God made use of two more 
 remote means of her conversion, — afflictions and 
 retirement. Divine wisdom and grace may be very 
 adorable in adapting suitable means to accomplish 
 the good purposes of God towards men ; and afflic- 
 tions and retirement, in this lady's circumstances, 
 appeared to be admirably chosen out by Providence 
 for her. Her great impediment and difficulty lay in 
 her love of the pleasures and vanities of the world, 
 which she neither knew how to reconcile with the 
 strictness of religion, nor yet could be content to 
 part with for that, whose nobler delights she at that 
 time had never experienced. The Lord therefore 
 gradually drew off her mind from the pleasures and 
 vanities of the world, by rendering insipid, through her 
 afflictions, what had too much attached her regards ; 
 and by granting her a happy retirement, to acquaint 
 herself more thoroughly with the things of God ; 
 by which she was enabled to set her seal to that 
 testimony which God gives to spiritual wisdom, that 
 u her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her 
 "paths are peace;" (Prov. iii. 17.) which, indeed, 
 she would frequently and freely do to her friends, by 
 assuring them that she had no cause to repent the 
 exchange of the shadowy and unsubstantial pleasures 
 of this world, for the solid and satisfactory joys she 
 found in religion, thereby inciting and encouraging 
 them to make the experiment, not doubting but that 
 upon the trial they would be of the same sentiments 
 with herself. Two more immediate helps which 
 God blessed to the good of her soul, were, the 
 preaching of the word, and Christian conference. The 
 pressing the necessity of speedy and true repent- 
 ance, and showing the danger of procrastination, of 
 putting off and stifling conviction, seemed to turn 
 the wavering, trembling balance, and to fix the scale 
 of her resolution. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 169 
 
 This happy change took place about thirty years 
 before her death ; and from this time, (for, though 
 her conversation before was by no means vicious, 
 but sweet and inoffensive, yet, she would confess 
 that her mind was vain,) she walked most closely, 
 circumspectly, and accurately with God ; and very 
 few, if any, from what was seen in her, ever chose 
 the better part with more resolution, or more unre- 
 servedly devoted themselves to the love, fear, and 
 service of God, learning to be religious in good 
 earnest, and to increase and grow in grace, and in the 
 knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 
 
 To promote and strengthen religion in her soul, 
 she, like the wise man, (Matt. vii. 24.) dug deep to 
 lay her foundations upon a rock. She made a strict 
 scrutiny into the state of her soul, and weighed the 
 reasons of her choice in the balance of the sanctuary ; 
 and with the other builder in the gospel, (Luke, 
 xiv. 28.) sat down and considered with herself what 
 it might cost to finish her spiritual edifice, and 
 whether she were furnished to bear the charge. She 
 examined whether the grounds of her hope were firm, 
 and such as would not illude and shame her, and 
 whether her evidences for heaven were such as would 
 abide the test, and be approved by Scripture. As to 
 the various exercises of religion, or the practice of 
 it, it appeared to be her great design to walk worthy 
 of God in all well-pleasing, to adorn her professed 
 subjection to the gospel by a conversation becoming 
 it, and to show forth His praises who had called her 
 into his marvellous light. Accordingly, she was 
 very careful and circumspect in abstaining from all 
 appearance of evil. In all doubtful cases, her rule 
 was to take the safest side ; for she would say, that 
 she was sure it would do her no hurt to let alone 
 what was any way dubious as to its lawfulness. 
 While, therefore, none were further from censuring 
 others, or usurping judgment over their liberties, 
 yet, for herself, she would never allow herself the 
 
 VOL. I. i 
 
170 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 addition of an artificial beauty, using neither paint 
 nor patches ; neither would she play at any games, 
 because, besides many other inconveniences, she 
 thought them great wasters of precious time, of 
 which she was nobly avaricious. There were three 
 things, she said, that were too hard for her, and 
 which she confessed she could not comprehend. 
 
 " How those who professed to believe an eternal 
 '* state, and its dependence upon this inch of time, 
 " could complain of time's lying as a dead comrao- 
 <s dity on their hands, which they were at a difficulty 
 " to dispose of. 
 
 (t How professing Christians, who would seem 
 " devout at church, could laugh at others for being 
 " serious out of it, and burlesque the Bible, and turn 
 " religion into ridicule." 
 
 And finally, " How intelligent men could take care 
 " of souls, and seldom come among them, and never 
 " look after them." 
 
 Many years before her death she began to keep a 
 diary. She at first wrote her diary every evening ; 
 but finding the evening inconvenient, from her lord's 
 long illness, which occasioned her many inevitable 
 interruptions at that season, she changed it into the 
 quiet, silent morning, always rising early. In this 
 diary, among other things, she recorded the daily 
 frame of her own heart towards God, his signal pro- 
 vidences to herself, and sometimes to others, the 
 gracious manifestations of God to her soul, answers 
 of prayer, temptations resisted, or whatever might 
 be useful for caution or encouragement, or afford her 
 matter of thankfulness or humiliation. 
 
 She used to style prayer heartfs-ease, as she often 
 experienced it. On the very day before she died, 
 she shut up herself above an hour, which she spent 
 in fervent private prayer, notwithstanding her indis- 
 position. Indeed, prayer was the very element in 
 which she lived, and actually died : the vital breath 
 of her soul, that wafted it immediately to heaven. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 171 
 
 But, if she exceeded herself in any thing as much 
 as she excelled others in most things, it was in medi- 
 tation. She usually walked two hours every morning 
 to meditate alone, in which divine art she was a most 
 accomplished proficient, both as to set and occasional 
 contemplations; in set contemplations choosing some 
 particular subject, which she would press upon her 
 heart with the most intense thoughts, till she had 
 drawn out its juice and nourishment ; and in occa- 
 sional meditations like a bee extracting honey from 
 all occurrences ; whole volumes of which she hath 
 left behind her. 
 
 After she had consecrated the day with reading the 
 Scriptures, prayer, and meditation, a short dressing- 
 time, and ordering her domestic affairs, or reading 
 some good book, employed the remainder of the 
 morning, till the season came for chapel-prayers, 
 from which she never absented herself, and in which 
 she was ever reverent, and a devout example to her 
 whole family. 
 
 She was a strict observer of the Lord's-day, which 
 may be truly considered as the best external pre- 
 servative of religion ; for it is very evident, that the 
 streams of godliness are deep or shallow, according 
 as this bank is kept up, or neglected. This lady 
 was a very serious and diligent hearer of the word, 
 and constantly after sermon recollected what she had 
 heard, sometimes by writing, always by thinking, 
 and calling it to mind that she might make it her 
 own, and turn it into practice ; not content to be a 
 forgetful, fruitless hearer, but being a doer, that she 
 might be blessed in her deed. James, i. 25. 
 
 Nor was she less solicitous to make others good 
 than to be good herself. She well remembered our 
 Saviour's charge to Peter : u When thou art con- 
 " verted, strengthen thy brethren." Luke, xxii. 32. 
 She set herself to build God's spiritual temple, and 
 applied herself to it with all her might. She had 
 a seraphic zeal for the glory of God, and a great love 
 
 i2 
 
172 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 for immortal souls, and hence she was engaged to 
 promote religion with the utmost industry, which, 
 that she might accomplish with greater advantage, 
 she would in company introduce good discourse, to 
 prevent idle or worse communication. She would 
 drop a wise sentence, or moral or holy apophthegm, 
 with which she was richly furnished from her own 
 making, or her collection, that suited with, or was 
 not very remote from what was talked of; and by 
 commending, or improving that, she would turn the 
 conversation into a useful channel without offence, 
 and even with pleasure. She indeed kept a book of 
 such wise and weighty sayings ; greatly valuing 
 sentences which contained much use and worth in a 
 little compass. The following were a few out of 
 the many : 
 
 " The almost Christian is the unhappiest of men ; 
 " having religion enough to make the world hate 
 " him, and yet, not enough to make God love him. 
 
 " The servants of God should be as bold for their 
 <c master, as the servants of the devil are for theirs. 
 
 " O Lord, what I give thee doth not please thee, 
 " unless I give thee myself. So, what thou givest 
 " me shall not satisfy me, unless thou give me 
 " thyself. 
 
 " O Lord, who givest grace to the humble, give 
 " me grace to be humble. 
 
 " He loves God too little, who loves any thing 
 " with him, which he loves not for him. 
 
 " So speak to God as though men heard thee ; so 
 '* speak to men, as knowing God hears thee. 
 
 u We should meditate on Christ's cross, till we are 
 " fastened as close to him as he was to the cross. 
 
 " By how much the more vile Christ made him- 
 u self for us, by so much the more precious should 
 " he be to us. 
 
 " He who takes up Christ's cross aright, shall find 
 " it such a burden as wings to a bird, or sails to 
 u a ship. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 173 
 
 " It is a great honour to be almoner to the King 
 " of heaven. To give is the greatest luxury. How 
 " indulgent then is God to annex future rewards to 
 
 * what is so much its own recompense ! 
 
 ** To be libelled for Christ is the best panegyric. 
 
 " Where affliction is heavy, sin is light. 
 
 " Sin brought death into the world, and nothing 
 " but death will carry sin out of it. 
 
 " The best shield against slanderers, is to live so 
 " that nor>e may believe them. 
 
 " He who revenges an injury, acts the part of an 
 '* executioner ; he who pardons it, acts the part of a 
 '■*■ prince. 
 
 " Why are we so fond of that life that begins with 
 
 * a cry, and ends with a groan ?" 
 
 Where this excellent lady had particular kindness 
 or personal interest, she would improve the authority 
 of her friendship in free discourses and arguments, 
 and plead the cause of God and their own souls, with 
 such eloquence, that it was hard to resist the spirit 
 with which she spake. " Let me," says the minister 
 who writes her life, and was many years well ac- 
 quainted with her, u echo from her lips, though, 
 " alas ! too faintly, how she would, with melting 
 " charms and powerful strains, make her attempts 
 '* upon the friends for whom she had a kindness, and 
 " whom she longed to rescue from ruin." 
 
 (i * Come, come, my friend, you must be good ; 
 " you shall be good. I cannot be so unkind, nay, 
 " so unfaithful to the laws of friendship, as to let 
 " you persist and perish in a way which you know 
 " as well as I leads down to hell. It grieves my 
 " very soul to have so good a nature insnared 
 ,€ against the dictates of its own light by bad ex- 
 u ample, custom, or any thing else.' — If they replied 
 " with excuses, she would stop them thus: * Pray, 
 " my fiiend, have patience: hear me out. I know, 
 " or guess at least, what you would say, and I would 
 " not have you say it. It is bad to commit sin, but 
 
174 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 a 
 
 it is worse to plead for it, and defend it. None 
 " sin so dangerously as those who sin with excuses. 
 " The devil then plants a new snare, when he gets 
 •' into our tongues, to fasten us to our failings, or 
 " when he raises an outwork in our own mouths, to 
 rt secure the fort he possesses in our hearts. I take 
 " it for granted, that all other holds were quitted 
 " easily, could you conquer such or such a vice, too 
 te much by custom prevailing over you. Unhappy 
 " custom that dares prescribe against God's law ! — 
 " But, friend, use no arguments that will not hold 
 * at the day of judgment. Though hand join in 
 " hand — you know what follows. No example, 
 •* custom, number, should have power over us, 
 " which cannot excuse and secure us. But this is 
 u the mischief of sin lived in ; it bewitches the heart 
 " to love it so, that it cannot leave it. Cannot ! 
 " So men love to speak, but it is because they will 
 " not : that is, will use no endeavours to be rid of it. 
 " But, my friend, you must leave it ; there is no 
 " remedy, though it cost you trouble, smart, and 
 " self-denial. There is as much as all this comes 
 " to, in cutting off a right hand, and plucking out a 
 " right eye. I speak to you as to one in whom I 
 " have a party to help me plead ; I mean your 
 " conscience, and the belief of the Scriptures ; for, 
 " if you were one of those on whom you know I use 
 " to set my mark, I would not give you this trouble, 
 " nor esteem myself under more than the laws of 
 " general charity to wish you better, and should 
 u hardly venture my little skill to make you so. 
 " But as for you, who still own God's authority, and 
 " believe his word, and attend his worship ; why 
 '* should I despair of making one part of yourself 
 " agree with the other, your practice with your con- 
 " victions, your conversation with your conscience ? 
 " And not to terrify you with the thunder-claps of 
 " wrath and vengeance, and God's judging you 
 " know whom — listen to the still voice. It is your 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 175 
 
 " peculiar eminency to be kind and grateful ; and 
 " because there is a kind of magnetic virtue in these 
 '* arguments which touches our temper, I shall attack 
 " you on that side, hoping the strongest excellency 
 " of your nature will prove the weakest defensative 
 " for sin, and to keep out God. You, therefore, 
 " who are so good-natured, so kind, so grateful, 
 " that you never think you have acquitted yourself 
 " sufficiently to those who have been civil, or, as 
 4i you are pleased to call it, obliging. Oh ! how 
 il can you be so unkind and so ungrateful to God 
 " Almighty, the kindest friend, who is so much 
 M beforehand with you, who hath given you so much 
 u good, and is so ready to forgive you all your sins ? 
 tl O that you, who, I dare say, would take my word 
 " for any thing else, would do me the honour to 
 " take my word for Him, who, I assure you, upon 
 " your sincere repentance, will be fully reconciled 
 ft to you in Christ, and never so much as upbraid 
 " your past neglects, but heal your backslidings, 
 " and love you freely. And do not fear you shall 
 " have cause to repent of your repentance. No 
 u man was ever yet a loser by God, and you shall 
 " not be the first. You shall not lose your pleasures, 
 " but exchange them, defiling ones, for them which 
 " are pure and ravishing. And let it not seem 
 u strange or incredible to you, that there should be 
 " such things as the pleasures of religion, because, 
 f 4 perhaps, you never felt them. Alas ! you have 
 " deprived yourself unhappily, by being incapable 
 " of them. New wine must be put into new bottles. 
 " To say nothing of what the Scriptures speak, of a 
 " day in God's courts being better than a thousand, 
 i( and of joys unspeakable and full of glory, of the 
 '* great peace they have who keep God's law, and 
 " that nothing shall offend them, and that wisdom's 
 4i ways are pleasantness, — let my weakness reason 
 " out the case with you. Do you think that God's 
 " angels, who excel in all perfection, have no delight 
 
176 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " because they have no flesh, no sense, no bodies, as 
 " men and beasts ? Or have our souls, the angels 
 rt in these houses of clay, which are God's images, 
 " and the price of his blood, no objects, no employ- 
 " ments, which may yield them delight and satisfac- 
 tion? Think not so unworthily of God, or so 
 " meanly of yourself. Have not the strokes of your 
 " own fancy, or the intellectual pleasures of your 
 " mind, sometimes transported you beyond all the 
 " charms of your senses, when they have chimed all 
 "in tune together? And cannot God, think you, 
 " who is a spirit, and so fit an object for our souls, 
 u give them as great pleasures as any object of our 
 tC taste and sight ? Come, come, my friend, take 
 " my word for it, there is more pleasure in the peace 
 " of a good conscience, in the well-grounded hope 
 " that our sins are pardoned, in serving God, and in 
 " the expectation of eternal life, than in all the 
 u pleasures in the world. Alas ! I was once of your 
 "mind; but I assure you, upon my word, I have 
 " really found more satisfaction in serving God, than 
 u ever I found in all the good things of this life, of 
 u which, you know, I have had my share. Try 
 " therefore ; dare to be good ; resolve to be so 
 u thoroughly. If you do not find it much better 
 te than I have told you, never take my word, or 
 " trust me more.'" 
 
 Thus, and much more powerfully, would our lady's 
 zeal for their good, cause her to argue with her 
 friends, that she might by holy violence attract and 
 allure them to be good and happy. 
 
 She took great care of the souls of her servants : 
 and if she had any ambition in her, it was to be 
 the mistress of a religious family. This appeared 
 among others, in the following particulars : in ex- 
 acting their attendance on the public worship of 
 God, and reverent behaviour there ; in personal 
 instruction, and familiar persuasion of them; in pre- 
 paring them for, and exhorting them to the frequent 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 177 
 
 participation of the Lord's Supper; in dispersing 
 good books in all the common rooms and places of 
 attendance, that they who were in waiting might not 
 lose their time, but well employ it ; and in making 
 religion in her servants the step to their preferment. 
 For she used to make the 101st psalm the rule of 
 her economics ; and though she treated all her 
 servants as friends, yet, they were her favourites 
 who most remarkably feared the Lord. 
 
 The goo i Countess had learned St. Paul's lesson 
 to perfection, " to speak evil of no man." Where 
 she could not speak in commendation, the worst 
 injury she would do, was to be silent, unless it was 
 to some single friend, of whose taciturnity she was 
 secured by experience. Nor would she invidiously 
 diminish the just praises of any who deserved them, 
 but would study to extenuate their other failings by 
 presenting the bright sides of their characters to 
 conceal their dark ones. 
 
 As a wife, it may be truly said, that the heart of 
 her husband safely trusted in her ; and that she did 
 him good, and not evil, all the days of her life. 
 Never was woman more truly a crown or ornament 
 to a man. She always lived under the sense of the 
 covenant of God which was between them, upon 
 her heart. She w T as an equal mixture of affectionate 
 obedience and obediential affection. She covered 
 and concealed his infirmities, deeply sympathised 
 in his long indispositions, attended and relieved him 
 with the greatest tenderness, and above ail loved his 
 soul, and would both counsel him with a prudent 
 zeal, and pray for him with the strongest ardours 
 and fervency. And he was not wanting in her just 
 praises. When the torrents of his sorrow were 
 highest for the death of his only son, he made it 
 the deepest accent of his grief, " that it would kill 
 his wife," which, he said, " was more to him than 
 an hundred sons." But actions speak louder than 
 
 i5 
 
178 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 words : he gave her his whole estate, as an honour- 
 able testimony of his grateful esteem of her merits 
 towards him, and left her sole executrix. Which 
 trust, though it cost her almost unspeakable labour 
 and difficulties, she discharged with such inde- 
 fatigable pains, such conscientious exactness, and 
 amazing prudence, that as she failed not of one tittle 
 of his will till all was executed, so she never gave 
 or left occasion for the least complaining from any 
 interested person, but rendered all more than silent, 
 satisfied; more than satisfied, applauding and ad- 
 miring her prudent and honourable management of 
 that great affair : an event which she owned to God 
 with much thankfulness, as no small mercy and 
 blessing to her. As for that noble estate which was 
 to descend to others after her, she would not have 
 wronged it in the least, to have gained the disposal 
 of the whole ; and therefore was at vast expenses 
 in repairs both of the mansion and the farms, though 
 she herself had them only for a term. It may be 
 also truly said concerning her, that though none 
 were more ready to recede from their own right 
 terminating in personal interests, yet, that she was 
 very strict and tenacious in whatever might concern 
 her successors, usually saying, " that, whatever she 
 " lost herself, she would never give occasion for 
 " them who came after her, to say that she had 
 " hurt their estates, or wronged her trust, or them." 
 She was an incomparable mother, as appeared in 
 the education of her son, the hopeful young Lord 
 Rich*, who went to the grave before her, and after- 
 wards, of three young ladies her nieces, to whom 
 she was in kindness an own mother, though she was 
 only an aunt-in-law. As they were left with less 
 plentiful portions, she would, even during her son's 
 
 * She never was the mother of more than two children ; a 
 daughter, who died young, and this promising young nobleman. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 179 
 
 life, never leave pressing her lord to make noble 
 provisions for them, suitable to their birth and 
 qualities. 
 
 She was a most tender and indulgent landlady, 
 and would usually say of her tenants, " Alas ! poor 
 " creatures, they take a great deal of pains ; and I 
 " love to see them thrive and live comfortably, and 
 " I cannot bear to see them brought into straits, 
 '? and would therefore, without grudging or dif- 
 " ficulty, have all things made convenient for them.'' 
 And if they had sustained any considerable losses, 
 she would effectually consider them. As for her 
 copyhold tenants, she would urge with warmth the 
 timely finishing of the rolls of her courts, and the 
 delivery of their copies, declaring, ll that she could 
 " not in conscience suffer these things to be ne- 
 " glected, because it was all they had to show for 
 " their estates." A piece of justice this, not more 
 honourable than necessary in lords and ladies of 
 manors. 
 
 Asa neighbour, she was so kind and courteous, 
 that it advanced the rent of adjacent houses to be in 
 such a near situation to her. Not only her house 
 and table, but her very countenance and heart, 
 were open to all persons of quality for a considerable 
 circuit ; and for the inferior sort, if they were sick, 
 or tempted, or in any distress of body or mind, to 
 whom should they apply but to the good countess 
 for assistance and relief? She supplied them with 
 surgical assistance and physic ; and herself, (for she 
 would personally visit the meanest among them,) 
 and the ministers whom she would send to them, 
 were their spiritual physicians. 
 
 As her soul w r as filled with the love of God, so 
 she expressed her love to men in the most exuberant 
 munificence to all who stood in need of it. In her 
 charity, she was forward to her power, yea, and 
 beyond her power; for she would even anticipate 
 her revenue and incomes, rather than restrain or 
 
180 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 suspend her liberality. She would not live poor in 
 good works, to die rich as to this world's goods. 
 She made her own hands her executors, and they 
 were very faithful to her enlarged heart. 
 
 When she had, in her lo r d's life-time, a separate 
 allowance settled by marriage articles, she consulted 
 with a minister, with whom she was well acquainted, 
 what proportion persons are obliged to consecrate 
 to God of their substance. The minister told her, 
 " that it was hard, if not impossible, to fix a rule 
 u which should hold universally, and that the cir- 
 u cumstances in which persons stood, their qualities, 
 " their incomes, their dependencies, must be con- 
 u sidered, necessary and emergent occasions inevi- 
 " tably occurring." On her insisting on a more 
 particular answer as to herself, what would be fit 
 and becoming her to do, the minister, who was no 
 stranger to her circumstances, suggested, " that a 
 " seventh part, he supposed, would be a fit propor- 
 " tion of her substance for charitable uses." Before 
 he could assign his reasons, she replied, " that she 
 tf would never give less than the third part/' Ac- 
 cordingly, she kept her resolution to the full, and with 
 advantage, laying aside constantly that proportion 
 for charity, and even sometimes borrowing from the 
 other proportions to add to it, but never making free 
 with that to serve her own occasions, though some- 
 times pressing enough. 
 
 When she came to the possession of the very 
 large estate her lord bequeathed her for her life, she 
 in good measure realized what a great person was 
 reported to say, u that the Earl of Warwick had 
 u given all his estate to pious uses ;" intending, 
 that, by giving it to his Countess, it would be con- 
 verted to these purposes. All the satisfaction, as 
 she declared, that she took in such large possessions 
 being put into her hands, was the opportunity they 
 afforded her of doing good ; and she averred that 
 she would not accept of, or be encumbered with the 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 181 
 
 greatest estate in England, if it should be offered 
 her, were it clogged with this condition, that she 
 was not to do good to others with it. 
 
 Such was the amiable and exemplary life of the 
 Countess of Warwick. It remains that some ac- 
 count should be given of her death. 
 
 What presages she might have of its near ap- 
 proach, she never discovered; but her preparations 
 for it had been for along time habitual. Death was 
 one of the most constant subjects of her thoughts; 
 and she used to call her walking to meditate upon 
 it, her going to take a turn with death ; so that it 
 could never surprise or take her unprepared, who 
 was always ready for it. 
 
 Yet, there are some particulars worthy of our 
 remark, of the watchful kindness of Providence over 
 the people of God, alarming them to trim their 
 lamps, as the wise virgins did, against the coming 
 of the bridegroom, and allowing them fit opportu- 
 nities to do it, as Providence signally did to this 
 good lady. 
 
 The following transcript from her diary contains 
 an account of the last Lord's-day of her health, 
 being written but the very day before she was taken 
 ill ; whence it should seem, that the thoughts of 
 her dissolution were impressed upon her soul in a 
 remarkable manner, though at that time there were 
 no visible symptoms of it upon her body. 
 
 " March 24, 1678. 
 
 " As soon as I awoke, I blessed God. I then 
 " meditated and endeavoured, by thinking of some 
 " of the great mercies of my life, to stir up my heart 
 " to give glory to God. These thoughts had this 
 " effect upon me, to melt my heart much by the love 
 " of God, and to warm it with love to him. 
 
 " Next I prayed, and was enabled in that duty to 
 " pour out my soul to God. My heart was in it, and 
 
182 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " was carried out to praise God, and I was large 
 " in recounting many of his special mercies to me. 
 " While I was thus employed, I found my heart in 
 " a much more than ordinary manner excited to ad- 
 ". mire God for his goodness, and to love him. I 
 " found his love make deep impressions on me, and 
 '? melting me into an unusual plenty of tears. 
 
 " Those mercies, for which I was in an especial 
 " manner thankful, were, the creation and redemp- 
 " tion of the world, and for the gospel, and the sa- 
 " craments, and for free grace, and the covenant of 
 " grace, and for the excellent means of it I had en- 
 " joyed, and for the great patience God had exer- 
 " cised towards me before and since my conversion, 
 " and for checks of conscience when I had sinned, 
 " and for repentance when I had done so, and for 
 " sanctified affliction, and support under it, and for 
 " so large a portion of worldly blessings. 
 
 " After I had begged a blessing upon the public 
 " ordinances, 1 went to hear Mr. Woodrooff. His 
 
 * text was i Pass the time of your sojourning here 
 " in fear.' " — After a summary account of the ser- 
 " mon, she goes on : u In the afternoon I heard 
 " again the same person on the same text." This 
 sermon she also concisely and methodically recapi- 
 tulates, and then proceeds : " I was in a serious 
 " frame at both the sermons, and was by them con- 
 " vinced of the excellency of fearing God, and of 
 " employing the remainder of the term of my life in 
 " his service, and I resolved to endeavour to spend 
 " the residue of my time better. At both the mi- 
 " nister's prayers I prayed with fervency. After- 
 f wards I retired, and meditated upon the sermons, 
 " and prayed them over. I had also this evening 
 " large meditations of death and of eternity, which 
 " thoughts had this effect upon me, to beget in me 
 h an extraordinary awakened frame, in which the 
 
 * things of another life were much realized to me, 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 183 
 
 " and made very deep impressions upon me, and my 
 w soul followed hard after God for grace to serve 
 " him better than ever yet I had done. 
 
 " O Lord, be pleased to hear my prayers, which 
 " came not out of feigned lips, and to hear the voice 
 " of my weeping for more holiness, and for being 
 " more weaned from the world, and all in it ! After 
 " supper, I committed myself to God." 
 
 This excellent lady was far from being among their 
 number, whose consciences are such bad and unquiet 
 company that they hate solitude, and dare not be 
 alone ; for she loved retirement, and found in it her 
 greatest satisfaction ; though when she was called 
 from it, she would deny her particular inclination, to 
 comply with a duty of pressing necessity or of larger 
 extent. Thus she cheerfully sustained the hurry of 
 business, which was inevitable, in discharging her- 
 self of the trust reposed in her by her lord's last 
 will. 
 
 But never did bird more joyfully clap its wings 
 when disentangled from a net, or delivered from the 
 prison of its cage, than she solaced herself upon her 
 withdrawment from the bustle and crowd of terrene 
 concerns. And when her dearest sister was, in the 
 beginning of the winter before she died, about to 
 leave her, she took her farewell of her in these words : 
 " Now I have done my drudgery/' (intending her 
 attention to worldly affairs,) " I will set to the re- 
 *' newing my preparations for eternity ;" and ac- 
 cordingly, she made it the repeated business of the 
 following winter. 
 
 In the beginning of March, 1678, she set to the 
 making of her will anew, and signed and sealed it on 
 the twelfth day of the same month ; and on the Tues- 
 day, March 26, was taken with some indisposition, 
 loss of appetite, and aguish distemper, and had four 
 or five fits, which yet, in that season, were judged, 
 both by her physicians and friends, more beneficial 
 to her health, than threatening to her life. She con- 
 tinued afterwards free from her fits till Friday the 
 
184 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 12th of April; on which day she rose in tolerable 
 strength, and after sitting up some time, being laid 
 upon her bed, she discoursed cheerfully and piously. 
 One of the last sentences she spoke, having turned 
 back the curtain with her hand, was this most friendly 
 and divine one; " Well, ladies, if I were one hour 
 " in heaven, I would not be again with you, as much 
 '* as I love you." 
 
 Having then received a kind visit from a neigh- 
 bouring lady, at her departure she rose from her bed 
 to her chair; in which being set, she said she would 
 go into her bed, but first would desire one of the 
 ministers then in the house to pray with her; and 
 asking the company which they would have, pre- 
 sently resolved herself to have him who was going 
 aw r ay, because the other would stay and pray with 
 her daily. He was immediately sent to, and came. 
 Her ladyship, sitting in her chair on account of her 
 weakness, (for otherwise she always kneeled,) and 
 holding an orange in her hand, to which she smelt, 
 almost in the beginning of the prayer was heard to 
 fetch a sigh, or groan, which was esteemed devo- 
 tional ; but a gentlewoman who kneeled by her, 
 looking up, saw her look pale, and her hand hang- 
 down ; at which she started up affrighted, and all ap- 
 plied themselves to assist her ladyship, the minister 
 catching hold of her right hand, which had then lost 
 its pulse, nor ever recovered it more. 
 
 Thus died, in the fifty-fourth year of her age, this 
 right honourable lady, this most eminent pattern of 
 zeal for the glory of God and charity for the good 
 of men! She died in the actual exercise of prayer, 
 according to her own desire ; for there were manv 
 that could witness that they had often heard her say, 
 " That if she might choose the manner and circum- 
 " stances of her death, she would die praying." 
 
 We shall annex to the Memoirs of this worthy 
 lady, specimens of her own numerous compositions. 
 Among her meditations on various subjects we find 
 the following. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 185 
 
 MEDITATION, 
 
 On considering the different manner of the working of 
 a Bee and a Spider. 
 
 While I am attending to this despicable spider, 
 which, despicable as it is, yet, has some of its kind 
 that have the honour to inhabit the courts of the 
 most glorious potentates, (for the inspired volumes 
 tell us, that they are in kings' palaces*,) I am led to 
 consider, that the work he is so busily employed in, 
 while he spins his webs entirely out of his own 
 bowels, without having any help from any thing 
 without him, is, when it is finished, good for nothing, 
 but is soon brushed down and flung away ; while 
 the industrious Bee, who is busily employed in 
 making his useful combs, daily flies abroad to enable 
 him to do so, and, flying from one flower to another, 
 gathers from each of them that which both renews 
 his own strength, and yields sweetness to others. 
 
 By the Spider's work, I am minded of a formalist 
 or proud professor, who works all from himself, and 
 his own strength, and never goes out of himself to 
 get strength for his performances, or to work by, and 
 therefore his thin-spun righteousness is good for 
 nothing, and will be thrown away. 
 
 The Bee's going abroad is an emblem of the real 
 Christian, who is renewed in the spirit of his mind, 
 and, that he may be enabled to w r ork the great work 
 for which he came into the world, he goes out to an 
 ordinance, and to Christ in a promise for strength by 
 which to work, and thus obtains it ; and this makes 
 his work yield honey, and turn to advantage. 
 
 O Lord, I most humbly beseech thee, let me not 
 dare to work for myself, but let me go out daily to 
 thee for ability, with which to work my great and 
 indispensable work, that I may deny my own righte- 
 
 * Prov. xxx. 28. 
 
186 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ousness, and make mention of thine only, and may 
 find such sweetness from every ordinance and pro- 
 mise, that my soul may be like a garden which the 
 Lord hath blessed, and may exceedingly thrive and 
 prosper ! 
 
 We shall now give one of her pious reflections on 
 several passages of Scripture. 
 
 REFLECTION 
 
 ON 
 PSALM CX1X. 136. 
 
 Rivers of waters run down my eyes, because men keep 
 
 not thy law. 
 
 Lord, when I read in thy word, of the man after 
 thine own heart thus speaking, and yet consider 
 that I am so far from imitating him, that I can many 
 times suffer sin to be upon my brother, without so 
 much as giving him a reproof for it, or advising him 
 so much as to consider whom he offends by it ; nay, 
 that I am ready to smile at that which is a grief to 
 thine Holy Spirit; I beseech thee, O Lord ! to humble 
 me under this consideration, and to make me, for 
 time to come, to imitate holy David in my charity 
 towards my offending brother, and with thy servant 
 Lot, let my soul be vexed in hearing and seeing the 
 filthy conversation of the wicked*. O let me be so 
 charitable as to weep over the soul of my offending 
 brother ; and let me, as much as in me lies, deliver 
 him out of the snare of sin, and by my prayers and 
 holy example, help him towards heaven ! 
 
 * 2 Pet. ii. 8. 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 187 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 
 
 This lady was born at Wigsale in Sussex, January, 
 1601. Her father was Thomas Culpepper, of Wig- 
 sale, esquire, a branch of an ancient, genteel family 
 of that name, which was afterwards in her brother 
 advanced to the rank of the nobility. He was created 
 a baron by King Charles the First, with the title of 
 John Lord Culpepper, of Thoresway. Her mother 
 was the daughter of Sir Stephen Slaney. Thus she 
 had the honour of an honourable extraction and a 
 noble alliance ; and as her family conferred an 
 honour upon her, so, she reflected an additional 
 glory upon her family by her great virtues, having 
 been one of the most accomplished persons of the 
 age, whether considered as a lady or a Christian. 
 
 While she was in her infancy, she lost her mother, 
 and in her childhood, her father; so that she came 
 early under the more peculiar care and patronage 
 of God, who is in an especial manner the Father of 
 the fatherless. 
 
 Her first education was under her grandmother on 
 the mother's side, the Lady Slaney. She had rare 
 endowments of nature, an excellent mind, lodged in 
 a fine form and under a beautiful aspect, the traces 
 of which were discernible even in her old age. She 
 had an extraordinary quickness of apprehension, a 
 rich fancy, great solidity of judgment, and a reten- 
 tive memory. 
 
 She was married very young, about nineteen, to 
 Sir Robert Brooke, knt. descended from a younger 
 brother of the ancient and noble family of the Brookes, 
 formerly Lord Cobham. Sir Robert was a person 
 of good estate and of virtuous character. He lived 
 with her six-and-twenty years, and died July 10, 
 1646. Their children were three sons and four 
 daughters. 
 
188 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Sir Robert Brooke and his lady continued the two 
 first years of their marriage in London, as boarders 
 in the house of the Lady Weld, her aunt. Thence 
 they removed to Langley in Hertfordshire ; a seat 
 which Sir Robert purchased purposely for his lady's 
 accommodation, that she might be near her friends 
 in London. After some years' residence there, they 
 came to Cockfield in Suffolk, his paternal seat, 
 where she passed the residue of her life, excepting 
 the two first years of her widowhood. In all these 
 places she lived an eminent example of goodness, 
 and left a good name behind her, and especially in 
 the last, where she passed the most and best of her 
 time, and whence her soul was translated to heaven. 
 
 She had many accomplishments, which recom- 
 mended her to all who had the happiness of knowing 
 her. But the greatest glory that shone in her, was 
 that of religion, in which she was not onlv sincere, 
 but excelled. To which general head the following 
 particulars may be referred, as the distinct jewels in 
 her crown of righteousness. 
 
 She devoted herself to God and religion very early 
 in life, remembering her Creator in the days of her 
 youth, and making haste, and delaying not to keep 
 his commandments. And as she began, so she con- 
 tinued with great steadiness, her walk with God 
 through the course of a long life; so that she was 
 not only an aged person, but, which is a great honour 
 in the church of God, " an old disciple." 
 
 As she thus early applied herself to religion in the 
 power and strictness of it, so, her good parts, indus- 
 try, length of time, and the use of excellent books, 
 and converse with learned men uniting tog-ether, 
 rendered her one of the most intelligent persons of 
 her sex, especially in divinity and the holy Scriptures, 
 which made her wise unto salvation. 
 
 This knowledge of the sacred writings was not 
 confined to the practical, but extended also to the 
 doctrinal and critical part of the book of God, even 
 
\ 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 189 
 
 to the difficulties concerning Scripture-chronology 
 and the solution of many of them. She was able to 
 discourse pertinently upon any of the great heads of 
 theology. She could oppose an Atheist by argu- 
 ments drawn from the topics in natural theology ; 
 and answer the objections of other erroneous minds, 
 by the weapons provided against them in the holy 
 Scriptures. 
 
 Though she was not skilled in the learned lan- 
 guages, she had so great a knowledge in divinity, 
 that no scholar could repent the time spent in con- 
 verse with her ; for she could bear such a part in 
 discourses of theology, whether didactical, polemical, 
 casuistical, or textual, that some of her chaplains have 
 professed that her conversation has been sometimes 
 more profitable and pleasant than their own studies, 
 and that they themselves learned, as well as taught. 
 
 This, perhaps, may seem incredible to them who 
 were not acquainted with her; but something of the 
 wonder will be abated, by shewing in what manner 
 she attained her treasures of knowledge. 
 
 She was an indefatigable reader of books, espe- 
 cially of the Scriptures, and various commentators 
 upon them, the very best our language afforded. She 
 had turned over a multitude, not only of practical 
 treatises, but also of learned books ; and, among 
 many others, some of those of the ancient philoso- 
 phers translated into English, gathering much light 
 from those luminaries among the heathens, so that 
 she could interpose with wisdom in a discourse 
 purely philosophical. She was also a most diligent 
 inquirer, and made use of all learned men of her ac- 
 quaintance, in order to increase her knowledge, by 
 moving questions concerning the most material 
 things; as cases of conscience, hard texts of Scrip- 
 ture, and the accomplishment of the Divine prophe- 
 cies. She generally also took notes out of the many 
 books she read, that she might with the less labour 
 

 190 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 recover the ideas without reading the books a second 
 time. 
 
 She was very industrious to preserve what either 
 instructed her mind, or affected her heart, in the ser- 
 mons she had heard. To these she gave great atten- 
 tion while they were preaching, and had them re- 
 peated in her family. After all this, she would dis- 
 course of them in the evening, and in the following 
 week she had them repeated, and would discourse 
 upon them to some of her family in her chamber. 
 Besides all this, she wrote the substance of them, 
 and digested many of them into questions and an- 
 swers, or under heads of common places, and thus 
 they became to her matter for repeated meditation. 
 By these methods she was always enlarging her 
 knowledge, or confirming what she had already 
 known. Having thus acquired a great treasure of 
 knowledge, she improved it, through Divine assist- 
 ance, which she was most ready to acknowledge, 
 into a suitable practice, working out her salvation 
 with fear and trembling, and being zealous of good 
 works. 
 
 Her piety was exact, laying rules upon herself in 
 all things ; and it was also universal, having a re- 
 spect to all God's commandments, equally regarding 
 the two tables of the law; and it may be truly 
 added, that it was also constant and affectionate. 
 Her whole heart was given up to religion, and a 
 holy zeal accompanied it, which zeal was guided by 
 much wisdom and prudence ; her prudence never 
 degenerating into craft, there being nothing apparent 
 in all her conversation contrary to sincerity. Her 
 piety also was serious, solid, and substantial, with- 
 out any tincture of enthusiasm; though, at the 
 same time, she had a great regard to the Spirit of 
 God, as speaking in the Scriptures, and by them 
 guiding the understanding, and operating upon the 
 heart. 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 191 
 
 As her own practice was holy, so, she endea- 
 voured that her family might walk in the same steps, 
 providing for them the daily help of prayer morning 
 and evening, with the reading of the Scriptures, and 
 on the Lord's-day the repetition of what was preached 
 in the public congregation. And for their further 
 benefit, she for many years together procured a grave 
 divine to perform the office of a catechist in her 
 house, who came constantly every fortnight, and 
 expounded methodically the principles of religion, 
 and examined the servants. This work was done by her 
 chaplains till the service of God in her family, and 
 the care of the parish, centred in one person. Thus, 
 with Joshua, she resolved that she and her house 
 would serve the Lord. 
 
 With her piety was joined much Christian love, 
 which was universal, and extended to all mankind ; 
 so that she never suffered herself to hate, or despise, 
 or overlook, unless in the way of censure for a crime, 
 any persons in the world, abhorring only what was 
 vicious and evil in them. But this universal charity 
 admitted a difference, so that, as the more Christian 
 and holy any persons were, they had more of her 
 regard. That image of God that shone out in a 
 good conversation, she could not overlook in any, 
 though in some respects they might be less accept- 
 able to her ; as she valued grace above all the ac- 
 complishments of parts, breeding, and agreement in 
 smaller things. While all were dear to her in whom 
 the fear of God appeared, she had a most peculiar 
 regard for his ambassadors and ministers, the guides 
 of souls, receiving them in their ministrations as 
 angels of God, fearing the Lord, and obeying the 
 voice of his servants, esteeming what they delivered 
 in harmony with the holy Scriptures as his word 
 and message. 
 
 She was very exact in matters of justice, and in 
 rendering to all their dues. She could not endure 
 
192 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to have any thing without a title in conscience as 
 well as law ; and was particularly tender in reference 
 to tithes, giving away all which she held by that 
 title to him who took the care of the souls, and re- 
 serving only a little portion yearly for repairing the 
 edifices. 
 
 Her almsgiving was very great, and drew the ad- 
 miration of all who observed it, though they were 
 acquainted with only some part of it. Every one 
 who needed it, received it in proportion to his ne- 
 cessities, and in the kind that was most suitable to 
 his particular wants. She esteemed herself only as 
 a steward of her estate, and therefore gave away 
 a great portion of it to encourage the ministry, 
 and relieve the indigent. She dispersed abroad, 
 and gave to the poor, and her righteousness remains 
 for ever. She most frequently cast her bread upon 
 the waters, and gave a portion to seven, and to 
 eight, and lent much to the Lord. All this she did 
 cheerfully and willingly, and was so ready to do 
 these good works, that, when there was any occasion 
 that solicited her charity, it was never any question 
 with her whether she should give, or not give, but 
 only in what proportion she should communicate her 
 bounty ; and that she might fix the proportion, she 
 would many times most frankly refer herself to 
 others, saying, " I will give whatever you think is 
 •f meet and fit in this case ;" having in this respect 
 a heart as large as the sand upon the sea-shore, and 
 a most open and bountiful hand. 
 
 And as the poor were blessed with her charity in 
 abundance, so her friends, who needed not that kind 
 of benevolence, were witnesses of her great liberality 
 and goodness, by which she adorned religion, and 
 won over many to speak well concerning it. Her 
 generosity was such, that one would have imagined 
 there was no room for her alms ; and her charity w r as 
 such, that it was matter of wonder that she could so 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 193 
 
 nobly entertain her friends. But her provident fru- 
 gality and good management, with the Divine bless- 
 ing, enabled her to perform both to admiration. 
 
 Her charity was not only extended for the relief 
 of the wants of others' bodies, but she also most 
 readily afforded counsel and comfort to such as 
 applied to her for assistance in the greater concerns 
 of their souls, though of meaner rank and condition 
 in the world. To such she would address herself 
 wisely, such she would hear with patience, and such 
 she would treat with compassion, when under temp- 
 tations and disquietude of soul. Upon one of her 
 servants coming to her closet on this account, and 
 beginning to open to her the grief of her mind, she 
 required her for that time to forget that she was a ser- 
 vant, and having discoursed to her with great tender- 
 ness and prudence in reference to her temptations, she 
 dismissed her relieved, and much revived. Very 
 many others she received with the greatest freedom, 
 ministering spiritual comfort to them. 
 
 That part of religion which is particularly styled 
 devotioti, was the solace of her life, and the delight 
 of her soul. A considerable portion of her time was 
 every day employed in prayer, in searching the 
 Scriptures, and in holy meditations. These exer- 
 cises were her proper element, and in them she would 
 often profess she found her greatest consolation. In 
 these she conversed with God, and was then least 
 alone when most alone ; for she did not merely per- 
 form these duties, nor generally engage in them, as 
 a task, but she observed the frame of her spirit in 
 them, and commanded the affections of her soul to 
 wait upon God ; not being satisfied without some 
 emotions of mind suitable to those holy exercises, 
 as she hath often professed, and as might be ga- 
 thered from her complaining sometimes of her infir- 
 mities, and of the difficulty of praying aright, and 
 of preserving through the duty a due sense of God. 
 The Christian Sabbath was her delight, and a day 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in God's courts was better to her than a thousand 
 elsewhere, and her enjoyment of God in the public 
 ordinances and services of that day, was to her as 
 a little heaven upon earth. The impressions she 
 received by an attendance on these holy institutions, 
 were such as that she longed in the week for the 
 return of the Sabbath ; and great was her affliction 
 when her hearing was so impaired, that she could 
 not attend the public worship of God, though few 
 were better furnished to supply the want by private 
 exercises and closet devotions. 
 
 What challenges our admiration, is, that this lady, 
 in the midst of all these attainments, virtues, and 
 graces, was deeply humble, and clothed with the 
 ornament of a lowly spirit. While many were filled 
 with wonder at the example she exhibited to the 
 world, she herself apprehended that others excelled 
 her in grace and godliness, and continually reckoned 
 herself among the least of saints. The writer of her 
 life # declares, " that, notwithstanding her quality in 
 " the world, her exquisite knowledge, eminent grace, 
 " and the high value her friends had justly of her, 
 " he could never perceive, in the whole course of 
 " eighteen years' converse, the least indication of 
 " vain- glory or self-admiration in her." 
 
 Her humility appeared to be of an excellent kind, 
 the fruit of great knowledge, proceeding also from 
 a deep sense of the fall, the corruption of human 
 nature, the imperfection of mortification in the pre- 
 sent life, and the remains of sin in the souls of them 
 who are sanctified. It was also nourished by a 
 great sight of God, and acquaintance with him, by 
 frequent self-examination, by an observation how 
 sin mingles itself in our best actions and most holy 
 duties, and a diligent trial of herself and her con- 
 versation by the exact rules of the Scriptures. This 
 
 * The Rev. Nathaniel Parkhurst, M. A., vicar of Yoxford, and 
 chaplain to her ladyship. 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 195 
 
 grace of Christian humility was the more illustrious 
 in her, by the accession of the virtue of courtesy, 
 which she possessed in a high degree, entertaining 
 all persons with civilities proper to their several 
 qualities, so that she obliged all ; at the same time 
 being ever careful that nothing in conversation 
 might border upon those freedoms which dishonour 
 God and blemish the Christian profession; in this 
 manner adorning the gospel, and evincing that re 
 ligion, though it requires great strictness, yet, does 
 not involve in it either melancholy or moroseness. 
 And, which is a much greater thing than to be cour- 
 teous in the highest degree, as a real disciple of 
 Christ she had learned to deny herself, and could 
 abridge her own right, that she might thereby pro- 
 mote the glory of God, do good to others, avoid 
 offence, and maintain love and peace in the church 
 and in the world. And which may be properly sub- 
 joined to her self-denial, as a grace equal to it, she 
 industriously avoided censor iousn ess, and endeavoured 
 to put the best interpretation on both words and 
 actions ; not lightly speaking evil of any, nor readily 
 receiving an evil report. Above all things, she ab- 
 horred censor iousness in reference to preachers and 
 _sermons, of which she was a most candid and equal 
 hearer, sufficiently judicious and critical, but not in 
 the least captious. If but truth were spoken, and 
 piety enforced in any ordinary method, she was 
 satisfied so as not to find fault. 
 
 In all her relations she behaved herself as a 
 Christian. She was a faithful, dutiful, affectionate, 
 and prudent wife. She was a watchful mother, re- 
 straining her children from evil, and bringing them 
 up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, most 
 constantly endeavouring to instil into their minds 
 the principles of justice, holiness, and charity. To 
 them who became her children by marrying into her 
 family, she was most kind, and treated them as her 
 own. To her servants and tenants she was just and 
 
 k 2 
 
196 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 good ; and to her neighbours she was, in one word, 
 all that they could desire. To her particular friends 
 she was endeared by her prudence, fidelity, and 
 almost excesses of love, and the improvement of 
 friendship to serve the great purposes of religion, 
 the honouring of God, and the benefiting one another. 
 
 Many more things mrghtbe added to this account 
 of her attainments, graces, and virtues ; but all may 
 be summed up in this short character. She had the 
 knowledge of a divine, the faith, holiness, and zeal 
 of a Christian, the wisdom of the serpent, and the 
 innocency of the dove. She had godliness in its 
 power, and spread a glory over her profession. She 
 was serious, but not melancholy, and cheerful with- 
 out any tincture of levity. She was very holy and 
 humble, and thankful to God for all his mercies, 
 having a deep sense of her need of Christ the Medi- 
 ator, depending entirely upon his merits and satis- 
 faction, and renouncing all her works in the article 
 of justification. 
 
 A person of great learning drew up her character 
 in Latin in these words : " Ingenio mascula, mente 
 " theologa, ore gravis, corde sancta, cultu intensa, 
 " caritate laeta, crucis patiens, tota moribns generosa ; 
 " marito Sara, liberis Eunice, nepotibus Lois, 
 ic ministris Lydta, hospitibus Martha, pauperibus 
 " Dorcas, Deo Anna." 
 
 In English :— Of masculine strength of mind, in 
 knowledge a divine, in aspect venerable, and pure in 
 heart : fervent in her devotions, cheerful in her cha- 
 rities, patient in tribulation, in the whole of her 
 behaviour a complete gentlewoman. She was a 
 Sarah to her husband, a Eunice to her children, 
 a Lois to her grandchildren, a Lydia to ministers, 
 a Martha to her guests, a Dorcas to the poor, and 
 an Anna to her God. 
 
 As the qualifications of this lady were great and 
 eminent, so were the providences of God towards 
 her ; for she had great prosperities, and interchange- 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 197 
 
 ably great afflictions. The first she received with 
 humility, the last with patience. 
 
 To her prosperities may be referred, the great 
 kindness of her husband, with a numerous family, 
 and a very plentiful estate during his life, and a 
 competent revenue afterwards in her widowhood ; a 
 fine temperature of body, so that she was seldom 
 sick, thouoh never strong ; the continuance of her 
 parts, the vigour of her intellects, and the firmness 
 of her judgment, even in the last years of her life ; 
 the respects and civilities she received from the 
 gentry in her neighbourhood ; the blessing of long 
 life ; the conclusion of some unkind law-suits, which 
 as she did not begin, so she could not prevent ; and 
 the seeing every remaining branch of her family 
 amply provided for and in a very comfortable con- 
 dition, before her decease. And, which was more 
 than all these, as the best of her prosperities, she 
 enjoyed much inward peace ; which, though it had 
 sometimes the interruptions of doubts and fears, was 
 generally firm and steady, and was sometimes ad- 
 vanced into joys and strong consolation. 
 
 Her afflictions were chiefly widowhood, and the 
 loss of children. The sharpest of all her trials was, 
 the untimely death of her last son, with the aggra- 
 vating circumstance of it, that of his being drowned. 
 This great affliction came upon her like an inun- 
 dation of waters, threatening all the banks of reason 
 and grace ; but the presence and power of God sup- 
 ported her so, that she not only lived many years 
 after the death of her son, but recovered in a great 
 measure her former cheerfulness. Her behaviour 
 under this sad providence was truly Christian. She 
 did not murmur, though at first she was astonished, 
 and afterwards much depressed by it. Her danger 
 was that of fainting under the correcting hand of 
 God ; but she was upheld by Him who is able to 
 succour them that are tempted. She often expressed 
 herself in words importing that she justified God, 
 
198 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and acknowledged his righteousness in the dispensa- 
 tion. She feared lest some might be scandalized, 
 and reflect upon religion, and decline it, because of 
 her deep affliction, and she most earnestly desired 
 that God would take care of his own name and 
 glory. Afterwards her spirit revived, and she was 
 comforted as before, and rejoiced in the God of her 
 salvation. 
 
 The close of her life was a long languishing of 
 several months, which gradually confined her, first 
 to her chamber, then to her couch, and last of all to 
 her bed, accompanied sometimes with great pains, 
 in the endurance of which patience had its perfect 
 work. During this sickness her mind was calm. 
 Her conscience witnessed to her integrity, and she 
 had a good hope in God, that he would crown his 
 grace in her with perseverance, and then with glory. 
 She was very apprehensive of her need of Christ, 
 adhered to him, rejoiced in him, and desired to be 
 with him. She expired almost insensibly, and had 
 an easy passage to that happiness which is the reward 
 of faith and holiness, and the free gift of God, through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 
 She left behind her, besides a great number of 
 other writings, a book containing Observations, 
 Experiences, and Rules for Practice, which, being 
 a most lively image of her mind, may supply the 
 defects of the narrative that has been given of her, 
 and extracts from which we have thought proper to 
 subjoin, in hopes that they may be of no little benefit 
 to all pious readers. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS AND EXPERIENCES, BY THE 
 LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Vanity of the World. 
 All my comforts below are dying comforts. No 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 199 
 
 one creature, nor all the creatures that ever I enjoyed, 
 have given my soul satisfaction. 
 
 II. 
 
 Good Actions will bear consideration, but evil Actions 
 
 will not. 
 
 Every act of piety and obedience will bear consi- 
 deration, but so will not any sinful action. If we 
 consider before we attempt any sinful action, either 
 we shall not commit it, or we shall do it with regret, 
 and a conscience half set on fire. But if we con- 
 sider before any holy action or duty, our revolving 
 thoughts will much animate us to the service. 
 Wherefore I hence conclude, that sin shames, and 
 that religion justifies itself. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Worship of God is made pleasant by a Sense of his 
 Presence in it. 
 
 God's presence was formerly manifested by visible 
 signs, as the cloud, fire, and brightness ; but, though 
 we cannot expect these, yet, we have the same 
 especial presence of God with us : and whenever by 
 faith we attain any lively apprehensions of it, how 
 solemn, profitable, and delightful do they make the 
 worship of God ! With what joy do they bring us to 
 the public assemblies ! and how unwilling are we to 
 be kept from them, when we have this expectation 
 from them ! And finding our expectation in this 
 respect answered, how devoutly do we behave our- 
 selves in them! And how joyfully do we return 
 home, as they who have seen God, and conversed 
 with him ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 It is our Interest to be religious. 
 
 It is a most experienced truth, that we shall never 
 be well reconciled to religion, and steady in piety, 
 till we see it is our interest to be religious. 
 
200 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 V. 
 
 It is difficult to pray without some wandering Thoughts 
 
 in Prayer. 
 
 It is very difficult to carry sincerity, and keep up 
 a sense of God through every part of prayer, which 
 is necessary to be endeavoured, and is the life of the 
 duty. I find it hard to keep my soul intent, for my 
 thoughts are slippery and swift, and my heart is 
 snatched away sometimes against my will, and before 
 I am aware ; yea, even then sometimes when I have 
 made the greatest preparation, and have had the 
 greatest resolutions through grace to avoid wan- 
 dering thoughts. My best prayers therefore need 
 Christ's incense to perfume them. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A deep Sense of God in Prayer is desirable and 
 ravishing. 
 
 Could I understand my near approach to God in 
 
 prayer, it would exalt my soul above measure. And 
 
 why am I not ravished with the thoughts of being 
 
 in the presence of God, and having the ear, yea, the 
 
 heart of the King of heaven ? It is nothing but want 
 
 of faith, and the strange power of sense, that weaken 
 
 my spiritual apprehensions, and keep me from an 
 
 unspeakable delight in my addresses to God. What 
 
 a high privilege is this, to speak to the great Jehovah, 
 
 as a child to a father, or a friend to a friend ! But 
 
 how slow of heart am I to conceive the glory and 
 
 happiness thereof! Could 1 but manage this great 
 
 duty as I ought, it would be a heaven upon earth ; it 
 
 would bring down God to me, or carry me up to 
 
 Him. Why should I not be carried above the 
 
 world, when I am so near to God ? Why should 
 
 I not be changed into the same image from glory 
 
 to glory ? Why am I not even transported beyond 
 
 myself? 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 201 
 
 VII. 
 
 We ought to be constant in Prayer. 
 
 Inconstancy in prayer is not only sinful, but dan- 
 gerous. Omission breeds dislike, strengthens cor- 
 ruption, discourages the spirit, and animates the 
 unregenerate part. Constancy in this duty breeds a 
 holy confidence towards God. Inconstancy breeds 
 strangeness. Upon an omission, I must never ap- 
 proach God again, or my next prayer must be an 
 exercise of repentance for my last omission. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sincere Prayers are never offered in vain. 
 
 Formality is apt to grow upon our secret prayers. 
 One of the best ways to prevent it, is, to come to 
 God with an expectation. This sets an edge upon 
 our spirits. I do not enough observe the returns of 
 prayer, though God hath said, I shall never seek him 
 in vain. But when I observe, I must acknowledge 
 I have daily answers of my prayers in some kind or 
 another. Nay, I think I may say, I never offered a 
 fervent prayer to God, but I received something from 
 him, at least as to the frame of my own spirit. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Prayer promotes Piety, and Godliness, and Acquaint- 
 ance with God. 
 
 It is the Christian's duty in every thing to pray, 
 and holiness lies at the bottom of this duty. If I in 
 every thing commit myself to God, I shall be sure to 
 keep his ways, or my prayer will upbraid me. This 
 keeps me from tempting him, and makes me careful 
 to find a clear call in all I undertake ; knowing that 
 if I go only where I am sent, the angel of his presence 
 will go before me, and my way will be cleared of all 
 temptations and mischiefs. When our call is clear, 
 our way is safe. Besides, the practice of this leads 
 me into much acquaintance with God. My very 
 
 k 5 
 
202 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 praying is an acquainting myself with him ; and if in 
 every thing I pray, I shall in every thing give thanks, 
 and this still brings me into more acquaintance with 
 him. By this means, my life will be filled up with a 
 going to and a returning from God. 
 
 X. 
 
 The real Christian loves Solitude. 
 
 Solitude is no burden to a real Christian. He is 
 least alone when alone. His solitude is as busy and 
 laborious as any part of his life. It is impossible to 
 be religious indeed, and not in some measure to love 
 solitude, for all duties of religion cannot be per- 
 formed in public. It is also a thing as noble as it is 
 necessary, to love to converse with our own thoughts. 
 The vain mind does not more naturally love com- 
 pany, than the divine mind doth frequent retirement. 
 Such persons have work to do, and meat to eat, the 
 world knows not of. Their pleasures are secret, and 
 their chief delight is between God and themselves. 
 The most pleasant part of their lives is not in, but out 
 of the world. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Religio?i gives ns a real Enjoyment of God. 
 
 The true Christian lives above himself, not only 
 in a way of self-denial, but in the very enjoyment of 
 God. His fellowship is with the Father, and with 
 the Son. He everywhere, and in every thing, seeks 
 out God. In ordinances, duties, and providences, 
 ■whether prosperous or adverse, nothing pleases 
 unless God be found in them, or admitted into them. 
 That is to him an ordinance indeed, in which he 
 meets with God. That is a merciful providence 
 indeed, in which there appears much of the finger of 
 God. God is nearer to the true Christian than he is 
 to others ; for there is an inward feeling, an intel- 
 lectual touch, which carnal men have not. And 
 herein lies the very soul of religion, and the quint- 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 203 
 
 essence of it, that it unites us in a nearness to God, 
 and gives us already to enjoy him. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Expectation of Death is profitable to a Christian. 
 
 The serious expectation of death, not forgetting 
 judgment, frees us from the afflicting, discomposing 
 apprehensions of it. It is of great service to the 
 Christian ; it takes off the soul from carnal pleasures, 
 covetous desires, and ambitious pursuits, and assists 
 patience and contentment. It helps the Christian to 
 redeem his time, prompts him to settle the affairs of 
 his soul, to put his heart and house in order, and to 
 leave nothing to be done to-morrow, that may be 
 done to-day. It excites to frequent examination, 
 quickens repentance, and suffers him not to continue 
 in sin. It assists fervency in prayer, as it drives 
 away worldly cares, and helps against distractions ; 
 for death is a solemn thing, and the thoughts of it 
 breed a passion in the mind, and all soft passions 
 cherish devotion. The expectation of death sweetens 
 all labour, work, and duty, because of the everlasting 
 rest to which death leads us. 
 
 It moves us to pray for others, to counsel them, 
 and do what we can for them. Thus death, in the 
 expectation of it, is a blessing, if we look for it as 
 certain, and yet uncertain when it shall come, as 
 followed with judgment, and as putting a full end to 
 our state of trial. Thus death is ours. 
 
 HER RULES FOR PRACTICE. 
 I. 
 
 Let love and charity be universal ; for no pretence 
 whatever, no, not of religion and zeal for God, can 
 justify your not loving any person in the world. 
 Treat all men with kindness, and wish them well. 
 Do them good according to their necessity, and 
 your power and opportunity. If persons be above 
 
204 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 you, express your love to them, by paying them the 
 honour and observance their place and authority call 
 for. If they are in worldly respects beneath you, 
 manifest your love by kindness, affability, and grant- 
 ing them an easy access to you. If they excel in 
 natural or acquired endowments of mind, express 
 your love to them by a due esteem of them. If they 
 be rather wanting than excelling, show your love by 
 pitying them, and despise not their weakness. If 
 any be in misery, compassionate them, pray for them, 
 comfort them with your presence if you can reach 
 them, and relieve them according to your power. 
 If any be defamed, show your love by stopping and 
 rebuking the defamation. 
 
 II. 
 
 Be very careful not to harbour any evil affection 
 in your heart against any person whatever ; for, 
 though you are far from intending any actual mis- 
 chief, yet, you tempt God to let loose your cor- 
 ruption, and his providence to permit an opportunity ; 
 and so, ere you are aware, you may be drawn to an 
 act you never before thought of. Besides, by an 
 evil action harboured in your mind, you will prevent 
 the blessed illapses of the Spirit of God, and open a 
 wide door for the entrance of the devil into your 
 soul. And indeed, an unkind disposition towards 
 any man is so much akin to Satan, that, if you admit 
 the one, you cannot exclude the other. 
 
 III. 
 
 Despise none, for love never rides in triumph over 
 inferiors. 
 
 IV. " 
 
 Look upon ail unavoidable temptations as oppor- 
 tunities for a high exercise of grace. Are you in- 
 jured ? Be sorry for him who has done the wrong, 
 and bless God for the opportunity of showing your- 
 self hereby to be a Christian, by patient bearing, 
 
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE. 205 
 
 fofgiving, doing good against evil, treating your 
 adversary with meekness,, and breaking his heart 
 with love. Every provocation is a price in your 
 hand ; get an heart to improve it. 
 
 V. 
 
 Put a due value upon your name and reputation, 
 but be not over solicitous about it ; for that dis- 
 covers some unmortified lust at the bottom. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pursue piety under the notion of an imitation of 
 God ; and then, so great a pleasure will result from 
 it, that neither men nor devils shall be able to make 
 you question his being and attributes. This notion 
 will raise an esteem of. piety, w 7 ill render it lovely, 
 will make the several duties of religion more free 
 and easy, and will gradually wear out the remains of 
 unbelief, and unkind jealousies of God. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Let humility be the constant covering of your soul, 
 and let repentance follow all your performances. 
 This will demonstrate your religion is inward ; for, 
 if religion be suffered to enter deep into the heart, 
 it will always find work for repentance, while we 
 are in the state of imperfection. 
 
 y in. 
 
 Love nothing above God and Christ ; for to love 
 any thing more than God or Christ, is the way either 
 never to enjoy it, or to be soon deprived of it, or else 
 to find yourself deceived in it. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Do nothing upon which you dare not ask God's 
 blessing:. 
 
 Esteem time as your most precious talent, which 
 
206 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 when you bestow it upon any, you give them more 
 than you can understand. All the power of men and 
 angels cannot restore it to you again. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Never speak of religion for the sake of discourse 
 and entertainment, but for the purpose of piety. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Upon the Lord's-day, consider in private the love 
 of God in the several instances of it to yourself and 
 the world, in Creation and Redemption, the promises 
 of eternal life, the care of his providences and his 
 mercies to you, your friends and family ; and stay 
 upon these considerations, till your heart be lifted 
 up in his praise, and you can say with David, " Now 
 " will I go to God, my exceeding joy." Consider 
 also your miscarriages in the week past, and indus- 
 triously endeavour to prevent them in the week to 
 come. 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 207 
 
 MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS 
 
 Was the only child of Sir Henry Andrews, Bart. 
 and his Lady Elizabeth, of Lathbury, in the county 
 of Bucks. She gave very early signs of piety. 
 The good instructions of her parents, accompanied 
 with the Divine blessing, wrought so soon upon 
 her, that she seemed well inclined as soon as she 
 understood any thing. The buddings of piety 
 showed themselves in the delight she took in prayer, 
 in reading, and hearing her duty, in singing of 
 psalms, in her meekness, in receiving reproof easily 
 from her parents, and taking warning by it, in her 
 justice, in her hating and carefully avoiding a lie, 
 and in her charity and good inclinations to the 
 poor, and a readiness to supply them. 
 
 About the age of seven or eight years, she gave 
 more full and evident signs of a regenerate state, 
 appearing really and constantly solicitous for the 
 welfare of her soul. The pleasure she took in the 
 sacred Scriptures, expressed itself not only in read- 
 ing them, but by readily getting by heart many 
 psalms and chapters; which she did without much 
 difficulty, for, upon reading a chapter to her mother, 
 she hath presently repeated without book the great- 
 est part of it. In these years of childhood she had 
 also a great respect for good ministers, delighting 
 to hear them pray and preach, and asking questions 
 of them concerning God, and her duty to him. Her 
 charity also was proportionably improved. It was 
 strange to observe how she would inquire into the 
 necessities of poor people, and endeavour to pro- 
 cure them one thing after another, as they signified 
 their want of them. 
 
 But it may not be improper particularly to enu- 
 merate the several branches of this young person's 
 excellencies ; and here we shall mention the following : 
 
208 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 First : Her indifference to the world, and supe- 
 riority over it, were eminently great. She valued 
 the world and all its glories as little as most persons 
 do their souls, who bestow but few, and it may be 
 no serious thoughts upon them throughout the year, 
 or the whole term of their lives. Her mind was so 
 conversant with heaven and its glories, that, as if 
 being already in the celestial mansions, she looked 
 upon these earthly vanities at a great distance, un- 
 worthy of her esteem, and too little to satisfy the 
 enlarged desires of her soul. And the consideration 
 of their meanness made her long after a better 
 inheritance, which would sometimes force a sigh 
 from her ; which being once observed by some, and 
 she being asked by them what she sighed for, since 
 she wanted nothing the world could afford her, her 
 reply was : " I want nothing in this world. I do 
 " not sigh for that. But how much better is heaven 
 " than all this !" Then, starting up from her seat 
 and spreading her hands, she added, " O, there are 
 " such joys in heaven as cannot be conceived !" 
 She had a great indifferency to all those gaieties 
 which young ladies so generally admire ; for, though 
 she submitted to wear clothes suitable to her age 
 and quality, yet she had too much wise considera- 
 tion to be puffed up by them. When her parents 
 bestowed any rarities upon her, she received them 
 with very thankful acknowledgments, as tokens of 
 their favour and kindness, which she highly valued ; 
 but afterwards would take very little notice of the 
 things themselves. She was once, before the age 
 of twelve years, taken by some friends to see a play; 
 who afterwards expected that she would entertain 
 herself by discoursing upon some passages of it; 
 but not doing this, she was asked, How she liked 
 it? to which she answered, " I like it so, that I 
 ** never desire to see another." Not that she 
 wanted either wit or memory to observe or retain 
 what might seem most worthy, for she was eminent 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 209 
 
 in both; but her mind, being accustomed to true 
 and solid delights, found no pleasure in such low 
 and empty amusements. She accordingly was as 
 good as her word, and was too wise to spend any 
 more time upon them. And it was no wonder; for 
 her soul was so much taken up with heaven and 
 heavenly things, that she would sometimes be with 
 difficulty persuaded to the most innocent and useful 
 recreations ; and, as if they were a burden rather 
 than an entertainment to her, would shorten them as 
 much as might be, to return to the more grateful 
 exercises of piety and devotion. 
 
 Secondly : This young lady was remarkable for 
 her diligence and constancy in reading good books. 
 She appointed herself a daily portion in the holy 
 Scriptures, and when she hath been prevented read- 
 ing any part of it, either by company or some other 
 occasion, she would be much grieved, and lament 
 her loss to a friend in the house with her. She 
 usually read with much observation, and would ask 
 of others what she did not understand. But, after 
 some years, she profited so much, that she was 
 able to instruct most who conversed with her. 
 Reading once in the Psalms, she was affected with 
 the troubles of David, and thence took occasion to 
 discourse with her maid about the troubles of Chris- 
 tians in general, and particularly her own. The 
 servant observed, " That she (her young mistress) 
 " had but little trouble." She replied, " They that 
 " have the least trouble, have a great deal; and, if 
 " we do but consider what joys there are in heaven, 
 " it is enough to make us impatient of living here." 
 
 She often read 2 Tim. iv. ; and told a near rela- 
 tion, that she would have the 7th and 8th verses 
 of that chapter to be the subject of her funeral 
 sermon, which was accordingly done. The words 
 are, " I have fought a good "fight, I have finished 
 " my course, I have kept the faith ; henceforth 
 " there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, 
 
210 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " which the Lord the righteous J»4ge will give me 
 " at that day ; and not to me only, but unto all 
 " them who love his appearing :" words which were 
 truly fulfilled in her, as will appear to any who duly 
 consider the course of her life, and the victory of 
 her faith. 
 
 As she read much herself, so, she delighted also in 
 hearing others, and would appoint her maid to read 
 some particular chapters which she chose for her; 
 upon which she was so intent, that, being invited to 
 recreate herself, she would express her unwillingness, 
 by saying, f( that the other would do her more good." 
 In fine, she took such pleasure in reading and hear- 
 ing the word of God, as if, with David, it was dearer 
 to her than thousands of gold and silver, and sweeter 
 than honey and the honey-comb. 
 
 Thirdly: To her reading, we have reason to believe 
 that she added daily meditation, because she delighted 
 to be much alone, and hath been seen walking with 
 hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, and in such action 
 as shewed high measures of joy and comfort. When 
 she walked abroad with others, she would discourse 
 much of the works as well as the word of God, as if 
 they were her daily meditation. And among other 
 things, it appears that death was much in her mind; 
 for commonly, when she went to bed, she would be 
 hinting something to her maids about it, and often 
 say, " How ought we to think of our death, when 
 u this night may be the last !" And sometimes 
 taking leave of them at night, she would say, u Well, 
 " I am going to death's kinsman." And, no doubt, 
 being fore-armed by a daily consideration of death, 
 death was the more easy and welcome to her when 
 it came. 
 
 Fourthly : The devotion of this young person was 
 extraordinary. She kept constant to set prayers three 
 times a day at least ; and rarely an hour passed but, 
 turning herself from her company, she would, as it 
 were, steal a look towards heaven, and use secret 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 211 
 
 ejaculations, which they who were with her perceived 
 by the manner of her action, though they could hear 
 nothing. Very often, even in the midst of recreations, 
 she would send away her maids, and retire to secret 
 prayer. In this duty she took so much delight, that 
 it made her sometimes forget herself, and hazard her 
 health ; for she hath continued in her closet two 
 hours together in the sharpest winter weather, and 
 would not be prevailed with to leave it, though 
 earnestly entreated. And indeed, if it be considered 
 with what zeal and fervency she performed the duty 
 of prayer, it is no wonder if she took little notice of 
 the coldness of the season. Her holy zeal and fer- 
 vency have sometimes been discovered at family 
 prayer, when her tears have poured out abundantly, 
 from that earnestness of spirit with which she wrestled 
 with God, and no doubt mightily prevailed with him. 
 What then may we imagine was the fervour of her 
 soul in secret prayer, when she could be more free, 
 having no restraint upon her from the observation 
 of others ! That this was very great, hath appeared, 
 when she has sometimes been surprised in the duty, 
 by the plenty of tears she had been shedding ; and 
 sometimes it has been afterwards discovered by the 
 redness left upon her eyes. So constant was she at 
 this holy exercise, that nothing could divert her 
 from it ; for when she was at London, about a year 
 before her death, where she had many avocations, 
 and more than ordinary occasions of going abroad, 
 she always performed this duty to God before she 
 went out. Nay, when she was invited by an honour- 
 able lady to go into the Queen's presence, and dressed 
 with the greatest advantage for that purpose, she 
 would not upon this occasion abate any thing of her 
 usual duty, but immediately retired to her secret 
 devotion. The lady being come, and waiting for 
 her, her mother, not knowing the cause of her delay, 
 went hastily into the chamber, where she found her 
 with her hands lifted up to heaven, and her face be- 
 
212 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 dewed with tears, uttering these words, " Good Lord, 
 " for the sake of Jesus Christ, suffer not Satan to 
 " prevail over me." 
 
 As she drew near her end, though in as good 
 health, to appearance, as before, she used stated 
 prayers, as was apprehended, at least ten times in a 
 day, besides short occasional petitions. By these 
 she consecrated all places into which she came, and 
 made every room in the house an oratory. It must 
 needs be a true zeal and importunity of soul which 
 raised her to an intimate communion with God, 
 which caused her to delight so much in secret de- 
 votion. 
 
 But, though she spent so much time, and took such 
 great pleasure in this holy solitude, she would be 
 cheerful and affable in company. She had in the 
 latter part of her life usually such a peculiar cheerful- 
 ness of spirit, as if her soul was continually filled 
 with comfort and joy. 
 
 Thus did she maintain a secret traffic with Heaven, 
 of which the world was not aw r are ; sending thither 
 prayers, sighs, and tears, and receiving thence bless- 
 ing and peace into her soul. She manifested by the 
 tenour of her conversation, that she could be at once 
 strictly devout and pious, and at the same time cour- 
 teous and obliging in her carriage to others ; and the 
 sweetness of her aspect and behaviour was tempered 
 with such a gravity as is very rarely found in a person 
 of her age and quality. 
 
 O that the example of this excellent person might 
 convince the sinful world, that it would be good for 
 them also to draw near to God ! For, however 
 harsh and severe they may think a course of piety 
 is, yet, every good Christian can assure them, that 
 the ways of wisdom are ways of pleasantness, and 
 that all her paths are peace ; that godliness hath the 
 promise of the life that now is, as well as of that 
 which is to come; and that in keeping God's com- 
 mandments there is great reward. 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 213 
 
 Fifthly : This young gentlewoman manifested great 
 piety also in an holy observance of the Lord's-day. 
 She prepared herself, by private duties, for the public 
 worship of God and hearing his word ; which she 
 afterwards observed with much devotion, reverence, 
 and cheerful attention. When the public worship 
 was over, it was her custom to repeat in private what 
 she could remember of the sermons, and spend the 
 rest of the day in reading to others, or alone in 
 prayer, meditation, and the like. When she hath 
 been sometimes desired, for the sake of her health, to 
 walk abroad, she w r ould decline it, lest her mind 
 should be diverted from holy exercises. And at 
 other times, if she walked abroad, she did it rather 
 in obedience to her parents than from her own in- 
 clination. 
 
 Sixthly: The charity of this young lady was very 
 eminent. This charity she was ready to express 
 upon every occasion to the souls, bodies, and good 
 names of others, according to her power, and their 
 necessity. 
 
 A little before her last sickness, she expostulated 
 with her mother, why she was in so much care about 
 her. " Am I not," said she, " in the hands of God ? 
 " Cannot he preserve me? If it be his pleasure, I 
 a shall live ; if not, your care cannot preserve me. 
 u And what and if he should take me ? You will not 
 " be long after me. If you live twenty or thirty 
 " years after me, what is that to eternity ?" One 
 would be apt to think from such expressions, that 
 she had some foresight of approaching death ; which 
 appears to be further countenanced by her having 
 been heard to wish that her mother had another 
 child, and that her parents had less atfection for her. 
 And when a journey to the Devizes was in contem- 
 plation a little before her sickness, she said to one 
 in the house, " If I go to the Devizes, I shall return 
 no more." 
 
 Awhile after, when she was within some months 
 
214 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of fourteen years of age, that sickness seized her 
 which proved her last, and which in a few days gave 
 her up to God and happiness. At the beginning of 
 the disorder, being taken with great pain, she often 
 called upon God, and said, " He is very merciful to 
 " me, for what I feel is nothing to the sufferings of 
 " Christ for me." After some ease she said, " God 
 " is very gracious in giving us pain ; otherwise we 
 '" should not know how to be thankful for ease." 
 She spent the time of her sickness very much in 
 prayer, and when she could not speak out, shewed 
 great signs of inward devotion. 
 
 About two or three hours before her death, her 
 mother asked her in these words : " My dear, are 
 " you so ill that you think you shall die? Be not 
 u shy to tell me, for it will not be hard for me to 
 " part with you to God, if it be his pleasure." To 
 this question she replied, smiling, " 1 hope God will 
 " pardon my sins." Her mother expecting a further 
 answer, put the question again ; to which the 
 daughter returned only the same words, implying 
 that the thoughts of death did not trouble her, as 
 she had well-grounded hopes of that mercy which 
 transforms the nature of death, deprives it of its 
 sting, and renders it an unspeakable blessing to the 
 children of God. She afterwards asked the doctor, 
 '* Do you think I shall die ?" He answered, " Madam, 
 " no one can tell that." She replied, " Pray, doctor, 
 " deal plainly with me ; I would not be deluded." 
 He answered, " It is doubtful." She then said, " I 
 " have been a great sinner, but I hope God will 
 '* pardon me. My Saviour is in heaven, and I hope 
 " he will put on me the white robe." She confessed 
 the former mercies of God to her, that she had been 
 troubled for sin, but that the Lord had given her the 
 Comforter, and sealed her, and that she had been 
 comforted ever since. She then asked her parents, 
 " whether she had any thing of her own to dispose 
 " of." Upon receiving their consentto it, she desired 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 215 
 
 that the chancel of Lathbury should be paved with 
 marble, and ordered forty pounds to be given to the 
 poor of Newport Pagnel, and fifteen pounds to those 
 of Lathbury. She then addressed herself to her 
 father and mother, " Pray do not be troubled when 
 " I am gone." And looking earnestly on her father, 
 she said, " Do you think you shall be long after me, 
 "father?" Then on her mother, "Do you think 
 " you shall be long after me, mother?" Her father 
 and the rest of the family kneeling down, and re- 
 commending her to God, she seemed devout and 
 cheerful. Prayer being ended, she bowed forward, 
 saying, " I thank God, and thank you, father." Then 
 she asked for the minister, who coming to her when 
 her spirits were almost spent, she said to him, " O ! 
 " sir, I have been a great sinner, but I hope God 
 " will pardon me." Afterwards she was heard to 
 pray, and heard to call upon the name of Jesus ; and 
 so, without any cloud upon her intellects, departed to 
 the eternal vision and enjoyment of him. 
 
 What graces, what virtues were here in a young 
 lady not fourteen years of age ! Blush, and be 
 ashamed; hear, and be reformed, ye threescore or 
 fourscore years cumberers of the ground ; as to whom 
 it would be hard, it may be, to find one sincere, fer- 
 vent act of devotion towards God, or one act of true 
 Christian benevolence to your fellow-creatures 
 through all your days ! What fruits of holiness, 
 what rich and ripe fruits were here produced in a 
 little time, while to this hour you have been barren 
 and unfruitful; or when God has looked that you 
 should bring forth grapes, you have brought forth 
 w r ild grapes ! O that ye were wise, that you would 
 consider such an example as has been held up before 
 you, and remember and prepare for your latter end ! 
 
 Prefixed to the life of this excellent young woman, 
 we meet with a Latin epitaph upon her, which we 
 shall give our readers, and afterwards an English 
 translation. 
 
216 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In Margaretam Andrews, 
 
 Unicam prolem 
 
 Henrici Andrews, Baronetti, 
 
 et 
 
 Flizabeth.^ suae conjugis, 
 
 Epitaph ium. 
 
 Siste gradum, viator. 
 
 Quce sub hoc marmoreo paviinento jacet, 
 
 Quod ipsa non solum sibi sed et majoribus suis 
 
 Moribunda curavit instrui, 
 
 Paucis accipe. 
 
 Hie jacet virgo lectissima, 
 
 Parentum suorum spes unica, 
 
 Uniceque dilecta, 
 
 Domus Lathburiensis delicia) simul et decus, 
 
 Lex pudoris, offieina temperantiae, 
 
 Urbanitatis filia, 
 
 Mundi victrix, Diaboli expugnatrix, 
 
 Pauperum gazophilacium, 
 
 Quae Deum in seipsa possidebat, seipsam in Deo. 
 
 Quara Margaretam mortales appellebant, 
 
 Margaritam coeiites, 
 
 Quamque adeo magni faciebant 
 
 Ut illain illi gemmeae coronas 
 
 iEternum coruscanti 
 
 Inserere properarent, 
 
 Capsula hie relicta et deposita 
 
 In diem a Deo praestitutam. 
 
 Nee mireris 
 
 Animam tarn subito in caelum avolasse, 
 
 Nam vicem alarum sibi supplerunt 
 
 Preces sua? et suspiria. 
 
 Abi, \ lator, 
 
 Cogita, et sape. 
 
 IN ENGLISH. 
 
 An epitaph on Margaret Andrews, 
 
 The only child 
 
 Of Sir Henry Andrews, Baronet, 
 
 And the Lady Elizabeth his wife. 
 
 Stop, traveller, 
 
 And learn in a few words 
 
 The true character 
 
 Of that young lady, 
 
 Whose precious remains are deposited 
 
 Under this marble pavement, 
 
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 'Ill 
 
 Which in her departing moments 
 
 She was desirous should he laid 
 
 _ As a sepulchral covering 
 
 Not only of her own ashes 
 
 But those of her ancestors. 
 
 She was an accomplished person, 
 
 The hope and love of her parents, 
 
 And the delight and ornament of her family. 
 
 Her bosom was the temple 
 
 Of modesty, 
 
 Purity, ' 
 
 and 
 
 Benevolence. 
 
 The pomps of the world 
 
 She disdained, 
 
 The powers of Satan 
 
 She vanquished, 
 
 For God dwelt in her, 
 
 And she dwelt in God. 
 
 An Angelic band, 
 
 Rejoiced to fulfil the Divine order, 
 
 On triumphal wings 
 
 Bore away the precious gem 
 
 To its native skies. 
 
 The casket which contained 
 
 This incomparable jewel, 
 
 As it was formed of earth, 
 
 So it was returned thither, 
 
 And is here deposited 
 
 Till the appointed day 
 
 Which shall restore it 
 
 In immortal glory. 
 
 Wonder not, stranger, 
 
 That the soul of this excellent person 
 
 Made so short a visit to our world, 
 
 As her prayers and devout breathings 
 
 Were the wings and gales 
 
 That wafted her deeply sanctified spirit 
 
 To the realms on high. 
 
 Depart, traveller, 
 Ponder, and be wise, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
21S MEMOIRS OF 
 
 LADY ALICE LUCY. 
 
 This lady was honourably descended, though the 
 particulars of her pedigree are not related in the 
 memoirs we have met with concerning her. 
 
 She entered early in life into the marriage state, 
 though not sooner than she was qualified for it. To 
 her husband, Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlcot, in War- 
 wickshire, she was reverently amiable; and from him, 
 for all the virtues which a husband can wish for in 
 a wife, she received as much honour as she could 
 expect or desire. 
 
 After this honourable pair had lived together in this 
 near relation for thirty years with much endearment 
 and delight, it pleased God to dissolve the tie, by 
 taking away her support and honour, far dearer to 
 her than her very life. But it pleased God also to 
 shew himself very gracious to her, by upholding her, 
 comforting her, and enabling her prudently to manage 
 her great estate, and to order her numerous family 
 with admirable wisdom ; especially if we consider 
 that her bodily infirmities for the most part confined 
 her to her chamber, and seldom permitted her to stir 
 abroad. 
 
 She continually carried about her the burden of a 
 weak body, but she bore it with an exemplary patience, 
 and improved it to her spiritual advantage. It was 
 her great affliction that she could not visit the house 
 of God, and attend upon the public ordinances, where 
 God hath promised his presence, and where we may 
 expect his blessing. But because she could not go 
 from her own habitation to the house of God, she 
 made a church of her own house, 'where for several 
 years she, every Lord's-day in the evening, unless she 
 were prevented by extraordinary weakness, heard the 
 preaching of the word, strictly requiring the presence 
 
LADY ALICE LUCY. 219 
 
 of all her family, and shewing herself an example of 
 great reverence, and singular attention. 
 
 Her first employment every day was her humble 
 addresses to Almighty God in secret. Her next was, 
 to read some portion out of the Divine word, and 
 of other good and profitable books ; and indeed she 
 had a library well stored with most of our excellent 
 English authors. No sooner did she hear of the 
 publication of any pious book, than she endeavoured 
 to make it her own, and to make herself the better 
 by it. 
 
 She spent much time in reading, and was able to 
 give a good account of what she read ; for she had an 
 excellent understanding, as in secular, so in spiritual 
 things. Finding the benefit of this practice as to 
 herself, she recommended it to her children, whom 
 she caused every day to read some portions both of 
 the Old and New Testament in her presence and 
 hearing. In the afternoon, she employed some time 
 in the same manner she had done in the morning. 
 
 About an hour before supper, she appointed some 
 one of her children to read some godly and useful 
 sermon before herself and her other children, fre- 
 quently taking occasion of instilling into them some 
 pleasant and profitable instruction, and exhorting 
 them to a constant religious walk with God. In the 
 evening, a little before she went to rest, she ordered 
 them all to come into her chamber, where they joined 
 in singing a psalm, as the servants did also constantly 
 after supper before they rose from the table ; the 
 men-servants in the hall, and the maid-servants in a 
 more private room. After her children had done 
 singing, with many pious exhortations, and her ma- 
 ternal benediction, she dismissed them, and then 
 closed the day with secret duties as she began it. 
 This was her continual course. 
 
 By what has been said we may observe, that she 
 was of a pious spirit herself, and as careful to leave 
 the like pious impressions upon her children after her. 
 
 l2 
 
220 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Some of them tasted death before their dear mother; 
 yet, she left ten behind her, five sons and five 
 daughters, who were all present at her funeral, and 
 who all (like the children of Solomon's virtuous 
 woman, Prov. xxxi. 28.) " called her blessed." 
 
 Next to the golden chain of graces, mentioned by 
 St. Peter, (2 Pet. i. 5, 6, 7.) with which she was 
 eminently beautified, and the ornament of a meek and 
 quiet spirit, (1 Pet. iii. 4.) she accounted her children 
 to be her chief ornaments ; and therefore her desires 
 and earnest endeavours were, to ennoble and adorn 
 them with all virtuous habits, and to make them the 
 true children of God. She knew, and was solicitous 
 to have them know too, that, if they would be happy, 
 to their great birth there must be added the nexo 
 birth, that to great kindred and alliance there must 
 be a relation to the family of heaven, and that to a 
 oreat estate there must be added the riches of grace, 
 or that else they would wish one day they had never 
 been born. She often inculcated it upon them, that 
 true grace is true greatness, and that the more any of 
 them feared and served God, the greater share might 
 they expect in her love. 
 
 This " elect lady," to adopt the compellation of 
 the Apostle, (2 John, 1.) was much in those holy 
 exercises by which she might make her calling and 
 election sure. She was much in the duties of piety, 
 and much in the duties of charity. Many coats and 
 garments did this Dorcas provide for the poor. God 
 o-ave her the blessing of a great estate, and then 
 added even a greater blessing than that, a heart to 
 make a right use of it. 
 
 Every day she reached out her hands to the 
 needy. A great number she relieved at her gates, 
 and gave charge to her porter, that when there came 
 any who were very aged, or who complained of great 
 losses in those dismal times of our civil wars, espe- 
 cially if they seemed honest, that he should come 
 and acquaint her, that she might enlarge her charity 
 
LADY ALICE LUCY. 221 
 
 to such objects ; which if at any time he had 
 neglected to do, she would probably have been Bf 
 much displeased with him, as she once was with 
 another of her servants for neglecting an order she 
 had given him for the relief of some poor persons. 
 In the times of scarcity, she sent every week many 
 loaves to neighbouring towns. She caused her corn 
 to be sold in the markets in such small quantities as 
 might not exceed the abilities of the poor to pur- 
 chase. She allowed certain meals in her house to 
 several poor neighbours, whose want was visible in 
 their pale faces ; and, when they had by her bounty 
 recovered their former complexion, and had received, 
 as it were, a new life by her means, she with pleasure 
 declared, u That the sight of such a happy alteration 
 " in them did her as much good as any thing which 
 " she herself had eaten." She continually employed 
 many ancient men and women in such works as 
 were adapted to their age and strength. 
 
 When the physician came at any time to her 
 house, she used to inquire of him whether there were 
 any sick persons in the town, that if there were any, 
 they might enjoy the same helps with herself. But 
 at all times, if any persons were ill, and she had 
 intelligence of it, she most cheerfully communicated 
 whatsoever she thought most conducive to th 
 recovery, having not only great store of cordials and 
 restoratives always by her, but great skill and judg- 
 ment in the application of them. 
 
 As our Lord said to the woman of Canaan, (Matt. 
 xv. 28.) " Great is thy faith," so, we may say of this 
 excellent lady, that great was her charity ; for she 
 well knew that faith is but a fancy without the 
 labour of love ; that the greater any are, the better 
 they should be; that the more they have, the more 
 good they should do; and "that pure religion and 
 " undefiled before God and the Father is, to visit 
 " the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and 
 u to keep ourselves unspotted from the world." And 
 
222 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the whole of this pure and undented religion was 
 exemplified in her; for, as we have seen that she 
 visited the fatherless and widows, so she kept herself 
 unspotted from the world. As the Apostle says, 
 (Rom. vii. 33.) " Who shall lay any thing to the 
 *' charge of God's elect? it is God who justifies ;" — 
 so may we say, Who can lay any thing to the charge 
 of this elect lady? It was God who sanctified her. 
 Not so as to free her from the inherency of sin, (for 
 so He sanctifies none in this life,) but so as to deliver 
 her from the dominion of it, and from all such acts 
 as would have cast a dishonour and blemish upon 
 her; as all who knew her must acknowledge. Her 
 soul might be compared to a beautiful well-cultivated 
 garden, which was not only free from prevalent 
 weeds, but richly replenished with all manner of 
 fragrant flowers and delicate fruits. 
 
 At her entrance into her last sickness, which was 
 about a fortnight's continuance, she apprehended 
 that her life would be very short, and accordingly 
 composed and prepared herself for her dissolution ; 
 but yet, she durst not but make use of her physicians, 
 whose eminent skill and fidelity she had frequently 
 experienced, having been raised up by them, as the 
 instruments in the hands of God, from the very 
 gates of death. But the time was come, when, as 
 the poet says, 
 
 11 Non est in medico semper relevetur ut aeger; 
 Interdum docta plus valet arte malum*. 
 
 ENGLISHED. 
 
 Sometimes the best physicians cannot heal 
 The dire diseases which their patients feel ; 
 But, spite of all their med'cines, all their art, 
 Victorious death plants his unerring dart. 
 
 The last words of this pious lady were, <( My God, 
 11 1 come flying unto thee." Presently after, her soul 
 
 * Ovid, de Pont. 
 
LADY ALICE LUCY. 223 
 
 took its flight hence, and her body quietly slept in 
 the Lord, anno Christi 1648. 
 
 Such were her humility and modesty, that, although 
 in that magnificent monument she erected for lier 
 husband, she caused herself to be laid by him in her 
 full proportion, yet, she would not suffer her epitaph 
 to bear any proportion to his ; conceiving that the 
 most that could be said of him was too little, and 
 that the least that could be said of herself was too 
 much. She was unwilling that any thing at all 
 should be said of herself; but, when that might not 
 be permitted, she would by no means allow of any 
 more to be inscribed concerning her than this : " Her 
 ** observance of her dearest husband, while she en- 
 " joyed him, and her remembrance of him by that 
 <e monument, when she had lost him." Only one 
 thing more was added, but much against her will, 
 namely, that her other exquisite virtues were for- 
 bidden by her excessive modesty to make their 
 appearance on that marble. 
 
224 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON. 
 
 To a sermon preached at Preston, in Lancashire, 
 January the 4th, 1657, at the funeral of this lady, 
 by that eminent minister of Christ, Mr. Isaac Am- 
 brose, we are indebted for the following account of 
 her. After the author of the discourse had finished 
 his subject, Eph. v. 16. on redeeming the time, he 
 thus speaks of this excellent person. 
 
 The deceased redeemed her time in life and death. 
 
 I. In life. Ordinarily every morning and every 
 evening, she was exercised in the duties of medita- 
 tion and prayer. This was her course, and daily in 
 her walks or private chamber, she spent both her 
 early and later hours in communion with God. I 
 speak not this by report only, for, of her goodness, 
 she was pleased to invite me every spring to her 
 house, and by this means I became acquainted with 
 her constant practice. Indeed, I was the more willing 
 to embrace her invitation, because her house seemed 
 to me like a college for religion, or a retirement from 
 the noises and more frequent temptations of the 
 world ; and this gave her and me, and all who 
 pleased, an happy opportunity of continuing our de- 
 votions without interruption. She had some books 
 for contemplation, others for an holy conversation, 
 others for devotion, and of all these sorts she made 
 some use. But of all books for constant use and 
 practice, she preferred the Bible, often telling me, 
 " That other books had their use and delight till, by 
 " frequent reading, they became more ordinary, and 
 " that then they seemed to lose something of their 
 " former lustre and excellency ; but that the Bible 
 " was in her frequent reading ever fresh and new." 
 She found in it such perpetual streams of holy, 
 heavenly, and spiritual delights, that, as Tertullian 
 
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTOX. 225 
 
 said, u she could not but admire and adore the tul- 
 ** ness of the Scripture." 
 
 She commonly spent the rest of the day in the 
 works of the needle with her maids about her. Or, 
 if other things of housewifery interposed, she was 
 never so elevated w T ith honour as to be above her 
 duty in the way of a particular calling; as she well 
 knew that idleness is the rust and canker of the soul, 
 and Satan's very tide-time of temptation. She would 
 sometimes visit poor cottages, and relieve the ne< 
 sities she found there. In a word, she was ever care* 
 ful in the affairs of her own house, and courteous t" 
 all the neighbourhood. Take her all together, and, 
 for aught I know, she might be a pattern to most o( 
 the ladies in the nation, or at least shine as a bright 
 morning star among other stars. 
 
 II. As she redeemed her time in life, so, she re- 
 deemed it in, or near death. She was now taken off 
 her particular calling, and therefore this time she 
 spent, as far as her sickness would allow her, in the 
 exercise of spiritual duties and spiritual graces. As 
 to her graces, she shone, and was most eminent in 
 these that follow. 1. In meekness. She was of a 
 mild and quiet spirit. Seldom have I seen her in- 
 ordinate in passions ; but often have I observed \\< I . 
 amidst provocations, peaceable, meek, gentle, and 
 easy to be entreated. In her sickness she beha\- -I 
 herself as a lamb. Not a word of passion or peevish- 
 ness dropped from her lips, so far as I observed. 
 The very image of Christ was in this respect drawn 
 lair within her. " Learn of me," says he, " for I am 
 " meek." (Matt. xi. 29.) A meek Christ, and she a 
 meek creature. 2. She was eminent for humility. 
 She was of high descent, and sprung of royal blood, 
 but yet, was humble and lowly in spirit. She never 
 despised the poorest creature, but often stooped, as 
 I viewed them, to wonderful condescensions. In In r 
 sickness as well as in death, she laid her honour in 
 
 l5 
 
226 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the dust. She was far from their opinion who think 
 humility a diminution, and meekness a disparage- 
 ment to their reputation. She had otherwise learned 
 Christ. Humility was. her ornament ; and with this 
 grace, in the Apostle's language, (1 Pet. v. 5.) she 
 clothed herself both in health and sickness. 3. She 
 was remarkable for her patience, submission, and 
 contentment to be at the Divine disposal. She had 
 a sore sickness; and because of her former health, it 
 was to her the sorer. For many years before, she 
 had not lain sick in bed one day ; but many a turn 
 had she taken in her walks and her gallery ; and 
 through much exercise in this way, she had the ad- 
 vantage of enjoying a good state of health. But 
 now the Lord laid her on a bed of sickness, not for 
 a few days only, but for a long time together. She 
 was now God's prisoner; and such was the nature 
 of her sickness, that she could not stir nor move one 
 foot, and yet, she was patient and submissive under 
 the hand of God. She learned the Church's lesson, 
 (Micah, vii. 9.) " I will bear the indignation of the 
 " Lord, because I have sinned against him." She 
 never in the least murmured nor repined, but was 
 conformed to that frame of Eli and David, " Lord, 
 " here am I, do with me as it seems good in thy 
 u sight." 4. She was eminent for her faith. She 
 was during her sickness no stranger to the exercise 
 of faith. She often acknowledged her own vileness 
 and wretchedness, that she was of little faith, and 
 had no ability to help herself. Indeed, her weak- 
 ness in faith, in grace, and in all performances, was 
 her constant complaint ; and this made me remind 
 her of that promise, (Matt. xii. 20.) " that Christ 
 u would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the 
 " smoking flax, till he had brought forth judgment 
 t( unto victory." Other persons I have seen most 
 confident, in their sickness, of their salvation, whom 
 though I dare not censure, because unacquainted with 
 
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON. 227 
 
 their grounds, yet, I ingenuously acknowledge that I 
 dearly love an humble, trembling, self-condemning 
 frame. Sure I am that they who are vilest in their 
 own eyes, are the souls in whom God most delights; 
 Give me a man among you that will, as it were, kiss 
 the dust of Jesus' feet, and I dare pronounce concern- 
 ing such an one, that Christ wil take him into his 
 arms, and lay him in his bosom. This was the 
 spirit of this good lady. She was full of confession 
 of her spiritual poverty, and yet, she cast herself into 
 the arms of Jesus Christ, yea, she lay at his feet, 
 crying, " Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief." 
 And again, " I rest upon Christ, and upon Christ 
 " alone, for heaven and salvation." And again, 
 
 * Though the Lord slay me, yet will I trust in him." 
 And again, •■ He hath delivered, and he doth deliver, 
 " and I trust in him that he will deliver me still." 
 And again, " Hold out faith, and anon thou wilt come 
 
 * to vision." This expression, " Hold out faith," was 
 one of the last she uttered on that last day of her life. 
 5. She was eminent for her love to the ministers of 
 Christ. Her heart was wholly set on Christ; and as 
 a true sign of it, she loved the image of Christ, espe- 
 cially in his ministers. Among others, she was pleased 
 to shew her regard to me, the unworthiest of all my 
 Master's messengers. She preferred me to this place. 
 The Lord made her the first wheel of his providence 
 in bringing me hither; and it was some trouble to 
 her spirit that I left this pastoral charge before she 
 left the world *. Indeed, she honoured all the minis- 
 ters of Christ, yea, the very function itself, for his 
 sake. 6. She was full of love and charity towards all. 
 Many discords have happened in these sad times, 
 and she hath suffered much in many respects. In 
 her approaches near the confines of eternity, I de- 
 
 • Mr. Ambrose was some time minister of Preston, at winch 
 place lie preached this lady's funeral sermon, and afterwardl mm 
 minister at Garstang, in the county of Lancaster, where the A< t 
 of Uniformity found him, 1662. 
 
228 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sired her to forgive others, as she desired God to for- 
 give her; at which she very affectionately declared, 
 *f that she freely forgave all the world, and that she 
 " desired all whom she had offended to forgive her." 
 Her children kneeling about her, she gave them her 
 blessing, as Jacob to Joseph and his children. This 
 blessing was pronounced with that cheerfulness, af- 
 fection, and fervency of spirit, that it melted the 
 hearts, and drew a flood of tears from the eyes of 
 those who were about her bed, so that she was forced 
 to rouse up herself, and to bespeak them, as Christ 
 did those weeping women, " Weep not for me, but 
 " weep for yourselves. Why should you weep for 
 " me who am going to my Christ, and to those joys 
 11 prepared by him V And then she gave a charge 
 respecting the duty to be performed by brethren. It 
 concerned him most who was the eldest son, and, so 
 far as justice or religion calls, I presume it will not 
 be forgotten by him. Once more. 7. This pious 
 lady was desirous to die, and to be with Jesus 
 Christ, which was best of all. Sometimes she cried, 
 "O! when will that blessed hour come?" And 
 again, " O ! that I were dissolved, that I might be 
 " with Christ ! " Being told of her duty, that she 
 must wait, for that waiting was a fit posture for ser- 
 vants, (Psalm cxxiii. 2.) " Behold as the eyes of ser- 
 " vants look to the hand of their masters, and as the 
 f eyes of a maiden to the hand of her mistress, so 
 " our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, till he have 
 " mercy upon us," — "Why then," said she, " I will 
 " wait : Lord, I will wait till my change shall come." 
 Only she bore in mind that promise, Heb. x. 37, 
 " For yet a little while, and he that shall come will 
 f come, and will not tarry." One thing occasioned 
 her trouble. She was afraid that her body would not 
 yield without much struggling to the stroke of death. 
 This she mentioned to me and others once and again. 
 Her reasons were best known to herself, but her ap- 
 prehensions were verified ; for indeed, when death 
 
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON. 229 
 
 seized her heart, she uttered such groans, that she 
 out-groaned all our prayers. At last, death by de- 
 grees overcame the strength of nature, and then she 
 calmly and quietly left the world in the midst of our 
 supplications. 
 
 You see now, how she redeemed the time in life 
 and death. As Christ said to the lawyer, so say I 
 to you, " Go thou, and do likewise." It is not long 
 that all of you have to live, and therefore, I beseech 
 you, improve time, and lay hold of every season to 
 secure heaven. Walk accurately, exactly, circum- 
 spectly, " not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the 
 " time, because the days are evil." 
 
230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 MRS. ANN BAYNARD. 
 
 This sensible, learned, and pious gentlewoman was 
 born at Preston, in Lancashire, and was the beloved 
 daughter and only child of Dr. Edward Baynard, 
 Fellow of the College of Physicians in London, a 
 gentleman of a very ancient and respectable family, 
 by Ann his wife, daughter of Robert Rawlinson, of 
 Carke, Esquire, in the same county. The father, 
 upon the discovery of his daughter's elegant and 
 sprightly genius, joined with a natural propensity to 
 learning, most generously gave her a very liberal 
 education, which she improved to the best and 
 noblest purposes. For her character we are indebted 
 to the reverend and learned John Prude, M.A., who 
 preached her funeral sermon, and who tells us in the 
 introductory part of it, u that as the learned and 
 M ingenious young gentlewoman never made a show 
 w of any fondness or affectation in her outward. 
 " dress, when living, so, a plain and ordinary one 
 " may be the better excused, now she is dead." 
 
 As for learning, says he, whether it be to under- 
 stand natural causes and events, to know the courses 
 of the sun, moon, and stars, the qualities of herbs 
 and plants, to be acquainted with the demonstrable 
 verities of the mathematics, the study of philosophy, 
 the writings of the ancients, and that in their proper 
 language without an interpreter, these, and the like, 
 are the most noble accomplishments of an human 
 soul, and accordingly bring great delight and satis- 
 faction along with them, and in these things this 
 young lady was not only conversant, but she was 
 mistress of them, and that to such a degree as few of 
 her sex have ever arrived at. She had from her 
 infancy been trained up in the knowledge of these 
 things, and had made such a great progress in them, 
 that at the age of only three-and-twenty years, she 
 had attained to the knowledge of a profound philo- 
 
MRS. ANN BAYNARD. 231 
 
 sopher. But that which most challenges our admi- 
 ration, is, that one so young, of an infirm constitution, 
 and the tenderest sex, not accustomed to the advan- 
 tages of the philosophic schools, should, in the hard 
 knotty arguments of metaphysical learning, be a most 
 nervous and subtle disputant. From her amazing 
 success, let none despair or complain of the rough- 
 ness of the path, or the acclivity of learning's lull ; 
 for she was a clear and lively instance, that neither 
 the crabbedness of languages, nor the abstruseness 
 of the arts and sciences, are too hard to be conquered 
 by indefatigable diligence and application. 
 
 She took great pains to perfect her knowledge in 
 the Greek tongue, that she might with the greater 
 pleasure read that elegant father, St. Chrysostom, in 
 his own pure and native style ; and her good ac- 
 quaintance with the Greek Testament, in which she 
 was much conversant, was a great help to her im- 
 provement in that language. She was not satisfied 
 with reading only, but she set herself to the com- 
 posing of many things in the Latin tongue, which 
 were uncommon and useful in their kind, and were 
 written in a beautiful style. She had indeed a vast 
 and comprehensive knowledge, a large and exalted 
 mind, and a strong and capacious memory, and was 
 still coveting more and more knowledge. In this 
 particular alone, she would often say, it was a sin to 
 be contented with but a little. 
 
 Biui, after all these acquisitions and endowments, 
 with profound humility and prostration of mind, she 
 would cry out with the Apostle Paul, " I count all 
 * things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge 
 "of Christ Jesus my Lord." In which knowledge 
 she was no small proficient. She has been heard to 
 say, "That human learning was worth toothing, 
 " unless, as an handmaid, it led to the knOWledfi 
 14 Christ, revealed in the Gospel as our only L6*d 
 " and Saviour." 
 
 She would discourse finely after this manner, by 
 
232 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which she evinced the devotion of her spirit, and 
 how well religion was understood, and how much it 
 was preferred by her. u What avails Solomon's skill 
 " in all the works of nature, if by them we are not 
 (C brought to see the God of nature? What is it to 
 " be so skilful in astronomy, or the knowledge of 
 " the heavens, as that we can foretel things to come, 
 *' if we never study by our holy practice to arrive at 
 '* those blessed regions? What is it to be so skilful 
 " in arithmetic, as that we can divide and subdivide 
 *' to the smallest fractions, if, as God hath revealed 
 " unto us in his holy word, we do not so learn 
 " to number our days, that we may apply our hearts 
 i( to wisdom? — What is it for a physician to be so 
 " skilful in foreseeing and preventing the diseases of 
 " the body, if, as God hath revealed unto him, he 
 " knows not where to find that balm of Gilead, the 
 " wine and oil of that Samaritan, the Lord Jesus 
 " Christ, to pour into the festered wounds of his 
 " own soul and conscience?" 
 
 Such was her frequent discourse; this the hea- 
 venly manna that often dropt from her lips. As 
 further evidences of her piety, she gave her constant 
 attendance on the word and sacrament, and the daily 
 prayers of the church, and was never absent from 
 them, unless prevented by some bodily infirmity, 
 with which in the latter part of life she was much 
 afflicted. Nor were her private devotions less than 
 those that were public. In her closet, with holy 
 David, she communed with her own heart, and 
 secretly examined the state and condition of her 
 soul, that she might stand in awe, and sin not. She 
 readily embraced all opportunities of retirement, that 
 she might have the better intercourse with heaven ; 
 as knowing that the surest way of overcoming the 
 world, and living above it, was, to withdraw herself 
 from it, and that the best preparation for death was 
 to die daily in holy solitude and privacy. By this 
 practice she had disposed her mind for the time of 
 
MRS. ANN BAYNARD. 233 
 
 her dissolution ; and it appeared that it pleased God 
 to give her some distant presages of it. 
 
 About two years before her death, her meditations 
 leading her in her solitary walks into the church- 
 yard, and resting herself in the porch there, and no 
 doubt ruminating on her mortality, which the place 
 suggested to her, a sudden thought, a strong impulse 
 broke in upon her mind, that in a short time she 
 should die, and be buried in that churchyard. The 
 impulse was so far from casting any horror or melan- 
 choly into her mind, that, on the contrary, it made 
 her in love with the place, and she was ever after 
 desirous to retire there, and accordingly chose it for 
 the spot in which she would be buried. 
 
 We shall not do justice to the character of this 
 voung gentlewoman, if we do not mention her cha- 
 rity, which, indeed, in her circumstances, could not 
 be very extraordinary as to sums, but it was truly so 
 in the cheerfulness and constancy of her giving; for, 
 whatever her allowance was, she duly laid aside a 
 certain portion of it for benevolent and pious uses. 
 But her charity did not stop here, but raised itself to 
 a higher degree of spirituality, and beyond the scene 
 of this world. She had a great love for the souls of 
 men, and was heavily afflicted with the errors, follies, 
 and vices of the age ; to see that those who called 
 themselves Christians, should, by bad principles, and 
 worse practices, dishonour their profession, and not 
 only hazard their own salvation, but that of their 
 weak brethren too, for whom Christ died. And this 
 temper of mind made her not only importunate in 
 her intercessions for the good of the world, but gave 
 her courage and discretion above her years and sex, 
 to benefit the souls of those with whom she con- 
 versed, by friendly reproof, good counsel, or some 
 learned or pious discourse. 
 
 In the exercise of this Christian love she lived, 
 and in this she died. " And here," says the mini>u " 
 above mentioned, w r ho preached her funeral dJ8«« 
 
234 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 course, u that I may not be thought to flourish, be 
 " pleased to understand, that she desired me on her 
 
 * death-bed, that I would exhort all young people 
 " to the study of wisdom and knowledge, as the 
 " means to improve their virtue, and bring them to 
 "the truest happiness; and this, I think, I cannot 
 
 * do better than in the words which were taken from 
 m her own mouth, just upon her departure, when her 
 
 * soul was hovering upon her lips ready to take 
 " wing for that other world. Her words were these, 
 " which were faithfully penned down, and delivered 
 
 "nto my own hands/' 
 
 " e I desire/ says she, ' that all young people may 
 be exhorted to the practice of virtue, and to in- 
 crease their knowledge by the study of philo- 
 sophy, and more especially to read the great book 
 of nature, wherein they may see the wisdom and 
 power of the great Creator, in the order of the 
 universe, and in the production and preservation 
 of all things. It will fix in their minds a love to 
 so much perfection, frame a divine idea and an 
 awful regard of God, which will heighten devo- 
 tion, lower the spirit of pride, and give an habit 
 and disposition to his service. It will make us 
 tremble at folly and profaneness, and command 
 reverence and prostration to his great and holy 
 name. 
 
 1 ' That women/ says she, ' are capable of such 
 improvements, which will better their judgments 
 and understandings, is past all doubt, would they 
 but set to it in earnest, and spend but half of that 
 time in study and thinking, which they do in 
 visits, vanity, and folly. It would introduce a 
 composure of mind, and lay a solid basis and 
 ground-work for wisdom and knowledge, by 
 which they would be better enabled to serve God, 
 and help their neighbours/ " 
 
 Mr. Prude, being minister of the parish, had un- 
 doubtedly frequent opportunities of forming a right 
 
 a 
 
 <(, 
 
MRS. ANN BAYNARD. 235 
 
 judgment of the lady. But, though he has civen us 
 such a large and satisfactory account of her excel- 
 lencies, yet he seems to lament it as his infelicity, 
 that he knew her but so little a time before she was 
 removed from our world, and he was called to preach 
 her funeral discourse : " I should otherwise," says 
 he, ** have learned much more from her: I should, 
 " as the wise man speaks of wisdom in general, have 
 " attended to her wisdom, and bowed my ear to her 
 " understanding." 
 
 The lady died at Barnes, in the county of Surrey, 
 on the 12th of June, 1697, and was buried at the 
 east-end of the churchyard, where is a small monu- 
 ment erected to her memory, on which is the follow- 
 ing inscription : 
 
 Ann B/IYnard obiit 
 Jun. 12. Anno iElnt: suae 25. 
 Christi 1697. 
 
 O mortales ! quotusquisque vestrum cogitat, 
 Ex hoc momento [lendet ajternitas. 
 
 IN ENGLISH. 
 
 Ann Baynard died on the 12th of June, in the 2.3th year of 
 her age, and of Christ 1697. 
 
 Mortals, how few nmong your race 
 Have given this thought its weight, 
 
 That on this slender moment hangs 
 Your everlasting state! 
 
236 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LADY FRANCES HOBART. 
 
 This noble lady was born in London in the year 
 1603. She was the eldest of eight daughters, who 
 all grew up to mature age, with which it pleased God 
 to bless the Right Honourable John Earl of Bridge- 
 water, Viscount Brackley, and Lord Elsmere, Lord 
 President of Wales, by his noble Lady, Frances, 
 daughter of the Right Honourable Ferdinando, Earl 
 of Derby. 
 
 The lady, the subject of our memoirs*, had no 
 sooner passed out of the care of her nurse, and begun 
 to speak, but she was, in her fathers house, in- 
 trusted to the tuition of a French governess, from 
 whom she learned to pronounce the French tongue 
 before she could distinctly speak English ; an ac- 
 complishment which she retained to her dying day ; 
 and having her organs of speech so early formed to 
 this language, she so naturally accented it, that the 
 natives of France could hardly be persuaded that she 
 was born in England. 
 
 The years of her minority were spent in learning 
 what was proper for that very early age, and that 
 might qualify her for that noble station in which, if 
 Providence spared her life, she was to appear in the 
 world. She was now instructed in playing upon the 
 lute, in singing, Sec. ; things of which in her after- 
 life she made little or no use, and which were even 
 less in her esteem ; but they fitted her for the court, 
 with which she was to be acquainted, before her dis- 
 mission into the country. She was taught also to 
 
 * For these memoirs, we are indebted to a piece entitled, 
 " The Excellent Woman, a Discourse from Prov. xxxi. 29, 31, 
 " upon occasion of the death of the Rt. Hon. Lady Fiances Ho- 
 " bart : to which is prefixed, a short Account of her Holy Life 
 " and Death." By Dr. John Collinges. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 237 
 
 read, to write, and cast accounts with great skill and 
 exactness, to use her needle, and order the affairs of 
 a family ; qualifications which in future time proved 
 of extraordinary advantage both to herself" and her 
 husband. She was also, in these younger days ol 
 her time, partly by the diligence of her governess, 
 partly by the pains of Mr. Moor, her father's chap- 
 lain, and partly by the superintending care of the 
 Earl her father, fully instructed in the principles of 
 religion ; as to which she would often mention with 
 particular honour her father and her governess, and 
 the last especially, for the good histories she would 
 tell her, and the good counsel she instilled into her. 
 She gratefully remembered how exactly the hours of 
 her days were portioned out for the several kinds of 
 instruction, so that no time was left her, except a 
 small allowance for exercise, and what was granted 
 her for her private devotions, as to which her go- 
 verness was her most faithful monitor, or for the 
 more public religious duties of the family, in which 
 her constant presence was required by her father. 
 
 Having attained to riper years, she was frequently 
 at the court of King James and Queen Ann, and w;iv 
 in great favour with the Queen, and King Charles the 
 First, then Prince of Wales. She made frequent sad 
 reflections upon this period of her life, for misspend- 
 ing a part of many Lord's-days in masques and other 
 court-pastimes, according to the custom of others in 
 like circumstances. This she would often mention 
 with bitterness, and with a commendation of one of 
 her noble sisters, who had in her youth a just sense 
 of the error of such conduct, and courage enough to 
 resist the temptations to it. It was the only thing 
 in which a divine, who was well acquainted with her, 
 declared that he ever heard her repent her obedience 
 to her mother, and her attendance upon her. 
 
 The noble soul of this lady was ordained for higher 
 things than balls, and masques, and riftita. U ami 
 now time for a nlant nurtured with so rare a cultira- 
 
238 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tion, to be removed into another place, that her God 
 might have the glory, and her generation the fruit 
 of such an education. Her native beauty, and the 
 excellent parts she began to discover, made many 
 noble persons desire her in marriage; but at length, 
 with the approbation of her parents, she chose for 
 her husband Sir John Hobart, of Bricklin, in the 
 county of Norfolk, Bart., who was the eldest son of 
 Sir Henry Hobart, at that time Lord Chief Justice, 
 and Chancellor to the Prince. He was a person, 
 indeed, as to title, in the lowest order of nobility; 
 but his estate bore a full proportion to his quality, 
 and his noble spirit and temper far better suited 
 his excellent lady, than a higher ascent in the scale 
 of honour, with a different spirit and temper, would 
 have done. 
 
 In her conjugal relation, she was to become more 
 conspicuous. She was now, as it w r ere, planted upon 
 a hill, in which those good seeds which had been 
 sown in her ingenuous soul during her minority, 
 sprung up, and yielded abundant fruit in the whole 
 of that triple capacity to which this relation, in some 
 little succession of time, brought her; that of a wife 
 to a worthy husband, that of a mother of children, 
 and that of a mistress to a numerous family of ser- 
 vants. 
 
 As to her prudent management of the affairs of 
 her household, she was not only so vigilant as that it 
 was no easy thing for any servant to impose upon 
 her, but she also extended her regard to concerns 
 which were more extrinsical, and not the ordinary 
 province of women ; for, finding her husband en- 
 cumbered with a great debt, she undertook the ma- 
 nagement of his whole estate, and the auditing of all 
 his accounts, and so happily succeeded in the busi- 
 ness, as to diminish several thousand pounds of the 
 sums which he owed. 
 
 Her respect to her husband's person, her conceal- 
 ment of his weaknesses, and her obedience to his 
 
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 239 
 
 commands, shewed that she had learned that precept 
 of sacred writ, Eph. v. 22, " Wives, submit your- 
 " selves to your own husbands as unto the Lord ; for 
 " the husband is the head of the wife, even as 
 " Christ is the head of the Church." Most remark- 
 able was this lady's kind sympathy with her hus- 
 band in those bodily afflictions with which it pleased 
 the Divine Providence to visit him. From their first 
 marriage, he was visited with afflictions, though in 
 different degrees; and his noble consort seemed to 
 be allotted to him as much for a nurse as for a wife. 
 Her care for him, and tenderness of him, was be- 
 yond expression; of which the writer of her memoirs 
 t( . declares, he was an eye-witness for the seven or 
 " eight last months of his life, when his distempers 
 " lay heaviest upon him. In the day-time she con- 
 " fined herself to his chamber, seldom leaving him 
 " for so much as an hour, unless to attend upon pub- 
 " lie ordinances, to take her meals, or perform her 
 " secret devotions. In the night, she watched 
 " with him to such a strange excess, as some may 
 " deem it, that all about her wondered how her 
 " tender frame could bear the continual fatigue; 
 " seldom laying herself down to take any rest till 
 u two or three o'clock in the morning, and then 
 u taking it upon an ordinary couch in his chamber, 
 " where she might hear every groan, and be at 
 11 hand to render her husband every service in her 
 " power." 
 
 But this is not all. She was as much a meet help 
 for her husband as to the things of eternity and the 
 salvation of his soul, as in the concerns of the pre- 
 sent life. The familiar compellation which her hus- 
 band generally used in speaking to her, was, " my 
 "dear saint;" and this not without good reason, 
 from the experience he had had of her in spiritual 
 things. No sooner had God wrought a change in 
 the heart of this noble lady, than there tpraqg up 
 with it a great solicitude for the best interests of tin- 
 
240 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 companion of her life. By her prudent admonitions 
 and pathetic entreaties, he was recovered from the 
 vanities he had indulged in, in his youth, so as to 
 abhor the things in which he had formerly delighted, 
 and to inquire after, choose, and find his pleasure in 
 those good ways of God, with which formerly he 
 had no acquaintance, and against which, for want of 
 a due knowledge, he had conceived a prejudice. He 
 now unweariedly desired and was present at private 
 fasts and other religious duties, and admonished his 
 friends, and severely reproved others, and especially 
 his servants, as to those errors which had once been 
 too much his practice and delight. In short, by the 
 blessing of God upon the public ministry of the word, 
 upon which he now diligently attended, and the 
 more private means of his excellent lady, he was 
 brought to so good an hope, through grace, for se- 
 veral months before he died, as without perturbation 
 to view death every day making its near approaches 
 to him, and at last, not without testimony of a true 
 hope in God, quietly to commit his soul into the 
 hands of his blessed Redeemer. 
 
 Having viewed this lady in her marriage-relation, 
 we shall next consider her as a parent. She was 
 the mother of nine children, of which only one, a 
 daughter, lived to marriageable years, the rest all 
 dying either in their infancy, or before they had 
 arrived to mature age. This young lady was mar- 
 ried to an honourable and worthy person, Sir John 
 Hobart, Bart., the heir of her father's honours and 
 family ; by whom it pleased God, after some years, 
 to give her a son, whose birth she did not long sur- 
 vive, being taken away from our world many years 
 before the death of her mother. The son she left 
 behind, soon followed her to the grave ; and thus 
 did the good lady, the subject of our memoirs, live 
 to see God stripping her of every branch that had 
 sprung from her, though he had a better name with 
 which to crown and comfort her, than that of sons 
 
LADY FRANCES HOBAttT. 241 
 
 and daughters. " Concerning her deportment to her 
 " other children/' says Dr. Collinges, - while Bhe 
 ** enjoyed them, I can say nothing, not having hud 
 " the advantage of knowing her till some years aftei 
 u God had deprived her of them ; only I may ration- 
 *' ally presume it was not unlike to what she shewed 
 " to the only survivor. For her I could say much 
 '• if, while she had a being with us, by her pious dis- 
 " position, affable and ingenuous temper, and most 
 " virtuous conversation, in short, by whatsoever 
 44 accomplishments could perfect and adorn a youncr 
 " and virtuous lady, she had not both approved her- 
 " self to all to whom she was known, and also com- 
 " mended her by whom she was educated to such a 
 " pitch of feminine perfection. The instruction of 
 • 4 her father which she heard, and the law of her 
 " mother which she did not forsake, proved an orna- 
 * ment of grace unto her head, and as chains of o- )d 
 '* and orient pearls about her neck. And indeed, as 
 lt there was nothing wanting in nature to accomplish 
 <f that young and excellent lady, so, her virtuous 
 " mother had resolved that nothing should he want- 
 " ing which either her own care, or the art of oth» 
 " could help her to. Nor did this rare lady shew 
 u more of a mother to her while she lived, than of a 
 " Christian mother when it pleased God to extin- 
 " guish this light of her eyes, and quench this only 
 u coal which she had left her ; taking her death with 
 " that due sense which became so tender and indul- 
 i( gent a mother, and yet, with that patience and 
 " fortitude which became not only her rational 
 " spirit, which considered that she had brought forth 
 " a mortal daughter, but also a submissive Christian 
 " who had learned not to repine against Heaven, 
 " but in great measure to melt down her own into the 
 " Divine will." 
 
 We shall next consider this noble person in tli< 
 lation of a mistress to a numerous family oi 
 and it may be truly said of her, that she acquit; 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 herself in it with an honour equal to that with which 
 she adorned her other capacities in life. She be- 
 haved herself in such a manner to her domestics, as 
 that her carriage would not allow them to be proud 
 and malapert on one side, nor discouraged into a 
 servility and baseness of spirit on the other. After 
 the choice of her servants devolved entirely on her- 
 self, her great care in the first place was, to procure 
 persons for her household who feared God. She 
 might indeed, as to such, be once and again de- 
 ceived ; but none were ever suffered to continue in 
 her house, when she had once discovered them to 
 be drunkards, unclean persons, profane swearers, 
 enemies to religion and godliness, or in any way 
 wicked and scandalous ; and her eye was so much 
 upon her family, and her care so much employed in 
 the discipline of it, that it was not easy for any 
 such persons to be long concealed, but they were 
 quickly seen in their true light, either by herself or 
 her steward. 
 
 She not only amply provided for the comfortable 
 maintenance of her servants, but she also bestowed 
 a more than ordinary concern for the better interests 
 of their immortal souls. In short, there were none 
 who served her, who would not " praise her in the 
 ie gates ;" none who ever waited upon her, but would 
 " rise up and call her blessed." 
 
 We shall now view this excellent lady in the third 
 and last period of her life, when she became a widow 7 . 
 '*. In this state," says her Biographer, t( she was in- 
 " deed best known to me, as 1 had the happiness of 
 <l waiting upon her during this whole time, and for 
 *' some little time before, (about seven or eight 
 " months,) whence I shall begin my story. It was 
 " in September 1646*, that I was invited by Sir 
 
 * Dr. Collinges was then only about twenty-three years of age. 
 What an excellent spirit, and uncommon endeavours to do good, 
 this man of God discovered so early in life, will be made abun- 
 dantly evident from the Memoirs of the lady. 
 
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 243 
 
 " John Hobart, at that time alive, to take my chani- 
 " ber in his house, while I discharged my ministerial 
 " office in the city, (Norwich,) and to take book 
 " oversight of his family in the things of God ; Sir 
 " John himself having been lately valetudinarious, 
 a and the family without any spiritual guide. I 
 " found it in some disorder ; and the several per- 
 u sons in it, the daughter only excepted, being 
 " persons grown in years, I apprehended it no easy 
 " matter to reduce it to a due religious order and 
 " discipline. My design was, it being a family of 
 " much leisure, to bring it into a course of prayer, 
 " in conformity to David's pattern, morning, evening, 
 u and at noon-time; reading some portion of Scrip- 
 a ture every day, and expounding it, as my leisure 
 " would allow me ; together with catechising once 
 " in the week, a stricter observation of the Lord's 
 " day, and repetitions of sermons, both on that and 
 " other days, when we had attended upon the public 
 " ordinances. I did not do this as thinking it was 
 " what God required of all families, but because I 
 *' thought God expected more of us to whom he 
 * had given more leisure from the distracting con- 
 " cerns of the world ; because my hands at that 
 *" time were not so full of more public employment, 
 " but that I could attend this more than ordinary 
 " service in the family ; and indeed, because 1 
 " thought I saw the family so much behind- hand as 
 " to spiritual knowledge, as that ordinary perform- 
 " ances in a short time were not likely to reach the 
 " end at which I aimed. 
 
 " As to the generality of the servants, I feared tfail 
 " alteration might prove like the putting new wine 
 " into old bottles, and be judged a yoke that they 
 " were not able to bear. I therefore first communi- 
 " cated my thoughts to my lady, Sir John's sickiv 
 " state not allowing much liberty for discourse at 
 " that time. Her ladyship cheerfully appronog m\ 
 " thoughts, propounded them to her husband, who, 
 
 M 2 
 
244 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " with great expressions of thankfulness, signified 
 " his approbation to me, and commanded the ser- 
 " vants diligently to attend the duties ; and himself, 
 " when his infirmities would permit him, was never 
 " ordinarily absent for some time at our prayers. 
 " At noon and night he was with them. The morn- 
 " ing-service was by seven of the clock, rarely after 
 " eight ; from which her ladyship, unless in a bed of 
 " sickness, in eighteen years, I think, was hardly 
 " twice absent, and was commonly with the first of 
 u - the family in the room where they were performed, 
 " before her sickly state brought them to her own 
 " chamber. 
 
 u The business of catechising was more difficult; 
 " but yet, it was made easy by the parents prevailing 
 " with their own daughter to go before the family in 
 le a noble example, which she continued till she had 
 a attained a competent knowledge in the most neces- 
 '* sary principles of religion. From the time I first 
 u came into the family, it pleased God to keep Sir 
 " John Hobart in a dying condition, though he had 
 " some more lucid intervals than others; and within 
 rt less than eight months, God removed him into a 
 " better life. It w r as his great satisfaction all along 
 " his sickness, to see his dear daughter making such 
 " a proficiency in the knowledge of the things of 
 " God, and so willing to set an example to his family ; 
 " and he mentioned it as his dying comfort, that he 
 " had seen his family, before his death, in a course 
 ** of reformation, which he doubted not but his lady 
 " would bring to perfection." 
 
 To come directly to that period of her life, her 
 ladyship's widowhood. Now she sat solitary, mourn- 
 ing as a turtle that had lost her mate, and for awhile 
 knew not how to be comforted, because he was not. 
 Having recovered herself from her passion, and hav- 
 ing learned to hold her peace because it was the 
 Lord's doing, she made it her first request to Dr. 
 Collinges, to stay with her, and keep on the course 
 
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 245 
 
 of religious duties in the family, which he had 
 begun ; proposing to him a high encouragement 
 from an assurance that he should find her, according 
 to the pattern of the man after God's own heart, 
 (Psalm ci.), endeavouring " to walk in her house 
 " with a perfect heart — that those who were of a 
 " froward spirit should depart from her — that her 
 " eyes should be upon the faithful of the land, that 
 " they might dwell with her — that they who wrought 
 a deceit should not dwell in her house — that he who 
 " told lies should not tarry in her sight." To which 
 resolutions she afterwards strictly adhered. To give 
 herself the advantage of doing good to the souls of 
 many, she at no small expense converted some less 
 useful lower rooms of her house into a chapel, which 
 would conveniently hold more than 200 persons. 
 Here she enoaoed the above-mentioned minister to 
 preach a lecture every week, and to repeat one or 
 both of his sermons every Lord's-day at night, after 
 the more public sermons were over in the city : 
 which for sixteen years was continued to a very full 
 auditory, and to the great benefit of many younger 
 persons, and of those who had not such advantages 
 as they desired in their own houses, for hearing 
 again what they had been hearing in the day-time. 
 This work of piety was the more remarkable, as her 
 ladyship's chapel, lying in the way to that field where 
 young persons had formerly been used to profane 
 the latter part of the Lord's-day by idle walks and 
 recreations, happily intercepted many of them, and 
 proved, from the example of it, an allurement to 
 them to a further reverence of the Sabbath, and, 
 from the instructions they heard there, the happy 
 means of an acquaintance with God and their duty. 
 After this, her ladyship engaged Dr. Collinges, to 
 preach a morning sermon on the Lord's-day, those 
 monthlv days only excepted when he was to admi- 
 nister the communion of the Lord's Supper more 
 publicly. This course she continued so Jong as th<: 
 
246 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 good doctor had liberty to preach, or her ladyship 
 had liberty to hear. 
 
 This most worthy lady having thus served her 
 generation according to the will of God, her time 
 came when she was to fall asleep ; or rather, when, 
 as a shock of corn, she was to be gathered in her 
 season. 
 
 The time of her last sickness, the dropsy, which 
 seized her something more than half a year before her 
 death, afforded no great variety of temper as to her 
 spiritual condition. She kept on her course of reli- 
 gious duties in her house and chamber, as formerly. 
 Her work was finished, both as to the present and fu- 
 ture life, her house, and her soul were set in order, 
 so that she had little to do but to be still, and wait 
 for the salvation of God the remaining days of her 
 appointed time, till her change came. " I do not re- 
 " member," says Dr.Collinges, " that during her long 
 u illness, she more than twice discovered to me any 
 '* conflicts in her spirit, though I constantly at- 
 '' tended upon her, and as constantly inquired into 
 " the frame of her spirit. She had sown in tears be- 
 ,{ fore, and had now nothing to do but to reap in joy. 
 u Her death was a long time foreseen, both by her 
 " and by ourselves ; but, as to the particular time, 
 " we were somewhat surprised, for, when she pro- 
 " bably thought the day of her change at some dis- 
 " tance, she lost her senses and her speech, and after 
 " two or three days, quietly fell asleep in the evening 
 " of the Lord's-day, Nov. 27, 1664. 
 
 " Thus lived, thus died/' says her worthy Biogra- 
 pher, " this twice noble, excellent lady, about the 
 " sixty-first year of her age ; possibly the brightest 
 " example of piety, and truest pattern of honour, li- 
 li berality, temperance, numility, and courtesy, which 
 " it hath pleased God in this last age to shew in that 
 " part of the world where he had fixed her. A wo- 
 " man, indeed, not without her infirmities ; to assert 
 " that, were to discharge her from her relation to 
 
LADY FRANCES IIOBART. 247 
 
 •* human nature; but as they were of no reproachable 
 " magnitude, and the products of natural tempera- 
 " ture, not of vicious habits, so, they were so much 
 u outshone by her eminent graces and virtues, us 
 " that a curious eye could hardly take notice of them. 
 " In a word, none ever lived more desired, or died 
 " more universally lamented, by all worthy persons 
 u in the city of Norwich, to which she was related. 
 
 " She was buried in a vault belonging to the family 
 * of her dear and noble husband, at Blicklin, in Nor- 
 " folk, December 1, 1664; therein paying her de- 
 u ceased husband a last obedience, who, as I have 
 " heard her pleasantly say, made it his first request 
 " to her on the day of her marriage." 
 
248 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE LADY CUTTS*. 
 
 This lady, though young in life, being but just 
 turned of eighteen when she died, yet, was continued 
 long enough to hold forth a bright example of female 
 excellency to the world. 
 
 In her devotions she was very punctual and regular. 
 Morning and evening came not more constantly in 
 their course, than her stated hours of private prayer, 
 which she observed not formally, as a task, but re- 
 turned to them always with desire, delight, and 
 eagerness. She would on no occasion dispense with 
 herself from paying this duty. No business, no 
 common accident of life could divert her from it. 
 She esteemed it her great honour and happiness to 
 attend upon God, and she resolved to find leisure for 
 that, for whatever else she might want it. 
 
 How she behaved herself in these secret transac- 
 tions between God and her soul, is known to Him 
 alone whom she worshipped. But, if we may guess 
 at her privacies by what was seen of her in public, 
 we may be sure that she was full of humility, devo- 
 tion, and fervency, for so she remarkably was in the 
 time of Divine service. Her behaviour was then very 
 devout and solemn, and yet, the most decent, easy, 
 and unaffected. There was nothing in it either neg- 
 ligent and loose, or extravagant and strained. It was 
 throughout such as declared itself not to be the work 
 
 * This lady was the wife of the Right Honourable John, Lord 
 Cutts, for whose gallant behaviour at the siege of Namur, 1695, 
 see Rapin's History, vol. xiv. 8vo edit. p. 237, 233, 239. The 
 funeral sermon for the lady was preached by Doctor, afterwards 
 Bishop Atterbury, 1698. See his Sermons and Discourses, vol. i. 
 Sermon vi. The substance of the Doctor's character of her we 
 here present to our readers. 
 
LADY CUTTS. 249 
 
 of the passions, but to flow from the understanding-, 
 from a clear knowledge of the true grounds and prin- 
 ciples of that her reasonable service. 
 
 This knowledge she attained by early instructions, 
 by much reading and meditation, to which she ap- 
 peared from her childhood to be addicted, and by a 
 very diligent and exact attendance on the lessons of 
 piety which were delivered from the pulpit; which no 
 one practised better, because no one delighted in, 
 listened to, or considered more ; for at these perform- 
 ances she was all attention, all ear. She kept her 
 heart fixed and intent on its holy work by keeping 
 her eye from wandering. She often expressed her 
 dissatisfaction at that indecency of carriage which 
 prevails in assemblies for public worship, and won- 
 dered that they should be most careless of their 
 behaviour towards God, who are most scrupulously 
 nice in exacting and paying all the little decencies 
 that are in use among: men. 
 
 When the bread of life was distributed, she was 
 sure to be present; and the strictness of her atten- 
 tion, and the reverence of her behaviour, were, if 
 it were possible, raised and improved on these 
 occasions. 
 
 Books she took pleasure in, and made good use 
 of; chiefly books of divinity and devotion, which 
 she studied and relished above all others. But, of 
 all books, the Book of God was that "in which 
 she was most delighted and employed, and which 
 was never for any considerable time out of her 
 hands. No doubt, she knew and felt the great use 
 and sweet influence of it in calming her mind, regu- 
 lating her desires, and lifting up her thoughts towards 
 Heaven, in feeding and spreading that holy flame 
 which the love of God had kindled in her heart, am! 
 which she took care by these means to keep perpe- 
 tually burning. 
 
 When she met with any thing in the holy Oracles, 
 or in any other pious book, which she thought would^ 
 
 m 5 
 
250 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 be of remarkable use to her in the conduct of her 
 life and affairs, she trusted not her memory with it, 
 not even that excellent memory, which she safely 
 trusted with things of smaller moment, but immedi- 
 ately committed it to writing. Many observations 
 of this kind she has left behind her, drawn from 
 good authors, but chiefly from those sacred pages; 
 in collecting which, whether her judgment or her 
 piety had the largest share, it is not easy to de- 
 termine. 
 
 The passages of holy writ which she took notice 
 of, were, indeed, commonly such as related either to 
 the concerns of her spiritual estate, or to matters of 
 prudence ; but it appears also, that she spent some 
 time in meditating on those places where the 
 sublimest points of Christian doctrine are contained, 
 and in possessing herself with a deep sense of the 
 wonderful love of God towards us, manifested in the 
 mysterious work of redemption. She endeavoured 
 to understand the great articles of faith, as well as 
 to practise the good rules of life contained in the 
 Gospel, and she sensibly found, that the best way to 
 excite herself to the practice of the one, was to 
 endeavour to understand the other. 
 
 In the book of God she was particularly conversant 
 on the Lord's-day, a day ever held sacred by her ; 
 and which, therefore, always in her family wore a 
 face of devotion suitable to the dignity of it. It was 
 truly a day of rest to all under her roof. Her servants 
 were then dismissed from a good part of their attend- 
 ance upon her, that they might be at liberty to attend 
 on their great Lord and Master, whom she and they 
 were equally bound to obey. There were such a 
 silence and solemnity at that time observed by all 
 about her, as might have become the house of mourn- 
 ing ; and yet, so much ease and serenity were visible 
 in their looks, at least in her looks, as showed that 
 they who were in the house of feasting were not 
 better satisfied. Thus did she prepare herself for 
 
LADY CUTTS. 251 
 
 the enjoyment of that perfect rest, the celebration of 
 that endless Sabbath she was so soon to enter upon. 
 Thus did she practise beforehand upon earth, the 
 duties, the devotions, the customs and manners of 
 heaven. 
 
 To secute her proficiency in godliness, she kept 
 an exact journal of her life, in which was contained 
 the history of all her spiritual affairs, and of the 
 several turns that occurred in her soul. In this glass 
 she every day dressed her mind ; to this faithful 
 monitor she repaired for advice and direction. She 
 compared the past with the present, judged of what 
 would be by what had been, accurately observed the 
 several successive degrees of holiness she attained, 
 and of human infirmity she shook off, and traced 
 every single step she took onward in her way towards 
 heaven. One would have imagined, that so much 
 exactness and severity in private would have affected 
 a little her public actions and discourses, and have 
 wrought themselves insensibly into her carriage; and 
 yet, nothing could be more free, simple, and natural. 
 She had the reality without the outside and show of 
 strictness. All her rules, all her performances, sat 
 so well and gracefully upon her, that they appeared 
 to be as much her pleasure as her duty. She was 
 in the midst of them perfectly easy to herself, and a 
 delight to all who were about her, ever cheerful in 
 her behaviour, but withal ever calm and even. Her 
 satisfaction, like a deep untroubled stream, ran 
 on without any of that violence and noise in which 
 the shallowest pleasures sometimes abound. 
 
 However, cheerful and agreeable as she was, yet, 
 she never carried her good humour so far as to smile 
 at a profane, an ill-natured, or an unmannerly jest ; 
 but, on the contrary, in her highest mirth, such a 
 licentiousness made her remarkably grave and 
 serious. She had an extraordinary nicety of temper 
 as to all the least approaches to faults of that kind, 
 and showed a very quick and sensible concern at any 
 
252 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 thing which she thought it did not become either her 
 to hear, or others to say. 
 
 True piety, which principally consists in an hu- 
 mility and submission of mind towards God, is ever 
 attended with humility and goodness towards his 
 creatures, and so it was in this excellent lady. Never 
 was there a more deep, and unfeigned, and artless 
 lowliness of mind seen in her rank and station. As 
 far as she was placed above the most of the world, 
 she conversed, as it were, upon the level with all of 
 them ; and yet, when she stooped the lowest towards 
 them, she took care, even at that time, to preserve 
 the respect that was due to her from them. She had 
 so much true merit, that she was not afraid of being 
 looked into, and therefore durst be familiar; and the 
 effect of that familiarity was, that by being better 
 known, she was more loved and valued. Not only no 
 one of her inferiors ever came uneasy from her, but 
 no one went uneasy to her ; so assured were all 
 beforehand of the sweetness of her temper, and her 
 obliging reception. When she opened her lips, 
 gracious words always proceeded thence, and in her 
 tongue was the law of kindness. Her reservedness 
 and love of privacy might possibly be misinterpreted 
 sometimes for an overvalue of herself; but the least 
 degree of acquaintance with her made all such sus- 
 picions vanish ; for though her perfections, both of 
 body and mind, were very extraordinary, yet, she was 
 the only person that seemed, without any endeavour 
 to seem, insensible of them. She was, it is true, in 
 as much danger of being vain, as great beauty and a 
 good natural wit could make her ; but she had such 
 an overbalance of discretion, that she was never in 
 pain to have the one seen, or the other heard. 
 Indeed, this was particular to her, and a distin- 
 guishing part of her character, that she never studied 
 appearances, nor made any advances towards the 
 opinion of the world, being contented to be whatever 
 was good, or deserving, without endeavouring in the 
 
LADY CUTTS. 253 
 
 least to be thought so ; and this, not out of any 
 affected disregard to public esteem, but merely from 
 a modesty and easiness of nature, which made her 
 give way to others, who were more willing to be 
 observed. And yet, she had also her hours of open- 
 ness and freedom, when her soul poured itself into 
 the bosoms of her friends and familiars : and then, 
 out of the good treasure of her heart what good 
 things did she bring forth ! and with what delight 
 was she listened to by those who had the happiness 
 to converse with her ! So that a doubt it is, whether 
 she were most to be admired for what she did, or 
 for what she did not say. It was wonderful that one 
 who, when she pleased, could discourse so fitly, and 
 so freely, should yet choose to be silent on so many 
 occasions : and it was surprising that she who was 
 such a lover of silence, should, whenever she spake, 
 charm all who heard her. 
 
 To her command over her tongue, she added a 
 strict and watchful guard upon her passions, those 
 especially of the rough and troublesome kind, with 
 which she was scarce ever to be seen disquieted. 
 She knew not what the disorders of anger were, even 
 on occasions that might seem to justify, if not to 
 require it. As much as she hated vice, she chose 
 rather to look it out of countenance, than to be severe 
 against it, and to win the bad over to the side of 
 virtue by her example rather than by her rebukes. 
 
 Her sweet deportment towards those who were 
 with her, could be outdone by nothing but her ten- 
 derness in relation to the absent, whom she was sure 
 to think and speak as well of as was possible ; and 
 when their characters were plainly such as could have 
 no good colours put upon them, she would show her 
 dislike of them no otherwise than by saying nothing 
 of them. Neither her good nature nor her religion, 
 neither her civility nor her prudence, would suffer her 
 to censure any one. She thought she had enough 
 to do at home in that way, without looking much 
 
254 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 abroad, and therefore turned the edge of all her 
 reflections upon herself. 
 
 Her conversation might, for this reason, seem to 
 want something of that salt and smartness which 
 the ill-natured part of the world are so fond of; a 
 want that she could have easily supplied, would her 
 principles have given her leave ; but her settled 
 opinion was, that the good name of any one was too 
 tender and serious a thing to be played with, and 
 that it was a foolish kind of mirth which, in order to 
 divert some, hurt others. She could never bring 
 herself to think that the only thing which gave life 
 and spirit to discourse was, to have somebody's faults 
 for the subject of it, or that the pleasure of a visit lay 
 in the giving up the company to one another's sport 
 and malice by turns ; and if these are the marks of 
 \ wit and good-breeding, it must be confessed that she 
 j had neither. 
 
 With all this goodness, gentleness, and meekness 
 of disposition, she had at the same time a degree of 
 spirit and firmness unusual in her sex, and was parti- 
 cularly observed to have a wonderful presence of 
 mind in any occurrence of danger. 
 
 With these excellent endowments, she had a 
 modesty of temper, which shone throughout her 
 whole life and conversation. A quality so strictly 
 required of her sex, that it may be thought not so 
 properly commendable in any of them to have it, as 
 infamous to want it. However, in the most common 
 and ordinary graces, there are uncommon heights 
 and degrees, and it was the particular happiness of 
 this lady, remarkably to excel in every virtue that 
 belonged to her, even in those in which Christians of 
 the lowest attainments do in some degree excel. 
 
 Her love of purity was the cause why she banished 
 herself from those public diversions of the town, at 
 which it was scarce possible to be present without 
 hearing somewhat that wounded chaste ears, and 
 for which she thought no amends could be made to 
 
LADY CUTTS. 255 
 
 virtue by any degree of wit or humour with which 
 they might abound. These good qualities, she knew, 
 served only to recommend the poison, and make it 
 palatable. She had really neither relish nor leisure 
 for such entertainments, nor for a thousand other 
 things, which the world miscalls pleasures. Not 
 that she wanted naturally a taste for any thing of 
 this kind, for her apprehension was fine, and her wit 
 very good, and very ready at command, whenever 
 she pleased to exercise it ; but she had turned her 
 thoughts so much towards things of use and import- 
 ance, that matters of mere pleasure grew flat and 
 indifferent to her. She was so taken up with the care 
 of improving her understanding, and bettering her 
 life, in the discharge of the offices necessary to her 
 rank, in the duties of her closet, and the concerns of 
 her family, that she found at the foot of the account 
 but little time, and had less mind to give into those 
 vain amusements. 
 
 She did not think it the peculiar happiness and 
 privilege of the great to have nothing to do, but took 
 care to fill every vacant minute of her life with some 
 useful or innocent employment. The several hours 
 of the day had their peculiar business allotted to 
 them ; whether it were conversation, or work, or 
 reading, or domestic affairs ; each of which came up 
 orderly in its turn, and was, as the wise man speaks, 
 under her management, " beautiful in its season." 
 
 Yet, this regularity of hers was free and natural, 
 without formality or constraint. It was neither trou- 
 blesome to herself, nor to those who were near her. 
 When, therefore, any accident intervened, it was 
 interrupted at that time with as much ease as it was 
 at other times practised ; for, among all her discre- 
 tionary rules, the chief was, to seem to have none, 
 and to make those she had laid down to herself, give 
 way always to circumstances and occasions. 
 
 She wrought with her own hands often when she 
 could more profitably and pleasingly have employed 
 
256 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 her time in meditation or reading ; but she was 
 willing to set an example to those who could not, 
 and she took care, therefore, that her example should 
 be well followed by all that were under her imme- 
 diate influence. For she well knew, that the de- 
 scription of a good wife and a perfect woman in the 
 Proverbs, a description which she much delighted in, 
 and often read, was spent chiefly in commending that 
 diligence " by which she looked well to the ways of 
 " her household, and ate not the bread of idleness ;" 
 and she knew also, that the person whose words 
 these are said to be, was no less a woman than the 
 mother of King Lemuel. 
 
 Diligence and frugality are sisters ; and she there- 
 fore, who was so well acquainted with the one, was 
 not likely to be a stranger to the other. She was 
 strictly careful of her expenses, and yet knew how 
 to be generous, and to abound, when the occasion 
 required. But, of all ways of good management, she 
 liked that the worst which shuts our hands to the 
 poor ; towards whom she always showed herself 
 compassionate and charitable. Of the other delights 
 with which an high fortune furnished her, she was 
 almost insensible ; but on this account she valued it, 
 as it gave her an opportunity of pursuing the several 
 pleasures of beneficence, and of tasting all the sweets 
 of well-doing. " She delivered the poor that cried, 
 " and the fatherless, and him that had none to help 
 " him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish 
 " came upon her, and she caused the widow's heart 
 " to sing for joy.'" Job, xxix. 12, 13. In the exercise 
 of this, and of all other virtues, she was wonderfully 
 secret, endeavouring to come up as near as she could 
 to the rule of not " letting her left hand know what 
 " her right hand did." This secrecy of hers she 
 managed so well, that some of the most remarkable 
 instances of her goodness were not known till after 
 her death ; no, not by him who was the partaker of 
 all her joys and sorrows. 
 
LADY CUTTS. 257 
 
 Retirement and privacy she always loved, and 
 therefore chose them, when after the death of a near 
 relation, who had the care of her education, she was 
 at liberty to have lived otherwise. From that time 
 to her marriage, which was more than three years, 
 she hid herself in the country, having an early and 
 settled aversion to the noise and inconveniences of a 
 town-life, and too little an opinion of herself to think 
 that it was so much the interest of virtue and religion, 
 as it really was, that she should be known and 
 distinguished. When afterwards she went to court, 
 as it was necessary for her sometimes to do, she did 
 it with an air which plainly showed that she went to 
 pay her duty there, and not to delight herself in the 
 pomp and glitter of the place. 
 
 Soon after her marriage, she declared to several 
 friends her thoughts, u that every woman of quality 
 " was as much obliged, as she was more enabled 
 " than other women, to do good in the world ; and 
 " that the shortest and surest way of doing this, was 
 " to endeavour, by all means, to be as good a Chris- 
 " tian, and as good a wife, and as good a friend, as 
 " was possible." 
 
 She endeavoured to do all this, and she fell not 
 far short of her mark ; for she excelled in all the 
 characters that belonged to her, and was in a great 
 measure equal to all the obligations under which she 
 lay. She was devout without superstition; strict, 
 without ill humour; good-natured, without weak- 
 ness; cheerful, without levity ; and regular, without 
 affectation. She was to her husband the best of 
 wives, the most agreeable of companions, and the 
 best of friends ; to her servants, the best of mis- 
 tresses ; to her relations, extremely respectful; to her 
 inferiors, very obliging; and by all who knew her, 
 either nearly, or at a distance, she was reckoned, 
 and confessed, to be one of the best of women. 
 
 Short as her life was, she had time enough to 
 adorn the several stages of virginity and marriage, 
 
258 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and to experience the sadness of a kind of widow- 
 hood too ; for such she accounted it when her lord 
 was long absent from her ; mourned as much, and 
 refused to be comforted till his return. 
 
 As her life was short, so her death was sudden. 
 She was called away in haste, and without any 
 warning. One day she drooped, and the next day 
 she died ; nor was there the distance of many hours 
 between her being very easy in this world, and very 
 happy in another. 
 
 However, though she was seized thus suddenly by 
 death, yet, she was not surprised, for she was ever in 
 preparation for it ; " her loins girt/' as the Scripture 
 speaks, " and her lamp ready trimmed and burning." 
 The moment almost that she was taken ill, she was 
 just risen from her knees, and had made an end of 
 her morning devotions ; and to such a one, a sudden 
 death might well be desirable. Where a pious soul 
 is in perfect readiness, there the sooner the fatal 
 stroke is struck the better ; all delays in this case 
 are uncomfortable to the dying. In truth, she could 
 not be called away more hastily than she was willing 
 to go. She had been used so much to have her 
 conversation in Heaven, and her soul had been so 
 often upon the wing thither, that it readily left its 
 earthly station, upon the least notice from above, 
 and took as it were the very first opportunity of 
 quitting her body, without lingering, or expecting a 
 second summons. She stayed no longer after she 
 was called, than to assure her lord of her entire 
 resignation to the Divine will, and of her having no 
 manner of uneasiness upon her mind, and to take her 
 leave of him with all the expressions of tenderness. 
 When this was over, she had nothing more to do. 
 She sank immediately under her illness, and after a, 
 short unquiet slumber, slept in peace. 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 259 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE 
 
 LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 
 
 The Lady Elizabeth Hastings was born April 19, 
 1682. Her father was Theophilus, Earl of Hunting- 
 don, and her mother was the daughter of Sir John 
 Lewis, of Ledstone, in the county of York, Bart., 
 one moiety, and more, of whose very large estate 
 came to her by inheritance. 
 
 There was a fine dawn of her future excellencies 
 in her tender age. A countenance that united in it 
 something great and something condescending; an 
 ingenuous temper ; a quickness of understanding; a 
 benevolent spirit; a flexibility of nature ; a devout, 
 frame ; and a solemn sense of Divine things ; were 
 observable in her first departure out of her infancy, 
 and her footsteps slipped not in the dangerous ascent 
 of life ; so that she was riot only free from every stain 
 of vice in her early days, but superior to the world 
 and its vain and trifling amusements. 
 
 Before she launched into life, she was fond of pri- 
 vacy and retirement, and was much in devotional 
 exercises in her closet. In some contests between 
 the Earl her father, and Lord Hastings, her brother, 
 she observed such a prudence in her conduct, that 
 she preserved the kindness and affection of both ; 
 and, after the death of the former, and till the 
 decease of the latter, she would be doing good things 
 with her substance, when her abilities were not so, 
 great. 
 
 Her ladyship's active life most conspicuously com- 
 menced soon after the death of her brother by the 
 whole blood, the Right Honourable George, Earl of 
 Huntingdon, already mentioned under the title o* 
 
260 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Lord Hastings, when her excellent virtues shone out 
 by what has been the eclipse of virtue in others, the 
 accession of a large fortune. Then it was that she 
 became known, and was observed to be something 
 more than a lady of great beauty and fine accomplish- 
 ments, of affability and easy access, of condescension 
 and good nature, and of regular motions in religion. 
 Her aims were set high, and no attainments in piety 
 and goodness would content her soul, short of per- 
 fection. 
 
 When she had not many months finished her 
 twenty-seventh year, her singular accomplishments 
 and merits were celebrated by the ingenious author 
 of the paper called the Tatler, under the name of 
 Aspasia. 
 
 " But these ancients,'' says the writer, " would 
 " be as much astonished to see in the same age, so 
 "' illustrious a pattern to all who love things praise- 
 rt worthy as the divine Aspasia. Methinks I now see 
 u her walking in her garden like our first parent, with 
 " unaffected charms, before beauty had spectators, 
 " and bearing celestial, conscious virtue in her aspect. 
 " Her countenance is the lively picture of her mind, 
 " which is the seat of honour, truth, compassion, 
 " knowledge, and innocence. 
 
 u * There dwells the scorn of vice, and pity too/ 
 
 " In the midst of the most ample fortune, and ve- 
 " neration of all that behold and know her, without 
 " the least affectation, she consults retirement, the 
 " contemplation of her own being, and that Supreme 
 " Power which bestowed it. Without the learning 
 " of schools, or knowledge of a long course of argu- 
 u ments, she goes on in a steady course of aninter- 
 u rupted piety and virtue, and adds to the severity 
 " of the last age all the freedom and ease of this. 
 " The language and mien of a court she is possessed 
 " of in the highest degree, but the simplicity and 
 " humble thoughts of a cottage are her more 
 
LADY ELIZABETH EASTINGS. 261 
 
 " welcome entertainments. Aspasia is a female 
 " philosopher, who does not only live up to the resio-na- 
 " tion of the most retired lives of the ancient sages 
 •* but also to the schemes and plans which they 
 " thought beautiful, though inimitable. This lady 
 " is the most exact economist, without appearino 
 ** busy ; the most strictly virtuous, without tasting 
 * the praise of it ; and shuns applause with as much 
 '* industry, as others do reproach. This character 
 " is so particular, that it will be very easily fixed on 
 " her only by all that know her ; but, I dare say, she 
 " will be the last that finds it out # ." 
 
 In order to assist her endeavours to reach the 
 sublimest heights of honour and virtue, Lady Eliza- 
 beth commenced an acquaintance with persons emi- 
 nent for religion, Doctor John Sharp, Archbishop 
 of York, Robert Nelson, Esq., and Doctor Richard 
 Lucas. Many years after the decease of all of them, 
 she has been heard to felicitate herself upon the 
 privilege of her friendship with them. And how 
 much she was esteemed and honoured by Mr. 
 Nelson in particular, (and we have no reason to 
 think but she had a like esteem from the others,) is 
 evident from a letter of his yet remaining, in which 
 he applies to her the text, Prov. xxxi. 29, " Many 
 " daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest 
 them all." 
 
 In the place (Ledstone-house) where her ladyship 
 spent the greater part of her life, almost every eye 
 beheld her with wonder. The higher ranks of man- 
 kind were by her acquaintance some of them charmed 
 into the love of virtue, while others found their vir- 
 tues heightened and improved. As to the lower 
 part, they were guided by her wisdom, and, if they 
 wanted it, were cherished by her bounty. 
 
 Such was the superiority of her understanding, 
 that, in matters of high moment, hundreds would 
 
 * Tatler, Number 42, dated July 16, 1709. 
 
262 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ask counsel of her, who were themselves well quali- 
 fied to give it to others ; for she was blessed with a 
 rectitude of judgment, and could readily penetrate 
 through perplexities, unravel them, and mark out 
 the wisest and safest conduct, having ever for her 
 ground the interests of truth, fidelity, honour, and re- 
 ligion. Her end was the glory of God, and the good of 
 all men, keeping all her capacities, all her powers, and 
 all her fortune continually upon the stretch for the 
 benefit of her fellow-creatures; weeping with them 
 that weep, rejoicing with them that rejoice; given 
 to hospitality, distributing to the necessities of the 
 saints, and to others that were less so; having joy 
 at the conversion of a sinner, or any the smallest 
 appearances of it. 
 
 Besides the wisdom which is called secular, as 
 having for its objects the affairs of this life, her lady- 
 ship's mind was endowed with that wisdom which 
 comes from above, and was so influenced by it, that 
 whether she wrote or spoke, it was ever in consistency 
 with it. Her will was in full subjection to the pre- 
 cepts of the Gospel. She took her measures from 
 them, and observed a close conformity to them. Her 
 will also bowed to the Divine will in her afflictions. 
 Because they were the pleasure of God, they were 
 hers too ; and, when his arrows stuck fast within her, 
 and his hand pressed her sore, she possessed herself 
 in these painful parts of life with great cheerfulness, 
 and preferred them in her whole judgment, and upon 
 the most important considerations, to the days of 
 health and ease. As to her affections, they were set 
 upon things above, panting and longing after the plea- 
 sures that are there ; or attaching herself to such em- 
 ployments as infallibly lead to them. 
 
 Her ladyship's attendance and apparel were such 
 as became her place and station. Her body, she 
 knew, was the temple of the Holy Ghost, and she 
 possessed it in sanctification and honour. Her sup- 
 port of it by meat, and drink, and sleep, was ever 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 263 
 
 bounded by necessity. The intervals that happened 
 as to the last, were improved in pious meditation, or 
 prudent deliberations what better measures to take 
 in the duties of her Christian calling. 
 
 The word of God was a lamp to her feet, and a 
 light unto her paths. Her delight was in his law, 
 and she made it her every day's study. She held her 
 Bible to her heart to receive its quickening virtue, 
 and used it at the same time as she would a mirror 
 to her face, to discover every spot and blemish. 
 The other books that she used, were well chosen ; 
 and they were much in her esteem, and often in her 
 hands, in order to learn from them to examine herself 
 by them, and to see what she had in common with 
 the children of God, and if in any thing she fell 
 short of them. She compared spiritual things with 
 spiritual, she pondered with her own heart, and 
 searched out her spirit, weighing herself as it were 
 in a balance. 
 
 She used her pen much, sometimes for her own 
 service, but more for the service of others. Besides 
 what papers went abroad, great numbers remained, 
 but were unhappily destroyed by a severe sentence 
 of her own. By them she would have been more 
 fully and better known, and more excellent things 
 might have been spoken of her, than what could 
 have been gathered by any other information. 
 
 She began every day. with supplications, and 
 prayers, and intercessions in private ; addressing 
 herself to her God with all diligence and earnest- 
 ness, and with a recollected spirit and fervency. 
 True it is, that she allowed herself little intermission 
 in this duty of prayer, everywhere attending to the 
 all-seeing eye of God upon her, and having her soul 
 winged and carried up with holy pantings and aspira- 
 tions towards Him. So well did she know the mighty 
 importance of prayer, its gracious acceptance with 
 the Almighty, and its powerful help to enlighten, 
 relieve, strengthen, and purify the soul, that she 
 
264 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 made most public provision for the practice of it, 
 as for herself, so also for her family, collecting all 
 the members of it, excepting such as were neces- 
 sarily detained, four times a day, for the exercise of 
 this duty. Happy was it for those servants who 
 came under her roof; for there was every thing for 
 them that might do them good, in a gentle, gracious, 
 considerate, bountiful, compassionate mistress, pre- 
 siding over them with the disposition of a parent, 
 providing for the improvement of their minds, for 
 the decency of their behaviour, and the inoffensive- 
 ness of their manners, and using every possible 
 means and methods to bring them to true religion. 
 And as her great talents were every way fitted to 
 turn many to righteousness, so, they were as suc- 
 cessful, and she both near and afar off much enlarged 
 the borders of God's kingdom. 
 
 She much delighted in public worship, and con- 
 stantly attended it. Her behaviour in the house of 
 God was solemn, and grave, and awful, and clear of 
 all pharisaical affectation, and no doubt much quick- 
 ened and animated the devotions of others. 
 
 She was ever mindful of every jot and tittle of the 
 law. In this spirit, her care extended even to her 
 cattle, because that it is declared to be a property of 
 mercy. She would have the skill and contrivance 
 of every artificer used in her house, employed for 
 the ease of her servants, and that they might suffer 
 no inconvenience or hardship. Besides providing 
 for the order, harmony, and peace of her family, 
 she kept great elegance in and about her house, that 
 her poor neighbours might not fall into idleness and 
 poverty for want of employment ; and, while she 
 thus tenderly regarded the poor, she would visit the 
 higher part of the world, lest those who sought after 
 her friendship should complain of her, or fall into 
 uncharitableness concerning her, or censure her for 
 being proud and supercilious. 
 
 A just display of her ladyship's art and manner in 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 265 
 
 company, would be to place her in one of the most 
 amiable lights. Her talents for conversation were 
 most shining and great, and more in truth than she 
 would allow herself to use ; accordingly, she would 
 restrain a brisk and lively imagination, and give the 
 demonstrative proofs of a deep and sound under- 
 standing, and to flourishes of wit and humour would 
 prefer the much better ornaments of courtesv and 
 complaisance. It was her great care, that they with 
 whom she conversed should be convinced of the 
 honour and esteem she bore them ; to observe a 
 carriage by which none should be awed or made 
 uneasy at the superiority of her condition; to see 
 that she failed not in any part of right decorum, 
 that none might think themselves neglected or over- 
 looked by her; and to hear and speak according to 
 what occurred, or was before her, watching all the 
 while with penetration and eagerness for an happy 
 transition of the discourse to religion ; and, when 
 that was once gained, she was then in the true 
 enjoyment of her spirit, and was got into her natural 
 element : for, to say the truth, in all her intercourses, 
 she was never rightly at ease unless religion had 
 some place in the conversation, and she thought the 
 spirit of it was dead, in the majority of the company 
 at least, if there was an utter neglect and silence as 
 to the one thing needful. 
 
 At her table, her countenance was open and serene ; 
 her voice soft and melodious ; her language polite, 
 and seasoned with salt, treating of things useful and 
 weighty, and bringing out of her rich treasures of 
 wisdom things new and old. Here she displayed all 
 the elegancies of good breeding, addressing herself 
 to all with great meekness and condescension, and 
 adapting herself to every one's respective talents 
 and capacities. The smiles of her benevolence were 
 enjoyed by all, and every one felt the sweetness of 
 her company. 
 
 As her house and table were rarely destitute of 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 some or more of her family, so, she made them all 
 parts of herself, and embraced all her relations, 
 according as they stood in the several degrees of 
 consanguinity, with true and tender affection. She 
 would also inquire and seek after any of the wither- 
 ing and drooping branches of her family, and would 
 kindly support and cherish them, directing her aim 
 by kindnesses of this nature to serve their best inte- 
 rests, and lead them into the paths of godliness. 
 
 But what shall we say of her care of all cares, the 
 strangers, the fatherless, and the widow ; the needy, 
 and him that hath no helper ; the lame, the halt, and 
 the blind? These objects drew out the compassions 
 of her soul. She had a share in all their sufferings ; 
 she would often converse with them, and inquire into 
 their history with the utmost condescension. She 
 would study their particular cases, and put them in 
 the way of a better condition. She would visit them 
 in sickness, and bear the expenses of it. Some of 
 them were ever in her court-yard, or in her house, 
 and frequently in great numbers ; and it was not 
 chargeable upon any neglect of hers, if any one 
 went away unrelieved with meat, physic, clothing, 
 or money, according to their several necessities, and 
 many times a single person would receive all four. 
 Many of those that lived remote, had yearly allow- 
 ances ; and large sums frequently were sent into 
 distant parts of the kingdom. 
 
 Her still larger applications of her substance 
 were, fixed pensions upon reduced families, exhibi- 
 tions to scholars in the universities, the maintenance 
 of her own charity-school, her contributions to other 
 schools, disbursements to religious societies for the 
 propagation of the gospel in foreign parts, and for 
 promoting Christian knowledge at home, and the 
 erection and augmentation of churches. To which 
 may be added, free and frequent remission of debts, 
 in cases of straitness or insolvency; together with a 
 noble plenty and all-becoming magnificence in her 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 267 
 
 house, and mighty acts of generosity to relations, 
 friends, and even to those who were neither. Her 
 ladyship's declared and most admirable rule was, to 
 give the first place to justice, the second to charity, 
 and the third to generosity. Of this third method of 
 applying her substance, surprising instances might 
 be produced ; as in five hundred pounds a year given 
 to one relation, three thousand pounds in money to 
 another, three hundred guineas, all the money that 
 at the time was within her reach, and large promises 
 of more, to a young lady who had very much impaired 
 her fortune by engaging in the South Sea scheme. 
 
 At the same time that there were these visible 
 glories that adorned her ladyship's life, and spread 
 holiness around her, she well knew that the great 
 scene of religion lies within, and in the right govern- 
 ment there, called the hidden man of the heart : 
 accordingly, her eye was ever upon her heart, to 
 see that all its principles were cleansed from evil 
 mixtures, that they had no taint of self-love, and 
 were not sullied with vain-glory ; to observe the 
 tendency of all its motions, which way the bias of 
 it was set, and how its struggles weakened towards 
 sinful excursions ; and she would continually cherish 
 the Divine life by acts of faith in the blood of her 
 Redeemer, by rating her ow T n righteousness as no- 
 thing, and by marking well, and daily committing 
 to writing, all her slips, and penitentially mourning 
 over them. 
 
 Such were the diligence and circumspection which 
 this lady used in her Christian calling. In this prac- 
 tice of piety did she walk closely with her God ; and 
 in this manner, through a series of almost thirty 
 years, did she shine, the bright example of every 
 virtue, at the same time that she gave a clear de- 
 monstration on how right a basis every thing stood, 
 and by what principles she was governed, in that 
 she could never endure to hear one word spoken 
 in her own praise. 
 
 n2 
 
268 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 We shall now accompany her to her closing scene. 
 As was her day, such was her evening ; if, indeed, 
 her sun did not go down with an improved and 
 redoubled lustre. Her ladyship, in early life, had 
 received a contusion upon her right breast, which 
 left behind it a small inward tumour, attended with 
 little or no disturbance, and, for that cause, probably 
 not much regarded. This continued several years 
 without any sensible increase, till about twenty 
 months before her death it gave her cause of com- 
 plaint ; upon which, application was made to a reve- 
 rend gentleman (Dr. Johnson), very eminent for his 
 skill in surgery, who, upon sight and examination, 
 was clear in his judgment, that there was an absolute 
 necessity that the affected part should be separated 
 from the body. 
 
 u What her ladyship's first impressions were upon 
 " hearing of this, I will not/' says the author of her 
 historical character, " undertake to relate : perhaps, 
 " nature might flinch at first." But a neighbouring 
 clergyman, who had a correspondence with one in 
 the family, being made acquainted by his friend 
 what afflicting sorrow the family was in, and his 
 friend in particular, without being informed from 
 what cause, he imagined that it was no common 
 matter, but something of a very distressing nature, 
 and something, too, in which her ladyship had a 
 very large share ; — this clergyman immediately 
 wrote back, as suitably as he could, upon no other 
 grounds than his own conjecture, and happily 
 touched upon the necessity of sufferings, setting 
 forth briefly those which Christ endured in the 
 flesh, and observing that he will bring all his fol- 
 lowers in conformity to himself in all things, and 
 that sufferings were the way to his perfection, and 
 must be so to ours, and that they are the expressly 
 declared condition of our being glorified with him, 
 the marks and characteristics of our adoption, and 
 the most sovereign medicines sent from heaven to 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 2G9 
 
 heal our spiritual diseases. Her ladyship beforehand 
 saw into the truth of all this, as she had well ex- 
 plored and digested every other truth in the whole 
 system of our holy religion, and would often express 
 some uneasiness that her own sufferings, in the ac- 
 count she made of them, should in a manner be little 
 or none. And it was the sentiment of one who had 
 a station under her, and was not unskilled in this 
 kind of knowledge, that the mighty torrent of suf- 
 ferings which broke in upon her at the last, was de- 
 signed by her heavenly Father for this end among 
 others, to solace her spirit, and to strengthen her 
 assurance that she had every mark and token of her 
 favour and acceptance with Him. The letter men- 
 tioned above was shewn to her ladyship, who, with 
 an emotion beyond what was usual with her, de- 
 clared, " that she would not wish to be out of her 
 <l present situation for all the world, nor exchange 
 •* it for any other at any price:" and accordingly, 
 with great meekness and tranquillity, without any 
 change in her temper, with a cheerfulness scarce to 
 be believed, in perfect serenity and freedom, she 
 went through every day till the time appointed for 
 the operation, as one who sat loose to, and was in- 
 different for life or death. 
 
 When the day came for the excision of her breast, 
 great skill and wisdom were used in all things, every 
 bad event was guarded against, and her hands were 
 held by men of strength — but her hands might have 
 been held by a spider's thread. She shewed no re- 
 luctance, no struggle, or contention, nor did she even 
 make any complaint ; only, indeed, towards the end 
 of her bloody baptism, she drew such a sigh, as any 
 compassionate reader may do to be told this. Though 
 even this small expression of anguish has been denied 
 by a clergyman of great worth, who assisted at the 
 operation, and was one of the number who held her 
 ladyship's hands ; and from his account, one would 
 
270 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 think that her flesh was as insensible of pain as her 
 spirit was superior to it. 
 
 The following night was not, indeed, a night of 
 much sleep, but it was a night of truly celestial rest ; 
 a night of thanksgiving to her God for the visible 
 demonstration of his power in and about her, for his 
 stretched-out arm in her great deliverance, for the 
 bountiful provisions he had made for all the occasions 
 of her body and soul, and, in a word, for all his 
 blessings ; holding all the powers of her spirit in 
 tuneful employment, and exercising them in acts of 
 love, gratitude, and adoration. 
 
 Her ladyship, sooner than was expected, was re- 
 stored ; and, with every improvement that could be 
 made, returned into the same tenor of life which she 
 had so long observed before, — in some variety of 
 employments indeed, but such as were calculated 
 for the glory of God, and the good of mankind. 
 She saw what an excellent and serviceable hand- 
 maid learning was to religion, and upon that account 
 was a great lover of it. And indeed, she was far 
 from being destitute of learning herself, for she was 
 able to compose and judge well, and could mark out 
 the beauties, excellencies, errors, and defects in 
 authors, and whether they were written in taste, or 
 not ; and as to practical divinity, and things belong- 
 ing to the direction of conscience, she rarely ever 
 made an erroneous determination. Impressed with 
 these sentiments, and possessed of these talents, she 
 thought provision made for the better state of learn- 
 ing, as it is begun and carried on in schools, and 
 further promoted and finished in universities, was a 
 right exercise of her attention and care, and a proper 
 object for her munificent donations. And how 
 suitable and proportioned to the magnificence of her 
 spirit these were, may be found in the codicil an- 
 nexed to her will, containing the devise of her manor 
 of Wheldale to the provost and scholars of Queen's. 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 271 
 
 College, Oxford, for the educating students for the 
 ministry. 
 
 J 
 
 In the weakly condition in which she now must be, 
 it was very much her employment, to provide that 
 all her settlements should be secured from abuses, 
 and guarded against spoil and depredation, and that 
 all her good purposes might be followed with exe- 
 cution and effect. To this end, with an indefati- 
 gable industry, she digested, improved, enlarged, 
 and altered several schemes, rules, orders, and pro- 
 visions ; and all this very much from her own ability 
 and wisdom. 
 
 But this care, this work and labour of love, to 
 which she dedicated a large share of her estate, and 
 for many years a large stock of her health, were 
 shortly to be exchanged for tranquillity and rest. 
 The distemper, only repressed for a time, broke out 
 with new malignity, to the much greater affliction of 
 thousands in the world, than of her that bore it; for 
 she had now been for some time in the school of 
 affliction, had been exercised with its sharpest disci- 
 pline, and had found its salutary effects ; and, as she 
 had lost one part of her body without being shaken 
 or hurt, so, she trusted in God that, if there was 
 need, as in reality there was an expectation, she 
 might with safety lose another; and she knew that 
 her own sufferings were infinitely short of what her 
 Saviour endured for her on the cross, and that there 
 was great probability that the last draught of her 
 cup might not be so bitter as was the first. Under 
 these views and sentiments, her hope was full of im- 
 mortality, and the eternal weight of glory, now in 
 full prospect, made all her afflictions light. Her 
 faith was not to be diverted from it, though her con- 
 dition would not allow her for several months, for 
 obtaining any ease, to turn herself in her bed ; and 
 therefore, she would hold to her long- established 
 purposes, and strive to enter in at the strait gate, 
 and excel every thing that was past as much as she 
 
272 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 could, not looking back at the things that were be- 
 hind, but pressing forward to the things that were 
 before. Though she had little appetite to eat, she 
 could find strength to pray ; and, as the author of 
 her historical character verily believes, she suffered 
 not any one hour of the day "to pass without prayer. 
 But every other duty is to be attended to as well as 
 this ; and doing good to the souls of others, was 
 ever the same with her doing good to her own. And 
 because her family mourned, and refused to be com- 
 forted, some of them perhaps having less acquies- 
 cence in the Divine will than she had, she would 
 therefore be cheerful, that they might cease to weep ; 
 and for a pattern for them, when in like circum- 
 stances with hers, she made no complaints among 
 them which a mortal creature could suppress, and 
 accepted all their kindness and services with conde- 
 scending acknowledgments, passing by without ob- 
 servation any errors, mistakes, neglects, or inadver- 
 tencies, into which any of them might fall. 
 
 in tins near and certain approach of death, her 
 cherishing warmth, like that of the sun, though it 
 might be most felt by those of her family, yet, reached 
 those at greater distance. Witness the great number 
 of letters she wrote and dictated to others, when 
 she became unable to write herself, full of sweet 
 counsel, having for their argument the blessedness 
 of piety, setting forth its true nature, and pressing 
 home the necessity of it. And witness also, the 
 great resort to her house of persons of all conditions, 
 to behold the living power of religion in her, and to 
 be partakers of, and be benefited by her wisdom ; 
 whom she would instruct herself, or engage those 
 who had any talent that way to do, having them in 
 great numbers about her, and continuing in heavenly 
 conversation and conferences with them as long as 
 she had strength to speak, and keeping up her at- 
 tention to others when her strength was gone. At 
 other seasons, she would seek out for, and draw to 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 273 
 
 her, the company of holy persons, refreshing and 
 warming her spirit with them, as her great delight 
 was ever in them ; she and they mutually giving and 
 receiving light, heat, comfort, and strength from 
 the words of the wise, and their divine sayings ; 
 she and they at the same time having their spirits 
 mingled and holding mystical communion with all 
 the saints upon earth, and in heaven. Her alms all 
 along, in the same series of days, under the great 
 and necessary expenses upon herself, under every 
 other increase of expense, were still carried on with a 
 like impetuous succession, as the waves of a swell- 
 ing tide. "Where/' would she often say to those 
 about her, " is there a poor member of Chiist's, 
 <e whom I can comfort and refresh V Silver and 
 gold were given to many who very rarely had seen 
 so much which they could call their own ; and in this 
 period, forty guineas were issued in one sum for the 
 enlargement of a gentleman who was a prisoner for 
 debt at Rothwell, though she had never seen him, 
 or heard any thing of him, except some few words 
 of his case, and in his favour, in all her life before. 
 
 Her ladyship was for several months separated 
 from publiG worship, of which she was a great lover, 
 and to observe which she held herself under sacred 
 and inviolable obligations. So great and exemplary 
 was her zeal in this respect, that she could not 
 excuse herself from an attendance at the house of 
 God for having had a bad night, or for having taken a 
 little cold, or because the roads were deep, and 
 there was some danger that the coach would be over- 
 turned ; but she ever continued to go under great 
 want of sleep, and great cold taken, and even under 
 afflictions worse than these, even after her coach had 
 been overturned, and after part of her body was 
 mouldering in the church-yard. But now, impedi- 
 ments were thrown in her way, which she could not 
 possibly overcome. What must she do in this dis- 
 
 n 5 
 
274 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tress? Her expedient was, now she could not go 
 to the church, to bring the church as far as she could 
 to herself. Accordingly, she had in this season the 
 established service, as formerly, daily read, and the 
 holy sacrament administered to her every Lord's-day. 
 She was now in a very tottering state, though with 
 less pain, or at least less complaint, than ever could 
 be thought of or rationally expected. The skill of 
 the reverend gentleman already mentioned, cannot 
 be praised according to his merit. Under God he 
 kept her pains moderate, and gave her relaxation and 
 relief under every distress. But her firmest support 
 was her faith in Christ, which fifty years ago being 
 only as a grain of mustard seed, had now grown up 
 into a spreading tree, and she could refresh herself 
 under its shadow. By the virtue of this grace she 
 had overcome the fears of death, and taken out its 
 sting ; and neither the sight of death, nor the rigour 
 of the law, could in the least dismay her soul. She 
 had walked by the rule the law of God had set her ; 
 and, though she had not perfectly obeyed it, yet, her 
 Redeemer had, and his righteousness was hers, and 
 wrought for her; and he spoke peace to her spirit, 
 and strengthened her with assurance that, as he had 
 long brought her up in his nurture and admonition, 
 and was now putting his last hand for the finishing 
 his own work, so, the gates of his kingdom were 
 opened for her entrance into his joy. But she knew 
 she must wait his pleasure, and desired nothing but 
 it ; though it must not be omitted, that her ladyship 
 had a willingness, consistent enough with her full 
 resignation to the Divine will, to travel still in the 
 wilderness, till such time as her durable charities 
 were established by law. Dr. Johnson, at once the 
 physician of her body and her soul, knew this, and 
 directed all his skill for the continuance of her life, 
 till her benevolent wishes were accomplished ; and, 
 so indulgent was the Almighty to her in this respect, 
 
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS. 275 
 
 that she survived the legal and necessary time by 
 seven or eight days ; when, with triumph, she entered 
 into the joy of her Lord. 
 
 We shall add to the above account of this most 
 excellent lady, what may be called its epitome, as it 
 was published in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
 January, 1740, p. 36, in the list of deaths for the 
 year 1740. "December 22, 1739. The Honour- 
 " able the Lady Elizabeth Hastings, at her seat at 
 " Ledstone, Yorkshire, sister to George late Earl of 
 " Huntingdon, and half-sister to Theophilus the 
 * present Earl. Though the splendour of her birth 
 " was truly great, it seemed as it were eclipsed by 
 " her shining qualities. She was amiable in her 
 " person, genteel in her mien, polite in her manners, 
 * c and agreeable in her conversation. Her judgment 
 " was solid, her regard to friendship sacred, and her 
 " sense of honour strict to the last degree ; and she 
 " was of so rare modesty and humility, that a more 
 " disagreeable thing could not be done than publish- 
 " ing her good deeds, and rendering her due praise. 
 " She was, above all, a sincere Christian. Her piety 
 " towards God was ardent and unaffected, and her 
 " benevolence towards mankind was such as the 
 " good angels are blessed with. Thousands had she 
 " comforted and relieved, many enriched and ad- 
 " vanced. Her patience and resignation under her 
 " last long and tedious sickness, her mourning for 
 " the sins of men, her unwearied endeavours for 
 " their eternal welfare, her generous and charitable 
 il appointments, her tender expressions to her rela- 
 " tions, friends, and servants, and her grateful ac- 
 " knowledgments to her physicians, require whole 
 " pages to set them in a proper light. In short, 
 u scarce any age has afforded a greater blessing to 
 " many, or a brighter example to all. Her corpse 
 " was interred with great funeral solemnity, in the 
 *' family vault at Ledstone, near her grandfather, 
 
276 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 f Sir John Lewis, Bart. ; the following inscription 
 " being put upon her leaden coffin, &c." 
 
 The Right Hon. the Lady Elizabeth Hastings, 
 
 Daughter of Theophilus, Earl of Huntingdon, 
 
 By Elizabeth his first wife, 
 
 Daughter and co-heir of Sir John Lewis, 
 
 Knight and Baronet. 
 
 From whom descended to her the manors of 
 
 Lcdstone, Ledsham, Thorparch, Collingham, Weldale, 
 
 Wyke, and ShadwelL 
 
 Tn the four first she erected charity-schools, 
 
 And, for the support of them and other charities, 
 
 She gave, in her life-time, Collingham, Shadwell 7 
 
 And her estate in Burton-Salmon. 
 
 She was born the 19th of April, 1682. 
 
 Died the 22d of December, 1739. 
 
 A pattern to succeeding ages 
 
 Of all that's good, and all that's great, 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 277 
 
 MRS. JA^ T E RATCLIFFE. 
 
 ^I.tD. Jane Ratcliffe was born of good parents, 
 of unblamable characters. Her uncle was Mr. Ed- 
 ward Brerewood, a learned professor in Gresham 
 College, London. In her younger years, she was 
 too much delighted with dancing, stage-plays, and 
 other public vanities, according to the fashion of 
 young people, especially in those times when these 
 things were so well thought of that they were 
 admitted to be acted in the churches*. But it 
 pleased God effectually to call her to himself by 
 the ministry of Mr. Nicholas Byfield, a powerful 
 preacher of the word of God in the city of Chester; 
 which was also seconded by the afflicting hand of 
 God, in taking away her first child ; which provi- 
 dence she laid deeply to heart, while it was made 
 the occasion of great good to her soul. 
 
 At her entrance upon religion, she feared God 
 rather than loved him, which engendered many per- 
 plexing scruples in her soul, which for the present 
 were very grievous to her. Her spirit was sore 
 wounded, and her inward distresses were so sharp 
 and painful, and sometimes so terrible, that it was 
 difficult to fasten any comfort upon her. But, after 
 the Lord had thus chastened her, he shewed himself 
 her most kind and effectual physician ; according to 
 Job, v. 18, u He maketh sore, and bindeth up: He 
 " wounds, and his hands make whole ;" for he 
 quieted her troubled spirit, and settled her in the 
 
 * The acting of stage-plays in churches may appear almost 
 incredible, but we have faithfully transcribed the passage a» it 
 stands in Mr. Clark's Lives, p. 377. " Certain it is that in Charles 
 the First's reign, the court had its balls, masquerade?, and plays, 
 on the Sunday evenings, while the youth of the country were at 
 their morrice-dancing, May-games, church and clerk ales, and 
 all such kinds of revellings." — Neal's History of the Puritans, 
 quarto edit. vol. i. p. 569. 
 
278 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 assurance of his love. Being thus, by the Divine 
 goodness, converted and comforted, by her frequent 
 and attentive hearing of sermons, and reading good 
 books, the Bible especially, in which she took an 
 incredible delight, and by moving questions to per- 
 sons whom she thought best able to answer them, 
 she became an excellent proficient in the great 
 matters of religion, though she took not upon her to 
 extend her instructions beyond her own children and 
 servants. 
 
 It might be truly said of her, that the word of God 
 dwelt richly in her in all wisdom. She was well fitted 
 and prepared either to counsel, or comfort, to re- 
 prove, or to plead for, as there was occasion. Yet, 
 she was by no means talkative, but rather sparing of 
 her speech, so that she was as much remarked for 
 her silence as for her suitable discourse, when there 
 was a proper opportunity. So far was she, when she 
 spoke, from speaking ill, especially of the absent, 
 and her superiors, that she rather concerned herself 
 to look to her own life, than to censure others. She 
 also gave the proofs of her prudence in the course of 
 her behaviour. She was a woman of a well-composed 
 spirit, and of remarkable discretion, directing her 
 affairs by the dictates of grace and reason, without 
 any debasing mixtures of passion, which usurped no 
 sway- over her, and very seldom made any appear- 
 ance in her, but when her wisdom suggested to her 
 that it was fit to make use of it for due admonition 
 to others ; and then she would temper her warmth 
 with such moderation, as that neither her words, nor 
 looks, nor gestures, carried any colour of contradic- 
 tion to her prudence and piety. So that her wisdom 
 was a protection to the reputation of her godliness 
 from all scornful reproaches, and raised the Christian 
 profession to an higher esteem in her person, and for 
 her sake. 
 
 Though she had eminent gifts, yet she was far 
 from their disposition, who think they do nothing 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 279 
 
 well unless they are singular ; and, though she had 
 less to do with worldly affairs than most would have 
 had in her situation, yet, in the management of them, 
 she gave that proof of prudence which Solomon 
 mentions, Prov. xiv. 1. " that a wise woman builds 
 " her house." For she was very provident in the 
 management of her family concerns, both while she 
 was in the married state, and when she became a 
 widow. 
 
 Her devotion and piety were correspondent to her 
 knowledge of God, and faith in him. As she had a 
 clear apprehension of God, so, none had more -in- 
 flamed and devout affections to him, as appeared in 
 the following particulars. 
 
 She was frequently and fervently conversant with 
 God, not only in the public ordinances, but in her 
 private exercises of devotion ; and, though she duly 
 esteemed the solemn prayers of the public assemblies, 
 and never slighted nor censured set forms of prayer, 
 yet could she excellently w r ell conceive prayer, and 
 vary her petitions as the present occasion required, 
 In this her devotion, she was so abundant in apt and 
 pertinent expressions, that indeed it was a matter of 
 admiration, that one so frugal of her speech in her 
 common conversation with the world, should be so 
 prompt and eloquent in her intercourse with God. 
 Xor was she more copious in words, than fervent in 
 spirit. Her service also to God in this kind, was 
 drenched in tears ; and, though in prudence she 
 used much privacy in the duty of prayer, yet, the 
 exercise of such a singular gift as she possessed, 
 could not be concealed from her servants, and some 
 secret female friends, who sometimes, when they 
 were sick, or harassed with fears, or in the pains of 
 childbirth, would prevail upon her by their impor- 
 tunity to pray with them : and when she yielded to 
 them, and God seemed to yield to her by answering 
 her request, they were apt, as there was reason, to 
 
280 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ascribe the good effects to her fervent entreaties. 
 A female friend of hers, who lay in the same bed 
 with her in London for many w r eeks together, and 
 was by this means a partaker with her in her daily 
 devotions, professed that she was so plentifully 
 furnished for utterance of her requests to God, that 
 she never wanted variety of suitable words to be 
 presented to him, except when a surcharge of sighs 
 and tears put her prayers to a pause. 
 
 When the heart is full of love, the mouth is filled 
 with praise. Of this we have an example in this 
 excellent gentlewoman, who, when time, company, 
 and occasion invited her to communicate to others 
 the good matter which her heart indited concerning 
 God, employed her tongue as the pen of a ready 
 writer. And it was observable, that, when she had 
 the great King for the subject of her discourse, she 
 spake of him with such sacred reverence and delight, 
 and with such an affectionate force, as if she would 
 enkindle the same holy fire in the hearts of those who 
 heard her, which burned in her own ; longing that 
 others might, with her, taste and see the goodness of 
 the Lord, and that they might be rivals with her in 
 her religious love. And glad she was when any sin- 
 ner was converted, or when any already called was 
 better enabled to promote the glory of God, the end 
 which she principally aimed at in her holy discourses 
 concerning him. In giving vent to her heart in this 
 duty of spiritual conference, she could spend her 
 spirit with great delight, both to herself and to those 
 particular friends who had an opportunity to hear 
 her ; and yet, when she had spoken best, she found 
 matter of complaint in her own expressions, as being 
 too faint and too flat, and so far below what was 
 meet for the majesty of the great Jehovah, that all 
 the acceptance she desired of him was but to pardon 
 her presumption, as the error of her love, for taking 
 upon her to speak of his excellency, and the weak- 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 281 
 
 ness of her spirit and speech, which made her fall 
 infinitely short of what is his due in the publication 
 of his praise. 
 
 Another evidence of her eminent love to God was, 
 the eminent love which for his sake she bore to whom 
 or whatsoever stood in any near relation to him. She 
 had a sincere and singular good-will to his saints, 
 and to his true religion and worship, both at home 
 and abroad, the progress and prosperity of which she 
 preferred above her chief joy ; and it was a great 
 affliction to her heart, when she heard any ill tidings 
 of any good man, or any good cause. 
 
 She highly prized the word of God ; and in the 
 blessed sacrament of the Lord's Supper she felt 
 such a divine refreshment, that she might truly say, 
 that she had meat to eat which others knew nothing 
 of. If, by any insuperable impediment, she was 
 kept back from the public worship, her soul was full 
 of the most fervent longings to be there. And, 
 whereas many from a very slight occasion absent 
 themselves from the sanctuary, she would often 
 force her feeble body to carry her to the house of 
 God, though the day before she had been confined 
 to her chamber, or even to her bed ; and it was 
 remarkable, though in these cases she hazarded her 
 health, yet, that it pleased God so graciously to 
 accept of her zeal for his service, that she never was 
 the worse for these pious adventures. 
 
 She kept at a great distance from doting upon 
 the world ; and though, while she lived, she must of 
 necessity be in it, yet, she had such an overcoming 
 love to the Lord Jesus Christ, that for his sake she 
 estranged herself from it, as appeared by her abstain- 
 ing from the delights of sense, by her frequent fast- 
 ings, and by her abstinence from such sports and 
 pastimes as she had been too immoderately addicted 
 to before her conversion. Indeed, her love to, and 
 delight in communion with God, set her above pro- 
 vision for gratifying the flesh. She well knew that, 
 
282 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 though fasting makes the body weak, yet, that it 
 strengthens the spirit, and makes it vigorous and 
 victorious in spiritual conflicts. Fasting and prayer 
 she used, not only as weapons against Satan, but as 
 wings to elevate her soul towards God and heaven. Yet, 
 she was at the same time observant of our Saviour's 
 rule, to fast without any appearance of fasting. Only, 
 the next day, it might be discerned by her faintness, 
 that she had spent her spirits in spiritual exercises 
 the day before. 
 
 She had so chosen God for her portion, and taken 
 up her happiness in the riches of his love, that she 
 had but little regard to worldly wealth and posses- 
 sions. She well knew that riches may be had, and 
 be well used, by the people of God, and that poverty 
 alone commends no man to God ; but yet, she did 
 not dote upon them. Though she was careful and 
 frugal, and was provident for herself and household, 
 yet, she often besought of the Lord rather to make 
 and keep her poor, than to suffer her heart to sink 
 down from her Maker, and go astray after Mammon. 
 It might be truly said of her, that she honoured God 
 with her substance. She was as cheerful in her exhi- 
 bitions for Him, as any miser could be in laying up 
 stores for himself; and when she heard of the parsi- 
 mony of some towards the maintenance of the public 
 ministry in the city of Chester, where she lived, she 
 professed that she had rather be at all the charge 
 of all the common contributions herself, if her estate 
 could bear it, than that God should be murmured at, 
 or his service poorly prized, or the wages of his work 
 unwillingly paid. 
 
 Another undoubted testimony of her true love to 
 God, was her desire to die, out of a fervent affection 
 to him, so that she feared a long life would keep her 
 too long from the fruition of him. Death, which 
 worldlings are most afraid of, she so much wished, 
 that her friends pleaded with her to be pleased with 
 life ; though she, not being satisfied with their argu- 
 
MRS. JANE RATCL1FFE. 283 
 
 rnents, contended against them by contrary reasons. 
 She had in readiness some special considerations to 
 be remembered at the time of her departure, which 
 she left under her own hand, and which are as follow, 
 under the two articles, " Why she desired to die," 
 and, " Why she did not fear death." 
 
 First, Why I desire to die. 
 
 tl 1 desire to die, because I want, while I live here, 
 the glorious presence of God, which I love and 
 long for, and the sweet fellowship of angels and 
 saints, who would be as glad of me, as I of them, 
 and would entertain me with unwearied delight. 
 " I desire to die, because, while I live, I shall 
 want the perfection of my nature, and be as an 
 estranged, banished person from my father's house. 
 " 1 desire to die, because I would not live to 
 offend so good a God, and grieve his Holy Spirit; 
 for his loving-kindness is better than life itself, 
 and he is abundant in mercy to me, and it many 
 times lies as an heavy load upon my heart to think 
 of displeasing him. 
 
 " I desire to die, because this world is generally 
 infected with the plague of sin, and some have this 
 plague sore running upon them, and I myself am 
 tainted with the same disease ; so that, while I live 
 here, I can be in no place, nor in any company, 
 but I am still in danger of being infected, or of in- 
 fecting others. And if this world hates me because 
 I endeavour to follow goodness, how will it rejoice 
 if my foot do but slip ! And how woful would my 
 life be to me, if I should give occasion for the 
 world to triumph or blaspheme on my account ! I 
 cannot choose but desire to die, when I consider 
 that sin, like a leprosy, hath so corrupted me, 
 that there is no soundness in me ; my mind, my 
 memory, my will, and my affections, yea, my con- 
 science, are still impure. In every faculty of my 
 soul there is a miserable mixture of vile infection, 
 
284 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " which makes me weary of my life. And all this 
 " is the worse because it is incurable, and a constant 
 " companion of my life, so that I can go no whither 
 " to avoid it. There is no business that I can 
 " despatch, that concerns my happiness, but there is 
 u a mutiny in my heart. Though the works of God 
 u be all fair, yet, there are in my nature many defects, 
 " insufficiencies, mistakes, and transgressions, so that 
 " I may say, ' Innumerable evils have compassed me 
 " about; mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, 
 " so that I am not able to look up/ I therefore de- 
 " sire heaven for holiness, rather than for happiness, 
 " that I might sin no more. I desire that condition 
 " in which I may most glorify God. 
 
 " I desire to die, because of the devil's malignant 
 <l and perpetual assaults. I can stand no where be- 
 " fore the Lord on earth, but one devil or another is 
 " at my right hand ; and I must of necessity enter 
 " into conflict with them and their temptations, 
 " and be buffeted and gored by them, which is a 
 " thousand-fold worse than death. It is more easy 
 " to wrestle with flesh and blood, than with princi- 
 " palities and powers, with spiritual wickedness, and 
 u the rulers of the darkness of this world ; for they 
 " are subtle and cruel, and, like roaring lions, they 
 " go about seeking whom they may devour. 
 
 " I desire to die, because by, death I shall rest 
 " from the hard labours of this life. 
 
 u I desire to die, because nothing in this world can 
 " give me solid and durable contentment. I am less 
 " in liking of life, and have the greater desire of 
 " death, when I consider the misery that may come 
 (t both on my body and estate. Fearful alterations 
 " may come, wars may come, and all the desolations 
 '* and terrors which accompany them, and I may be 
 " left in the hands of the sons of violence. Besides, 
 '* I daily suffer the loss of my friends, who were the 
 " companions of my life, and the channels of much 
 " pleasure to me ; and those whom 1 lose by my life, 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 285 
 
 " I shall find by my death, and enjoy in another 
 " world to all eternity. As for my leaving my 
 " children, it doth not much trouble me, for that 
 u God who hath given them life and breath and all 
 " they have, while I am living, can without me pro- 
 '* vide for them when I am dead. My God will be 
 u their God if they are His ; and if they are not, 
 " what comfort would it be for me to live ! My life 
 " would be exceeding bitter to me, if I should see 
 " them dishonour God, whom I so much love." 
 
 When she enjoyed the greatest measure of temporal 
 or spiritual comfort, she would never say, ' Master, 
 it is good for us to be here ;' but, making her enjoy- 
 ments as a step for an higher ascent, she rather 
 inferred, it is good to go hence. For, if on earth 
 there be so much good, how pleasant and desirable 
 is heaven ! The joys on earth, in comparison with 
 the joys above, are but as the earth is to heaven, 
 little and low, dark and heavy. 
 
 Such were the reasons why this excellent gentle- 
 woman desired to die. The reasons why she did not 
 fear death, were as follow : — 
 
 i( I fear not death, because it is but the separation 
 " of the body from the soul ; and that is but a 
 " shadow of the body of death ; (Romans, vii. 24.) 
 " whereas the separation of the soul from God by 
 " sin, (Isa. lix. 2.) and of soul and body for sin, is 
 " death indeed. 
 
 " I fear not death, because death is such an enemy 
 " as hath been often vanquished, and because I am 
 " armed for it, and the weapons of my warfare are 
 u mighty through God, and I am assured of victory. 
 
 " I do not fear death for the pain of it, for I am 
 u persuaded I have endured as great pains in life 
 u as I shall find in death, and death will be the cure 
 u of all my pains — and because Christ died a terrible 
 " and cursed death, any kind of death may be blessed 
 " to me — and because that God who hath greatly 
 " loved me in life, will not neglect me in death, but 
 
286 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u His Spirit will strengthen and comfort me all the 
 " time of the combat. 
 
 " I do not fear death for any loss, for I shall only 
 " lose my body by it, and that is but a prison to my 
 " soul, or an old rotten house, or tattered garment. 
 " Nay, I shall not lose that neither, for I shall have 
 " it restored at my Saviour's second coming, much 
 " better than now it is, for this vile body shall be like 
 '■' the body of Christ, and by death I shall obtain a 
 " far better life." 
 
 These were the reasons, (how strong and conclu- 
 sive, let the pious reader judge,) why this good gentle- 
 woman was not afraid of death. 
 
 As an incentive to divine love, she prepared a 
 breviat of God's principal benefits to herself, for me- 
 ditation upon her death-bed, and as the matter of 
 thanksgivings to him, which runs as follows : — 
 
 " How shall I praise God? 1. For my conversion. 
 " 2. For his word, both in my affections to it, and 
 " the wonderful comforts I have received by it. 
 " 3. For hearing my prayers. 4. For godly sorrow. 
 " 5. For fellowship with the godly. 6. For joy in the 
 " Holy Ghost. 7. For the desire of death. 8. For 
 'f contempt of the world. 9. For private helps and 
 " comforts. 10. For giving me some strength against 
 " my sin. 11. For preserving me from gross evils 
 " both before and after my calling, &c" 
 
 This excellent person discovered her holy love to 
 God by conforming her practice to his command- 
 ments, according to the directions of her Lord, 
 John, xiv. 15. " If ye love me, keep my command- 
 " merits." She thought nothing too much, to do or 
 to abstain from, if God enjoined it, or if God forbade 
 it. She judged nothing so small, but his word was 
 able to give it weight enough to bow her soul to the 
 obedience of it. If it was a greater matter which he 
 required of her, she considered that he w r as a God 
 both infinitely great and good, and that he was so 
 to her, who hud done, and would do for her ten thou- 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 287 
 
 sand times more and greater things than she could 
 do for him. If it was a little thing which God re- 
 quired of her, she apprehended that the contempt 
 or neglect of it would aggravate her guilt : as Naa- 
 man's servants said to their master *, " If the pro- 
 " phet had bidden thee do some great matter, wouldest 
 " thou not have done it? How much rather when he 
 " saith unto thee, Wash and be clean!" The less the 
 duty is, the greater the disobedience if we do it 
 not; for thereby we contemn the authority of the 
 Almighty ; and such as slight it in a little thing, 
 will not regard it in a greater. She was therefore 
 very careful and accurate in every article of duty 
 which God called her to perform. By these means 
 she made further advances in holiness and sanctifica- 
 tion, and preserved a greater distance from great 
 offences. For he who is afraid of a small sin, will 
 not easily grow bold to commit a great one. Her 
 love to God was strong as death, and, indeed, much 
 stronger, so that death could not dismay her, for she 
 desired daily to look death in the face ; nor could he 
 hurt her more than what she was contented to en- 
 dure ; for, though it was not likely that she should 
 pass through the narrow straits of death without 
 some tossings and difficulties, yet, she was well satis- 
 fied to venture into them, as they were the ready 
 passage to come to God, whom she so much longed 
 to enjoy. 
 
 Such was the excellent spirit that dwelt in bur, 
 that she was very tender of the absent, towards 
 whom she would not suffer either her tongue or her 
 ears to be guilty of any wrong, or robbery of their 
 reputations. She never disclosed their secret sins, 
 or aggravated those that were known. She never 
 denied, dissembled, or diminished the virtues or 
 good parts of any. Though her hatred of sin was 
 such as became a sincere Christian, yet, she knew 
 
 * 2 Kings, v. 13. 
 
288 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 how to distinguish between sin and the sinner; and 
 setting a severe dislike on the one, she made a reserve 
 of love and compassion for the other. 
 
 Her charity was regulated by the directions of 
 Scripture, which she set down in a paper, with quota- 
 tions of texts for her guidance in four particulars : 
 u . 1. I must give readily; Job, xxxi. 16. Prov. iii. 
 u 28. 1 Tim. vi. 18. 2. I must give secretly; 
 " Matt. vi. 3. 3. I must give liberally; 2 Cor. viii. 
 " 12. and ix. 6. And 4. I must give cheerfully; 
 " 2 Cor. viii. 12." She distributed her charity also 
 according to her own ability, and others' necessities. 
 She preferred giving a little to many, as the num- 
 ber of the indigent is very great, before giving a 
 great deal to a few ; and she so ordered her charity, 
 as to be still able to communicate ; and did not as 
 some, who give so much, that after a while they 
 can give no more. Upon extraordinary occasions, 
 if she was not magnificent in her donations, the ob- 
 stacle lay not in her mind, but in her circumstances. 
 Her charity was vigorous; and so cordial, that what 
 she gave, was always without grudging. She was 
 so cheerful in the distribution of her bounty, that she 
 bestowed nothing upon herself with more alacrity 
 than she did upon others, whether it were for the 
 support of the ministry, or for the relief of the poor. 
 And yet, in all this, she followed the rule of her 
 Lord, not to let her left hand know what her right 
 hand did ; for she was many times as close in giving 
 what was her own, as a thief would be in stealing 
 from others ; so that none did more good deeds 
 with less show or sound than she. As to the objects 
 of her charity, she did good to all, but " especially 
 to the household of faith." She indeed shut up her 
 munificence from none who had need of it, but she 
 chiefly enlarged it to the faithful in Christ Jesus. 
 
 Her affection and benevolence were very great 
 and entire to her friends ; but yet, not so confined 
 to them, but that she reserved a large measure for 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 289 
 
 them who dealt unfriendly with "her, or that were 
 enemies to her. If there was any unkind difference 
 between herself and any other, though she enjoyed 
 the freedom of her judgment to think as there was 
 reason, yet, she would not suffer her affections to be 
 estranged from them, but was ready to do them good 
 as opportunity offered. She returned love for 
 hatred, compassion for spite, and friendly offices for 
 offensive treatment. She hated nothing but sin, 
 and that she hated in all, and most of all in her 
 own soul. 
 
 As her charity was evidenced by doing, so, it also 
 appeared by suffering. If any troubles lay upon 
 others, or were hanging over them, she was of the 
 same mind with her Lord and Master, according to 
 that of the prophet Isaiah, lxiii. 9. " In all their 
 " afflictions he was afflicted." She tenderly sympa- 
 thized in the sufferings of her fellow-members. If 
 it went ill with the church, or any particular saints, 
 it was no better with her. Charity made her suffer 
 as much by inward affection, as they did of their 
 enemies by outward affliction. 
 
 Her patience also was very eminent. Though her 
 apprehensions were quick enough to conceive any 
 thing tending to the disturbance of peace and patience, 
 yet, she enjoyed such a serenity of spirit as could 
 hardly ever give way to a storm. If any were injurious 
 to her, her tongue could more readily pray, and her 
 eyes weep for them, than her looks or words express 
 indignation or disdain. If news came to her of any 
 losses in her estate, as sometimes there did of great 
 ones, yet, she was never put out of temper with these 
 ill tidings, having these considerations ready at hand 
 to compose her spirit. " It is that God who gave all, 
 " who now takes away some ; why should I take it ill ? 
 " He would not have me be in love with and trust in 
 u uncertain riches, which were never true to any who 
 " trusted them, but to trust upon Himself; and I 
 " willingly renounce them, to rest upon Him. He 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
290 MEMOIRS 01? 
 
 " can, if He see it good, recompense the loss in the 
 " like, or some better kind. If He takes more from 
 "me, there will yet be many poorer than myself; 
 " and if He takes away all my goods, He can give 
 (< me contentment without them. For He is all-suffi- 
 " cient, and so, though I have nothing, yet I may be 
 w as possessing all things. 2 Cor. vi. 10. The world 
 " and I must part ; and whether we be loosened from 
 " each other by degrees, or torn asunder all at once, 
 " all is one to me. What God chooses, is best for 
 " both of us, for His glory and my good, if I murmur 
 " not against Him, but willingly, as is my prayer, 
 u give way to His will." 
 
 Her patience, both in its truth and strength, was 
 exceedingly tried by her bodily sufferings. In the 
 births of some of her children, she had long, painful, 
 and very perilous labours. But the affliction that 
 was beyond ali, w T as a lingering and heavy sickness, 
 to which were applied very sharp and irksome medi- 
 cines, so that she endured not only the anguish of 
 her disease, but, with the woman in the gospel, 
 (Mark, v. 26.) suffered many things also of the physi- 
 cians. But her distemper was not only painful, but 
 accompanied also with an uncommon deformity. 
 Her lower jaw being fallen, c ];e could not bring it 
 up towards her upper one. Her mouth was distorted, 
 and drawn awry towards her ear, so that, not without 
 much difficulty both to herself and others, her food 
 was conveyed through so oblique a passage to her 
 throat : which might have been the more afflicting to 
 her, as the disorder was the wreck of great beauty and 
 comeliness, which till now were seated in her coun- 
 tenance, and of which she preserved the traces to her 
 dying day. However, under this sharp, complicated 
 trial, she shewed a truly admirable patience, and her 
 heart was brought meekly to submit to it, and she 
 declared, " That, if it pleased the Lord to continue 
 " her a spectacle of deformed misery, she would not 
 u repine at what he did, or what she suffered, but 
 
MRS. JANE KATCLIFFE. 291 
 
 * would willingly abide it, till he freed her body 
 M from her disease by her return to health, or dis- 
 " missed her soul from her body by death." 
 
 The modesty of this excellent gentlewoman was 
 very remarkable; and it may be said of this virtue in 
 her, that it was rather sometimes too much, than at 
 any time too little. It discovered itself, 1. In her 
 looks. Her countenance was habitually composed 
 to a becoming gravity, so that it carried in it a 
 severe rebuke upon every unseemly word or action. 
 If any were so immodest as to speak or do any thing 
 before her not becoming Christianity, her modesty 
 made some supply for their want, and she would 
 blush for them. 2. Her modesty manifested itself 
 in her speech. Whereas»some would have boasted 
 themselves, or made some vain-glorious ostentation 
 of such abilities as she possessed, she rather threw a 
 veil over her own endowments. When she was a 
 teacher, she behaved herself like a learner, rather 
 asking questions, than making resolutions, or giving 
 rules and directions to them. 3. She gave a testi- 
 mony of her modesty by her silence. Her motion, 
 her habit, and her whole behaviour was a lecture of 
 modesty, which, attended with her other virtues, 
 wrought a kind of awfulness in her person; so that 
 they who had not the grace to do well in private, 
 were more afraid and ashamed of an appearance of 
 evil in her presence than in the sight of many a 
 magistrate. 
 
 As for humility, that twin-sister of modesty, she 
 made great account of it. She studied it seriously, 
 and was so great a proficient in it, that there was no 
 occasion for any art to make profession or osten- 
 tation of it. Solomon makes contention to be the 
 author of pride. Prov. xiii. 10. Peaceableness, then, 
 is the daughter of humility ; and if so, the humility 
 of this worthy person eminently showed itself, in 
 that she could endure contradictions, reproaches, 
 
 o 2 
 
292 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 &c. without a quarrel, or breach of peace with any, 
 being still ready to deny herself, and to yield to 
 others as far as she could with a safe conscience. 
 
 She was a most respectful and obedient wife. 
 This she evinced in her behaviour ; and she had such 
 a sense of her duty to her husband, that among her 
 papers were found some special directions which she 
 had drawn up for her affection and conduct towards 
 him, which were as follow, under the title, 
 
 " Duties which concern me in particular. 
 
 u I must submit myself to my husband as to the 
 " Lord. Eph. v. 22. 
 
 " I must account him my head. Eph. v. 23. 
 
 11 I must be in subjection to him in all things, as 
 " the Church unto Christ. Eph. v. 24. 
 
 '* I must walk pleasingly towards him. 1 Cor. 
 " vii. 34." 
 
 Her humility was most amiably evidenced in her 
 not undervaluing or envying the gifts of God in 
 others. In lowliness of mind, she esteemed others 
 better than herself. She disavowed her own praise, 
 though those that gave it her, thought it much less 
 than her due ; and she advanced others far beyond 
 herself, though they were far below her. The source of 
 all this was, her exact inquiries into her own life, and 
 the severe censures she passed upon her own imper- 
 fections and failings ; while, as to others, she ob- 
 served them most for what was best in them, and in 
 order to improve herself in holiness by imitating 
 what was excellent in them, and to increase her 
 humility for that in which she fell short of them. 
 She often presented and arraigned herself before 
 God's tribunal, to bring herself down in abasement 
 as guilty before Him, imploring pardon on her knees 
 at His hands ; and she sank the lower before Him 
 by comparing her own faultiness, infirmity, and 
 wretchedness, with His infinite purity, power, and 
 
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 293 
 
 majesty. These exercises of soul made her think 
 of Him with admiration and love, and of herself with 
 detestation and loathing. 
 
 She always held it for a maxim with her, " that, if 
 " it be good to be esteemed virtuous, (and most 
 u desire to be so esteemed,) it is much better to be 
 " so indeed ; for that the substance of a good thing 
 ** is always to be preferred before the semblance of 
 " it." Hence she was so sincere in her whole course 
 of life, that she hated the least appearance of hy- 
 pocrisy. It was observable in her, that she made 
 her deeds of charity and benevolence always better 
 than her words, of which she was so sparing, that some 
 blamed her for want of affability ; which being ob- 
 jected to her, she said : " That she liked not the 
 u lavish language of some who had their mouths full 
 " of complimental courtesy to every one, though 
 " their hearts are shut and contracted." She used 
 to let her friends see and feel her love by her works, 
 rather than to hear it by her words. 
 
 Her constancy also in religion was very remark- 
 able. Her faith was grounded and settled, so that 
 she was not carried away with every wind of doc- 
 trine. What she was for faith and godliness at her 
 first conversion, the same she was afterwards, at all 
 places, at all times, and in all companies. But, for 
 the measure of grace and holiness, she was like a 
 growing plant in a garden. By spiritual nourishment 
 and daily exercise of her graces, she advanced apace 
 towards the stature of Christ. Her path was indeed 
 the path of the just, shining more and more unto a 
 perfect day. She was best at last, like wines on the 
 lees well refined ; and was most heavenly-minded 
 when she had the least time to continue in our 
 world. 
 
 To sum up her character. She was an obedient 
 wife, a careful and tender mother, a gentle and bene- 
 ficent mistress, a good and charitable neighbour, 
 and a true and constant friend. 
 
294 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Towards her latter end, she fell into some bodily 
 distempers, in which she had fits, which, by a gradual 
 failure of her spirits, left her at last unable to speak 
 or move, yet, without any great alteration in her 
 countenance. The fits were short, but not sharp, 
 for she felt no pain ; but when she returned to her- 
 self she was commonly more feeble than before. 
 During her sickness, she had the free use of her 
 faculties, and her desires were strong for a speedy 
 dissolution ; so that she adopted the requests of 
 David, Psalm xxxviii. 22. " Make haste to help 
 u me, O Lord of my salvation \" and Psalm xl. 13. 
 " Be pleased, O Lord, to deliver me ; O Lord, make 
 " haste to help me !" At length, the hour came, 
 when her desires were to be granted in the very kind 
 she wished by the gate of death to pass to the Author 
 of life ; which she did in such a calm manner, that, 
 when she was thought to be asleep, she was found 
 to be dead, August 17, 1638. 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 295 
 
 LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 
 
 Lady Rachael Wriothesley was born about the year 
 1636, and was the daughter of Thomas Wriothesley, 
 Earl of Southampton, by his first wife, Rachael, 
 daughter of Henry de Massey, Baron of Ruvigny, 
 and sister to the Marquis of Ruvigny, father of 
 Henry, Earl of Galway. She was married first to 
 Francis, Lord Vaughan, eldest son of Richard, Earl 
 of Carberry, and afterwards, about the year 1669, 
 to William, Lord Russell, son of William, Earl of 
 Bedford, by whom she had one son and two 
 daughters. Lady Rachael, the eldest, was married 
 to William, Lord Cavendish, afterwards Duke of 
 Devonshire ; and the Lady Catherine, the youngest, 
 to John Manners, Lord Roos, afte wards Duke of 
 Rutland. Wriothesley, the son, married, in May 
 1695, Elizabeth, only daughter and heir of John 
 Howland, Esquire, and was, immediately after his 
 marriage, created Baron Howland of Streatham. 
 He succeeded his grandfather in 1700, as Duke of 
 Bedford, and died of the small-pox, May 26, 1711, 
 in the thirty-first year of his age. By his lady he had 
 three sons and two daughters^ 
 
 It is an event which can never be forgotten, that 
 the husband of this lady, William, Lord Russell, was 
 beheaded July 21, 1683. How worthy a man he 
 was, how true a friend to the liberties of his country, 
 how undeserving of his bitter treatment, and with 
 what an invincible fortitude he met his cruel doom, 
 the Introduction to the Letters of Lady Rachael 
 Russell, his widow, particularly shows ; and to 
 that we refer our readers*. As our concern is only 
 
 * Letters of Lady Rachael Russell, from the Manuscript in the 
 Library at Woobum-Abbey ; to which is prefixed an Introduction, 
 
296 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with his relict, we shall turn our thoughts entirely 
 to her. 
 
 We are not furnished with any considerable ma- 
 terials for our memoirs of her before the dismal 
 period of her illustrious husband's sufferings. At 
 this juncture, she conducted herself with a mixture 
 of the most tender affection and the most surprising 
 magnanimity. She appeared in court at the trial of 
 her husband ; and when the Attorney-General told 
 him, " he might use the hands of one of his servants 
 " in waiting to take notes of the evidence for his 
 " use ;" Lord Russell answered, " that he asked none, 
 " but that of the lady that sat by him/' The spec- 
 tators at these words turning their eyes, and behold- 
 ing the daughter of the virtuous Southampton rising 
 up to assist her lord in this his utmost distress, a 
 thrill of anguish ran through the assembly. After 
 his condemnation, she threw herself at the King's 
 feet, and pleaded, but, alas ! in vain, with his ma- 
 jesty, the merits and loyalty of her father # , in order 
 to save her husband. And without a sigh or a tear, 
 she took her last farewell of him ; when it might have 
 been expected, as they were so perfectly happy in 
 
 vindicating the Character of Lord Russell against Sir John Dal- 
 rymple, &c. Third Edit, printed 1T74. 
 
 * " The Earl of Southampton," says Clarendon, " was a great 
 " man in all respects, and brought very much reputation to King 
 " Charles the First his cause. He went to the King to York, was 
 " most solicitous for the offer of peace at Nottingham, was with 
 u him at Edge-Hill, and came and stayed with him at Oxford to 
 " the end of the war." Burnet calls him, " a man of great virtue 
 " and good parts, of a lively imagination and sound judgment, 
 " who had merited much by his constant adherence to the King's 
 " interest during the war, and the large remittances he made him 
 "in his exile; and styles him a fast friend to the public — the 
 " wise and virtuous Earl of Southampton — who deserved every 
 "thing the King could give him." — "The King," says Old- 
 mixon, " saw the virtuous and lovely Lady Russell weeping at 
 " his feet, imploring but a short reprieve for her condemned lord, 
 " with dry eyes and a stony heart, though she was the daughter of 
 " the Earl of Southampton, the best friend he ever had in his 
 " life." — See the Introduction to Lady Russell's Letters, 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 297 
 
 each other, and no wife could possibly surpass her 
 in affection to an husband, that the torrent of her 
 distress would have overflowed its banks, and been 
 too mighty for all the powers of reason and religion 
 to have restrained it. Indeed, the affection of Lord 
 Russell and his lady to each other, and their behaviour 
 in the season of their extremity of distress, were 
 very remarkable, and well deserve a particular men- 
 tion. On the Tuesday before Lord Russell's exe- 
 cution # , after dinner, when his lady was gone, he 
 expressed great joy in the magnanimity of spirit he 
 saw in her, and declared, " the parting with her was 
 " the greatest thing he had to do ; for," he said, 
 " she would be hardly able to bear it ; the concern 
 u about preserving him filled her mind so now, that 
 " it in some measure supported her, but, when that 
 " would be over, he feared the quickness of her 
 " spirits would work all within her." On Thursday, 
 while his lady was gone to try to gain a respite till 
 Monday, he said, " He wished she would give over 
 " beating every bush, and running so about for his 
 " preservation ; but when he considered, that it 
 " would be some mitigation of her sorrow that she 
 " left nothing undone that could have given any 
 " probable hope, he acquiesced." Indeed, his heart 
 was never seen so near failing him as when he spake 
 of her. Sometimes a tear would be seen in his eve. 
 and he would turn about, and presently change the 
 discourse. The evening before his death, he suffered 
 his children, who were very young, and some of his 
 friends, to take leave of him \ in which interview he 
 preserved his constancy of temper, though lie was a 
 very fond parent. He parted with his lady at the 
 same time with a composed silence ; and she had 
 such a command of herself, that when she was gone, 
 he said, " the bitterness of death was past," for lie 
 loved and esteemed her beyond expression. He ran 
 
 * See the Introduction to Lady Russell's Letters. 
 o 5 
 
298 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 out into a long discourse concerning her, declaring, 
 " how great a blessing she had been to him, and 
 u what a misery it would have been to him if she 
 u had not had that magnanimity of spirit joined to 
 " her tenderness, as never to have desired him to do 
 a a base thing for the saving his life." He added, 
 u there was a signal providence of God in giving 
 a him such a wife, where there were birth, fortune, 
 " great understanding, great religion, and great 
 " kindness to himself; but her carriage," said he, 
 " in my extremity, was beyond all. He was glad 
 " that she and his children were to lose nothing by 
 u his death ; and it was a great comfort to him that 
 " he left his children in such a mother's hands, and 
 " that she had promised him to take care of herself 
 " for their sakes." As to Lady Russell, she bore the 
 shock of his death with the same magnanimity she 
 had shown at her lord's trial. When, in open court, 
 attending at her lord's side, she was taking notes, and 
 making observations of all that passed on his behalf, 
 and when prostrate at the King's feet, and pleading 
 with his majesty in remembrance of her deceased 
 father's services, in order to save her husband, she 
 was a spectacle of the most lively compassion ; but 
 now, when without sigh or tear, she took her last 
 farewell of him, she was an object of the highest 
 admiration # . 
 
 After this most distressing event, the death of her 
 lord upon the scaffold, this excellent lady, though 
 encompassed round with the darkest clouds of afflic- 
 tion, seemed to be absorbed in a religious concern 
 to behave herself aright towards her God under his 
 mighty hand, and to fulfil the duties now devolved 
 upon herself alone, in the care, education, disposal, 
 and happiness of her children ; those living remains 
 
 * " There was something," she says in a letter to Bishop 
 Burnet, in 1690, u so glorious in the object of my greatest 
 u sorrow, I believe that in some degree kept me from being 
 ' lt overwhelmed." 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 299 
 
 of her lord, and which had been so dear to him, 
 and were for his sake, as well as her own, so dear to 
 herself. 
 
 In proof of this pious and maternal spirit which 
 animated her ladyship during the residue of her days, 
 the following selections from her published Letters 
 are laid before our readers : 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF LADY RACHAEL 
 
 RUSSELL. 
 
 Lady Russell to Dodo?* Fitzwilliam*. 
 
 I need not tell you, good doctor, how little 
 capable I am of such exercise as thisf. You will 
 soon find how unfit I am still for it, since my yet 
 disordered thoughts can offer me no other than such 
 words as express the deepest sorrows, and confused 
 as my yet amazed mind is. But such men as you, 
 and particularly one so much my friend, will, I know, 
 bear with my weakness, and compassionate my dis- 
 tress, as you have already done by your good letter, 
 and excellent prayer. I endeavour to make the best 
 use I can of both ; but I am so evil and unworthy a 
 creature, that, though I have desires, yet I have no 
 dispositions or worthiness towards receiving comfort. 
 You, that knew us both, and how we lived, must 
 allow I have just cause to bewail my loss. I know it 
 is common with others to lose a friend ; but, to have 
 lived with such an one, it may be questioned how few 
 can glory in the like happiness, so consequently 
 
 * A divine for whom Lady Russell had a great esteem and 
 friendship. He had been chaplain to her father, as he was after- 
 wards to the Duke of York, was Rector of Cottenham, in Cam- 
 bridgeshire, and Canon of Windsor, which preferments he lost 
 after the Revolution, upon refusal of the oaths. He died in or 
 about the year 1696, having appointed all the Letters which Lady 
 Russell wrote to him to be returned to her Ladyship, that they 
 .might be printed : but many of them, says the Editor of her 
 .Letters, do not appear. — See her Letters, p. 307. 
 
 f Lord Russell, her husband, was beheaded July 21, 1683. 
 
300 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lament the like loss. Who can but shrink at such a 
 blow; till, by the mighty aid of his Holy Spirit, we 
 let the gift of God, which he hath put into our hearts, 
 interpose ? That reason which sets a measure to 
 our souls in prosperity, will then suggest many things 
 which we have seen and heard, to moderate us in 
 such sad circumstances as mine. But, alas ! my 
 understanding is clouded, my faith weak, sense 
 strong, and the devil busy to fill my thoughts with 
 false notions, difficulties, and doubts : but this I hope 
 to make matter of humiliation, not sin. Lord, let me 
 understand the reason of these dark and wounding 
 providences, that I sink not under the discourage- 
 ment of my own thoughts ! I know I have deserved 
 my punishment, and will be silent under it ; but yet, 
 secretly my heart mourns, too sadly I fear, and can- 
 not be comforted, because I have not the dear com- 
 panion and sharer of all my joys and sorrows. I want 
 him to talk with, to walk with, to eat and sleep with. 
 All these things are irksome to me now ; the day un- 
 welcome, and the night so too. All company and 
 meals I would avoid, if it might be ; yet, all this is 
 that I enjoy not the world in my own way, and this 
 sure hinders my comfort. When I see my children 
 before me, I remember the pleasure he took in them. 
 This makes my heart shrink. Can I regret his quit- 
 ting a lesser good for a bigger? O ! if 1 did sted- 
 fastly believe, I could not be dejected ; for I will not 
 injure myself to say I offer my mind any inferior con- 
 solation to supply this loss. No, I most willingly 
 forsake this world, this vexatious, troublesome world, 
 in which I have no other business but to rid my soul 
 from sin, secure my eternal interests, with patience 
 and courage bear my eminent misfortunes, and ever 
 hereafter be above the smiles and frowns of it ; and, 
 when I have done the remnant of the work appointed 
 me on earth, then joyfully wait for the heavenly per- 
 fection in God's good time, when by his infinite 
 mercy I may be accounted worthy to enter into the 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 301 
 
 same place of rest and repose where he is gone, for 
 whom only I grieve. From that contemplation must 
 come my best support. Good doctor, you will think, 
 as you have reason, that I set no bounds, when I let 
 myself loose to my complaints ; but I will release 
 you, first fervently asking the continuance of your 
 prayers for your infinitely afflicted, but very faithful 
 servant, R. Russell. 
 
 Wooburn-Abbey, September 30, 1683. 
 
 Lady Russell to Doctor Fitzwilliam. 
 
 It is above a fortnight, I believe, good 
 doctor, since I received your comforting letter, and 
 it is displeasing to me that I am but now sitting down 
 to tell you so ; but it is allotted to persons under my 
 dismal title, and yet more dismal circumstances, to 
 have additional cares, from which I am sure I am not 
 exempt, but am very unfit to discharge well or wisely, 
 especially under the oppressions I feel : however, it 
 is my lot, and a part of duty remaining to my choicest 
 friend, and those pledges he has left me. That re- 
 membrance makes me do my be^t, and so occasions 
 the putting by such employments as suit better my pre- 
 sent temper of mind, as this I am now about ; since, 
 if, in the multitude of these sorrows that possess my 
 soul, I find any refreshments, (though, alas ! such as 
 are but momentary,) it is but casting off some of my 
 crowded thoughts to compassionate friends, such as 
 deny not to weep w 7 ith those that weep, or in reading- 
 such discourses and advices as your letter supplies 
 me with ; which I hope you will believe I have read 
 more than once, and if I. have more days to pass 
 upon this earth, I mean to do so often, since I profess, 
 of all those that have been offered me, in which 
 charity has been most abounding to me*, none have 
 
 • That eminently great and good man, the Reverend John 
 Howe, wrote a most excellent letter to her Ladyship in this season 
 
302 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in all particulars more suited my humour. You deal 
 with me, sir, just as I would be dealt withal ; and it 
 
 of her distress, which well deserves in the whole of it a place in our 
 work, but it is too long for insertion. However, some passages we 
 shall take leave to select, which are as follow : — " The cause of 
 " your sorrow, madam, is exceeding great. The causes of your 
 "joy are inexpressibly greater. You have infinitely more left 
 " than you have lost. Doth it need to be disputed whether God 
 lt be better and greater than man? or more to be valued, loved, 
 " and delighted in ? and whether an eternal relation be more con- 
 u siderable than a temporary one ? Was it not your constant sense 
 u in your best outward state, ' Whom have I in heaven but thee, 
 " O God ! and whom can I desire on earth in comparison of thee ?' 
 "Psalm lxxiii. 25. Herein the state of your Ladyship's case is 
 " still the same, if you cannot rather with greater clearness, and 
 u with less hesitation, pronounce these latter words. The prin- 
 " cipal causes of your joy are immutable, such as no supervening 
 " thing can alter. You have lost a most pleasant, delectable, 
 " earthly relative. Doth the blessed God hereby cease to be the 
 " best and most excellent good ? Is his nature changed ? his ever- 
 " lasting covenant reversed, and annulled, ' which is ordered in 
 " all things, and sure, and is to be all your salvation, and all your 
 " desire, whether he make your house on earth to grow, or not to 
 u grow ?' 2 Sam. xxiii. 5. That sorrow which exceeds the pro- 
 " portion of its cause, compared with the remaining and real 
 u causes of rejoicing, is in that excess causeless, i. e. that excess 
 " of it wants a cause, such as can justify or afford defence unto it. 
 " Again, we ought to consider in every case principally that 
 " which is principal. God did not create this or that excellent 
 •' person, and place him for a while in the world principally to 
 *' please us; nor doth he therefore take him away principally to 
 " displease or punish us, but for much nobler and greater ends, 
 " which he hath proposed to himself concerning him. Nor are 
 " we to reckon ourselves so little interested in the great and sove- 
 " reign Lord of all, whom we have taken to be our God, and to 
 " whom we have absolutely resigned and devoted ourselves, as 
 " not to be obliged to consider and satisfy ourselves in his pleasure, 
 " purposes, and ends, more than our own apart from his. Such 
 " as he hath pardoned, accepted, and prepared for himself, are to 
 " serve and glorify him in an higher and more exalted capacity 
 " than they ever could in this wretched world of oars, and where- 
 " in they have themselves the highest satisfaction. When the 
 " blessed God is pleased in having attained and accomplished the 
 " end and intendments of his own boundless love, too great to be 
 " satisfied with the conferring only temporary favours in this in*- 
 u perfect state, and they are pleased in partaking the full effects o' 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 303 
 
 as possible I feel the more smart from my raging 
 griefs, because I would not take them off but upon fit 
 
 " that love, who are we that we should be displeased ? or that we 
 u should oppose our satisfaction to that of the glorious God, and 
 " the glorified creature ? 
 
 " Therefore, madam, whereas you cannot avoid to think much 
 
 " on this subject, and to have the removal of that incomparable 
 
 " person for a great theme of your thoughts, I only propose most 
 
 " humbly to your honour, that you would not confine them to the 
 
 " sadder and darker part of that theme. It hath also a bright side, 
 
 " and it equally belongs to it to consider whither he is gone, and 
 
 " to whom, as whence and from whom. Let, I beseech you, your 
 
 u mind be more exercised in contemplating the glories of that 
 
 " state into which your blessed consort is translated, which will 
 
 " mingle pleasure and sweetness with the bitterness of your afflict- 
 
 " ing loss, by giving you a daily intellectual participation, through 
 
 il the exercise of faith and hope, in his enjoyments. He cannot 
 
 " descend to share with you in vour sorrows ; but you may thus 
 
 " every day ascend, and partake with him in his joys. He is a 
 
 " pleasant subject to consider: a prepared spirit made meet for 
 
 " an inheritance with them that are sanctified, and with the saints 
 
 " in light, now entered into a state so connatural, and wherein it 
 
 " finds every thing most agreeable to itself. How highly grateful 
 
 " is it to be united with the true centre, and come home to the 
 
 " Father of Spirits ! to consider how pleasant a welcome, how 
 
 " joyful an entertainment, your consort hath met with above ! 
 
 M how delighted an associate he is with the general assembly, the 
 
 u innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men 
 
 " made perfect ! how joyful an homage he continually pays to the 
 
 " throne of the celestial King ! 
 
 " Will your ladyship think that an hard saying of our departing 
 " Lord to his mournful disciples, ' If ye loved me, you would re- 
 "joice that I said, I go to the Father, for my Father is greater 
 " than I ?' John, xiv. 28. As if he had said, * He sits enthroned 
 " in higher glory than you can frame any conception of by behold- 
 " ing me in so mean a condition on earth.' We are as remote, 
 " and as much short in our thoughts, as to conceiving the glory of 
 " the Supreme King, as a peasant, who never saw any thing better 
 " than his own cottage, from conceiving the splendour of the most 
 " glorious prince's court. But, if that faith which is the substance 
 w of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen, be 
 " much accustomed to its proper work and business, the daily, 
 " delightful visiting and viewing the glorious, invisible regions ; ii 
 " it be often conversant in those vast and spacious tracts of pure 
 " and brightest light, and among the holy inhabitants that reple- 
 u nish them; if it frequently employ itself in contemplating their 
 
304 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 considerations, as it is easiest to our natures to have 
 our sore in deep wounds gently handled, yet, as most 
 
 " comely order, perfect harmony, sublime wisdom, unspotted 
 " purity, most fervent mutual love, delicious conversation with 
 " each other, and perpetual, pleasant consent in their adoration 
 " and observance of their eternal King, who is there to whom it 
 *' would not be a solace to think, I have such and such friends 
 " and relatives, some perhaps as dear as my own life, perfectly 
 " well pleased, and happy among them ? How can your love, 
 " madam, so generous a love towards so deserving an object, how 
 " can it but more fervently sparkle in joy for his sake, than dis- 
 " solve in tears for your own ? 
 
 " Nor should such thoughts excite over-hasty, impatient desires 
 " of following presently to heaven, but to the endeavours of serv- 
 '• ing God more cheerfully on earth for our appointed time ; which 
 "I earnestly desire your ladyship to apply yourself to, as you 
 " would not displease God, who is your only hope, nor be cruel 
 " to yourself, nor dishonour the religion of Christians, as if they 
 u had no other consolations than this earth can give, and earthly 
 " power can take from them. Your ladyship, if any one, would 
 " be loath to do any thing unworthy your family and parentage. 
 (t Your highest alliance is to that Father and family above, whose 
 u dignity and honour are, I doubt not, of highest account with 
 " you. 
 
 " I multiply words, being loath to lose my design. I shall only 
 t( add that consideration, which cannot but be valuable with you, 
 " upon his first proposal, who had all the advantages imaginable 
 " to give it its full weight, I mean that of those dear pledges left 
 ft behind. My own heart even bleeds to think of the case of those 
 " sweet babes, should they be bereaved of their other parent too ; 
 '* and even your continued visible dejection would be their un- 
 " speakable disadvantage. You always naturally create in them 
 " a reverence of you ; and I cannot but apprehend how the con- 
 " stant mien, aspect, and deportment of such a parent, will in- 
 " sensibly influence the temper of dutiful children, and, if they be 
 il sad and despondent, depress their spirits, and blunt and take off 
 (t the edge and quickness, upon which their future comfort and 
 " usefulness will much depend. Were it possible their nowglori- 
 '* ous father should visit and inspect you, would you not be 
 " troubled to behold a frown in that bright and serene face ? You 
 " are to please a more penetrating eye, which you will best do by 
 M putting on a temper and deportment suitable to your weighty 
 " charge and duty, and to the great purposes for which God con- 
 " tinues you in the world, by giving over unnecessary solitude 
 " and retirement, which, though they please you, do really pre- 
 judice you, and are more than you can bear. Nor can any rules 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 305 
 
 profitable, I would yield, nay desire to have mine 
 searched, that, as you religiously design by it, they 
 may not fester. It is possible 1 grasp at too much of 
 this kind for a spirit so broken by affliction, for I 
 am so jealous that time, or necessity, the ordinary 
 abater of all violent passions, nay even employment, 
 or company of such friends as I have left, should do 
 that my reason or religion ought to do, as makes me 
 covet the best advices, and use all methods to obtain 
 such a relief, as I can ever hope for ; a silent sub- 
 mission to this severe and terrible providence, with- 
 out any ineffective unwillingness to bear what I must 
 suffer, and such a victory over myself that, when once 
 allayed, immoderate passions may not be apt to 
 break out again upon fresh occasions and accidents 
 
 " of decency require more. Nothing that is necessary and truly 
 " Christian ought to be reckoned unbecoming. David's example, 
 " 2 Sam. xii. 20. is of too great authority to be counted a pattern 
 " of indecency. The God of heaven lift up the light of his coun- 
 " tenance upon you, and thereby put gladness into your heart, 
 " and give you to apprehend him saying to you, 'Arise, and walk 
 " in the light of the Lord !' 
 
 " That I have used so much freedom in this paper, I make no 
 " apology for ; but do, therefore, hide myself in the dark, not 
 "judging it consistent with that plainness which I thought the 
 " case might require, to give any other account of myself, than 
 " that I am one deeply sensible of your and your noble relatives' 
 " deep affliction, and who scarce ever bow the knee before the 
 " mercy-seat without remembering it, and who shall ever be, 
 " Madam, your Ladyship's 
 
 ** Most sincere honourer, and 
 
 " Most humble devoted servant." 
 
 Though Mr. Howe, says Dr. Calamy, the writer of his Life, did 
 not put his name to this his consolatory epistle, yet the style, and 
 several particularities in it, soon discovered who was the author. 
 Her ladyship sent him a letter of thanks, and told him that he must 
 not expect to remain concealed. She promised to endeavour to 
 follow the advice he had given her, and often wrote to him after- 
 wards ; some of which Letters, says Dr. Calamy, I have seen and 
 read, and they show that his freedom was taken kindly, and that 
 his pains were well bestowed. — See Dr. Calamy 's Life of Mr. 
 Howe, prefixed to his Works, p. 33. 
 
306 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 offering to my memory that dear object of my desires, 
 which must happen every day, I may say every hour 
 of the longest life I can live ; that so, when I must 
 return into the world, so far as to act that part that 
 is incumbent upon me in faithfulness to him I owe as 
 much as can be due to man, it may be with a great 
 strength of spirits, and grace to live a stricter life of 
 holiness to my God, who will not always let me cry 
 to him in vain. On him I will wait till he have pity 
 upon me, humbly imploring that by the mighty aids 
 of his Holy Spirit he will touch my heart with greater 
 love to himself. Then shall I be what he would have 
 me. But I am unworthy of such a spiritual blessing, 
 who remain so unthankful a creature for those earthly 
 ones I have enjoyed, because I have them no longer. 
 Yet God, who knows our frames, will not expect 
 that when we are weak we should be strong. This 
 is much comfort under my deep dejections, which 
 are surely increased by the subtle malice of the great 
 enemy of souls taking all advantage upon my present 
 weakened and wasted spirits, assaulting with diverse 
 temptations, as, when I have in any measure over- 
 come one kind, I find another in the room ; as when 
 I am less afflicted, as I before complained, then I 
 find reflections troubling me, as omissions of some 
 sort or othei% that if either greater persuasions had 
 been used — he had gone away — or some errors at 
 the trial amended — or other applications made, he 
 might have been acquitted, and so yet have been in 
 the land of the living, though I discharged not these 
 things as faults upon myself, yet, as aggravations to 
 my sorrows, so that my heart shrinks to think his 
 time possibly was shortened by unwise management. 
 I believe I do ill to torment myself with such un- 
 profitable thoughts. 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 307 
 
 Lady Russell to Doctor Tillotsou. 
 
 Your letters never trouble me, Mr. Dean*. 
 On the contrary, they are comfortable refreshments 
 to my, for the most part, overburthened mind, which, 
 both by nature and accident, is made so weak, that 
 I cannot bear with that constancy I should the losses 
 I have lately felt. I can say, friends and ac- 
 quaintance thou hast hid out of my sight, but I hope 
 it shall not disturb my peace. These were young, 
 and as they had begun their race of life after me, so 
 I desired they might have ended it also. But happy 
 are those whom God retires in his grace. I trust 
 these were so, and then no age can be amiss. To 
 the young it is not too early, nor to the aged too late. 
 Submission and prayer are all, we know, that we can 
 do towards our own relief in our distresses, or to 
 disarm God's anger, either in our public or private 
 concerns. The scene will soon alter to that peaceful 
 and eternal home in prospect. But in this time of 
 our pilgrimage, vicissitudes of all sorts are .every 
 one's lot. — 
 
 About the middle of October, 1690. 
 
 Lady Russell to Lady Sunderlandf. 
 
 Your kind letter, madam, asks me to do 
 much better for me and mine than to scribble so 
 insignificantly as I do on a piece of paper ; but, for 
 twenty several reasons, yours must have the advan- 
 tage you offer me with obliging earnestness a thou- 
 sand-times greater than I deserve, or than there can 
 be cause for, but that you have taken a resolution to 
 be all goodness and favour to me : and, indeed, what 
 greater proof can you almost give than remembering 
 me so often, and letting me receive the exceeding 
 
 * Then Dean of St. Paul's, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.. 
 f Daughter of George Digby, Earl of Briatol. 
 
308 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 advantage of your doing so by reading your letters, 
 which are all so edifying 1 when I know you are con- 
 tinually engaged in so great and necessary employ- 
 ments as you are ; and have but too imperfect health, 
 which would unfit any other in the world but Lady 
 Sunderland for at least so great despatches as you 
 are charged with. These are most visible tokens of 
 Providence, that every one that aims to do their 
 duty shall be enabled to do it. 
 
 I hope your natural strength is so great, that it will 
 in some time, if you do your part, master what has 
 been accidentally in the disorder of it. Health, if 
 one strictly considers, is the first of earthly blessings; 
 for even the conversation of friends, which, as to 
 spiritual profits, as you excellently observe, as it is 
 the nearest approach we can make to heaven while 
 we live in these tabernacles of clay, so, it is in a tem- 
 poral sense also the most pleasant and the most 
 profitable improvement we can make of the time we 
 are to spend on earth ; but, as I was saying, if our 
 bodies are out of tune, how little do we enjoy what 
 in itself is so precious! And how often must we 
 choose, if we can attain it, a short slumber that may 
 take off the sense of pain, rather than to accept what 
 we know in worth excels almost to iniiniteness ? No 
 soul can speak more feelingly than my poor self on 
 this subject, who can truly say, my friendships have 
 made all the joys and troubles of my life : And yet, 
 who would live and not love ? Those who have tried 
 the insipidness of such a life, would, I believe, never 
 choose it. Mr. Waller says, it is, with singing, all 
 we know they do above. And it is enough, for if 
 there is so charming: a delight in the love, and suit- 
 ableness in humours to creatures, what must it be to 
 our clarified spirits to love in the presence of God ! 
 Can there be a greater contemplation to provoke 
 to diligence in our preparation for that great change, 
 when we shall be perfected, and so continue for 
 ever ? 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 309 
 
 Her ladyship proved herself a faithful guardian 
 of her lord's reputation, by shewing his memory 
 every honour that lay in her power. A few days 
 after her lord's death, she, in vindication of his cha- 
 racter, and indeed of Doctor Burnet's, who was sup- 
 posed to be the author or adviser of Lord Russell's 
 speech upon the scaffold*, wrote the following letter 
 to the k'ing. 
 
 N. B. This letter is thus indorsed by her : 
 
 My Letter to the King a few days after my dear- 
 Lord's death. 
 
 " MAY IT PLEASE YOUR MAJESTY, 
 
 " I find my husband's enemies are not ap- 
 " peased with his blood, but still continue to misre- 
 i' present him to your majesty f. It is a great addi- 
 " tion to my sorrows, to hear your majesty is pre- 
 " vailed upon to believe that the paper he delivered 
 " to the sheriff, at his death, was not his own. I 
 " can truly say, and am ready in the solemnest man- 
 " ner to attest, that [during his imprisonment] J I 
 " often heard him discourse the chiefest matters 
 " contained in that paper in the same expressions he 
 f> therein uses, as some of those few relations that 
 " were admitted to him can likewise aver. And 
 " sure it is an argument of no great force, that there 
 " is a phrase or two in it another uses, when nothing 
 " is more common than to take up such words we 
 " like, or are accustomed to in our conversation. I 
 " beg leave further to avow to your majesty, that all 
 " that is set down in the paper read to your majesty 
 ft on Sunday night, to be spoken in my presence, is 
 " exactly true ||, as I doubt not but the rest of the 
 
 * Burnet's History of his Own Time, vol. ii. p. 209. edit. 1815. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 X The words included in the brackets are crossed out. 
 
 | The paper contained an account of all that passed between 
 Doctor Burnet and his Lordship during his attendance upon him. 
 This account, Doctor Burnet calls a journal, which he read before 
 
310 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " paper is, which was written at my request ; and 
 " the author of it, in all his conversations with 
 le my husband that I was privy to, shewed himself a 
 " loyal subject to your majesty, a faithful friend to 
 " him, and a most tender and conscientious minister 
 " to his soul. I do therefore humbly beg your raa- 
 u jesty charitably to believe that he, who in all his 
 " life was observed to act with the greatest clearness 
 " and sincerity, would not at the point of death do 
 " so disingenuous and false a thing as to deliver for 
 u his own what was not properly and expressly so : 
 " and if after the loss, in such a manner, of the best 
 " husband in the world, I w T ere capable of any 
 u consolation, your majesty only could afford it by 
 " having better thoughts of him, which, when I was 
 (t so importunate to speak with your majesty, I 
 " thought I had some reason to believe I should have 
 " inclined you to, not from the credit of my word, 
 ic but upon the evidence of what I had to say. I 
 " hope I have written nothing in this that will dis- 
 " please your majesty. If I have, I humbly beg of 
 " you to consider it as coming from a woman amazed 
 " with grief, and that you will pardon the daughter 
 u of a person who served your majesty's father, in 
 " his greatest extremities (and your majesty in your 
 " greatest posts), and one that is not conscious of 
 " having ever done any thing to offend you (before). 
 u I shall ever pray for your majesty's long life and 
 " happy reign, who am, with all humility, may it 
 u please your majesty," &c. 
 
 Upon the Duke of Monmouth's insurrection *, her 
 
 the King and council, at his majesty's command, on the day after 
 Lord Russell's execution. — Burnet's History of his Own Time, 
 vol. ii. p. 209. edit. 1815. 
 
 * The Duke of Monmouth was son to King Charles the Second, 
 by Lucy Barlow, alias Walters. In his declaration against James 
 the Second, among other things, he accuses him of the barbarous 
 murder of Arthur, Earl of Essex, in the Tower, and of several 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 31 JE 
 
 ladyship thus writes to Doctor Fitzwilliam, in which 
 letter, as there are the tenderest accents of grief for 
 her loss, her wounds still bleeding, so, there is the 
 most honourable testimony borne to her lord's cha- 
 racter. 
 
 Ijady Russell to Doctor Fitzivilliam. 
 
 " And now, doctor, I take this wild attempt to be 
 (i a new project, not depending on or being linked 
 " in the least to any former design, if there was then 
 " any real one, which, I am satisfied, was not any 
 " more than (my own lord confessed) talk ; and it is 
 " possible that talk going so far as to consider if a 
 u remedy to supposed evils might be sought, how it 
 " could be formed. But, as I was saying, if all this 
 " attempt was entirely new, yet, the suspicion my 
 u lord must have lain under, would have been great, 
 " and some other circumstances, I do confess, must 
 " have made his part an hard one ; so that, from the 
 " deceitfulness of the heart, or want of true sight in 
 " the directive faculty, what would have followed, 
 " God only knows. From the frailty of the will I 
 " should have feared but little evil, for he had so 
 "just a soul, so firm, so good, he could not warp 
 " from such principles as were so, unless misguided 
 
 others, to conceal it; of the most unjust condemnation of Wil- 
 liam Lord Uussell, and Colonel Algernon Sidney, being only 
 accused for meeting, in discharge of their duty to God and their 
 country, to consult of extraordinary yet lawful means to rescue 
 our religion and liberties from the hands of violence, when all 
 ordinary means, according to the laws, were denied and ob- 
 structed ; concluding : " And we do appeal unto the great God 
 " concerning the justice of our cause, and implore his aid and as- 
 H sistance that he would enable us to go forth in his name, and to 
 " do valiantly against his and our enemies, for he it is that knows 
 " that we have not chosen to engage in arms for corrupt and pri- 
 " vate ends or designs, but out of a deep sense of our duty ; we 
 " therefore commit our cause unto him, who is the Lord of Hosts 
 " and the God of battles." The Duke of Monmouth was taken, 
 tried, and, on the 15th of July, 1685, beheaded. 
 
312 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " by his understanding, and that his own, not ano- 
 *■' ther's ; for I dare say, as he could discern, he never 
 " went into any thing considerable upon the mere 
 '•' submission to any one's particular judgment. Now 
 * his own, I know, he could never have framed 
 " to have thought well of the late actings, and 
 " therefore most probably must have sat loose 
 et from them. But I am afraid his excellent heart, 
 " had he lived, would have been often pierced from 
 " the time his life was taken away to this. On the 
 '■ other hand, having, 1 trust, a reasonable ground 
 '* of hope he has found those mercies he died with a 
 " cheerful persuasion he should, there is no reason 
 " to mourn my loss, when that soul I loved so well 
 '* lives in felicities, and shall do so to all eternity. 
 (f This I know in reason should be my cure ; but 
 " flesh and blood in this mixed state is such a slave 
 " to sense, the memory how I have lived, and how, 
 " as I think, I must ever do for the time to come, 
 " does so prevail and weaken my most Christian 
 14 resolves, that I cannot act the part that mere phi- 
 " losophy, as you set down many instances, enabled 
 ft many to an appearance of easiness, for I verily 
 " believe they had no more than me, but vainly 
 " affected it. As I began the day with your letter, 
 u and the sheets of discourse, both enclosed in one 
 " paper, so I conclude it with some prayers you 
 " formerly assisted me with. Thus, doctor, you see 
 " you have a special right to those prayers you 
 • ' are pleased I should present, for the same effect 
 " on your spirit, if a portion of suffering should be 
 " your lot, as you now wish on mine, which after 
 " my poor fashion I will not be wanting in, that am, 
 " Sir, your obliged and faithful 
 Friend and servant, 
 
 " Rachael Russell." 
 
 " Soulhampton-Louse, '21 July, 1685." 
 
 Her ladyship also, in the same affectionate regard 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 313 
 
 to her lord's memory, after the Revolution, made use 
 of her interest in favour of his chaplain, Mr. Samuel 
 Johnson, who calls Lord Russell " the greatest Eno-- 
 " lishman we had," and was very instrumental in 
 procuring him the pension and other bounties which 
 he received from that government. It may be also 
 added, that, as she had promised her lord to take 
 care of her own life for the sake of his children, she 
 was religiously mindful to perform that promise, and 
 continued his widow to the end of her life, surviving 
 him above forty years, for she lived to the 29th of 
 September, 1723, dying in her 87th year. Indeed, 
 the series of letters during; her Ions: widowhood are 
 the most tender and honourable testimonies of her 
 respect to her husband's memory; and we may ob- 
 serve in them an almost unabating sorrow for the 
 Joss of him, united with an eminent piety, and pro- 
 found submission to the Divine will, — at least no 
 murmurs against it. 
 
 It is observable concerning Lady Russell, that, in 
 the free effusions of her heart to her intimate friends, 
 with the constant moans of grief for the loss of her 
 dear husband, we remember not, upon a diligent 
 perusal of her Letters, so much as one trace of keen 
 resentment or reflection upon any person whatever 
 that had any concern in her husband's death, if ra- 
 ther it may not be called murder. If the Duke of 
 York was so malignant as to instigate his brother, 
 King Charles, to be inexorable to the applications 
 that were made for Lord Russell's life *, and even to 
 
 * The King, says Bishop Burnet, could not bear the discourse 
 of shewing any favour to Lord Russell; and the Duke of York 
 would hear the discourse, though he was resolved against the 
 thing. But, according to Dr. Wellwood, the King was not only 
 inclined to pardon him, but suffered some words to e.-cape on the 
 very day he was executed, as sufficiently shewed his irresolution 
 in that matter. In the Duke of Monmouth's journal it is said, 
 that the King told him, that he inclined to have saved the Lord 
 Russell, but was forced to consent to his death, otherwise he most 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
314 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 propose that he should be executed at his own doorv 
 the good lady drops no censures upon him ; and 
 even after James the Second was no more king, but 
 a wanderer in a foreign land, there is nothing like a 
 triumph over him, or an intimation from her ladyship 
 that she thought he was justly punished for his 
 bloody crimes. Even the inhuman JefTeries himself, 
 who distinguished himself by a flaming speech 
 against Lord Russell at his trial, is passed over in 
 silence by her ; and she takes not the least notice 
 of his disgrace, imprisonment, and death in the 
 Tower, owing, as it has been thought by some, to 
 the blows he received while in the hands of an en- 
 raged populace*. In fact, her Ladyship's letters 
 discover a mind in close connexion with her God, or 
 earnestly labouring to enjoy this inestimable bless- 
 ing, and bleeding with the incurable wound she had 
 felt in the loss of the best of friends and hus- 
 
 have broke with his brother, the Duke of York. The Duke of 
 York descended so low in his revenge, (originating not impro- 
 bably from Lord Russell's having proposed the bill in 1680 to the 
 Commons, to prevent a popish successor, and having carried it, 
 when passed, to the House of Lords, for their concurrence,) as to 
 desire that Lord Russell might be executed before his own door : 
 an insult the King himself would not consent to. — Introduction to 
 Lady Russell's Letters, p. 60. — But, though Lady Russell, as 
 far as we remember, calls not up, in a single hint, in all her Let- 
 ters, the Duke of York's asperity against her husband, who was 
 so dear to her, yet, it seems that he was by another person, the 
 father himself of Lord Russell, reminded to his face of the hard 
 fate his son had met with. King James the Second, in his dis- 
 tresses in 1688, addressed himself to the Earl — " My lord, you are 
 " an honest man, have great credit, and can do me signal ser- 
 " vice." — " Ah, sir,"replied the earl, " I am old and feeble ; I can 
 u do you but little service, but I once had a son that could have 
 " assisted you ; but he is no more." James was so struck with this 
 reply, that he could not speak for some minutes. — Introduction 
 to Lady Russell's Letters, p. 73. 
 
 * See Rapin's History of England, vol. xii. p. 162, 8vo edit. 
 This historian adds, " Never man had better deserved a public 
 " punishment, as an atonement for all the mischiefs done to his 
 " country, and for all the blood spilt by his means." 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 315 
 
 bands; but there are not the least traces of a sour 
 or angry spirit against the unkind instruments that 
 had brought such overwhelming sorrows upon her. 
 It appears from some of her Ladyship's letters, 
 that she was afflicted, some years after her lord's 
 death, with great weakness or dimness of sight. 
 u My eyes grow ill so fast," says she, in one of her 
 letters, " I resolve to do nothing of this sort by 
 " candle-light*." And in another: " For the chat 
 " of the town, I will not venture to hurt my eyes for 
 " itf." From this complaint we find her happily re- 
 lieved ; for, on June 28, 1694, Archbishop Tillotson 
 wrote to Doctor Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, "That 
 " he could not forbear telling him that Lady Rus- 
 '* sell's eye was couched yesterday morning with 
 " very good success %." From this time to her 
 death, from what we can gather, she seems to have 
 enjoyed her sight without any impediment; for her 
 last two letters to the Earl of Galway, written about 
 the year 1717, or 1718, appear, says the Editor of 
 her Letters || , by the largeness of the text, to have 
 been written without spectacles, as Lady Russell 
 was sometimes accustomed to do in extreme old age. 
 This circumstance of her disorder upon her eyes, we 
 the rather take notice of, that we may communicate 
 to our readers the resignation she discovered even 
 in the apprehension that she might be shortly de- 
 prived of the invaluable blessing, the light of the 
 day. u While I can see at all," says she, wiiting 
 to Doctor Fitzwilliam, 5th Nov. 1692 §, " I must do 
 " a little more than I can when God sees it best that 
 " outward darkness shall fall upon me, which will 
 
 * See her Letters, p. 289. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 291. Mr. Howe, in the dedication to Lady Russell, 
 prefixed to his sermon on the death of Queen Mary, elegantly 
 alludes to this circumstance : speaking of her Ladyship's eyes, he 
 says, " which better serve for heaven, than earth." 
 
 \ See her Letters, p. 304, in a marginal note. 
 
 || Ibid. p. 331. § Ibid. p. 293. 
 
 p 2 
 
316 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " deprive me of all society at a distance, which I 
 " esteem exceeding; profitable and pleasant ; but still, 
 " I have full hope I shall rejoice in that he will not 
 " deny me his great grace to strengthen me with 
 " might by his spirit in the inner man. Then I shall 
 " walk in the right way till 1 reach the joys of 
 " eternal en durance." 
 
 And again, to the same friend*: — " Alas ! my 
 " bad eyes serve me now so little, that I could not 
 " read your papers, and tell you that I have done so, 
 " in one day. It is mortifying, yet, I hope I do not 
 " repine, but, on the contrary, rejoice in the goocl- 
 " ness of my God to me, that, when I feared the 
 l( utter loss of sight, has let me thus long see the 
 " light, and by it given me time to prepare for that 
 " day of bodily darkness, which perhaps must soon 
 " overtake me." 
 
 The following letter to her son, the Duke of 
 Bedford, will further illustrate the character of Lady 
 Russell as a mother and a Christian. It has been 
 recently printed, together with some other letters 
 found among the papers belonging to the Cavendish 
 family, by permission of the Duke of Devonshire. 
 
 Lady Russell to her Soji the Duke of Bedford. 
 
 Stratton, July, 1706. 
 
 When I take my pen to write this, I am, 
 by the goodness and mercy of God, in a moderate 
 and easy state of health — a blessing I have thank- 
 fully felt through the course of a long life, which 
 (with a much greater help,) the contemplation of 
 a more durable state, has maintained and upheld 
 me through varieties of providences and condi- 
 tions of life. But all the delights and sorrows 
 of this mixed state must end ; and I feel the de- 
 cays that attend old age creep so fast on mef, 
 that, although I may yet get over some more years, 
 
 * See her Letters, p. 295. 
 
 \ Lady Russell was now past seventy years of age. 
 
LADY IIACHAEL RUSSELL. 317 
 
 however, I ought to make it my frequent medita- 
 tion, that the day is near, when this earthly taber- 
 nacle shall be dissolved, and my immortal spirit 
 be received into that place of purity, where no 
 unclean thing can enter; there to sing eternal 
 praises to the great Creator of all things. With 
 the Psalmist, I believe, u at His right hand there 
 " are pleasures for evermore :" and what is good 
 and of eternal duration, must be joyful above 
 what we can conceive ; as what is evil and of like 
 duration, must be despairingly miserable. And 
 now, my dear child, I pray, I beseech you, I con- 
 jure you, my loved son, consider what there is 
 of felicity in this world, that can compensate 
 the hazard of losing an everlasting easy being ; 
 and then deliberately weigh, whether or no the 
 delights and gratifications of a vicious or idle 
 course of life are such, that a wise or thoughtful 
 man would choose or submit to. Again, fancy its 
 enjoyments at the height imagination can propose 
 or suggest (which yet rarely or never happens, or 
 if it does, as a vapour soon vanishes) ; but let us 
 grant it could, and last to fourscore years, is this 
 more than the quickest thought to eternity? Oh, 
 my child ! fix on that word, eternity ! Old Hobbs, 
 with all his fancied strength of reason, could never 
 endure to rest or stay upon that thought, but ran 
 from it to some miserable amusement. I remem- 
 ber to have read of some man, who reading in the 
 Bible something that checked him, he threw it on 
 the ground ; the book fell open, and his eye feed 
 on the word eternity, which so struck upon his 
 mind, that he, from a bad liver, became a most 
 holy man. Certainly, nothing besides the belief 
 of reward and punishment can make a man truly 
 happy in his life, at his death, and after death. 
 Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that 
 is right; for that shall bring a man peace at the 
 last — peace in the evening of each day, peace in the 
 
318 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 day of death, and peace after death. For my own 
 part, I apprehend, I should not much care (if free 
 from pain) what my portion in this world was, — if 
 a life to continue, perhaps one year or twenty, or 
 eighty ; but then, to be dust, not to know or be 
 known any more, — this is a thought has something 
 of horror in it to me, and always had ; and would 
 make me careless, if it were to be long or short ; but 
 to live, to die, to live again, has a joy in it ; and how 
 inexpressible is that joy, if w T e secure an humble 
 hope to live ever happily ; and this we may do, if we 
 take care to live agreeably to our rational faculties, 
 which also best secures health, strength, and peace 
 of mind, the greatest blessings on earth. Believe the 
 word of God, the Holy Scriptures, the promises and 
 threats contained in them : and what most obstructs 
 our doing so, I am persuaded is fear of punishment. 
 Look up to the firmament, and down to the deep, 
 how can any doubt a divine power? And if there is, 
 what can be impossible to infinite power? Then, 
 why an infidel in the world? And if not such, who 
 then would hazard a future state, for the pleasure 
 of sin a few days ? No wise man, and, indeed, no 
 man that lives and would deserve to see good days ; 
 for the laws of God are grateful. In his Gospel the 
 terrors of majesty are laid aside, and he speaks in 
 the still and soft voice of his Son incarnate, the 
 fountain and spring whence flow gladness. A gloomy 
 and dejected countenance better becomes a galley- 
 slave than a Christian, where joy, love, and hope 
 should dwell. The idolatrous heathen performed 
 their worship with trouble and terror ; but a Chris- 
 tian, and a good liver, with a merry heart and light- 
 some spirit : for, examine and consider well, where is 
 the hardship of a virtuous life? (when we have mo- 
 derated our irregular habits and passions, and sub- 
 dued them to the obedience of reason and religion.) 
 We are free to all the innocent gratifications and 
 delights of life ; and we may lawfully, nay, further, 
 
LADY RAGHAEL RUSSELL. 319 
 
 I say we ought to rejoice in this beautiful world, and 
 all the conveniences and provisions, even for plea- 
 sure, we find in it; and which, in much goodness, is 
 afforded us to sweeten and allay the labours and 
 troubles incident to this mortal state, nay, insepa- 
 rable, I believe, by disappointments, cross accidents, 
 bad health, unkind returns for good deeds, mistakes 
 even among friends, and what is most touching, death 
 of friends. But in the worst of these calamities, the 
 thought of a happy eternity does not alone support, 
 but also revive the spirit of a man ; and he goeth 
 forth to his labour with inward comfort, till the 
 evening of his day, (that is, his life on earth,) and, 
 with the Psalmist, cries out, " I will consider the 
 " heavens, even Ihe work of thy fingers, the moon and 
 u the stars which thou hast ordained. What is man 
 " that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, 
 "that thou shouldst so regard him?" Psalm viii. 
 u Thou madest him lower than the angels, to crown 
 u him with glory." Here is matter of praise and 
 gladness. " The fool," as the Psalmist expresses it, 
 " hath said in his heart, There is no God." Or, let 
 us consider the man, who is content to own an in- 
 visible power, yet tries to believe, that when man 
 has done living on this earth he lives no more : but I 
 would ask, if any of these unhappy creatures are 
 fully persuaded, or that there does not remain in 
 those men, at times, (as in sickness, or sober thought- 
 fulness,) some suspicion or doubt, that it may be 
 other than they try to think. And although they 
 may, to shun such a thought, or be rid of such a 
 contemplation, run away from it to some unprofit- 
 able diversion, or, perhaps, suffer themselves to be 
 rallied out of such a thought, so destructive to the 
 way they walk in ; yet, to be sure, that man does 
 not feel the peace and tranquillity he does, who 
 believes a future state, and is a good man. For, 
 although this good man, when his mind may be 
 clouded with some calamity, very grievous to him, 
 
320 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 or the disorder of vapours to a melancholy temper, 
 I say, if he is tempted to some suspicion, that it is 
 possible it may be other than he believes, (pray 
 observe,) such a surmise or thought, nay, the belief 
 cannot drive him to any horror : he fears no evil, 
 because he is a good man, and with his life all sor- 
 row ends too ; therefore, it is not to be denied, he is 
 the wisest man who lives by the Scripture rule, and 
 endeavours to keep God's laws. First, his mind is 
 in peace and tranquillity ; he walks sure who keeps 
 innocence, and takes heed to the thing that is right : 
 2dly, he is secure God is his friend, that Infinite 
 Being ; and he has said, " Come unto me, ye that 
 u are heavy laden, my yoke is easy :" but guilt 
 is, certainly, a heavy load ; it sinks and damps the 
 spirits. " A wounded spirit who can bear!" And 
 the evil subtle spirit waits (I am persuaded) to drive 
 the sinner to despair ; but godliness makes a cheerful 
 heart. 
 
 Now, O man ! let not past errors discourage : who 
 lives and sins not? God will judge the obstinate, 
 profane, unrelenting sinner, but, full of compassion 
 to the work of his own hand, if they will cease 
 from doing evil and learn to do well, pray for grace 
 to repent, and endeavour with that measure which 
 will be given, if sincerely asked for ; for at what 
 time soever a sinner repents, (but observe, this is 
 no license to sin, because at any time we may re- 
 pent,) for that day we may not live to see ; and so, 
 like the fool in the parable, our lamps be untrimmed 
 when we are called upon. Remember, that to for- 
 sake vice is the beginning of virtue : and virtue 
 certainly is most conducive to content of mind and 
 a cheerful spirit. He (the virtuous man) rejoiceth 
 with a friend in the good things he enjoys ; fears 
 not the reproaches of any ; no evil spirit can ap- 
 proach to hurt him here, or accuse him in the g eat 
 day of the Lord, when every soul shall be judged 
 according as they have done good or evil. Oh, 
 
LADY UACHAEL RUSSELL. 321 
 
 blessed state ! fit for life, fit for death ! In this good 
 state I wish and pray for all mankind ; but most 
 particularly, and with all the ardour I am capable 
 of, to those I have brought into the world, and those 
 dear to them. Thus are my fervent and frequent 
 prayers directed, — that you may die the death of 
 the righteous, and to this end, that Almighty God 
 would endue you all with spiritual wisdom, to discern 
 what is pleasing in his sight. 
 
 In an unfinished paper*, the writing of which is 
 stated to denote the trembling hand of extreme old 
 age, Lady Russell, in reviewing her life for a devo- 
 tional purpose, thus adverts to her irreparable be- 
 reavement, and to the subsequent loss of this 
 cherished son : — 
 
 " Vanity cleaves to me, I fear, O Lord ! in all I 
 " say, in all I do. In all I suffer, proud, not endur- 
 " ing to slights or neglects, subject to envy the good 
 " parts of others, even as to worldly gifts. Failing 
 " in my duty to my superiors ; apt to be soon angry 
 " with, and without cause too often ; and by it may 
 " have grieved those that desired to please me, or 
 '* provoked others to sin by my rash anger. Not 
 u ready to own any advantage I may have received 
 u by good advice or example. Not well satisfied if 
 u I have not all the respect I expected, even from 
 " my superiors. Such has been the pride of my 
 " naught heart, I fear, and also neglect in my per- 
 " formances due to my superiors, children, friends, 
 u or servants — I heartily lament my sin. But, alas! 
 " in my most dear husband's troubles, seeking help 
 " from man, but finding none. His life was taken 
 " away, and so sorely was my spirit wounded, 
 
 * See " Some Account of the Life of Raehael Wriotheslev, 
 " Lady Russell, by the Editor of Madame du Detfand's Letters,'' 
 &c. 8vo. London. 1820. p. 147. The manuscript, found among 
 the Devonshire MSS., is a fragment, — a mere rough draft, with 
 manv erasures, and in some places very obscure. 
 
 p5 
 
322 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 1 even without prospect of future comfort or con* 
 ' solation — the more faulty in me, having three 
 " dear children to perform my duty to, with thank- 
 " fulness for such a blessing left me, under so heavy 
 " a dispensation as I felt the loss of him to be. 
 '* But, alas ! how feeble did I find myself both then, 
 ' and also poorly prepared to bear the loss of my 
 " dear child and only son, in 1711 ! 
 
 " If I carry my sorrow to the grave, O Lord, in 
 " much mercy let it not be imputed as sin in me ! 
 " His death was a piercing sorrow to me, yet thou 
 " hast supported me, Lord ! even in a very old age, 
 ** and freer from bodily pains and sickness than 
 u most feel — I desire thankfully to recollect. 
 
 " Alas ! from my childhood I can recollect a 
 " backwardness to pray, and coldness when I did, 
 " and ready to take or seek cause to be absent at 
 " the public ones. Even after a sharp sickness and 
 " danger at Chelsea, spending my time childishly, if 
 * not idly ; and if I had read a few lines in a pious 
 " book, contented I had done well. Yet, at the 
 ** same time, ready to give ear to reports, and pos- 
 41 sibly malicious ones, and telling my mother-in- 
 "* law to please her. At seventeen years of age was 
 ''married: continued too often being absent at the 
 u public prayers, taking very slight causes to be 
 " so, liking too well the esteemed diversions of the 
 " town, as the park, visiting, plays, &.c. trifling away 
 " my precious time. At our return to London, I 
 u can recollect that I would choose upon a Sun- 
 u day to go to church at Lord B.'s, where the sermon 
 '* would be short, a great dinner, and after, worldly 
 '* talk ; when at my father's, the sermon longer, 
 il and discourse more edifying. And too much 
 *' after the same way, I much fear, at my several 
 u returns to Wales and England. In the year 166*5, 
 ** was brought to bed of my first child; with him 
 * too indulging I fear to get strength soon, and 
 " spend my time as before, much with my loved 
 
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. 323 
 
 *' sisters ; I doubt not heedful, or not enough so, my 
 " servants went to church, if I did, or did not go 
 " myself. 
 
 " Some time after in London, and then with my 
 " father's wife at Tunbridge, and after with her at 
 " Bath, gave too much of my time to carelessly in- 
 <l dulgino- in idleness. At Bath too well contented 
 ** to follow the common way of passing the time m 
 rt diversion, and thinking but little what was serious; 
 u considering more health of body than that of my 
 u soul. Forgive my heaviness and sloth in spiri- 
 " tuals, for Christ Jesus' sake. 
 
 u After this, I must still accuse myself that some- 
 u times in Wales, and other times in England, my 
 " care in good has not suited to my duty, not with 
 " the active and devout heart and mind I should in 
 " the evening have praised thee, my God, for the 
 " mercies of the past day, and recollected my evil 
 " doings, or omissions of doing good in my power. 
 " Not in the morning carefully fixing my will and 
 ** purpose to pass the day pleasing in thy sight, and 
 ** giving good example to man, particularly such as 
 ie under my care ; more especially after my second 
 " marriage, forgetting by whose blessing I was so 
 " happy, consuming too much time with him." 
 fc # # # # 
 
 The end zc anting. 
 
 This interesting fragment proves that Lady Rus- 
 sell's piety was that of the inner man, consisting " in 
 " the spirit, not in the letter; whose praise is not of 
 " men" only, " but of God." " Christianity," (it is 
 her own expression,) " she thought not distinguished 
 " by outward fashions, or by the professing a body 
 " of notions differing from others in the world, but 
 4i by the renewing of our minds by peaceableness, 
 u charity, and heavenly love." 
 
324 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET * 
 
 This lady was born November 8, in the year 1661. 
 She was the eldest daughter of Sir Richard Blake, 
 Knight, the fifth son of Thomas Blake of Earontoun, 
 in the county of Southampton, Esquire, of an emi- 
 nent family, and of Elizabeth, daughter of Doctor 
 Bathurst, a physician in London, a person of dis- 
 tinguished piety, and among the most considerable 
 men of his profession in his time. 
 
 At eleven years old, she began to have a true sense 
 of religion, and read with great application the books 
 that were put into her hands ; but was not entirely 
 satisfied with them, aspiring after more solid and. 
 sublime sentiments than what she met with in them. 
 On this account it was, that more than ordinary care 
 was taken to make her think meanly of herself, she 
 being bred up in the greatest privacy possible. 
 
 When she was but little more than seventeen 
 years of age, she was married to Robert Berkely, of 
 Spetchly, in the county of Worcester, Esquire, grand- 
 son of Sir Robert Berkely who was a judge in the 
 reign of Charles the Second. The match between 
 this young gentleman and her was procured princi- 
 pally by the means of Doctor Fell, then Bishop of 
 Oxford, who was Mr. Berkely's guardian, and had 
 taken the care of his education. The Bishop thought 
 that the assisting his friend in that match, was the 
 greatest service he ever performed for him. 
 
 When the young lady came into the family, she 
 found her husband's mother a zealous Papist, and a 
 woman of a good life. This put her upon taking par- 
 ticular care to study her own religion in a larger 
 compass, in order to understand the controversies 
 between the Protestants and the Papists, that she 
 
 * This account is taken from a memoir drawn up by the Rev. 
 Dr. T. Goodwyn, Archdeacon of Oxford. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET. 325 
 
 might be able to preserve her husband and herself 
 from the artifices and insinuations of the popish 
 priests, and the influence of his mother, who had 
 great interest in him. But yet, considering the par- 
 ticular turn of her husband's mind, and the great 
 deference she owed to his mother, she found herself 
 obliged to be very tender and careful, that she might 
 not be disturbed with unnecessary disputes about 
 religion ; in which, and in her whole management in 
 this respect, there appeared a discretion admired by 
 all who knew her. At the same time, this young 
 lady obliged herself to a more than ordinary strict- 
 ness in all the offices of piety, and in her whole 
 conduct, that she might adorn her own profession by 
 a suitable practice, constantly governing herself by 
 the rules of true religion, and the severest virtue. 
 Accordingly, living in the country, where she- enjoyed 
 much leisure, she spent great part of her time in de- 
 votion and reading. When she was inclined to 
 divert herself with work, she generally had some 
 persons to read to her ; and when her poor neigh- 
 bours came to visit her, which, upon her encourage- 
 ment, they often did, she would frequently read 
 good books to them herself, that she might instruct 
 them without seeming to take too much upon her. 
 In this manner she lived for six years, being es- 
 teemed and loved by all who knew her, even by those 
 who, on account of different opinions in religion, 
 were likely to be most prejudiced against her. 
 
 In King James's time, when the fears of Popery 
 began greatly to increase, and Bishop Fell died, who 
 had great influence over Mr. Berkely, to prevent his 
 being wrought upon by his relations at the time they 
 conceived mighty hopes of the popish religion being 
 settled in these kingdoms, Mrs. Berkely prevailed 
 upon her husband to go to Holland ; and accordingly, 
 they travelled together over the Seventeen Pro- 
 vinces. In the Popish provinces, on the account of 
 his relations, they met with an unusually kind recep- 
 
326 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tion, letters being sent, without their knowledge, to 
 Brussels, Ghent, Liege, and other considerable 
 places, recommending Mrs. Berkely in a very parti- 
 cular manner, as one whose piety and virtue, had 
 she been of the Catholic Church, as they called it, 
 were great enough to entitle her to the character of 
 a saint. After these journeys, Mr. and Mrs. Berkely 
 fixed at the Hague, where she was soon known, and 
 grew into the esteem and friendship of persons of 
 the highest rank. Here they continued till about 
 the time of the Revolution, when they returned into 
 England, and went to Spetchly, their country seat. 
 Here Mrs. Berkely went on in the happy course of 
 life she had at first engaged in, making continual 
 increases in knowledge and good works. She had 
 generally some young persons in her family, whom 
 she well improved both by her instructions and 
 example, so that there was quickly a visible altera- 
 tion made in them. 
 
 Her knowledge and virtue made her every day 
 more and more taken notice of in that country. She 
 contracted an intimate friendship with the eminent 
 Doctor Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, who to 
 his death maintained a high esteem of her ; and upon 
 several occasions has been often heard to say, " that 
 " he knew not a more considerable woman in Eng- 
 " land than she was." Thus she continued to live with 
 Mr. Berkely till the year 1693, when it pleased God 
 to remove him from her by death. 
 
 In her widowhood, as she had more leisure than 
 in her married state, so, she applied it wholly to de- 
 votion, to reading, to acts of charity, and the offices 
 of friendship. Particularly, she took upon her the 
 care of her late husband's Protestant relations, as if 
 they had been her own ; and indeed, she was a 
 mother to them all as long as she lived, and shewed 
 a great concern and kindness for them at her death. 
 She was also very good and obliging to all the rest 
 of his family. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET. 327 
 
 She had then a very plentiful income, which she 
 managed with great prudence, as well as in a large 
 exercise of charity ; and indeed she was uneasy at 
 all other kind of expenses but what went in that 
 way. While she continued at Spetchly, she kept 
 a hospitable table, to which the neighbouring 
 clergy were always welcome. She paid true respect 
 to such of them as were in low circumstances, cor- 
 dially esteeming them for their functions and labours. 
 She frequently made them presents of the most use- 
 ful books, and to some she generously lent money, 
 without requiring any security, expecting only to be 
 paid when, by the providence of God, they might be 
 put into more easy circumstances. 
 
 Mr. Berkely ordering in his will a great sum of 
 money to be raised out of his estate, to erect a hos- 
 pital at Worcester for poor people, she had it much 
 at heart to see the design brought to perfection as 
 soon as possible ; and it pleased God to continue 
 her life till she saw it accomplished. Besides the 
 care of this business, she took upon her several 
 charges in relation to his affairs, more than the law 
 required, in the payment of debts and legacies. She 
 also still continued one eminent instance of charity, 
 to which she had engaged Mr. Berkely in his life- 
 time ; a kind of charity which is now, by the Divine 
 blessing, spread almost all over England ; the setting 
 up schools for the instruction and education of poor 
 children, which she afterwards increased to a far 
 greater number. 
 
 Mrs. Berkely had early an inclination to employ 
 her pen in several sorts of composition, which she 
 was thought by her friends to do to such very good 
 purpose, that it encouraged her to spend much of 
 her time in that way. While she was a widow, she 
 made the first draught of that excellent book of 
 hers, entitled, " A New Method of Devotion, or 
 " Rules for Holy and Devout Living, with Prayers 
 *' on several Occasions, and Advices and Devotions 
 
328 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " for the Holy Sacrament." It was designed for her 
 own use only, consisting of such rules and direc- 
 tions as she resolved to conduct herself by, and 
 which indeed had been all along the measure of her 
 practice. 
 
 She continued a widow near seven years, and then 
 was married to Doctor Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of 
 Salisbury. She found in the Bishop's house a family 
 of children, whom she treated, not with a false in- 
 dulgence on the one hand, nor an unnatural severity 
 on the other, but with all that care and true con- 
 cern for their education, as if they had been her own; 
 and indeed, she was loved and respected by them as 
 if she had brought them into the world : of which 
 the Bishop was so sensible, that he had by his will, 
 then made, left them under her direction and autho- 
 rity in so absolute a manner, that it has been seldom 
 known that so much power was ever intrusted even 
 to the real mothers of any children. The Bishop, 
 rightly judging that he brought blessing and happi- 
 ness enough into his family by bringing such a mo- 
 ther into it, desired her to secure all her own estate 
 and income to herself, with a power to make such a 
 will as she pleased, to which he bound himself to 
 consent. Thus she continued the mistress of all 
 that was her own, allowing for her own entertain- 
 ment what did not exceed the rate of a boarding- 
 house, that so she might the more abound in good 
 works ; which the Bishop accepted of, though he 
 was willing, as he often told her, " that nothing at 
 " all should be allowed on that account." After 
 this, she extended her charity further than she had 
 done before ; and, instead of giving a fifth part of 
 her income, which would have been no small pro- 
 portion, she was very uneasy at taking only a fifth 
 part to her own use. She seldom went beyond it, 
 and was much oftener restrained within it, by which 
 means she was able to employ considerable sums in 
 charitable uses; and particularly the number of 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET. 329 
 
 children taught at her expense, in and about Wor- 
 cester and Salisbury, amounted to above a hundred. 
 
 She now grew into a more general acquaintance, 
 and was continually rising higher in the esteem of 
 the world in proportion as she became more known. 
 She entered into friendships with some persons of 
 the greatest quality, which made no other alteration 
 in her than that of increasing her zeal of doing more 
 good as her interest w r as enlarged. To be rich in 
 good works, was visibly the reigning design of her 
 w r hole life, and that in which she most of all de- 
 lighted herself. Notwithstanding the interruptions 
 which a more diffusive acquaintance gave her, she 
 spent as much time as she could secure to herself, 
 in writing upon Divine and moral subjects, and was 
 prevailed with to consent to the printing of the first 
 edition of the above-mentioned book, which, as well 
 as the second, was entirely her own composition, 
 without any assistance from any person whatever. 
 The book being very much approved of by many 
 of her friends, she apprehended she could make it 
 more useful by a large addition out of many other 
 papers she had by her. Upon this, she printed a 
 second edition at her own expense, that she might 
 dispose of it among those whom she thought most 
 likely to be improved by it. 
 
 This excellent woman kept a constant journal of 
 her life, and every evening employed no inconsider- 
 able time in recollecting her actions and discourse 
 in the day ; and she would call herself to an account 
 in every particular, that the errors of every day past, 
 might be avoided in those that might follow. 
 
 She continually laboured under a weak habit of 
 body, which at length grew upon her to such a 
 degree, that it was thought she could not easily over- 
 come it. On this account, she was advised to go to 
 the Spa, for the recovery of her health. She under- 
 took a journey thither in the year 1707 ; and where- 
 soever she went, she was received with great marks 
 
330 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of esteem and respect by persons of the most eminent 
 rank. 
 
 After her return, she seemed to be in a much 
 better state of health, and bore the severity of the 
 beginning of the winter of 1 708 so well, that her 
 friends hoped her constitution was grown stronger 
 than it had been. But it pleased God, upon the 
 breaking up of the frost, January 27, 1708-9, that 
 she was seized with a pleuritic fever, the symptoms 
 of which were not violent at first, nor were her 
 friends at first apprehensive of her danger; but, her 
 lungs being weak, she sank under the disorder in a 
 few days, and died February 3, 1708-9. She was 
 buried at Spetchly, by her former husband, according 
 to a promise she had made him : as appears by the 
 following clause in her will. 
 
 '- I will that my body be buried in the parish 
 " church of Spetchly, in the county of Worcester, in 
 *- a vault made for me by my former husband, Robert 
 u Berkely, Esquire, and myself. I order this, to 
 " fulfil a promise I made to him, and not out of any 
 " want of respect or kindness to my present husband, 
 '- who has by his great kindness and confidence 
 f deserved from me all the gratitude and acknow- 
 '.' ledgments of love and respect I can testify." 
 
 " After this brief account," says the writer of her 
 memoirs, " of some of the most remarkable circum- 
 " stances of her life, in which she must appear a 
 '■' bright example of the most eminent virtue in a 
 '* private station, I should not do justice either to 
 " her or to the world, if I did not enlarge a little 
 " more upon her character; in which, if I should be 
 " thought to have said too much by them that were 
 " not acquainted with her, I am confident what I say 
 " will be judged by them who knew her, to fall below 
 " her character." 
 
 She knew exactly how to distinguish between the 
 means and the end of religion ; and was well aware 
 of the necessity of joining them both together in her 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET. 331 
 
 practice ; so that, as she came up to the strictest 
 rules of piety in her devotions both in private and 
 public, especially in her frequent receiving the sacra- 
 ment of the Lord's Supper, she was also fully per- 
 suaded, that she was to maintain a strict government 
 over her passions, to observe a constant care and 
 watchfulness over her whole conduct, and to abound 
 in every good work. 
 
 Though she had no skill in the learned languages, 
 yet, by making the understanding of the Scriptures 
 her chief study, with the help of English commen- 
 tators, and the assistance of those clergy with whom 
 she most frequently conversed, and with whom she 
 often discoursed about texts of Scripture that were 
 obscure to her, she attained to a great knowledge in 
 the Divine writings. Though her mind was naturally 
 inquisitive, her apprehension quick, and her judg- 
 ment solid, yet, she confined her inquiries to a few 
 things. Accordingly, when she had made some pro- 
 gress both in geometry and philosophy, she laid 
 those studies aside, though she had a genius and 
 relish for them. She considered the *' one thing 
 u needful," and applied herself wholly to what related 
 to it ; and even in that, she valued knowledge only 
 as it purified the mind. Her chief care was, to 
 govern her passions ; to moderate her affections to 
 created objects; and to elevate her soul to an entire 
 resignation and conformity to the holy will of God. 
 
332 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Bury was born, March 2, 1644, 
 at Clare, in the county of Suffolk. Her father was 
 Captain Adams Lawrence, of Lynton, in Cambridge- 
 shire, a person of good character and great integrity. 
 He died June 13, 1648. Her mother was Mrs. Eliza- 
 beth Cutts, daughter of Henry Cutts, Esquire, of 
 Clare; a gentleman learned in the law, a great 
 peace-maker among his neighbours, and a zealous 
 promoter of the interest of the gospel. He died 
 August 23, 1657, and his most eminently religious 
 consort after him, August 5, 1667. His daughter, 
 the mother of the subject of our memoirs, was a 
 remarkably serious, heavenly-minded, and experi- 
 enced Christian, an ornament to her family, a bless- 
 ing to her children, and the delight of all her friends. 
 She died full of grace arid years, October 6, 1697, 
 aged 78. Such were the truly respectable and 
 heavenly roots whence Mrs. Bury sprang ! 
 
 The freedom, ingenuousness, and pleasantness of 
 Mrs. Bury's temper, were ordinarily known to all 
 who conversed with her. She has often been taken 
 notice of as a person of uncommon parts, ready 
 thought, quick apprehension, and proper expression. 
 In writing letters she had a great aptness and felicity 
 of language, so that her correspondence was greatly 
 valued by some of the brightest minds, even in very 
 distant countries. Her genius led her to the study 
 of almost every thing ; and, having a fine under- 
 standing, accompanied with a very faithful and 
 retentive memory, she soon became a proficient in 
 whatever part of knowledge she was desirous to 
 attain. She often entertained herself with philology, 
 philosophy, and ancient and modern history. Some- 
 times she diverted herself with music, vocal and 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 333 
 
 instrumental; sometimes with heraldry, the globes, 
 and mathematics. She learned the French tono-ue, 
 principally for the sake of conversing with French 
 refugees, to whom she was an uncommon bene- 
 factress. But she especially employed herself in 
 perfecting her acquaintance with the Hebrew lan- 
 guage, which, by long application and practice, she 
 had rendered so familiar and easy to her, as fre- 
 quently to quote the original in common conver- 
 sation, when the true meaning of some particular 
 texts depended upon it. Very critical remarks upon 
 the idioms and peculiarities of that language were 
 found among her papers after her decease. Another 
 study in which she took much pleasure, was that 
 of anatomy and medicine ; being led to it, partly by 
 her own ill health, and partly by a desire of beino- 
 useful among her neighbours. In this branch of 
 knowledge she improved so much, that many of the 
 great masters of the faculty have been often startled, 
 by her stating the most nice and difficult cases in 
 such proper terms as could have been expected only 
 from men of their own profession. 
 
 But however she diverted herself with these parts 
 of literature, yet, her constant, favourite, and darling 
 study was divinity, especially the Holy Scriptures, 
 having from her very childhood taken God's testi- 
 monies for her counsellors. In the latter part of her 
 life she devoted most of her secret and leisure hours 
 to the reading of Mr. Henry's Exposition of the Bible, 
 whose volumes, she would often say, were the most 
 plain, profitable, and pleasant books she ever read. 
 Next to the Bible, her chief delight lay in reading 
 practical divinity ; and the plainer, and closer, and 
 more penetrating any author was, he w r as always the 
 more acceptable to her. But, notwithstanding all 
 her knowledge and unusual improvements in such a 
 variety of learning, and her deep acquaintance with 
 the spiritual and most interesting truths of religion, 
 she would always confess and bewail her own ig- 
 
334 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 norance, and that she knew little to what others 
 did, or what she ought to have known in any of 
 those matters. 
 
 The certain time and particular means of her con- 
 version, she could not positively determine, but she 
 thought that blessed event took place about the 
 tenth year of her age. She had been under many 
 convictions some years before ; but she apprehended 
 the effectual work was not accomplished till that 
 time. But then, she judged, it was indeed per- 
 formed ; for, though she had many suspicions and 
 jealousies of her state towards God after that period, 
 yet, upon the most serious searches, she concluded 
 with herself that she had more ground for hope 
 than fear. 
 
 Her entrance upon a life of religion so young, 
 gave her many opportunities of glorifying God, of 
 doing much good to others, and of enjoying large 
 experiences of the Divine grace and faithfulness 
 towards her ; and from the benefit and comfort she 
 found in early religion herself, she always recom- 
 mended it with much seriousness, affection, and 
 importunity, to others. There was something very 
 peculiar in the disposition of her mind and turn of 
 thought, that adapted itself to the capacity, temper, 
 genius, and relish of most children. Her first and 
 principal attempt upon their tender minds, was to 
 bring them in love with their Bibles, to teach them 
 some short sentences and prayers, and the pleasant 
 histories of the Scriptures, especially such as con- 
 cerned children, and then to insinuate herself into 
 their affections, and so instruct, persuade, and 
 oblige them, by discoursing with them in their own 
 phrase and dialect, as to render her company very 
 acceptable and delightful to them; and, by the 
 o-race of God, she, by these methods, was made very 
 useful to many. 
 
 Having set out thus early in the way to Sion her- 
 aelf, and allured and persuaded all she could into the 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 335 
 
 same path, she held on her own heavenly course 
 with great steadiness, resolution, and pleasure; pro- 
 ceeded from strength to strength; and, for the jov 
 that was set before her, went beyond many of her 
 fellow Christians. She thought it not enough to 
 begin her work in the morning of life, but she dili- 
 gently attended to it all the day. She was always 
 aware of the vigilance of her spiritual enemies, and 
 this kept her upon her watch. She would always 
 say, u she had much to do, and that which must be 
 u done ; and she knew not how short her day would 
 a be, and therefore she had no time to lose/' She 
 often observed what w T as said of Jacob, that, after he 
 had met with God, a he gathered up his feet*," and 
 went his way ; and she thought that she herself ought 
 to imitate his example. 
 
 It cannot be ascertained when she began her 
 Diary, but it is conjectured it was about the 
 eighteenth or twentieth year of her age *f\ In it, 
 both morning and evening, she strictly observes 
 with a very happy variety of expression, the most 
 remarkable providences of God with respect to her- 
 self and others, and sometimes in the minutest cir- 
 cumstances of them — the solemn transactions be- 
 tween God and her own soul in her closet, in her 
 family, in the sanctuary, and in her daily walk and 
 converse with others — the substance of what she 
 had read or heard, that was most affecting in her 
 
 * What is rendered in our Translation, Gen. xxix. 1. " Jacob 
 " went on his journey," in the original is, " He lifted up his feet;" 
 to which this good lady, who was acquainted with the Hebrew 
 language, evidently refers. 
 
 f " After that," says her Biographer and Husband, the Re?. 
 Mr. Samuel Bury, " for betwixt twenty and thirty years she con- 
 " cealed her accounts in short-hand, which cannot be recovered, 
 " because of many peculiar characters and abbreviations of her 
 " own. The first I have gathered, begin in the year 1690, with 
 u some short references to former years; and from that time, she 
 11 continued her accounts in long-hand, for the most part, to the 
 " end of her life." 
 
336 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 present case, or might direct her future practice — 
 her preparations for holy duties — the influences, 
 impressions, assistance, withdravvings, and consola- 
 tions of the Spirit of God in them — her daily infir- 
 mities, afflictions, supports, self-examinations, evi- 
 dences, and foretastes of eternal life — her advances 
 in religion, and her suspected decays — the matter of 
 her prayers for herself and others, and the manner, 
 time, and seasonableness of God's answers — the 
 temper of her soul, especially on Sabbaths and at 
 sacraments, and on days of solemn fasting and humi- 
 liation, and thanksgiving, public, private, or secret, 
 and on days she set apart for the trial of herself, 
 and searches into her own soul — the various scenes 
 of her life, and her comforts and exercises in each of 
 them — the state of her servants, and of others com- 
 mitted to her care — her merciful protections in 
 journeys — the directions of Providence as to all the 
 places of her abode, and the gracious visitations of 
 God to her soul in all such places — the uncommon 
 events that either befell herself, or family, or friends, 
 or the church of God — the burdens that pressed 
 hardest upon her — the joys that most relieved her 
 — the manner and form of her covenanting with 
 God — the advantage of Christian conversation — 
 her constant intercession for ministers and their 
 people — her faithful reproofs — her success with 
 young persons — her concern for the health and 
 maintenance of the poor — her reflections upon the 
 unwary escapes of her conversation — her esteem of 
 the Holy Scriptures, learned expositors, and practical 
 writers — her annual recapitulation of mercies, and 
 sins, and afflictions, and resolutions, and self-dedi- 
 cations — special remarks upon days of mercy either 
 to herself or family — the manner of her entrance 
 upon a new year, &c. But it would be almost im- 
 possible to enumerate the several heads and articles 
 which make up her Diary. The particulars that have 
 been mentioned, may show its pious nature and 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 337 
 
 excellent design. In this method she found singular 
 advantage. She would often say, « that were it nltfor 
 her Diary, she should neither know what she was 
 nor what she did, nor what she had :" and bv re 
 course to U ;m all her afflictions, temptations/and 
 surprises, she generally found great relief. Let her 
 mmd be never so much embarrassed, and the exercise 
 of reason and grace never so much interrupted, vet 
 the review of her former experience was an extraor- 
 dinary help to future confidence ; and thus was she 
 brought again to her great Rock Refuge, and Rest 
 
 .Twas e Zr d h he r USUal cheerf «l«ess. S Hence alio 
 n;!V !u ? fte " recom mended the keeping a 
 Diary to others that so God might not lose the glory 
 nor they themselves the comfort of their lives Y ' 
 th.;J aS ea ^y t0 ° bse "e a very lively impression of 
 the .mage of God upon her soul, and the whole train 
 of graces were exlnbited in beautiful exercise through 
 the whole course of her life and actions. S 
 
 . Her humility showed itself in her courteous car 
 
 tlnf Tl S the P °° rest P ersons ' and her co" ver C s a a r : 
 toon with them, especially where she thought she 
 could have any advantage for doing good. When- 
 howA 6 a PP eare d before God, her Diary discovers 
 how exceeding vile she was in her own eves and 
 how much she abhorred herself by reason of the 
 
 foSnd Zr m ' f T She ° ften calls *> whi <* she' 
 tound in her sinful nature, and which made her a 
 
 burden to herself. She was also greatly humbled 
 Jade :»T 8t] ? COndesce ™<™ of Divine grace 
 " eric t T ,nfi / mitIes - " What grace, and such 
 '• £??■>' tj. ' unwo , rth y m e, to vile, ungrateful 
 
 he^Lrr «T WaS n0t ^ that so much affe °ted 
 her heart as the grace of God to such a sinner. 
 
 LerJ wJ" fi Q n | t3 I ° f Si " S ' aS this Latin P roverb mV be rendered 
 Dictionary o/Pr^rName" ^ A " isw0KI «'» Latin 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
338 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Her patience was admirable under all the chastise- 
 ments of her heavenly Father. She would often 
 profess her unfeigned submission to all his discipline. 
 " This," says she, " or any other method, Lord, to 
 " take away sin. This flesh shall bear it, and this 
 " spirit shall not repine at it. This is a part of thy 
 il covenant, and I am thankful for it. Thou hast 
 " done me good by afflictions, and wilt do me more, 
 " and therefore I will glory in them." Under the 
 unkind treatment of some whom she had studied to 
 oblige to the utmost, and whose interests she had 
 often espoused to the prejudice of her own, she 
 manifested a very exemplary carriage, by keeping 
 the possession of her mind, and rendering them good 
 for all their evil. Indeed, these trials stuck close to 
 her ; but, by the grace of God, she was superior to 
 them all ; she eyed God in all, and ever referred her 
 cause to him. 
 
 As to this world, she was very thankful to her 
 Divine Benefactor for the good provision he had made 
 for her in it ; but she often protested, " that she would 
 " never take it for her portion, since God had ten- 
 " dered heaven and Himself to her." The cares, 
 and incumbrances, and vexations, and especially the 
 sinfulness of the world, had weaned her affections 
 from it, and raised many restless and almost inces- 
 sant cries for her deliverance out of it. She was 
 never elevated with its smiles, unless in thankfulness 
 to God ; and never depressed by its frowns, unless 
 she apprehended that sin was the cause. Her mind, 
 for the most part, was equal in every state, because 
 she was ever aspiring and longing after her heavenly 
 country and inheritance. How often would she wish, 
 " O for those realms of light, and love, and purity l" 
 
 Her love to the souls of others was manifested by 
 her instructions, examinations, reproofs, and coun- 
 sels, upon all occasions. There were very few could 
 escape her after some acquaintance with them, but 
 she would know in what state they were as to reli- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 339 
 
 gion ; and, after she had conversed with them, she 
 would earnestly pray for them in her closet, and be 
 greatly thankful when she found any serious impres- 
 sions had been made upon their minds. She con- 
 stantly bewailed the ignorance, impiety, profaneness, 
 and immorality she saw, or heard of, in any ; but, 
 above all, the insensibility, carelessness, and evil 
 practices of the seed of the righteous, the children of 
 prayers and vows. 
 
 Her love to the truly godly could not but be ob- 
 served by all. She delighted greatly in their com- 
 pany, regarding them as the excellent of the earth, 
 how mean and contemptible soever th#y appeared in 
 the sight of others. She loved them as the children 
 of God, and fellow-heirs of the kingdom, would dili- 
 gently frequent their assemblies for prayer, and 
 always promote some spiritual conversation, which, 
 if not forwarded by others, was a disappointment and 
 grief to her. In her Diary, we may often find her 
 praying that her visits may be made profitable to 
 herself and others, and that precious time may 
 not be wasted by empty discourse, but that she 
 and her companions may be helpers of each other's 
 faith and joy, and may have some comfortable con- 
 ference on the kingdom of God. She often lamented 
 that the Communion of Saints, which is an article 
 of the Christian creed, should be so much forgotten 
 by most Christians ; and sometimes, when she re- 
 turned from unprofitable conversation, she would 
 complain, " that, though she had struck fire so often, 
 " yet, that it always fell upon wet tinder." She 
 had the interest of God and religion much more 
 at heart than any private or personal interest 
 whatsoever. 
 
 Her charity to the poor was known to many, espe- 
 cially to the household of faith, whether natives of 
 her own country, or foreigners. She spared no pains, 
 and grudged no expenses, in her state of widowhood, 
 for carrying on her designs for the relief of destitute 
 
 Q 2 
 
340 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 families exiled for the sake of religion, for erecting 
 charity-schools for the education of the poor, for the 
 maintenance of ministers and candidates for the 
 sacred office, and for a provision of Bibles and prac- 
 tical books, to be distributed as she should see 
 occasion. So many long and expensive journeys 
 had she taken for promoting these charitable designs 
 among her acquaintance, that she sometimes plea- 
 santly remarked upon herself, ** that she had acted the 
 " part of a beggar so long, that she was now almost 
 " really one herself." She very much approved of 
 every person's devoting a certain part of their estates 
 to pious and charitable uses ; " for then," says she, 
 rt they will not grudge to give out of a bag that is no 
 " longer their own." And as to such as had no 
 children, she thought it was reasonable they should 
 appropriate a fourth part of their net profits or in- 
 come, if they could allow it, as she herself did, to 
 such valuable and necessary purposes. 
 
 Faith in Christ, and dependence on the covenant 
 of her God, were the daily exercise of her soul. Her 
 first and principal care was, to clear up her interest 
 in Christ and the promises ; in doing which she was 
 cautious and exact. She then prepared and me- 
 thodized a very choice collection of promises suited 
 to every state, duty, relation, frame, temptation, and 
 difficulty. These promises were the food of her 
 faith, always ready, and from these she derived con- 
 stant strength and comfort. On these promises she 
 grounded her prayers. She took her arrows out of 
 God's own quiver, pleaded with him from his own 
 word, and wrestled with him in his own strength, 
 for herself and others, in every ordinance, in every 
 business, in every circumstance and turn in life. Her 
 Diary shows what fast hold she took of God by the 
 promises of his covenant, and how she kept her hold, 
 sometimes hoping against hope, till she had baffled 
 temptation, subdued corruption, and surmounted all 
 her difficulties. The aspirings of her faith after 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 341 
 
 Christ, her solemn dedications of herself to him, and 
 steady recumbency of her soul upon him, as her only 
 rock and refuge, were such as did not appear in 
 common Christians. It might well be said of her, 
 " O woman, great is thy faith S" And it was often 
 said to her, in effect, " Be it unto thee even as 
 <( thou wilt." 
 
 She always began her day with God, by conse- 
 crating her first and freshest thoughts to him, that 
 she might guard against vanity, temptation, and 
 worldly discomposures, and keep her heart in tune 
 for the following duties of the day. She always 
 accounted the morning not only a friend to the 
 Muses, but also to the Graces, and found it the fittest 
 time for the best services. She never, or very rarely, 
 entered upon any worldly business till she had begun 
 with God, and given the first-fruits of the day to him 
 in her closet, by reading, meditation, and prayer, 
 before the worship of the family ; often urging on 
 herself the words of the Psalmist, " My voice shalt 
 " thou hear in the morning. O Lord, in the morning 
 a will I direct my prayer to thee, and will look up." 
 Psal. v. 3. 
 
 When reading, singing, and prayer in the family 
 were over, she constantly returned to her closet, and 
 generally spent most of her morning there. She 
 first lighted her lamp, as she expressed it, by reading 
 the Holy Scriptures, for the most part with Mr. 
 Henry's Annotations. She diligently compared pa- 
 rallel texts, and took a great pleasure in reducing 
 what she met with in the History of the Bible to its 
 proper time. She then poured out her soul to God 
 in prayer, with a constant regard to the intercession 
 of Christ. Through the rest of the day she walked 
 with God, and was frequently lifting up her heart in 
 ejaculatory prayers or praises upon any occurrence. 
 In the evening, as early as she could, she called 
 herself to an account for all that had passed in the 
 day, and inserted the records of herself in her Diary. 
 
342 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Having poured out her heart to God, and committed 
 herself and her all to him, she then cheerfully joined 
 in the devotions of the family. 
 
 Though the people of God were always the people 
 of her choice, she was often obliged to keep company 
 with others. When she expected to make a visit to 
 any such, or to receive a visit from them, she fre- 
 quently begged of God grace that she might order 
 her conversation aright, and that she might not be a 
 partaker with others in their sins, but know how to 
 reprove them, and that she might not suffer others to 
 trifle away their time, but know how to employ them. 
 She quickly observed the gifts and graces of others, 
 and endeavoured to draw them out to her own advan- 
 tage. She alvvavs valued the conversation of minis- 
 ters, physicians, and persons of reading and ingenuity, 
 especially such as had the greatest savour of religion. 
 
 She often visited the sick, and relieved the poor, 
 blessing God that she was in circumstances to give, 
 rather than to receive. When, in her state of widow- 
 hood, she had sometimes given to the last penny, 
 through the delays of tenants in their payments, she 
 often observes, that speedy supplies were sent in a 
 very unexpected manner, as if giving to the poor were 
 the readiest way to bring in the payment of her debts. 
 
 Of all company, there was none more offensive or 
 painful to her than tattlers and talebearers. She could 
 not forbear reproving them, and often frowned them 
 out of her house. " She had business enough," she 
 would say, " of her own, and therefore did not desire 
 " to intermeddle with her neighbours." She durst 
 not defame others, or take up an evil report against 
 them, or countenance such who did. She was never 
 more palled in conversation than in hearing what 
 others did, and what they had, and what they said, 
 what dresses were worn, what entertainments were 
 given, what company were present, and what dis- 
 course passed among them, and therefore would often 
 say, " How happy would it be if we might talk of 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 343 
 
 <( things rather than of persons !" Both her own good 
 sense and the power of religion carried her soul above 
 such trifles and impertinencies ; and they rather gave 
 her disgust than any degree of pleasure. 
 
 Her worldly losses, especially in the latter part of 
 her life, were many and very great ; but she would 
 say, " The world is not my portion, and therefore 
 11 these losses cannot be my ruin. I have all in God 
 " now, and shall have all this restored by one mean 
 " or another, if not to myself, yet to those who shall 
 <e survive me, if God sees it good for us." She was 
 frequently exercised with afflictions, even from her 
 youth. The inclemency of the air, where her own 
 estate lay, and many of her pious friends and relatives 
 lived, often laid her under a necessity of removing to 
 distant places. She was also no stranger to very 
 sharp bodily disorders ; but, under extremity of pains 
 in her head or breast, her usual complaints, she ever 
 submitted with exemplary patience and silence to the 
 sovereign will of God, justifying him in his severest 
 discipline, and often saying, " she would not for all 
 " the world but she had been afflicted. " 
 
 She set a high value upon her time, and especially 
 on those seasons and opportunities in which the in- 
 terest of her soul was so nearly concerned; and she 
 thought she never could abound enough in that work 
 which afforded her the greatest satisfaction. She 
 would often say, " that she would not lose her morn- 
 '* ing hours with God, though she was sure to gain 
 ** the whole world by it." She grudged that the poorest 
 labourer should ever be found at his work before she 
 was at hers. Even from her youth, she agreed with 
 her servant, under great penalties upon herself, that 
 she would rise every morning at four o'clock for her 
 closet ; " which was her practice," says her biographer 
 and husband, " as I have been told, from the eleventh 
 " year of her age ; and at five, to my own knowledge, 
 u if sickness or pain did not prevent her, for betwixt 
 *' twenty and thirty of the last years of her life." 
 
344 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 She carefully endeavoured to improve the day in 
 company and conversation with her friends. She was 
 always well furnished with matter for useful con- 
 versation, and could make very happy transitions 
 from worldly to serious discourse. But yet, she 
 would often complain of the loss of much precious 
 time in giving and receiving visits, and would say, 
 " She could not be satisfied with such a life, in which 
 rt she could neither do good, nor receive good, but 
 " that she must keep to her closet and her book/ 7 
 She often remarked in her Diary, " that she was 
 " entertained very kindly at such and such houses, 
 " but no good done to herself or others." 
 
 Her first marriage was to Griffith Lloyd, Esquire, 
 of Hemingford-Grey, in Huntingdonshire, on the 
 first of February, 1667, in the twenty-third year of 
 her age. He was a gentleman of good reputation 
 and estate, of great usefulness in his county, while 
 he was in commission of the peace, and afterwards, 
 as a reconciler of differences, and common patron of 
 the oppressed. He was a person of a very active and 
 generous spirit, of great piety, of a singularly good 
 temper, and steady faithfulness to his friends. They 
 lived together about fifteen years, to April 13, 1682, 
 when death dissolved the near relation by removing 
 him from our world. This worthy pair were such 
 patterns of love and harmony, as to be taken notice 
 of by all their neighbours. Her second marriage was 
 to the Rev. Samuel Bury, on May 29, 1697, a very 
 worthy and excellent minister, who survived her. 
 
 As a mistress of a family, she was very careful in 
 the choice of her servants, where she could have a 
 choice. She was always afraid of strife and conten- 
 tion in her family, lest she should be discomposed in 
 her own spirit, and the common interest of religion 
 should be obstructed by intestine jars and disaffection. 
 She never took any person into her service till she 
 had solemnly prayed to, and pleaded with God, and 
 submitted herself to his direction. Whenever she 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 345 
 
 treated with any, she not only acquainted them with 
 the business of their place, but also with the religious 
 orders of the family, to which she had their explicit 
 consent. When they were once admitted into her 
 house, it was her first and constant care to inquire 
 into the state of their souls, to instruct and catechise, 
 to reprove and encourage them ; to warn them of the 
 snares and dangers of their age and place; and to 
 enjoin them to take time for secret prayer, reading 
 the Scriptures, meditation, and self-examination. She 
 always charged it as a duty upon herself, to discourse 
 over with her servants every sermon they heard toge- 
 ther, especially on Sabbaths, and to inculcate that 
 upon them in a particular manner, in which she 
 thought they were much concerned. She sometimes 
 took an account of them together; but at other times, 
 when her strength and health would allow, she 
 examined them singly and apart, that such who 
 could remember but little, might not be discouraged 
 by those that could do better, and that she might 
 have a fairer opportunity of closer application to their 
 particular state, as she saw occasion. By these 
 means she became a servant to her servants, and she 
 took pleasure in all her pains with them, though 
 oftentimes to her own extreme faintness. Her Diary 
 abundantly proves how incessantly she prayed for 
 them, where we often find her mourning over the 
 unteachableness of some, lodging her appeals with 
 God as to the sincerity of her endeavours to have 
 done them good; and rejoicing over others, that 
 God had answered her prayers, blessed her instruc- 
 tions, planted them in families, and made them 
 blessings there. " I cannot remember/' says her 
 husband, writing concerning her, " any servants that 
 " were ever brought under her care, who had not 
 " learned something of the method of a sermon before 
 " they left her ; and very many had their memories 
 " improved so far, as to bring home all the particular 
 " heads, though numerous, of the two sermons on 
 
346 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " the Lord's-day. Whenever she inclined to part 
 "with a servant, she always consulted God in it; 
 " and then she would take the person into her closet, 
 " and very pathetically advise and teach a proper 
 " conduct of life, in order that the servant might be 
 " acceptable in other families. And such was the 
 " success of these her religious methods, that I know 
 " not of any one servant she ever had, but was, at 
 " first or at last, under some awakenings of con- 
 " science, and spiritual convictions, and seeming reso- 
 " lutions for God and religion, however they wore off 
 " afterwards. It is common with some of them still, 
 " upon every occasion, to speak of their mistress's 
 t( care of them, and prayers for them, when the family 
 " was left with her, as, in the necessary absence of 
 " others, was frequently the case." 
 
 If we view her in regard to her relations, we shall 
 find her a constant sharer with them in all their joys 
 and sorrows. A more sympathetic spirit is very 
 rarely to be met with. She never ceased to pray for 
 them, as parts of herself. She often mourned for 
 their sins and afflictions. She rejoiced in the piety 
 of some, and longed after the conversion and return 
 of others. When at a distance from her relatives, 
 she had a happy talent in writing to them; and such 
 were the pertinency, pathos, and pungency of all her 
 letters, that every one valued them, and was greatly 
 pleased with them. When she was present with her 
 relatives, she was ever feeling how the pulse of their 
 souls beat ; she ingratiated herself into their regard, 
 and instilled something proper into their minds, 
 observing, persuading, warning/and directing, as she 
 thought necessary. " She has an honourable testi- 
 ** mony," says Mr. Bury, " I believe, in the consci- 
 " ences of all her relations, who respect her memory, 
 " and own her to be a pattern of great integrity, 
 " piety, ingenuousness, and faithfulness. Heranimad- 
 " version upon her friends, in the manner she used 
 t( to do it, was so far from offending them, that it 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 347 
 
 <f was oftentimes very pleasing to them, and begat 
 " in them some awful regard to her person, and a 
 u true decorum in their own lives." 
 
 Of all orders of men, she had the greatest love for 
 the ministers of Christ. She coveted their company, 
 that she might improve by it, and was never better 
 pleased than when her house and her table were 
 rilled with them. She would diligently inquire of 
 them in all her difficulties, and as carefully observe 
 all their directions. She honoured the aged, the 
 learned, and grave, with a double honour, was often 
 grieved for the infirmities of others, but despised 
 none for their weakness, if she apprehended them 
 faithful to God and his interest, and that they had 
 been useful in their places. She thought it her duty 
 to pray for ministers above all men, as they are con- 
 cerned in the welfare of so many souls. That this 
 was her practice, appears from her Diary, from one 
 end to the other, and particularly from a remark she 
 makes of a single omission. " I have heard a sermon," 
 " says she, " to day, but I forgot to pray for the 
 " minister, and I sped accordingly." This shews 
 that it was her custom to pray for every minister 
 before she heard him. 
 
 She looked upon the tabernacles of God as truly 
 amiable, which she had often seen filled with his 
 glory, and where his blessing had been commanded 
 outofSion. She constantly attended upon the public 
 ordinances, if not debarred by insuperable difficulties, 
 and made it a point always to be present at the be- 
 ginning of them. She would often blame the remiss- 
 ness of many in this respect, and say, " That surely 
 " they did not feel the wants that she did, or else 
 " they could not live in such common neglects." 
 There was no preaching so acceptable to her as that 
 which alarmed her conscience, searched her heart, 
 and came closest to her in matters in which she most 
 suspected herself. 
 
 She greatly disliked a selfish and narrow spirit, 
 
348 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and had always a very generous Christian concern 
 for the public. She had many melancholy thoughts 
 on account of the impiety and profaneness, the im- 
 morality and licentiousness, of the greatest part of 
 the nation, and the indifference, formality, and visible 
 declension and apostacies that were found among the 
 rest. Many private days, either in her closet, or in 
 some unobserved apartment abroad, she devoted to 
 fasting and prayer, either on account of the distresses 
 of foreign churches, or the dangers of our own. She 
 would always bless God when the State appointed 
 any public fasts, and looked upon them as presages 
 of good to the church and nation. She bore her part 
 in them with great fervency and zeal, after she had 
 very solemnly prepared for them on the preceding 
 day. The searches she made into her heart and life 
 upon those days, were deep, strict, and impartial ; her 
 confessions were particular and full ; and her resolu- 
 tions for future conduct were very solemn, but always 
 with a special dependence upon the grace of God to 
 make them effectual. The success of those fasts 
 is frequently observed in her Diary upon proper 
 occasions. 
 
 Besides her common concern for the good of all 
 men, and her special regard to her family and re- 
 lations, she would shew upon all occasions, when her 
 own health would allow it, a very compassionate 
 concern for the sick and afflicted. Though in some 
 cases it was very noisome and dangerous, yet, she 
 took a pleasure in visiting the sick, as it gave her an 
 opportunity of inquiring into the state of their souls, 
 and impressing upon their minds the concerns of 
 religion, and improving the alarms of God upon their 
 consciences for future watchfulness and reformation. 
 However matters appeared to her upon such private 
 inquiries and conversation with any, she would always 
 afterwards bring their cases into her closet, spread 
 them before the Lord, pray them over, and observe 
 what answers were given to her supplications. How 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 349 
 
 much knowledge and skill soever she attained in the 
 practice of physic by long observation, conversation, 
 and experience, yet, she was always very distrustful of 
 herself in any chronical cases, and could hardly be 
 persuaded to direct without better advice, till the 
 poverty of her patients, and their great importunity, 
 compelled her to it. When God gave her success, 
 she always acknowledged it with great thankfulness 
 to him, that he should own so weak an instrument for 
 the preservation of human lives. The instances of 
 such successes, in most places where she had lived, 
 were not easily numbered. 
 
 She always abhorred flattering others, or being 
 flattered herself. She thought that as evil speaking 
 moved men to sin, so, that evil silence left them in 
 sin. It was not to create uneasiness to others, or 
 from an officicusness in matters that did not concern 
 her, or because she thought herself more capable of 
 doing it, that she reproved any, but because she 
 apprehended that others for the most part very sin- 
 fully neglected it, and that the honour of God, and 
 the credit of religion, in the mean-time suffered by 
 the omission. She judged that she, as well as others, 
 was bound in conscience not to u hate" her brother 
 by letting sin lie upon him, but " in any wise to re- 
 prove him" for it. She considered this salutary liberty 
 as an evidence of true Christian love to others; and 
 therefore, having begged of God to guide her tongue, 
 to move their hearts, and restrain their passions, she 
 would in great tenderness, at a proper season, with 
 much plainness and freedom tell them of their faults, 
 and plead with them concerning them. Younger 
 persons, and her inferiors, if the case required it, 
 were reproved with some severity and smartness, but 
 others with much meekness, moderation, and modesty. 
 If it at any time so happened, that she took this li- 
 berty with ministers, she would always preface her 
 addresses to them in the Apostle's words ; "Rebuke 
 " not an elder, but entreat him as a father, and young 
 
350 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 men as brethren." 1 Tim. v. 1 . There were not want- 
 ing instances of great success in this her freedom 
 tempered with modesty ; and some have thanked and 
 honoured her on the account as long as she lived. 
 Nor was she more ready to give, than to take reproof. 
 She ever reckoned them her truest friends who used 
 the greatest liberty with her in this respect ; and, 
 when in any thing she appeared to be blameworthy, 
 she would acknowledge it with an ingenuous concern, 
 and often profess that she had not taken notice of it 
 in herself, but that she would endeavour after a greater 
 circumspection for time to come. 
 
 She always called the Sabbath " a delight, holy of 
 the Lord, and honourable." She was very uneasy if 
 worldly business was not despatched in time, that 
 the Sabbath might be remembered before it came. 
 She endeavoured to awake with God, and possess 
 her mind at first with proper thoughts, that might 
 prepare her for the work that was to follow. She 
 presently engaged in secret prayer, to bespeak the 
 Divine presence and assistance through the day. She 
 then read and sang, as she had time, before family- 
 worship began. When that was over, she retired 
 again to read, sing, and pray ; and, as has been before 
 observed, had a constant remembrance of the mi- 
 nister, that God would grant him assistance, and 
 success to his labours. As she was up early on the 
 Sabbath, so she was not only always out early, but her 
 whole family with her ; not so much regarding the 
 dressing of her own dinner as the advantage of her ser- 
 vants' souls. When public ordinances were over, she 
 always withdrew for meditation ; she next examined 
 her servants, and inculcated upon them what they 
 had heard ; then she prayed in her closet before 
 family-worship ; and after that, filled up the spaces 
 of the evening with spiritual and edifying discourses. 
 
 She was never more pleased in any ordinance than 
 that of singing, as she had a natural love to music, 
 and a good understanding and skill in it. But yet, 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 351 
 
 a concord of voices could not satisfy her without an 
 agreement and harmony of heart with what was suno\ 
 Hence a smart remark upon herself in her Diary: 
 " In such a place I was so charmed with the novelty 
 " and sweetness of the tune, that I had sung several 
 " lines before my heart was concerned in what I was 
 " doing." 
 
 As to sacraments, she always shewed a most reli- 
 gious regard to them, in obedience to the precept, and 
 in a sense of interest ; " and for twenty-three years 
 u together," says Mr. Bury, " I never knew her ab- 
 " sent from one, if bodily illness did not prevent 
 " her." She durst not rush upon that sacred ordi- 
 nance of the Lord's Supper without a serious and 
 solemn preparation for it. She carefully examined and 
 proved her graces, her faith, love, repentance, and the 
 like, and could not be satisfied only with former trials. 
 She made diligent search into her heart and life, to 
 make a discovery of her sins, in order to confess and 
 bewail them before God in secret. For this purpose 
 she read over the Commandments, and some expo- 
 sitor upon them, that she might better know the 
 duties required, and the sins forbidden in each of 
 them, with their several aggravations. She then 
 read over her Diary, and more especially reflected 
 upon the sins she had been guilty of since the last 
 sacrament, that she might pray, and guard against 
 them for the future. When she had thus prepared 
 herself, and endeavoured to excite her graces for 
 their proper exercises, she never dared to trust to 
 her own preparations, but relied wholly on the power, 
 merits, and mediation of the Lord Jesus Christ, for 
 acceptance and success. In his strength she was 
 strong, and went forth with longing expectations of 
 much grace and consolation in that banquet of love; 
 and she seldom failed of the enjoyment of what she 
 had prayed and hoped for. She then attended the 
 ordinance in an humble sense of her own vileness, 
 with an awful regard to the majesty of God, and 
 
352 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with great fear and caution, lest any worldly trifle 
 should carry off her heart from its proper work. Her 
 faith fixed upon Christ to receive, and apply, and ap- 
 propriate him, and to live upon his fulness. Her love 
 was engaged with great intenseness and ardour upon 
 God the Father, and the Son, for the discovery of 
 such infinite kindness and grace in the redemption of 
 man, and the blessings of an everlasting covenant ; 
 so that she often in her Diary appeals to God con- 
 cerning the sincerity of her love to him. " Lord, if 
 " I love not thee, I love nothing — I love not my 
 •' friends ; I love not myself; I love not any thing 
 " in heaven, or on earth, if I love not thee." Her 
 heart also, in this holy ordinance, was melted for sin, 
 while she looked upon that Saviour whom she had 
 crucified, and upon all the scenes of his sorrows from 
 his Father, from men, and from devils. Nor did any 
 thing more invigorate her prayers, and resolutions, 
 and covenants against sin, than the love of God to 
 her, and her reciprocal love to him. When the 
 blessed sacrament was over, she would not suffer 
 herself to be diverted, but constantly withdrew to her 
 closet, to bless God on her knees for what she had 
 done, and for what she had received, and to entreat 
 forgiveness for her failings, the continuance of pre- 
 sent pious impressions, and grace to be faithful for 
 the time to come. 
 
 She was truly a praying person, and one who gave 
 herself to prayer; and, in the Scripture sense, she 
 prayed always. She would often say, "she would 
 " not be hired out of her closet for a thousand 
 " worlds." She never enjoyed such hours of pleasure, 
 and such free and intimate communion with God, as 
 she experienced there. She wondered how any per- 
 sons could live without prayer, and deprive them- 
 selves of one of the greatest privileges that was ever 
 vouchsafed to the children of men. 
 
 Her gift in prayer was very extraordinary, as many 
 have observed when the care of the family devolved 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 353 
 
 upon her ; and, as her excellent husband and biogra- 
 pher observed, when upon some peculiar occasions 
 they have prayed together in secret. He has been 
 " struck/' as he declares, with wonder, " at the free- 
 " dom and aptness of her language ; at the warmth 
 u and vigour of her affections ; at her humble con- 
 " fidence in God; and her strong expectations of 
 " blessings from him, when she poured out her soul 
 " to him in that duty." With satisfaction and cheer- 
 fulness she would leave all her own complaints, and 
 all the difficulties, grievances, and distresses of others, 
 with her God ; thus casting her burdens upon the 
 Lord, and finding rest for her soul in him. She 
 never determined any doubtful cases with respect to 
 herself, her friends, or her family, till she had first 
 asked counsel of God; and then, whatever she re- 
 solved in her closet, upon that direction she was 
 always unalterably fixed. 
 
 Many merciful returns of prayers she observes in 
 her Diary. Sometimes, God answered her upon her 
 knees, while she was praying ; either in the recovery 
 of the sick, whose lives were despaired of by others; 
 or in ease to the pained, when in their paroxysms and 
 acutest agonies; or in comfort to the dejected, when 
 under the gloomiest apprehensions, and most afflict- 
 ing confusions ; or in relief to the poor, when in the 
 deepest distresses ; or in extinguishing the violence 
 of flames, when the towns where she lived have been 
 in the greatest danger of being laid in ashes. In the 
 last case, that of fire, she always retired upon the first 
 alarm, " being incapable," as she used to say, u of 
 " giving any other assistance in that calamity than 
 " by prayer." At other times, she observes in her 
 Diary, how long she waited for God's answers. " At 
 " such a time," she notes, u I prayed, and at such a 
 
 time God graciously heard my prayer ;" and she 
 concludes, " Surely this was mercy worth praying 
 " and waiting for." She would often remark the 
 seasonableness of the Divine mercies, and how much 
 
 a 
 
354 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 better they were in God's time of giving them, than 
 they would have been at the first time of her asking 
 them. And sometimes she would very thankfully 
 own the wisdom and goodness of God, when, in the 
 result of things, she found she had prayed for what it 
 had not been honourable for God to give, and would 
 have been hurtful to herself or others to receive. 
 
 It is not to be told, upon how many occasions she 
 thus addressed herself to God, or how often she 
 opened the treasures of grace by this key of prayer. 
 It is most certain, that an application to the throne 
 of mercy was her daily refuge, and her daily relief in 
 every distress. If she did not always obtain what 
 she asked in temporals, she owns she had an equiva- 
 lent or better ; and God fully satisfied her of the 
 reasonableness of his denials. As to her trials and 
 temptations, she acknowledges with great gratitude 
 to God, c * that she had either present deliverances, 
 " or grace sufficient, for the most part, to resist, and 
 " power at last to overcome." 
 
 The motto in her closet for many years, in Hebrew 
 characters, was " Thou, Lord, seest me ;" hereby 
 plainly intimating her awful adoration of the omni- 
 science of God, that her eye of faith should be always 
 upon him, and that she would ever act under the 
 influence of the persuasion that God was present, 
 whether in reading, prayer, meditation, self-inquiry, 
 or in recording the solemn transactions that passed 
 between him and her soul in her closet. She had 
 this motto always before her, that as often as she 
 entered into her closet, and as long as she continued 
 there, and in every duty she performed, it might be a 
 memorial to her, that every sin, and folly, and instance 
 of her departure from God, was perfectly known to 
 him ; that every penitent confession, tear, and groan, 
 were in his sight, and under his hearing ; and that 
 every prayer, and purpose, and vow, and solemn 
 obligation made, and renewed, and ratified in her 
 closet, were sacred and awful, as under the eye and 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 355 
 
 notice of an all-seeing and heart-searching God. This 
 motto, she often found, had greatly restrained her 
 from sin, had excited her to duty, had disposed her 
 for comfortable communion with God, and kept her 
 from trifling in the place of her sacred retirement. 
 
 The great work of this pious gentlewoman's life, 
 was a readiness for death. She began this work early, 
 and she pursued it daily, and with great and growing 
 success. She often took a review of the several ages 
 of her life, and very penitentially bewailed the sins 
 of her childhood and youth, as well as of her riper 
 years, to the end of her days. 
 
 li It was in her youth, I think," says her husband, 
 " about the twentieth year of her age, that God gave 
 tl her the sure pledges of his love, and the clear evi- 
 " dence of her title to eternal life ; and for fifty- 
 " six years after, she lived in comfortable commu- 
 " nion with God, and the joyful expectation of the 
 " promised inheritance. She carefully laid her found- 
 M ation at first in God's covenant with Christ and 
 " with sinners in him, and her own cordial consent 
 " to that covenant, and then built upon the promises 
 " of God, and the righteousness, merits, and media- 
 " tion of the Lord Jesus Christ. She would often 
 " say, ' that, though it should sometimes rain in at 
 u the roof, she must not therefore pluck up the 
 " foundation, or suspect her safety from every shock, 
 " or flaw, or failure in the course of her life and 
 u actions/" 
 
 For some of the last years of this exemplary 
 Christian's life, she found herself in a declining state, 
 and was always waiting for her dismission. The 
 clearness of her thought, the vigour of her mind, 
 and the strength of her memory, continued to the 
 last ; but, as she was often oppressed with bodily 
 infirmities, and had many wearisome days and nights 
 appointed her, she was the more desirous of entering 
 into her eternal rest. And now, after a course of 
 such eminent piety, vigilant and daily preparation for 
 
356 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 death, and fervent desires for her dismission from 
 the body, let us attend her to her closing scene. 
 
 On the 3d of May, 1720, as she and Mr. Bury, 
 her husband, had just entered into a friend's house, 
 where they were to have dined, she was immediately 
 struck with an exquisite pain in one of her ears, 
 which presently caused such a deafness, as to render 
 her unconversable : upon this, she desired to withdraw, 
 and went home. Her deafness continuing, a pleuritic 
 fever soon followed, and, after that, a lethargy, 
 which in part deprived her friends of that heavenly 
 discourse they promised themselves they should have 
 heard from her upon her death-bed. 
 
 In former illnesses, when she herself, and every 
 one else, thought her under the sentence of death, 
 she was always so far above it, though she was natu- 
 rally of a very timorous spirit, that she triumphed 
 over it, and sang, * O death ! where is thy sting ? 
 *' O grave ! where is thy victory ? Thanks be to 
 *' God, who gives me the victory, through our Lord 
 u Jesus Christ!" — " I am fighting,'' she would say, 
 " under the great Captain of my salvation, and can 
 " bid defiance to all the powers of hell, and boldly 
 M encounter Satan in his own kingdom ! — I am now 
 u in the dark valley, but I see light at the end of it, 
 " and the gate of heaven stands open. O let me go 
 u into endless love, and live that sinless life ! — 
 *' When, Lord, shall I come to thee ? Almost gone, 
 " and yet I cannot go ! — O my dear friends, why so 
 *' cruel ? What should I live any longer for ? My 
 " work is done, and why would you not have me go 
 " to rest? Give me up, I entreat you, to God, and do 
 " it cheerfully. My constant prayer has been, to be 
 " always waiting and hoping ; and this is my present 
 "frame. — It is an abundant answer to all your 
 " prayers for me, that I have peace, and hope, and 
 " comfort, without any doubt, or fear, or any sus- 
 " picious thought of my salvation. — I am sure I have 
 " not flattered myself in the trial of my state, nor 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 357 
 
 " been superficial in it, and I am fully persuaded 
 u that God will not deceive me. — I am my Beloved's, 
 " and my Beloved is mine. It is but one struggle ; 
 " and better now, if God sees fit, or else I have all 
 "this to do again. — Father! into thine hands let 
 " me commend my spirit." — She would with plea- 
 sure feel her faltering pulse, and say, " When wilt 
 " thou beat thy last? It is not death yet, but, 
 " blessed be God, it is pretty near it. — I hope I 
 " shall not return to labour, and sorrow, and sin 
 " again. — O that I had the wings of a dove ! Then 
 "would I fly away and be at rest!" — She would 
 often add, u We have need of patience, that, after 
 " we have done the will of God, we might inherit 
 " the promises." 
 
 In her last illness, she had the same stedfast faith 
 and strong consolations she had before experienced, 
 but a more difficult passage out of life than what 
 was expected. It was concluded, by her lamentable 
 groans for some days together, that her pains had 
 been quite exquisite ; but when she was asked con- 
 cerning herself, she generally answered, " I feel but 
 " little pain, only am restless." Her cold and ex- 
 cessive sweats continued for many hours together, 
 and were not more profuse in themselves, than 
 affecting to others. Though the nature of her dis- 
 temper prevented her from speaking much, yet, what 
 she did speak, was always rational and spiritual. 
 Her mind was not only calm and sedate, but very 
 placid and cheerful, as oft as she awoke. " O my 
 " God," said she, " I wait for thy salvation ! — This 
 " day I hope to be with Christ in paradise. — The 
 11 promises of God are all yea and amen in Christ 
 u Jesus ; and here my faith lays hold, and here it 
 " keeps its hold." 
 
 On the 11th of May, she prayed her friends with 
 much entreaty to detain her no longer by their 
 prayers, but to resign up her soul to God ; " which," 
 says Mr. Bury, " we did, with as much earnestness 
 
358 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " as ever we had asked her life before. Such are 
 " God's ways to wean us from our dearest enjoy- 
 " merits in this world." About ten o'clock that 
 night, the prisoner was released from all her bonds, 
 and obtained a glorious freedom. Her heaven-born 
 soul took wing for the realms of light, and was bid 
 welcome into the joy of her Lord. 
 
 She had often made it her prayer to God, that she 
 might come off honourably in her last encounter, so 
 that neither religion might be discredited, nor her 
 friends discouraged, by any thing that should then 
 be observed in her ; and, as God had abundantly 
 answered so many of her prayers before, so, he very 
 graciously answered her in this request, for such 
 were the free and lively exercises of her faith and 
 love, that they entirely triumphed over all fears, and 
 carried her with a full sail into the port of glory. 
 To the great comfort of her surviving friends, she 
 left this world at last, " without either sigh, or groan, 
 " and with the pleasantest smile that was ever ob- 
 " served in her countenance before." 
 
 Mr. Bury, her husband, who drew up an account 
 of her life, has made a very large collection of ex- 
 cellent passages from her Diary. We must content 
 ourselves with only some few extracts from what he 
 has more diffusively communicated. 
 
 " 1690, Sept. 27. When I was nine or ten years 
 old, I first began the work of self-examination, and 
 begged the all-searching God to try, and discover 
 me to myself; and I think I may date my conversion 
 about that time. 
 
 " I have kept an account of my trials of myself 
 since 1670; and though my undutiful, ungrateful 
 returns have filled each examination with just and 
 bitter complaints, yet, upon twenty years' review, to 
 the glory of free grace, I take it the case has stood 
 thus with me : 
 
 11 My judgment has esteemed God, even his holi- 
 ness, the most desirable good ; and I would be a par- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 359 
 
 taker of his holiness, whatever it cost me ; and I have 
 generally been willing and thankful for the smartest 
 discipline in hope of that desired effect ; and I would 
 still be more holy, though by sickness, pain, or any 
 other affliction ; having always accounted sin the 
 greatest evil, and now for many years my bitterest 
 affliction, though in some hurries I have not felt the 
 most sensible mourning's for it. 
 
 " As I have chosen God for my portion, so, 
 I stand by my choice, and rejoice in it above all the 
 world ; and, through his grace assisting; me, I resolve 
 never to forsake him, though I die for it, which I 
 shall never do without extraordinary aids, having no 
 natural courage. I have chosen the path of God's 
 precepts as the means to this end, and have de- 
 liberately, entirely, and joyfully given myself to 
 Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and the life ; and 
 his love I prefer to all the world ; and by many sweet, 
 though too short experiences, I have found his love 
 lifting up my heart above all earthly enjoyments, and 
 sometimes making it joyful under pain and trouble, 
 which has hinted the power of his prevailing love, 
 and made me hope it will cast out fear, if he calls 
 me to martyrdom. 
 
 " My hope is in God through Christ ; and all I 
 have I would part with, rather than with his love, 
 and the interest I hope I have in it. 
 
 (t My desires are after him above gold, health, 
 friends, honour, &,c. I long- to have fuller com- 
 munion with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit here, and 
 the uninterrupted communion of heaven. 
 
 " My sorrow and anger are usually most intense 
 against sin, though too violent torrents of them have 
 been often spent on my sufferings. 
 
 " My hands, feet, head, and heart, follow not as 
 I would. My life is stained and blotted with daily 
 sins ; yet, God knows I loathe them. I find daily 
 defects in my duties, yet, I have a respect to all 
 
360 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 God's commandments. O wretched creature ! Sin 
 still dwells in me. I cannot do the things I would, 
 but I would upon any terms be rid of sin. I sin 
 daily, but I daily sorrow for, and hate sin, and fly to 
 the fountain opened, which alone can cleanse me. 
 
 " I forsake and renounce the devil's dominion ; 
 and as I have received the Lord Jesus Christ, so, 
 I watch, and pray, and strive to walk after his will, 
 and holy example. 
 
 u The world gets near me, and about me, and I 
 am too ready to follow and serve its pleasures and 
 conveniences ; but it is more solid joy to my soul to 
 say ' that Christ is mine,' than to be able to say, 
 ' this kingdom, this world, yea, all that I ever loved, 
 e are mine.' 
 
 " My own righteousness I abhor. The best, the 
 most perfect, the most sincere service I ever did, or 
 hope to do, gives me no hope of acceptance but in 
 and through Christ. 
 
 " O Lord, Jehovah, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, 
 thou art my portion. Whatever this flesh would 
 have, Lord, let me be thine at any rate. Truly I am, 
 and would, and will be thy servant by choice and 
 consent, whatever thou givest me, or whatever thou 
 deniest me. O how bountifully has God dealt with 
 me, while he has loved me from death to life ! 
 
 " Lord Jesus ! thou art my way to the Father, my 
 only Mediator. I have accepted thee to teach and 
 rule, as well as save my guilty soul. I cry as loud 
 for purifying as for pacifying grace. I am willing 
 to be kept from mine iniquity. I except no darling 
 sin from thine iron rod. I ask no mercy for it, nor 
 would I shew it any. 
 
 " I approve and subscribe to all thy precepts, as 
 holy, just, and good ; as best for me at all times, 
 and in all conditions. Let my heart be searched, 
 and I will love the word that searches it. I account 
 thy law my liberty. Thou hast drawn, and I have 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 361 
 
 run. Thou hast made thy word my love, delight, 
 and study, and it is the sincere bent of my life to 
 keep it. O that I might keep it to the end ! 
 
 " 1692, February 19. Ashamed and sad in the 
 consideration of the wonderful structure of my house 
 of clay, inhabited by an immortal spirit, capable of 
 reflection, &c. yet, both so long utterly useless to 
 my Creator's glory, still so little answering the noble 
 intentions to which body and soul were most wisely 
 and righteously directed ; yet, adoring the Divine 
 bounty, pity, and patience, that pardon, adopt, and 
 sanctify such an unworthy creature, I resigned body 
 and soul entirely to him who made them, begging a 
 willing, happy dissolution. 
 
 u 1692, March 20. Faint, yet pursuing ; dull, 
 yet adoring ; impure, yet loathing ; wandering, yet 
 returning; going to the fountain opened to be puri- 
 fied from all sin. O that this day may begin my 
 eternal Hallelujah ! 
 
 " 1692, July 19. All the world never gave me 
 such satisfying delight as this morning's communion 
 with God. And whence is this to me, that my Lord 
 will thus visit, revive, and cherish his poor, dull, 
 languishing, unworthy child ! O what shall the full, 
 assimilating, eternal, immediate vision of my God be ! 
 
 '•' 1692, September 1. My delight soon abated. It 
 is April weather with me. I am still on a floating- 
 island. Lord ! when shall I dwell on the continent 
 (of rest and joy) ? 
 
 " 1693, February 16. Continual violentpains render 
 me incapable of reading, prayer, or meditation; yet, 
 I am willing to undergo any discipline for the removal 
 of the spiritual maladies under which I labour. Strike, 
 Lord, so thou still healest ; wound for my cure, and 
 spare not. 
 
 " 1693, May 6. Reflecting on my sinful soul from 
 my childhood to this day, I find my heart humbled 
 with amazing sorrow for what I still remember, and 
 of which I still feel the remainders. 1 am astonished 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
362 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 at the patience of God, in whose sight all my past sins, 
 both what are remembered, and what are forgotten 
 as to me, are still present ; and yet, he waits to be 
 gracious to an ungrateful and rebellious creature. I 
 acknowledge 1 deserve nothing but hell, but yet fly 
 to the mercy of God offered in Christ, and beg that 
 he would deal with my sins after his own hatred of 
 them, and shew mercy to me, a miserable sinner, 
 according to the tenor of his gracious covenant in 
 Christ Jesus. 
 
 " 16'93, May 7. Thy vows, O God, are upon me, 
 and my resolutions are renewed to be more thine 
 than ever; but the grace and strength to perform 
 them, are thine. Lord, give what thou commandest, 
 possess what thou hast purchased, and perfect what 
 thou hast begun ! 
 
 '* 1696, August 4. O how much better than life, 
 or any thing in life, is the loving-kindness of God, 
 so sweetly, so evidently, so abundantly manifested to 
 my soul this morning ! Lord, how free, how full, how 
 humble and ingenuous my confessions, when thine 
 Holy Spirit endites them, and grants me his assist- 
 ance! What a view of sin! what melting shame and 
 sorrow! what tears of love ! what delight! what 
 panting after more grace! what calm and joyful 
 acquiescence in what was once dreaded discipline ! 
 what cheerful, unreserved resignation! Lord, how 
 long have I struggled in vain for what of thy free 
 bounty thou hast given in one hour ! Lord, keep it 
 ever on my heart ! 
 
 " 1697, January 3. God taught me to pray, and 
 heard my prayer. He assisted his messenger to draw 
 the bow with full strength, and to cry to him to direct 
 the arrows. Lord, I look, and will wait for some of 
 the arrows from thy quiver this day to stick fast in 
 my own soul, and the souls of others. I bless thy name 
 for sweet directions to live on another's life, to satisfy 
 by another's righteousness, and to act in another's 
 strength. Lord, strengthen thy weak creature ! 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 363 
 
 " 1697, March 20. I made a search into my heart* 
 before the Sacrament, with respect to the nature 
 and effects of true faith ; and I find lam glad of the 
 discovery even of such truths as most directly strike 
 at my strongest heart-sins and most violent inclina- 
 tions. I am as glad of the threatenin^s, that power- 
 fully work on me for my reformation, as of the 
 promises that refresh me. I embrace the promises 
 with delight ; and find, through free grace, a spiritual 
 taste and relish in the food of life, such as sometimes 
 quite weans me from the love of the world, and gives 
 me great peace of conscience, joy in the Holy Ghost, 
 and love to Christ's second appearing. I find good 
 hope, through grace, that I live by the faith of the 
 Son of God, who gave himself for unworthy me ; for 
 I delight in his word above my appointed food. It 
 has been in some measure of an assimilating nature. 
 I hope I have attained to some, and I pray and labour 
 for more growth in universal, uniform obedience to 
 all God's commands. I depend on the perfect 
 righteousness of Christ ; and must own, that from 
 the beams of that Sun of Righteousness I have received 
 a gracious illumination and powerful inclination upon 
 my soul to all good — a tender sympathy for the most 
 part with the church of God, even when my particular 
 state inclines me to a contrary temper — and a free 
 use of spiritual senses, seeing the light of God more 
 perfectly and frequently than usual, hearing his 
 word with delight, tasting his mercies with comfort, 
 and feeling and mourning under the wounds and 
 pressures of sin. I love Divine truths, not so much 
 because they are proportionable to my desires, but 
 because they are conformable to God. I resolve in 
 all estates to rely on God's mercy and providence. 
 I wholly renounce all trust in myself, or in any con- 
 currence of my own, naturally, in any good. I build 
 not my hopes or fears on men, nor make them or 
 myself the end or rule of my desires. I indulge no 
 
 r 2 
 
364 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 known sin. I have no known guile. I allow not 
 the least sin or appearance of evil. I hate the first 
 risings of sin, and bitterly regret the least, the first, 
 the most unavoidable thought, that rebels against 
 the Divine law. 
 
 '• 1698, June 22. A cheerful morning this; my 
 heart appealing to God, that Christ is my choice, 
 religion my business, the Holy Scripture my rule, 
 heaven my design, the saints my beloved companions, 
 and the ordinances my delight, when I meet with 
 God in them. 
 
 " 1706, October 25, 26. I set closely to examine 
 my state, and begged of God to discover whatever 
 mistake I might have been under in my former 
 trials, which I reviewed. Mr. Vines distinguishes 
 the true Christian from an hypocrite by the following 
 marks : 
 
 "■ 1. ( A true Christian's hatred against sin, and 
 ' his liking to God, arise from an inward nature, or 
 ' principle/ Lord, my conscience does not reproach 
 me when I say, I hate the whole species of sin, and 
 whatever appears sinful to me. I love the whole 
 law of God, and my soul pants daily for more 
 conformity. 
 
 " 2. ' The inward man of a Christian is made up 
 ' of Christ.' Lord, thou knowest that the little 
 knowledge of faith in Christ, and tastes of Christ I 
 have experienced, have made me hate and mourn for 
 sin, and love Christ, and that 1 fight against sin in 
 his strength. I have known the teachings of God, 
 and love my adorable Lord Jesus Christ for himself. 
 My repentance and sorrow for sin are most pungent, 
 when I am under the power of love. I desire grace 
 for service, as well as salvation. 
 
 " 3. ' True grace casts out self-love/ Grace comes 
 from, and draws the soul into, union with Christ. 
 Lord ! I love my soul and body, when they love and 
 serve thee. I hate that either should dishonour thee. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 365 
 
 I am willing to deny myself any thing for thee. Yet, 
 I fear too much indulgence of myself by sloth and 
 love of ease. 
 
 ** 4. ' To love and seek God for himself, is above 
 ' the power of all common gifts.' O Lord, thou 
 hast enabled my soul to love thee for thy glorious 
 excellencies and perfections, as well as for thy re- 
 deeming love, though not always so distinctly as I 
 would. From these and such like evidences, upon 
 the most diligent search I can make, I dare not but 
 conclude I am a sincere Christian, and no hypocrite. 
 
 " 1707, April 20. Sweet was this morning's retire- 
 ment in reading Num. xxi. Lord, what encourage- 
 ment is there in looking to Jesus, for healing (the 
 wounds occasioned by) the flaming stings of sin in 
 my soul ! What my tears cannot quench, my exalted 
 Saviour can. O send thy Spirit (alluding to Numbers 
 xxi. 17.) to be a well of life in my soul ! Spring up, 
 O well, this day, and cause me to sing to it, and let 
 poor diseased souls be healed in the waters of the 
 sanctuary ! 
 
 " 1707, August 17. I go to this holy feast (the 
 Lord's Supper) for increase of faith, that I may more 
 clearly apprehend Divine truths, and be more distinct 
 and firm in the assurances of them ; that my consent 
 to the covenant may be more free, resolved, and 
 delightful ; that my love may be more inflamed ; and 
 that I may be more patient in suffering, and more 
 diligent in doing the will of God. I depend on the 
 sufficient grace of God, for strength in all duties, for 
 wisdom to direct me, and for victory over sin and 
 temptation ! Help, Lord, under all affliction, and in 
 my last change ! Strengthen my faith, patience, and 
 diligence, by this ordinance ! 
 
 " 1710, July 16. I was grieved to read that as- 
 sertion of Popinus and Quintinus, in Calvin's time, 
 * that the only mortification required of sinners, was 
 ' to extinguish the sense of sin in their heart.' But 
 surely, this is to mortify repentance, not sin ; to kill 
 
366 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the new man, not the old; to outface conscience, and 
 not to quiet it ! Surely, where there is sin, there must 
 and will be trouble ! 
 
 (i 1712, June 17, to July 9. In the evening, (June 
 17), about seven or eight o'clock, I was seized with a 
 violent rigor upon my nerves, which lasted all night ; 
 and next morning a fever succeeded, which so much 
 affected my head, that I was incapable of directing 
 those about me what to do with me. Yet, so gra- 
 ciously did God hear my daily and last supplication 
 in secret, that I was willing rather to depart, and be 
 with Christ, and had not one cloud, doubt, or fear of 
 death, through the whole sickness. The disease 
 appeared desperate, and no hope of my life from 
 human help remained. But my dear relations ceased 
 not to pray, and call on others to join; and many, 
 from whom I expected not so great a share of 
 affection, were much enlarged in prayer for me : 
 and the Lord was entreated to spare a poor, sinful, 
 unworthy, unprofitable creature, and say, Return ; 
 while strong men bowed under the same disease, and 
 fell down slain, though they had the same phy- 
 sicians, and had the same means used for them as 
 myself. So, Father, it has seemed good in thy 
 sight ! Thy will be done ! But what shall I render, 
 what shall I do ? I am thankful for life. It is the 
 gift of God. It is given in answer to prayer. But, 
 Lord, if I improve it not for thy glory, how sad shall 
 I be ! Thou knowest, I had no desire to live but for 
 better service. And shall I be called from a seeming 
 abundant entrance into glory, again to struggle with 
 flesh and blood, the world, and the devil, and not 
 be made more than conqueror through the Captain 
 of my salvation ? O Lord, on thee, through thy 
 assistance, did I cast my sinful soul and diseased 
 body, when I thought them parting asunder, without 
 any reluctant thought ; and shall I distrust thy power 
 or love in what thou hast yet for me to do or suffer ? 
 Strengthen my faith by this experience of thy power 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 367 
 
 and goodness, for Jesus his sake, whom thou hearest 
 always. 
 
 " 1713, March 22. I cannot deny, O Lord, the 
 marks of a true love to thee. I value thee above all, 
 and verily hope I can part with all for thee. I am 
 sure I have a love for ordinances, and a thirst after 
 thyself; that there is no pleasure so great to me as 
 communion with thyself, and no grief so lasting and 
 so pungent as distance and estrangement from thee. 
 I have not ordinarily any hard thoughts of thee. I 
 am sure I allow of none. I have a filial fear of 
 offending thee, especially when I enjoy thy smiles. 
 I can mourn heartily for grieving thee, when thou 
 art evidencing to me thy pardoning love. My studied, 
 allowed, and most pleasant meditations, are on thee. 
 I choose thine interest, and would ever prefer it to 
 my own. I love thy memory, and to commemorate 
 thy dying love at thy table. I commend thy love to 
 all others ; but O that I did it more feelingly and 
 fervently ! I am grieved when thy name is profaned, 
 though I am not valiant enough in resenting the 
 affront. I would obey all thy commandments more 
 sincerely, freely, and constantly, in the most difficult 
 articles, and the most dangerous seasons. Lord, 
 help me ! Eternal God-man, I love thy person, as 
 well as thy benefits. I love thy sweet dispositions, 
 and aim at a likeness, but attain too little. I adore 
 thee as the Son and Servant of God, as my Redeemer, 
 Husband, and Advocate. I would submit, and be 
 faithful, loyal, and loving. I adore thy suitableness. 
 I feel my need of thee, and accept thee in all thy 
 offices. I adore and love thee for all thy graces, and 
 strive to imitate them. I adore and love thee for all 
 thine ordinances, in which thou hast often shown me 
 thine unparalleled love. 
 
 " 1714, September 30. O Lord, who seest into 
 the secret recesses of my heart, thou knowest, my 
 most ardent desires are after more holiness, and 
 resemblance to thyself. Thou gavest this thirst not 
 
368 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to torment thy creature. Thou hast pronounced a 
 blessing to it, and promised that it should be satis- 
 fied. But yet, how little do I find my soul as yet 
 conformed to thine image and will ! Lord, shall I 
 have the name of thy child so many years, and yet 
 no more of thy nature ! O that I were more meek, 
 merciful, humble, thankful, patient, ready to give, 
 and to forgive ! O Lord, I have chosen thee for my 
 portion, and verily hope thou art and wilt be my 
 everlasting felicity ; and yet what little selfish de- 
 signs and thoughts possess my mind ! I know and 
 daily feel, there is nothing in this world can satisfy 
 my soul ; and yet, every little disappointment in 
 the creature discomposes my spirit. I feel this 
 earthly tabernacle falling ; and yet, what little joy 
 do I find in the prospect of my house in heaven ! Lord, 
 what unaccountable contradictions are there in my 
 deceitful heart! O search, and heal me ! 
 
 u 1715, July 31. I went out in hope of some re- 
 vival, and heard some of the sermon *, and my heart 
 answered the marks of a deliberate, free, humble, 
 thankful, cordial, unlimited consent to be the Lord's. 
 I renounce all others, and love to love and obey him. 
 1 love his precepts, and had rather conform to them 
 all, than be pardoned for my breaking any of them. 
 I submit to his discipline, but cannot be so cheerful 
 under, or thankful for it, as I ought. Lord, help 
 me, that I may neither despise thy chastening, nor 
 faint when I am rebuked of thee ! I adore and love 
 all thy perfections, even thy justice, power, and 
 sovereignty. I know thy goodness is commensurate 
 to all, and is thy glory. I adore and take thee for 
 my portion here, and for ever. I desire no other 
 portion, but more of thyself, and then I have a 
 goodly heritage. I like and love thy people, though 
 weak, and infirm, and with spots, as I have. I love 
 thy institutions, and long to enjoy thee in all ordi- 
 
 * A partial deafness was now upon her. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 369 
 
 nances, ^and to imitate thee in holiness, justice, 
 goodness, and patience. Lord, thou knowest this 
 to be my love, and choice. Thou madest me consent, 
 and therefore I hope thou hast chosen me, poor, 
 vile, impotent creature ; for thou ' betrothest in 
 righteousness' to thy covenant (Hosea ii. 19.) with 
 thy Son, my Redeemer. He has paid my debts to 
 thy justice, and thou wilt not require a second 
 payment. Thou 'betrothest' also ' in judgment,' 
 (Hosea ii. 19.) on mature counsel. Thy gifts and 
 callings are without repentance. Thou foresawest 
 all events, and how often I should abuse thy mercy, 
 and grieve thy Spirit, and yet, ' betrothedst in 
 judgment.' O adorable pure love and kindness, to 
 betroth a creature so vile by birth, so deformed, 
 so lame, so blind, so weak, so poor, and yet proud ! 
 O the multitude of mercies original and actual, first 
 and continued mercies, in this espousal ! i Betrothed' 
 also ' in faithfulness ;' (Hosea, ii. 20.) though subject 
 on my part to so many infirmities, and worse trans- 
 gressions, yet, in ' faithfulness.' Though I sin, and 
 thou correctest, yet, thy faithful covenant fails not. 
 Thou wilt never cast me off, and I shall never depart 
 from thee. Amen. 
 
 " 1715, October 2. Lord, melt my dull heart with 
 the distinguishing, unparalleled kindness always 
 shown to unworthy me, in watering my fleece while 
 the ground has been dry around me. O the riches 
 of immortal grace ! If I outlive my senses, I cannot 
 outlive my graces ! O how beautiful, how honourable, 
 how durable ! 
 
 " 1716, October 6. Not so much watchful over 
 my tongue as I ought to have been, having told a 
 fault of a member of the congregation to another 
 before I had told the guilty. I begged pardon for 
 this, and resolve on more watchfulness over my 
 words for the future. 
 
 -' 1716, December 31. Very sweet the Sabbaths 
 and all the sacraments of the year have been. I have 
 
 r 5 
 
370 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 received many gracious answers of prayers for myself 
 and sick friends. And now, Lord, I acknowledge 
 the sweetness of following thy conduct, relying on 
 thy strength, and depending on thy word. I also 
 acknowledge the pleasantness of thy ways ; only my 
 slips in, and stepping out of thy paths, have made 
 all the bitterness of the year. Lord, enable me to 
 keep the resolution of the year, to leave every cir- 
 cumstance of my future life and death in thine hands, 
 to be watchful over my words, and to do to others 
 as I would they should do to me ! 
 
 " 1718, July 14. Very dull and drowsy all this 
 day. I have often covenanted to be the Lord's with 
 soul and spirit, with will and affections ; but yet, 
 how treacherous and unprofitable have I been ! I 
 have renounced sin, self, this world ; yet, how often 
 have I been overcome by them ! I have taken Christ 
 Jesus the Lord on his own terms, to love, obey, and 
 serve him ; but how short have I been found in all ! 
 I have given up myself to God through Christ, to the 
 sanctifying operations of the Holy Spirit, to the 
 commanding powers of his law, and the disposals of 
 his providence, and would be to him a praise ; yet, 
 how oft have I been a dishonour to him ! Lord, I still 
 resolve in thy strength to be what I ought. Be surety 
 for thy weak but willing servant. 
 
 " 1720, January 1 and 2. I ended the last, and 
 began the present year, in extremity of pain. After 
 a long waking night, I could not fix my mind on any 
 thing with comfort till past four in the morning, 
 when I surrendered myself afresh to God, and begged 
 healing for my diseased souk I rose at six in much 
 pain, entreated of God to reconcile me to his dis- 
 cipline, and show me wherefore he thus contends 
 with me. Not long after, I had some ease, and was 
 carried in a chair to the house of God, where I gave 
 thanks, and experienced a joyful day. Lord, pity 
 and heal my soul, and prepare me for glory ! O make 
 haste, my beloved, and end these days of sin and 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 371 
 
 sorrow, to a poor distressed worm, that lono-s to be 
 with thee ! 
 
 " 1720, February 21. Sweet entertainments ! How 
 excellent is thy loving-kindness, O Lord ! How gra- 
 cious was thine assistance to thine ambassador in 
 public, and to a poor worm in family-worship ! 
 
 " 1720, March 6. I went out," and heard the 
 sermon in great pain, and renewed my solemn dedi- 
 cation of myself to God, with firm resolution in his 
 strength to acquiesce in his all-wise discipline as best 
 for me, however grievous to my flesh. I returned in 
 great torture, but with submission to the rod, though 
 its strokes are very sharp. 
 
 " 1720, April 18. The Lord has hitherto helped 
 me under bodily infirmities. I pray, and hope, and 
 wait for his gracious aids under all my spiritual 
 complaints and maladies. Thou, Lord, knowest my 
 hunger and thirst for more righteousness, and thou 
 hast said I shall be filled. Matt. v. 6. I rely on 
 thee, O thou eternal Amen, and on thy power, com- 
 passion, and faithfulness, for what I want, and am 
 longing for. 
 
 •' 1720, May 1. (Two days before she was struck 
 with her last sickness.) While I looked inward, I 
 was overwhelmed with sorrow for the sad remainders 
 of vain and evil thoughts, pride, selfishness, &c. 
 which damped my joy and praise. O Lord, accept 
 my broken heart, which thou hast said thou wouldest 
 not despise. Teach me better how to rejoice and 
 mourn together, and give me victory over my 
 heart-sins." 
 
 The husband and biographer of this excellent gen- 
 tlewoman acquaints us, " that she wrote often to her 
 H intimate friends, and especially to such as were 
 u young, to persuade them of the reasonableness and 
 " benefit of the great duties of religion — to warn 
 (< them against the temptations of their age and 
 u stations — to improve their education — to excite 
 
372 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u them to an early and exemplary piety — to confute 
 " their cavils — to impress upon them the obligation 
 " of their baptismal covenant — to satisfy their spi- 
 " ritual doubts, and encourage their hopes in God, 
 " and perseverance in their Christian course. The 
 " most of these," says Mr. Bury, " and the most 
 " considerable, are supposed to be in the hands of 
 " such whom they immediately concerned. Some 
 " part of the very few that are come to my know- 
 " ledge since her death, are these that follow." 
 Out of this number we shall communicate only a 
 part, though it will be the major part, and so con- 
 clude our memoirs of this most pious and orna- 
 mental Christian. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 To a Person impatient under Crosses. 
 
 — My pensive temper feeds not so much on 
 future, as present troubles. I never live till I get an 
 hour's converse with myself, and with that God in 
 whose hands my times are ; but, when I can turn in 
 and seriously consider the cause and effects of my 
 impatient struggles under the most just and perfectly 
 wise disposals of Providence, I am cured for that 
 day, by finding worse troubles within, than ever I 
 found without. So true is great Mr. Dod's saying, 
 " Where sin sits heavy, the cross sits light." I 
 cannot but think it unparalleled ingratitude, that 
 creatures fallen from God, the chief good and final 
 happiness of immortal spirits, and yet, restored by 
 God incarnate, should so basely dispute the tasting 
 of the cup, the dregs of which he himself drank up 
 for us. What can we suffer from friends or enemies, 
 in body, soul, name, or estate, that he has not waded 
 through, and triumphed over for our good, and in our 
 stead ? And is not our quickening head, the second 
 Adam, as powerful to conquer sin and sorrow, as the 
 first Adam was to convey them ? O for a more lively 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 373 
 
 faith in the great Redeemer, to heal our souls of this 
 plague (impatience) ! Could heathens say it was 
 glorious to live, when it was easier to die ; and 
 cannot we be willing to live, when all in life pleases 
 us not? O! how unworthy of Christians is such 
 impatience! I long for heaven, more for freedom 
 from such reluctances at the Divine will, than from 
 any troubles this world creates me. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 To a Parent on the Death of a Child. 
 
 — I know your tender love to your children must 
 make a wound in your heart, when you lose any ; 
 but I hope, grace and long experience of God's all- 
 sufficiency, eternity, and the unchangeableness of 
 his love and covenant, are better to you than your 
 own or children's lives. The good assurance your 
 daughter left behind her of her entering into im- 
 mortal glory, has set her above our pity ; and as to 
 ourselves, our short remaining moments here, and 
 good hope through grace of being very soon with all 
 our departed perfected friends, should greatly mo- 
 derate our sorrows. For why, for so short a time, 
 should we be so much concerned whether we meet 
 them next on earth, or in the heavenly mansions, 
 since the last only can afford us that joy and pleasure 
 which are without alloy or mixture? If to hear that 
 your children are well on earth rejoices you, why 
 not to know any of them are well, and can never 
 be otherwise, in heaven ? 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 To one in Doubt whether the certain Knowledge of a 
 Christian's State is attainable on Earth. 
 
 . — I cannot but offer at some assistance under 
 your seeming doubt, " Whether a person might cer- 
 " tainly know in what state he stands ?" If once we 
 
374 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 can persuade ourselves that the greatest good is not 
 attainable, it ceases to be the object of our hope and 
 endeavour. That wicked men may, without doubt ? 
 conclude themselves such, and consequently in a 
 damnable state, possibly you might more easily 
 believe, than that a person truly accepting Christ 
 upon Gospel terms, may discern that he doth so, and 
 consequently is in a state of salvation. But that 
 both are to be known, I think is sufficiently evident 
 from Scripture, since it puts us upon judging and 
 trying ourselves, and making sure our own salvation. 
 And besides, how many saints have affirmed their 
 knowledge and joyful evidences of God's grace in 
 them ! Add further, that our blessed Redeemer him- 
 self has laid down this as an evident title (as the 
 evidence of our title) to the heavenly mansions ; that 
 if our hearts are there, our treasures are there also. 
 Matt. vi. 21. Can we imagine that the good Spirit 
 of God would excite our desires after such an inhe- 
 ritance only to torment or deceive us? No, surely. 
 He who is gone before to prepare a place for his 
 disciples, hath left them his Holy Spirit, not only to 
 tit them for that glorious inheritance, but also to seal 
 them up to the day of redemption, and given them 
 undoubted pledges and earnests of their future pos- 
 session. The major proposition is unquestionably 
 true, that u he who believes shall be saved ;" the 
 doubt will lie in the minor, " but I believe." But, 
 upon serious trial, you may come to the knowledge 
 that you are the true believer. That some persons, 
 upon their first conversion, have been able to draw 
 the conclusion, I have no reason to doubt ; but it is 
 not God's ordinary method, to convince, convert, 
 and assure at once. Do not, therefore, impatiently 
 conclude that assurance is not attainable, because it is 
 not as yet attained ; but, with strenuous endeavours, 
 be still pursuing the making your calling and election 
 sure ; always remembering, that it is the same Spirit 
 who works grace, who alone can shine on it, and 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 375 
 
 discover and give you the clear knowledge of his 
 work. Pray hard, and be very thankful for his least 
 assistance, than which I know not a more effectual 
 way to gain more. Beware of grieving him by con- 
 tinuing in any known sin, or neglecting any known 
 duty. If you dally or trifle in your return to God, 
 it will not only make your case seem doubtful, but, 
 like a broken bone, make you halt for many years 
 to come. The smallest sin, if not resisted and 
 mourned over, will breed doubts and troubles as 
 surely as putrid flesh engenders worms. Therefore, 
 fall to your work in earnest ; and I can assure you, 
 the sooner you begin, the greater will be your 
 honour and peace. Though you may not presently 
 be able to affirm an infallible certainty of your 
 state, yet, if by such means you attain a comfort- 
 able hope to encourage future endeavours, who 
 knows how soon you may triumph over your con- 
 quered enemies? 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 On the Death of an intimate Friend. 
 
 — I came hither to close the eyes of my dear 
 friend ; and since she might shine no longer among 
 sinful worms here, I bless God, who brought me to 
 her instructive death-bed, where faith, submission, 
 patience, and almost uninterrupted joy in breathing 
 after her dear Redeemer, more than equalled all I 
 ever saw in one who lay so long in sight of their 
 last ghastly enemy. And, though I cannot yet pray 
 against sudden death, yet, her stedfast hope and 
 glorious conquest have given me more tolerable 
 thoughts of languishing sickness, since in her I saw, 
 that neither the strength of pain, nor the weakness of 
 the patient, can hinder a triumphant exit, when God 
 will make his joy our strength. 
 
376 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Directions how to instruct a Child. 
 
 — I am glad your brother can so prettily divert 
 you. I wish you wisdom arid love to instruct him. 
 Be very watchful of his conversation; and whatever 
 you find faulty in him, shew him the evil of it, ra- 
 ther than charge him with it, lest you put him upon 
 lying to hide his guilt. Let him see you love him, 
 before you chide him, and that you are ready to con- 
 ceal or excuse his tolerable faults. Be very fre- 
 quent, but not tedious, in your instructions. Often 
 open the nature, and inculcate the necessity, of 
 prayer for all we want, and the encouraging promises 
 of God that he will hear us. Lisp to your brother, 
 in his own language, what he prays for by his form ; 
 and labour to excite in him a sense of his sad state 
 by sin, greater desires after grace, and fuller reso- 
 lutions and endeavours after the life and power of 
 godliness. Let some part of his catechism be daily 
 recited, and what he most imperfectly repeats, be 
 said at his going to sleep, and at his first waking. 
 Talk over the sermons you hear together in lan« 
 guage adapted to his capacity ; and fail not to beg 
 of God a blessing upon all your labours, or else 
 you will do little to purpose. If God makes you 
 instrumental in the conversion of your brothers and 
 sisters, it will be a great honour and comfort, and 
 produce the strongest union among you. Take 
 special care of them who are in the greatest danger. 
 Imitate your godly, impartial mother, who, though 
 she loved all her children alike, yet would often 
 say, " If she knew to which child she had conveyed 
 " most of her sinful nature, she would pity and en- 
 " deavour the help of that child most," — 
 
MRSc ELIZABETH BURY. 377 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 To a Friend under great Dejection and Desertion. 
 
 — In these dark hours of your life, the silence of 
 your friends may seem unnatural. I cannot, there- 
 fore, but heartily condole you, and beg you would 
 not imagine your case to be unusual, or out of the 
 road of God's fatherly discipline; for what good 
 Christian's Diary did you ever read or hear of, that 
 has no such lines of complaint as yours? And no won- 
 der, when our Head and Lord Redeemer almost dies 
 with them in his mouth ! Why should we grudge to 
 pledge him in that bitter cup, whose soul was sor- 
 rowful and sore amazed? Can our jealousy argue a 
 dereliction more than his? Are not the gifts and 
 callings of God without repentance? If your soul 
 has not been touched with the true loadstone, what 
 makes it stand trembling towards its beloved point? 
 Is not love in desire, and lamenting after its be- 
 loved object, as truly love, as when resting in the 
 enjoyment? If you find much dross in your best 
 gold, will you throw away both together? Or would 
 you change with one that hopes without trial ? I find 
 it a mighty craft of the old Serpent, when upon 
 serious search I have found sin in my heart, that 
 did not discover itself upon transient inquiries, to 
 be very ready to persuade me there was nothing else 
 to be found there. I bless God, I can at present 
 believe he lies ; but how long I shall believe so, I 
 know not; for, alas! I have some gloomy days as 
 well as others, especially under bodily languors. I 
 doubt not butyou address yourself to spiritual phy- 
 sicians under your present maladies. Blessed be 
 God, you have many skilful and faithful ones. Search 
 not without their help ; and God send you a mes- 
 senger, one of a thousand, who may shew to you 
 your uprightness. I know, only He who creates 
 
378 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the fruit of the lips peace, can make your help con- 
 solatory; yet, wait in the way of instituted means ; 
 and remember, it was but a little further (Cant. iii. 4.) 
 the drowsy spouse went in her search, ere she found 
 her slighted and grieved beloved. I trust, your 
 present temptations to throw away your hope, will 
 not prevail: however, think not of throwing off duty, 
 especially your attendance on that comfortable 
 sealing ordinance, the Lord's Supper, which I have 
 reason to recommend to all my afflicted, tempted 
 friends, since I find it no small mercy to go and 
 renew my former covenant ; or, if I cannot find my 
 fidelity therein, to make it anew. For surely God 
 does there renew his covenant with every fallen 
 child of Adam who heartily consents, though he 
 cannot perfectly reach the terms according to his 
 desire. If former stated times of communicating 
 afford you a sufficient support, be more frequent, 
 since every Lord's-day gives you an opportunity in 
 the city. Remember, my dear disconsolate grand- 
 mother waited long at these waters, though with 
 sorrow complaining they were to her a sealed foun- 
 tain, and that her dutiful attendance ended in a 
 triumphant death. Before that period, I hope to 
 hear you are emerging from under the waves that 
 now overwhelm you ; and by that time, you may 
 be ready to strengthen the weak hands (of others) 
 from more glorious appearances of God to your soul. 
 I beg that the God of all consolation would shine 
 on the graces he has wrought in you, and will by 
 his own methods perfect in your soul, that, when 
 he has tried you, you might come forth as gold, and 
 meet for the inheritance of the saints in light, 
 where no doubt of God's love to you, or of your 
 love to him, will break your peace, or interrupt your 
 joy more. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 379 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Cautions against Spiritual Declensions. 
 
 — A declining state is incident to the best, and 
 therefore to be feared by all. How shamefully have 
 some of our acquaintance stained their families ! 
 And whither have their gradual declensions at last 
 brought them ? L know there are many who assert 
 a total apostacy from true grace ; but you and I 
 have been taught better, and can comfortably con- 
 clude from God's unchangeable love, decree, and 
 almighty power engaged for perseverance, and from 
 our union with Christ, and his constant intercession 
 for us, that the habits of true grace cannot be lost. 
 But, alas ! what abatements may there be in the 
 degrees and exercise, in the life and strength of it ! 
 And how sad and deplorable is such a case ! Who 
 can but pity a robust body reduced to a skeleton by 
 a pining consumption? And is less pity due to souls 
 declining in their graces, when ardent love, strong 
 desires, humblest mournings, liveliest joys, are all 
 withering, or choked with a confluence of worldly 
 cares or pleasures 1 Ah ! the sadness of this state ! 
 May I never w r eep over any of my dear relations in 
 such a case ! The best are apt to decline in duty, in 
 their love and affection to it, and sometimes find a 
 sad distance from God, an estrangement from him, 
 and a shyness of him in prayer, which yet before has 
 been the delight and relief of their souls. Surely, 
 the restraining of prayer, is a very sad mark, and 
 when our hearts do not joyfully answer the call of 
 God to seek his face. And it is little better, when 
 our wandering spirits are not watched, called in, 
 and made to ply their work, but flies light upon the 
 sacrifice that used to flame. Nay, if but our cheer- 
 fulness in duty should abate, how heavily shall we 
 drive, if what was once our delight becomes our task 
 and burden! If after duty there are no advantages, 
 
380 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 no greater nearness to God, no fuller resolutions, 
 no humbler resignations, how weary shall we quickly 
 be of our choicest happiness for the enjoyment of 
 some inferior good, or what is worse, some foul cor- 
 ruption, which our treacherous hearts have secretly 
 fallen in love with, while yet we profess to be en- 
 tirely the Lord's ! There are in the best, such re- 
 mainders of sin as ever incline to apostacy ; for 
 none are so completely sanctified, but the flesh is 
 still lusting against the spirit ; and indwelling sin is 
 an active principle, very importunate, and not easily 
 to be denied. The temptations too of Satan are al- 
 ways assaulting, and our own corruptions are ever 
 ready to side with them ; yea, and God's just deser- 
 tions often concur ; for, though he does not with- 
 draw his love and care, yet, for our neglects, he 
 often may and does suspend his influence and assist- 
 ance, and then what are we? — Let me entreat you 
 not to lose these hasty lines till you have tried your 
 present case, whether you are growing or declining. 
 If grace withers, I am sure so must comfort. If this 
 be your condition, remember whence you are fallen, 
 and repent, and do your first works, and lay fresh 
 hold on the great Redeemer. If your case be 
 better, bless God, and rejoice my soul in letting me 
 know it. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 Cautions to a Friend about marrying. 
 
 — It is very odd, when you ask my opinion in the 
 matter proposed, that you only give me an account 
 of the gentleman's circumstances, and n<rt of his cha- 
 racter. So far as I know, I must freely own that 
 I fear the estate is too great, and likely to prove a 
 snare to you. Bishop Hall affirms, " that riches 
 *? have made many worse, but never any better." 
 I hope you would rather choose to be better than 
 richer, and that you will never be biassed by an 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 381 
 
 estate to an indifferent choice. You know I have 
 ever cautioned you. and I must caution you still, 
 against too great a fondness for wealth. Alas ! 
 should you have it, how many things may embitter 
 it to you ! Should you have a churlish Nabal, and 
 you could only behold your riches with your eyes, 
 and not be suffered to do any good with them, how 
 uneasy would that be to your charitable, generous 
 mind! Or should your partner's temper be good, 
 yet, if debts, or provision for younger children, should 
 cripple a man's estate, it is but the name, and not 
 the thing which you enjoy. But if neither of these 
 disagreeables should happen, yet may not worse? 
 Supposing there is no piety, no warm devotion in 
 your husband, but an aversion against your attend- 
 ance on private altars, where you have found more 
 than all this world can afford you, what perplexity 
 are you then tied to for life ! I know what troubles 
 you have met with ; but might you not, by avoiding 
 present, plunge yourself into future difficulties ? It 
 is better to be in distresses by necessity, than by 
 choice. What evil God inflicts, is easier borne than 
 that which we bring upon ourselves. Let me en- 
 treat you to moderate your desires after worldly 
 grandeur. Pardon my freedom. If I am apt to be 
 too jealous of you, it is because 1 love you. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 On the Death of a good Lady and Friend. 
 
 — I am heartily concerned for my own and for 
 the country's loss of that excellent lady, and con- 
 dole with you especially, who had the honour of her 
 friendship, I believe as much as could consist with 
 the inequality of your stations in this world, and 
 that the goodness of the deceased levelled more 
 than is usual even in pious ladies. A friend, wise, 
 godly, compassionate, secret, &c. is a rarity while it 
 is enjoyed, and a loss seldom repaired in this world. 
 
3S£ MEMOIRS OF 
 
 But O what a friend is our dear Redeemer! He is 
 not limited to one, or a few, like our contracted 
 minds, but condescends to the title and offices of a 
 friend to all his faithful followers. I am thankful 
 for the tastes of his goodness in creature-friendship ; 
 but, in its utmost perfection, it is but a faint shadow 
 of that which is Divine, and what I find in my 
 eternal lover and friend, the Lord Jesus Christ, 
 whose friendship has not the disparagement which 
 all creature-enjoyments have, of being but a short 
 and uncertain pleasure. — 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 On a Tradesman's casting zip his Shop. 
 
 — Since you seem to be pleased with any of my 
 scrawls, I will give you a short history of what has 
 passed with us this Christmas. You remember I 
 now live with a tradesman called a mi/liner* ; I sup- 
 pose from the multitude of things that such ordi- 
 narily trade in, especially in the country. It is a 
 prudent and laudable custom with him, to cast up 
 his shop for the most part once in the year. I love 
 not to be ignorant of any thing that falls in my w T ay 
 without trouble ; and therefore, to divert my mind, 
 I have sometimes engaged with him in some little 
 part of this pleasant fatigue, the whole of which is 
 a thorough scrutiny into all that has been bought 
 and sold, what has been got by it, and what remains. 
 In order to this, abundance of files, of bills, of let- 
 ters, and of receipts, besides books, were to be ex- 
 amined ; but my province was only to assist in mea- 
 suring, and to write on every piece, after it was 
 measured, what it contained. The trial of gains was 
 left to themselves, and held them to it day and night, 
 and every one was cheerful and pleasant at the con- 
 clusion. I expostulated with my landlord on the 
 
 * Millc, in Latin, signifies a thousand. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 383 
 
 unnecessary trouble of this, for one who had no 
 reason to suspect his circumstances ; but was an- 
 swered by him, " that, besides the pleasure of prov- 
 " ing it, (the good state of his circumstances,) his 
 " future trade could not be so successful, easy, and 
 " beautiful, without this examination. The sale of 
 " what had been bought, directs to what is best to 
 " be bought again, by finding out what had been 
 " sold to the best advantage. What had been mis- 
 " placed, and thought to have been lost, is now put 
 " in order again, and readily found. Besides, the 
 " gain made a recompense for the trouble, and was 
 " a help to thankfulness, &c." Now, my dear friend, 
 if we are so wise as to this world, why should we 
 be so weak for the other? And yet, how few are 
 there, who, with a like unwearied diligence, dexte- 
 rity, and cheerfulness, cast up in their spiritual traffic ! 
 I blush at my own sloth and folly, and endeavour to 
 commend heart-examination to my thoughts for my 
 Christmas employment. The result of all my land- 
 lord's trouble assures him he has gained by his 
 last year's trade, but can give him only some pro- 
 bable conjectures how he may thrive the next, 
 together with many fears of losing by some un- 
 fashionable goods, which he looks upon with heavy 
 sighs. But if, upon serious search, I can find I have 
 gained any true grace, I am sure of its increase, and 
 that it can never be lost, or become useless. Can 
 I but find grace as a grain of mustard-seed, I can 
 safely conclude it will grow up to a tree. The path 
 of the just, as a shining light, will shine more and 
 more to a perfect day. If I sigh over the weakness 
 of my grace, I am yet encouraged when I read the 
 encomiums of my compassionate Redeemer on the 
 weak faith of many who addressed him in the 
 days of his flesh. Therefore, my good friend, let 
 us call in the assistance of others, and diligently 
 search our hearts and ways, and follow it to a com- 
 fortable conclusion ; and then my diversion may be 
 useful to myself and you. 
 
384 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Upon the Death of a Sister. 
 
 — I thought I could with less discomposure have 
 parted with a sister, than I find I can. I hoped that 
 death would not have begun at the wrong end of the 
 register-book. But they are seniors in the best 
 sense, who have soonest done their work, and are 
 first fit for glory. Though I could not have parted 
 with a sister without tears to any distant country 
 upon earth, though it had been to her advantage, 
 yet, reason would have blamed, and soon overcome 
 such a fond and foolish passion. And surely reli- 
 gion, then, should not only do no less, but even 
 more, when my sister is in a far higher and happier 
 preferment than all this world can pretend to offer. 
 Our all-wise Creator first formed our bodies, and 
 then inspired them ; and when he is pleased to dis- 
 solve the compositwn, it is not that either of the 
 constituent parts should be destroyed ; but the dis- 
 solution, as to the righteous, with regard to their 
 souls, is immediate glory ; and with regard to their 
 bodies, but a refining in order to a reunion. The 
 forsaken mansion is indeed a melancholy object; 
 and it is very affecting to close the dear eyes that 
 were wont to delight us with their silent rhetoric ; 
 but we more than water the body sown in dust, 
 while we dim our prospect of the glory of our friends 
 who have died in the Lord. Why should I wish 
 the soul in this body still, merely to say, I have a 
 sister in such a place ? What if heaven, where she is, 
 is further off? I am sure, as that is more suitable, 
 so, it ought to be nearer to my immortal part. And 
 may I not still have communion with her, and the 
 glorious company she keeps, by loving, praising, 
 admiring, and adoring the same God, though I am 
 yet on earth? May I not rejoice in the thoughts of 
 meeting her among the spirits of the just made per- 
 fect? Surely, they have more courage, better sue- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 385 
 
 cess, or less difficulty, than I, who can wish the 
 spiritual war protracted. — But she has passed the 
 pikes. O happy soul ! Her body, indeed, is sown 
 in corruption, it cannot defend itself from worms, 
 and is at present putrifying and loathsome ; but it 
 will not always be so. If the innate desires of re- 
 union could not persuade me of a resurrection, yet, 
 the infallible word of God has assured me of it, and 
 that it shall arise, not as it was sown, a natural and 
 sluggish body, but agile and sprightly, and fit to 
 serve its superior and vigorous soul. It is a plea- 
 sure to me sometimes to think of the lustre and 
 activity of glorified bodies, which rest not either day 
 or night, nor suffer any decays, imperfections, pauses, 
 or interruptions in their high and happy employ- 
 ments. But the greatest pleasure of all is, to think 
 of being for ever with the Lord. — 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 To a Friend under great Afflictions and spiritual Fears. 
 
 — I cannot forget my promises of praying for you, 
 and writing to you. I daily attempt the one, and 
 wish I could perform it better. And as to the other, 
 I should be glad if my pen could assist your faith 
 and patience under the smarting rod of, I hope I 
 may say, your heavenly Father ; for so it may be, 
 though accompanied with angry frowns. It is true, 
 afflictions in themselves cannot be proofs of sonship ; 
 but we are fully assured by the sacred Scriptures, 
 that the sorest trials are very consistent with that 
 privilege. The experience of many of God's favour- 
 ites confirms it. All the promises of support under, 
 benefit by, and deliverance from such troubles, sup- 
 pose it. Yet, our souls are too apt to misconstrue 
 fatherly chastisements for the revenges of an enemy, 
 or to think there is more anger than love in them, 
 and to murmur that they are so long and heavy. 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
386 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 But the all-wise Father of spirits cannot mistake in 
 measuriug, timing, and appointing his methods of 
 healing souls. If guilt makes you fear his wrath, 
 rather than taste his love in your afflictions, you 
 should cast your guilty soul upon him for promised 
 rest, and may well be assured that God will not 
 exact the debt from the offender and the surety too. 
 Fly daily to that refuge, that sure hope, that justi- 
 fying righteousness ; and then you will find no fury 
 in God, how grievous soever your afflictions are. 
 You have liberty to pray for pity and help, as well as 
 David, who, when he had aching bones, had a sense 
 of guilt also, even of scandalous sins. If your own, 
 or the cries of others for you, seem to be yet un- 
 heard, it might be our mistake to urge for present 
 ease without a due respect to future cure. Sin is 
 the worst disease ; its cure is to be sought, though 
 by the roughest methods. The children of God are 
 agreed in this, and yet, can scarce submit the means 
 to the infallible Physician. Though we can trust a 
 surgeon to apply a caustic, though of lapis infemalis, 
 and let it lie his time, if there be any hope of a cure ; 
 yet, how hardly can we submit, on higher reason, 
 surer hope, or happier experience, to him, whose 
 word of truth assures us that every thing He does, 
 shall do us good, and both purge away our sins, 
 and make us partakers of his holiness ! I must con- 
 fess, these lines upbraid my own foolish choice often- 
 times for myself and friends ; but I pray and wait 
 for better submission to the heaviest strokes, either 
 on myself or them. — 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Various Dispensations of Providence argued and 
 justified. 
 
 — I have been long your debtor for a very kind 
 and comfortable letter, which came seasonably to 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. <3»7 
 
 hand, as I was groaning under great pain, and sym- 
 pathizing with others in bitter affliction. Since then, 
 I bless God, I have seen brighter days ; but clouds 
 have returned after rain upon others. And may not 
 all this, put together, commend the variegated dis- 
 pensations of Providence? Had all our days been 
 halcyon, would they have been so safe or useful? 
 Had all been sable, how disconsolate ! Were all the 
 children in equal smart under the rod together, we 
 should be too ready to make some unworthy reflec- 
 tions on the all-wise discipline. Were not all alter- 
 nately so, we should be ready to suspect their son- 
 ship. O the depth of wisdom, that poor shallow 
 mortals can never fathom! Yet, how proud and 
 peevish are we, when any thing is denied, at our 
 own time, which we fancy to be good for us ! Had I 
 been always well and at ease, how chill a sympathy 
 should I have had with the dear afflicted members 
 of Christ ! Had you never been so, I had wanted 
 your experimental consolations. Now, if the brief 
 hints of this beautiful variety in the dispensations of 
 Providence, can afford us such pleasure here, how 
 bright and glorious, how sweet and ravishing will 
 they appear when unfolded in eternal glory ! And 
 why should I be impatient of, or fear the darkest 
 scene that shall end in the brightest glory? Yet, 
 with shame and sorrow I confess, the fear of what I 
 may feel, has been as afflictive to me as most I have 
 felt ; yea, when I have found a good hope of an 
 interest in God, and after a thousand experiences of 
 his never-failing compassions confuting my guilty 
 fears. This childish, or rather unchildlike distemper, 
 I think, increases with years, and is partly occa- 
 sioned by frequent and close converse with many of 
 my superiors in grace under bitter afflictions living 
 and dying ; and when I see what is done to the green 
 trees, I am apt to run into an excess of fear what 
 shall be done to the dry. Fain would I cherish an 
 awful, while I subdue a slavish fear. But this I 
 
 s2 _ 
 
388 MEMorns of 
 
 cannot do of myself, and therefore beg it of the God 
 of all grace, in which I crave your assistance. 
 
 Such are the threads (the above extracts of her 
 Diary and Letters) of the mantle Mrs. Bury left 
 behind her, when her spirit ascended to the celestial 
 glory : how rich and heavenly their texture, our 
 readers will judge. 
 
 We have now only to add a Poem which Dr. Watts 
 wrote on the occasion. 
 
 " She must ascend : her treasure lies on high, 
 And there her heart is. Bear her through the sky 
 On wings of harmony, ye sons of light, 
 And with surrounding shields protect her flight; 
 Teach her the wondrous songs yourselves compose 
 For your bright world ; she'll learn them as she goes ; 
 The sense was known before; those sacred themes, 
 The God, the Saviour, and the flowing streams, 
 That ting'd the cursed tree with blood divine, 
 Purchased a heaven, and wash'd a world from sin ; 
 The beams, the bliss, the visions of that place, 
 Where the whole Godhead shines in mildest grace : 
 These are the notes for which your harps are strung; 
 These were the joy and labour of her tongue 
 In our dark regions ; these exalted strains 
 Brought Paradise to earth, and sooth'd her pains. 
 Souls made of pious harmony and love 
 Can be no strangers to their work above. 
 
 " But must we lose her hence ? the muse in pain 
 Regrets her flight, and calls the saint again. 
 " Stay, gentle spirit, stay ! Can nature find 
 " No charms to hold the once unfetter'd mind ? 
 '* Must all these virtues, all these graces soar 
 " Far from our sight, and bless the earth no more ? 
 " Must the fair saint to worlds immortal climb, 
 " For ever lost to all the sons of time ?" 
 O, no; she is not lost, behold her here : 
 How just the form ! how soft the lines appear ! 
 The features of her soul without disguise 
 Drawn by her own blest pen ! a sweet surprise 
 To mourning friends. The partner of her cares 
 Seized the fair piece, and wash'd it o'er with tears, 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 389 
 
 Dress'd it in flow'rs, then hung it on her urn, 
 A pattern for her sex in ages yet unborn. 
 
 " Daughters of Eve, come, trace these heavenly lines ; 
 
 Feel vvith what pow'r the bright example shines : 
 
 She was what you should be. Young virgins, come, 
 
 Drop a kind tear, and dress you at her tomb : 
 
 Gay silks and diamonds are a vulgar road ; 
 
 Her radiant virtues should create the mode. 
 
 Matrons, attend her hearse with thoughts refin'd, 
 
 Gaze and transcribe the beauties of her mind, 
 
 And let her live in you. The meek, the great, 
 
 The chaste, yet free, the cheerful, yet sedate, 
 
 Swift to forgiveness, but to anger slow, 
 
 And rich in learning, yet averse to show, 
 
 With charity and zeal that rarely join, 
 
 And all the human graces and divine, 
 
 Reign'd in her breast, and held a pleasing strife 
 
 Through ev'ry shifting scene of various life, 
 
 The maid, the bride, the widow, and the wife. 
 
 '* Nor need a manly spirit blush to gain 
 
 Exalted thoughts from her superior vein. 
 
 Attend her hints, ye sages of the schools, 
 
 And by her nobler practice frame your rules. 
 
 Let her inform you to address the ear 
 
 With conquering suasion, or reproof severe, 
 
 And still without offence. Thrice happy soul, 
 
 That could our passions and her own control, 
 
 Could wield and govern that unruly train, 
 
 Sense, fancy, pleasure, fear, grief, hope, and pain, 
 
 And live sublimely good! Behold her move 
 
 Thro' earth's rude scenes, yet point her thoughts above. 
 
 Seraphs on earth pant for their native skies, 
 
 And nature feels it painful not to rise. 
 
 " Ye venerable tribes of holy men, 
 
 Read the devotions of her heart and pen, 
 
 And learn to pray and die. Burissa knew 
 
 To make life happy, and resign it too. 
 
 The soul that oft had walk'd th' ethereal road, 
 
 Pleas'd with her summons, took her flight to God. 
 
 ' But ne'er shall words, or lines, or colours paint 
 Th' immortal passions of the expiring saint. 
 What beams of joy, angelic airs, arise 
 O'er her pale cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes, 
 
390 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In that dark hour ! how all serene she lay 
 Beneath the openings of celestial clay ! 
 Her soul retires from sense, refines from sin, 
 While the descending glory wrought within, 
 Then in a sacred calm resign'd her hreath, 
 And, as her eye-lids clos'd, she smil'd in death. 
 
 " O may some pious friend, who weeping stands 
 
 Near my last pillow with uplifted hands, 
 
 Or wipes the mortal dew from off my face, 
 
 Witness such triumphs in my soul, and trace 
 
 The dawn of glory in my dying mien, 
 
 While on my lifeless lips such heavenly smiles are seen!" 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 391 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe, a gentlewoman not more 
 admired for her fine writings, than esteemed and 
 loved by all her acquaintance for the many amiable 
 qualities of her heart, was born at Ilchester, in 
 Somersetshire, Sept. 11, 1674, being the eldest of 
 three daughters # of Mr. Walter Singer, a gentleman 
 of a good family, and Mrs. Elizabeth Portnell, both 
 of them persons of distinguished merit and piety. 
 Mr. Singer was not a native of Ilchester, not so 
 much as an inhabitant, before his imprisonment 
 there for his nonconformity, in the reign of King 
 Charles the Second ; but, being confined there, Mrs, 
 Portnell, thinking herself obliged to visit those who 
 suffered for the sake of a good conscience, as a testi- 
 mony of her regard, not only to them, but to our 
 common Lord, in this way commenced an acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Singer, which afterwards proceeded 
 to an union that death alone could dissolve ; and 
 this it did too soon for the mournful survivor. Till 
 her death, Mr. Singer resided at Ilchester; but not 
 long after, removed into the neighbourhood of Frome, 
 in the same county, where he became so well known 
 and distinguished for his good sense, primitive in- 
 tegrity, simplicity of manners, uncommon prudence, 
 activity and faithfulness in discharging the duties of 
 his station, inflexible adherence to his principles, and 
 at the same time truly catholic spirit, as to be held 
 in high esteem even by persons of superior rank. 
 
 * One of the other two daughters died in her childhood, and the 
 other survived to her twentieth year, a lovely concurrent with her 
 sister in the race of virtue and glory. She had the same extreme 
 passion for books, chiefly those of medicine, in which she arrived 
 at a considerable skill. Both the sisters frequently studied till 
 midnight. — Biograph. Britannica. 
 
392 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The Lord Weymouth, who was reckoned a very good 
 judge of men, not only wrote to him, but honoured 
 him with his visits, as did also the devout Bishop 
 Ken, and that very frequently, sometimes once a 
 week. 
 
 Mr. Singer was religiously inclined, as he said 
 himself, when about ten years old, and declared, that 
 he never from that time neglected prayer; and, as 
 far as he knew his own heart, had sincerely endea- 
 voured to keep a good conscience. He died as he 
 had lived, April 19, 1719, in a blessed calm and 
 peace of mind, and humble confidence in the mercy 
 of God through a Redeemer. A worthy and intimate 
 friend of his, a witness to the heroic and Christian 
 manner in which he finished life, observes, " that he 
 " settled his affairs, and took leave of the world, with 
 " the same freedom and composure as if he had been 
 <( setting out on a journey; was peculiarly careful 
 " that the widows and orphans, with whose, concerns 
 " he was intrusted, might not be injured after his 
 " decease ; conversed, though under great bodily 
 u disorders, with those who came to see him, who 
 u were not a few, in the easiest, freest manner ; 
 " spent his time in praising and blessing God, praying 
 to him, and giving good counsel to those about 
 him ; shewed an uncommon sweetness and patience 
 u in his behaviour, and was exceeding thankful to 
 " those who did the least kind office for him, though 
 " they owed him a great deal more/' In a memo- 
 randum relating to her father's last sickness and 
 death, Mrs. Rovve herself hath these words. " My 
 " father often felt his pulse, and complained that it 
 " was still regular, and smiled at every symptom of 
 " approaching death. He would be often crying out, 
 " Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly; come, ye holy 
 " angels, that rejoice at the conversion of a sinner, 
 " come and conduct my soul to the skies, ye pro- 
 " pitious spirits;" and then would add, " But thy 
 '' time, Lord, not mine, is best." 
 
 a 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 393 
 
 Such as were acquainted with Mrs. Rowe from her 
 earliest years, could not but observe a great many 
 things, not common at that time of life, which pro- 
 mised that bright day that afterwards ensued ; and 
 it must have been with peculiar satisfaction that 
 Mr. Singer, in whom parental affection concurred 
 with a penetrating discernment to heighten the 
 pleasure, beheld the dawnings of a great and good 
 mind in his young daughter. When she received 
 the first serious impressions of religion, does not 
 appear. Undoubtedly they were made while she 
 was very young, for, in one of her pious addresses, 
 she herself thus speaks to God : " My infant-hands 
 " were early lifted up to thee, and I soon learned to 
 " know and acknowledge the God of my fathers*." 
 
 She loved, such was her taste for painting, the 
 pencil, when she had hardly strength and steadiness 
 of hand to guide it ; and one might almost venture 
 to say, that, even in her infancy, she would squeeze 
 out the juices of herbs to serve her instead of co- 
 lours. Mr. Singer, perceiving her fondness for this 
 art, was at the expense of a master to instruct her in 
 it, and it never ceased to be her amusement till her 
 death. She was also very much delighted with 
 music, chiefly of the grave and solemn kind, as best 
 suited to the grandeur of her sentiments, and the 
 sublimity of her devotion. 
 
 But her strongest bent was to poetry. So pre- 
 valent was her genius this way, that her very prose 
 hath all the charms of verse without the fetters ; the 
 same fire and elevation, the same bright images, 
 bold figures, and rich and flowing diction. She 
 could hardly write a single letter but it bore the 
 stamp of the poet. One of her acquaintance remem- 
 bered to have heard her say, " that she began to 
 " write verses at twelve years old," which was almost 
 as soon as she could write at all. In the year 1696, 
 
 * Devotional Exercises, p. 53. 
 
 s5 
 
394 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the twenty-second of her age, a collection of her 
 poems on various occasions was published at the 
 desire of two of her friends, which we may suppose 
 did not contain all that she had by her, since the 
 ingenious prefacer gives the reader to hope, u that 
 '■ the author might in a little time be prevailed with 
 " to oblige the world with a second part, no way 
 u inferior to the former." Though many of these 
 poems are of the religious kind, and all of them 
 consistent with the strictest regard to the rules of 
 virtue, yet, some things in them gave her no small 
 uneasiness in advanced life. What she could not 
 absolutely approve, so quick was her moral feeling, 
 appeared unpardonable ; and, not satisfied to have 
 done nothing that injured the cause of virtue, she 
 was displeased with herself for having written any 
 thing that did not directly promote it. 
 
 What first introduced her to the notice of Lord 
 Weymouth's family, was a little copy of verses of 
 hers, with which they were so highly delighted as to 
 express a curiosity to see her ; and the friendship 
 that commenced from that time, subsisted ever 
 after ; not more to her honour, who was the favourite 
 of persons so much superior to herself in the out- 
 ward distinctions of life, than to the praise of their 
 judgment and taste, who knew how to prize, and 
 took a pleasure to encourage, such blooming worth. 
 She was not then twenty years of age. Her para- 
 phrase of the 38th chapter of Job was written 
 at the request of Bishop Ken, who was at that 
 time in the family, and gained her a great deal of 
 reputation. 
 
 She had no other tutor for the French and Italian 
 languages, than the Hon. Mr. Thynne, son to Lord 
 Viscount Weymouth, who willingly took that task 
 upon himself, and had the pleasure to see his fair 
 pupil improve so fast under his lessons, that in a few 
 months she was able to read Tasso's Jerusalem with 
 great ease. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH KOWE. 395 
 
 In the year 1710, she was married to Mr. Thomas 
 Rowe, son of the Rev. Benoni Rowe, a non-con- 
 formist minister of a reputable family. This young 
 gentleman (for he was but about three-and-twenty 
 when he married) was possessed of a very fine under- 
 standing, had largely enriched his mind with learning, 
 and was remarkably devoted to knowledge and im- 
 provement *. Mr. Rowe well knew how to value the 
 treasure which Providence had given him, in a woman 
 of such exalted merit and amiable qualities, and 
 accordingly made it his study to repay the felicity 
 with which she crowned his life. The esteem and 
 tenderness he had for her are inexpressible. It was 
 some considerable time after his marriage, that he 
 wrote to her a very tender ode under the name of 
 Delia, full of the warmest sentiments of connubial 
 friendship and and affection ; in which the following 
 lines may appear remarkable, as it pleased Heaven 
 to dispose events in a manner so agreeable to the 
 wishes Mr. Rowe expresses in them. 
 
 Long may thy inspiring page 
 And great example bless the rising age ! 
 Long in thy charming prison may'st thou stay, 
 Late, very late, ascend the well-known way, 
 And add new glories to the realms of day ! 
 At least Heav'n will not sure this pray'r deny : 
 
 Short be my life's uncertain date, 
 
 And earlier far than thine the destin'd hour of fate! 
 Whene'er it comes, may'st thou be by, 
 Support my sinking frame, and teach me how to die, 
 
 Banish desponding nature's gloom, 
 
 Make me to hope a gentle doom, 
 
 And fix me all on joys to come ! 
 
 « 
 
 A very particular account of him is interwoven in the Life of 
 Mrs. Rowe, prefixed to her Miscellanies. It appears that Mr. 
 Howe had funned a design to compile the lives of all the illustrious 
 persons of antiquity, omitted by Plutarch, and for this purpose 
 read the ancient historians with great care. This design he in 
 part executed. Eight of the lives were published after Mr. Howe's 
 decease, and do honour to his memory* 
 
396 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 With swimming eyes I'll gaze upon thy charms, 
 And clasp thee, dying, in my fainting arms : 
 
 Then gently leaning on thy breast, 
 
 Sink in soft slumbers to eternal rest ; 
 
 "Without a groan resign my breath, 
 
 Nor shrink at the cold arms of -death. 
 The ghastly form shall have a pleasing air, 
 And all things smile, while Heav'n and Thou art there. 
 
 Mr. Rowe had not a constitution naturally robust, 
 so that his intense application to study might per- 
 haps contribute to that ill state of health which 
 allayed the happiness of his marriage state, during 
 the greater part of it. In the latter end of the year 
 1714, his weakness increased, and he appeared to 
 labour under all the symptoms of a consumption. 
 This fatal distemper, after it had confined him some 
 months, cut off the fair hopes of his doing great 
 honour and service to his country, and put a period 
 to his life, May 13, 1715, when he was but just past 
 the twenty-eighth year of his age. He died at Hamp- 
 stead, near London, where he had for some time 
 resided for the benefit of the air, and was buried in 
 the vault belonging to his family in the cemetery in 
 Bunhill Fields, where on his tomb are only written 
 his name and the dates of his birth and death. But 
 an inscription of greater pomp is rendered unneces- 
 sary, by the honour which Mrs. Rowe paid to his 
 memory in the elegy she wrote on his death, which 
 we find among her poetical composures, and shall 
 communicate to our readers, not only as a lively proof 
 of her affection for her husband, but as a specimen 
 of her fine talents as a poetess. 
 
 In what soft language shall my thoughts get tree f 
 My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee? 
 Ye Muses, Graces, all ye gentle train 
 Of weeping loves, assist the pensive strain. 
 But why should I implore your moving art ? 
 'Tis hut to speak the dictates of my heart ; 
 And all that knew the charming youth, will join 
 Their friendly sighs and pious tears to mine ; 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH UOWE. 397 
 
 For all who knew his merit must confess 
 
 In grief for him there can be no excess. 
 
 II is soul was form'd to act each glorious part 
 
 Of life, unstain'd with vanity or art. 
 
 No thought within his gen'rous mind had birth, 
 
 But what he might have own'd to heav'n and earth. 
 
 Practis'd by him, each virtue grew more bright, 
 
 And shone with more than its own native light. 
 
 Whatever noble warmth could recommend 
 
 The just, the active, and the constant friend, 
 
 Was all his own. But O, a dearer name, 
 
 And softer ties, my endless sorrow claim ! 
 
 Lost in despair, distracted, and forlorn, 
 
 The lover I, and tender husband, mourn. 
 
 Whate'er to such superior worth was due, 
 
 W hate'er excess the fondest passion knew, 
 
 [ felt for thee, dear youth : my joy, my care, 
 
 My pray'rs themselves were thine ; and only where 
 
 Thou wast concern'd my virtue was sincere. 
 
 Whene'er I begg'd for blessings on thine head, 
 
 Nothing was cold or formal that I said ; 
 
 My warmest vows to Heav'n were made for thee, 
 
 And love still mingled with my piety. 
 
 O thou wast all my glory, all my pride, 
 Through life's uncertain paths my constant guide ! 
 Regardless of the world, to gain thy praise 
 Was all that could my just ambition raise. 
 Why has my heart this fond engagement known ? 
 Or why has Heav'n dissolv'd the tie so soon ? 
 Why was the charming youth so form'd to move ? 
 Or why was all my soul so turn'd for iove? 
 But virtue here a vain defence had made, 
 Where so much worth and eloquence could plead; 
 For he could talk — 'twas ecstasy to hear ! 
 'Twasjoy, 'twas harmony to ev'ry ear ! 
 Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue, 
 Soft and transporting as the muse's song. 
 List'ning to him, my cares were charm'd to rest, 
 And love and silent rapture fill'd my breast : 
 Unheeded the gay moments took their flight, 
 And time was only measur'd by delight. 
 I hear the lov'd, the melting accents still, 
 And still the kind, the tender transport feel : 
 Again I see the sprightly passions rise, 
 And life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes. 
 My fancy paints him now with ev'ry grace; 
 But ah ! the dear delusion mocks my fond embrace 
 
398 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The smiling vision takes its hasty flight, 
 And scenes of horror swim before my sight; 
 Grief and despair in all their terrors rise; 
 A dying lover, pale and gasping, lies : 
 Each dismal circumstance appears in view ; 
 The fatal object is for ever new : 
 His anguish with the quickest sense I feel, 
 And hear this sad, this moving language still : 
 
 " My dearest wife ! my last, my fondest care ! 
 '* Sure, lleav'n for thee will hear a dying pray'r. 
 " Be thou the charge of sacred Providence : 
 i( When I am gone, be that thy kind defence ; 
 " Ten thousand smiling blessings crown thy head, 
 " When I am cold, and number'd with the dead : 
 " Think on my vows, be to my mem'ryjust ; 
 '* My future fame and honour are thy trust. 
 '* From all engagements here I now am free, 
 " But that which keeps my ling' ring soul with thee, 
 " How much I love, thy bleeding heart can tell, 
 " Which does, like mine, the panes of parting feel : 
 " But haste to meet me on those happy plains, 
 " Where mighty love in endless triumph reigns." 
 
 He ceas'd ; then gently yielded up his breath, 
 And fell a blooming sacrifice to death. 
 But oh ! what words, what numbers can express, 
 What thought conceive the height of my distress? 
 Why did they tear me from thy breathless clay ? 
 I should have staid, and wept my life away. 
 Yet, gentle shade, whether thou now dost rove 
 Through some blest vale, or ever verdant grove, 
 One moment listen to my grief, and take 
 The softest vows that constant love can make. 
 
 For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego ; 
 For thee my tears shall never cease to flow; 
 For thee at once I from the world retire, 
 To feed in silent shades an hopeless fire : 
 My bosom all thine image shall retain ; 
 The full impression there shall still remain : 
 As thou hast taught my constant heart to prove 
 The noblest height and elegance of love, 
 That sacred passion I to thee confine; 
 My spotless faith shall be for ever thine. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe continued to the last moments of her 
 life, to express the highest veneration and affection 
 to the memory of her husband, and showed a parti- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 399 
 
 cular regard and esteem for his relations *, several 
 of whom she honoured with a long and most intimate 
 friendship. But a short time before her death, she 
 discovered how incapable she was of forgetting him, 
 by shedding fresh tears on occasion of the mention 
 of his name ; so that the lines she wrote on the 
 anniversary return of the day on which Mr. Rowe 
 died, might in some degree express the habitual, 
 uninterrupted sorrow she felt every day of her life, 
 for the loss of a companion who had been so dear and 
 delightful to her. The lines are as follow : 
 
 Unhappy day ! with what a dismal light 
 Dost thou appear to my afflicted sight ! 
 In vain the cheerful spring returns with theef; 
 There is no future cheerful spring for me. 
 
 While my Alexis withers in the tomb, 
 Untimely cropt, nor sees a second bloom, 
 The fairest season of the changing year 
 A wild and wintry aspect seems to wear. 
 The flow'rs no more their former beauty boast ; 
 Their painted hue and fragrant scents are lost ; 
 The joyous birds their harmony prolong ; 
 But oh ! I find no music in their song. 
 
 Ye mossy caves, ye groves, and silver streams, 
 The muse's lov'd retreats, and gentle themes, 
 Ye verdant fields, no more your landscapes please, 
 Nor give my soul one interval of ease ; 
 Tranquillity and pleasure fly your shades, 
 And restless care your solitude invades. 
 
 * The letter she left behind her, to be delivered after her decease 
 to Mrs. Sarah Rowe, begins thus : 
 
 My dear Mother, 
 
 I am now taking my final adieu of this world, in certain 
 hopes of meeting you in the next. I carry to my grave my affection 
 and gratitude to your family, and leave you with the sincerest 
 concern for your own happiness, and the welfare of your family. 
 May my prayers be answered, when I am sleeping in the dust ! O 
 may the angels of God conduct you in the paths of immortal glory 
 and pleasure ! I would collect the powers of my soul, and ask 
 blessings for you with all the holy violence of prayer. God Al- 
 mighty, the God of your ancestors, who has been your dwelling- 
 place for many generations, bless you ! 
 f Mr. Rowe died in the spring of the year. 
 
400 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Nor the still evening, nor the rosy dawn, 
 Nor moonlight glimm'ring o'er the dewy lawn, 
 Nor stars, nor sun, my gloomy fancy cheer 
 But heav'n and earth a dismal prospect wear. 
 That hour that snatch'd Alexis from my arms, 
 Rent from the face of nature all its charms ! 
 
 Unhappy day, be sacred still to grief; 
 A grief too obstinate for all relief! 
 On thee my face shall never wear a smile ; 
 No joy on thee shall e'er my heart beguile. 
 Why does thy light again my eyes molest ? 
 Why am 1 not with thee, dear youth, at rest ? 
 When shall I, stretch'd upon rny dusty bed, 
 Forget the toils of life, and mingle with the dead ? 
 
 It was only out of regard to Mr. Rowe, that with 
 his society Mrs. Rowe was willing to reside in London 
 during the winter season. Accordingly, as soon after 
 his decease as her affairs would permit, she indulged 
 her invincible inclination to solitude, by removing to 
 Frome, in Somersetshire, in the neighbourhood of 
 which place the greater part of her estate lay. 
 When she left town, she determined to return to it 
 no more, but to spend the remainder of her life in an 
 absolute retirement ; yet, on some few occasions, she 
 thought it her duty to violate her resolution. In 
 compliance with the importunate requests of the 
 Honourable Mrs. Thynne, she passed some months 
 with her at London, after the death of her daughter, 
 the Lady Brooke ; and on the melancholy occasion 
 of the decease of Mrs. Thynne herself, she could not 
 dispute the solicitations of the Countess of Hertford, 
 afterwards the Dutchess of Somerset, who earnestly 
 desired her to reside some time with her at Marlbo- 
 rough, to soften, by her conversation and friendship, 
 her severe affliction in the loss of her excellent 
 mother; and once or twice more, it is apprehended, 
 the power this last lady had over Mrs. Rowe, drew 
 her, by an obliging kind of violence, to spend a few 
 months at this or some other of her ladyship's 
 country seats. Yet, even on these occasions, Mrs. 
 Rowe never quitted her silent retreat without very 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 401 
 
 sincere regret, and always returned to it as soon as 
 ever she could with decency disengage herself from 
 the importunity of her noble friends. 
 
 In this recess, she composed her pieces entitled 
 " Friendship in Death," and the several parts of the 
 " Letters Moral and Entertaining*." The drift of 
 the " Letters from the Dead" is, as the ingenious 
 Author t of the preface expresses it, " to impress 
 '* the notion of the soul's immortality ; without 
 u which, all virtue and religion, with their temporal 
 ** and eternal good consequences, must fall to the 
 " ground : and to make the mind contract, as it 
 " were, unawares, an habitual persuasion of our 
 " future existence by w T ritings built on that founda- 
 el tion." It may be added also, that the design both 
 of these, and the u Letters Moral and Entertaining," 
 is, by fictitious examples of heroic virtue and the 
 most generous benevolence, to allure the reader to 
 the practice of every thing that ennobles human 
 nature, and benefits the world ; and by the just and 
 lively images of the remorse and misery attendant on 
 vice, to warn the young and unthinking from being 
 seduced to ruin by the enchanting name of pleasure : 
 the piety of which intention is the more worthy of 
 the highest panegyric, as it is so uncommon in witty 
 and polite writers. 
 
 In the year 1736, the importunity of some of Mrs. 
 Rowe's acquaintance, who had seen the " History of 
 " Joseph" in manuscript, prevailed on her, though 
 not without real reluctance, to suffer the poem to be 
 made public. She wrote this piece in her younger 
 years, and, when first printed, had carried it no 
 
 * The dates of these several pieces are as follow : 
 
 " Friendship in Death, in twenty Letters from the Dead to the 
 Living." 1728. 
 
 " Letters Moral and Entertaining, in Prose and Verse," Part I. 
 1729. Part II. 1731. Part III. 1733. 
 
 These works of Mrs. Rowe were translated into French, and 
 published at Amsterdam in the year 1740, in two volumes, 12mo. 
 f Dr. Young. 
 
402 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 further than the marriage of the hero of the poem ; 
 but, at the request of her friends, particularly an 
 illustrious lady # , to whom she could scarce refuse 
 any thing, she added two books, to include the rela- 
 tion of Joseph's discovery of himself to his brethren ; 
 the composing of which, as it is said, was no more 
 than the employment of three or four days. This 
 additional part, which was her last work, was pub- 
 lished but a few weeks before her death. 
 
 This grand event, the preparation for which she 
 had made so much the business of her life, befell her, 
 according to her wish, in her beloved recess. She 
 enjoyed an uncommon strength of constitution, and 
 had passed a long series of years with scarce any in- 
 disposition severe enough to confine her to her bed. 
 But about half a year before her decease, she was 
 attacked with a distemper which seemed to herself, 
 as well as to others, attended with danger. Though 
 this disorder, as she expressed herself to one of her 
 most intimate friends, found her mind not quite so 
 serene and prepared to meet death as usual ; yet 
 when, by devout contemplations on the atonement 
 and mediation of our blessed Redeemer, she had for- 
 tified herself against that fear and diffidence, from 
 which the most eminent piety may not always be 
 secure in that most solemn hour, she experienced 
 such divine satisfaction and transport, that she said 
 with tears of joy, " that she knew not that she had 
 " ever felt the like in all her life ;" and she repeated 
 on this occasion Mr. Pope's verses, entitled, '*. The 
 Dying Christian to his Soul/' with an air of such 
 intense pleasure, as evidenced that she really felt all 
 the elevated sentiments of pious ecstacy and triumph 
 which breathe in that beautiful piece of sacred 
 poetry. After this threatening illness, Mrs. Rowe 
 recovered her usual good state of health ; and though 
 at the time she was somewhat advanced in age, yet, 
 
 X The Dutchess of Somerset. 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 403 
 
 her exact temperance, and the calmness of her mind, 
 undisturbed with uneasy cares and passions, en- 
 couraged her friends to flatter themselves with a 
 much longer enjoyment of so valuable a life than it 
 pleased Heaven to allow them. On the day on 
 which she w r as seized with that distemper which in 
 a few hours proved mortal, she seemed to those 
 about her to be in perfect health and vigour ; and in 
 the evening, about eight of the clock, she conversed 
 with a friend with all her wonted vivacity; after 
 which she retired to her chamber. About ten, her 
 servant, hearing some noise in her mistress's room, 
 ran instantly into it, and found her fallen off her 
 chair on the floor speechless, and in the agonies of 
 death. She had the immediate assistance of a phy- 
 sician and surgeon, but all the means used were 
 without success ; and after having given one groan, 
 she expired a few minutes before two of the clock on 
 the Lord's-day morning, Feb. 20, 1736-7, in the 
 sixty- third year of her age, her disease being judged 
 to be an apoplexy. A pious book was found lying 
 open by her, as also some loose papers on which she 
 had written the following unconnected sentences : 
 
 O guide, and counsel, and protect my soul from sin! 
 
 O speak, and let me know thy heav'nly will! 
 
 Speak evidently to my listening soul ! 
 
 O fill my soul with love, with light, and peace, 
 
 And whisper heav'nly comforts to my soul ! 
 
 O speak, celestial Spirit, in the strain 
 
 Of love and hea\'nly pleasure to my soul ! 
 
 Thus it appeared, that in reading pious medita- 
 tions, or forming devout ejaculations for the Divine 
 favour and assistance, Mrs. Howe made the last use 
 of the powers of her reason below the skies ; though 
 little, it may be, did she think in these her last mo- 
 ments, how near she was to that blissful hour, when 
 all her prayers w r ould be completely answered, and 
 be exchanged for eternal enjoyment and praise. 
 
404 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 As she was greatly apprehensive that the violence 
 of pain, or the languors of a sick bed, might occa- 
 sion some depression of spirits and melancholy fears 
 unsuitable to the character and expectations of a 
 Christian, it was her earnest and daily prayer to 
 Heaven, as appeared from her manuscript-book of 
 devotion, that she might not in this manner dis- 
 honour her profession ; and she often expressed to 
 her friends her desires of a sudden removal to the 
 skies, as it must necessarily prevent any such im- 
 proper behaviour in her last moments : so that, as 
 the suddenness of Mrs. Rowe's death must be num- 
 bered among the felicities with which she was fa- 
 voured by Providence, it may be interpreted also as 
 a reward of her singular piety, and a token of the 
 Divine favour in answer to her prayers. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe seemed, by the gaiety and cheerfulness 
 of her temper, to be particularly adapted to enjoy 
 life, and all its innocent satisfactions ; yet, instead 
 of any excessive fondness for things present and 
 visible, her contempt for what she used to term a 
 low state of existence, and a dull round of insipid 
 pleasures, and the desires with which she breathed 
 after the enjoyments of the heavenly world, were 
 great beyond conception. When her acquaintance 
 expressed to her the joy they felt at seeing her look 
 so well, and possessed of so much health as pro- 
 mised many years to come, she was wont to reply, 
 " that it was the same as telling a slave his fetters 
 " were like to be lasting, or complimenting him on 
 " the strength of the walls of his dungeon;" and, 
 indeed, the fervour of her wishes to commence the 
 life of angels, irresistibly broke from her lips in 
 numberless other instances. 
 
 She was buried, according to her request, under 
 the same stone with her father, in the meeting-place 
 at Frome; on which occasion, her funeral sermon 
 was preached to a very crowded auditory, by the 
 Rev. Mr. Bowden, her minister. Her death was 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 405 
 
 lamented with very uncommon sorrow by all who 
 had heard of her virtue and merit, but particularly 
 by those of the town where she had so long resided, 
 and her most intimate acquaintance. Above all, the 
 news of her death struck the poor and distressed 
 with inexpressible affliction ; and at her doors, and 
 over her grave, they bewailed the loss of their bene- 
 factress, poured blessings on her memory, and re- 
 counted to each other the gentle and condescending 
 manner with which she heard their requests, and 
 the numerous instances in which they had expe- 
 rienced her goodness and bounty. 
 
 In her cabinet were found letters to several of her 
 friends, for whom she had an high esteem and affec- 
 tion ; namely, the Countess of Hertford, the Earl of 
 Orrery, Mr. James Theobald, and Mrs. Sarah Rowe. 
 These letters, Mrs. Rowe had ordered to be delivered 
 to the persons to whom they were directed, imme- 
 diately after her decease. They are published in 
 her life, drawn up by Mr. Theophilus Rowe, and pre- 
 fixed to her miscellaneous works in prose and verse ; 
 they discover a mcst pious spirit, and a most tender 
 and affectionate friendship. Besides these letters, 
 she wrote also another to Dr. Watts, accompanying 
 her papers, containing the Devout Exercises of her 
 Heart in Meditation, Soliloquy, Prayer, and Praise, 
 which the doctor, according to her desire, soon after 
 her decease communicated to the world. The letter 
 to the doctor, and two or three of her Devotional 
 Exercises, we shall take leave to ingraft into our 
 memoirs, as they will afford lively proofs of Mrs. 
 Rowe's eminent piety, and show where her hope 
 rested in the views of a blessed immortality with 
 the Lord. 
 
 To the Rev. Dr. Watts, at Newington. 
 Sir, 
 
 The opinion I have of your piety and 
 judgment, is the reason of my giving you the trouble 
 
406 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of looking over these papers in order to publish 
 them, which I desire you to do as soon as you can 
 conveniently ; only you have full liberty to suppress 
 what you think proper. 
 
 I think there can be no vanity in this design, for 
 I am sensible that such thoughts as these will not be 
 for the taste of the modish part of the world, and 
 before they appear, I shall be entirely disinterested 
 in the censure or applause of mortals. 
 
 The reflections were occasionally written, and only 
 for my own improvement ; but 1 am not without 
 hopes that they may have the same effect on some 
 pious minds, as the reading the experiences of others 
 have had on my soul. The experimental part of 
 religion has generally a greater influence than its 
 theory; and if, when 1 am sleeping in the dust, these 
 soliloquies should kindle a flame of Divine love in 
 the heart of the lowest and most despised Christian, 
 be the glory given to the great Spring of all grace 
 and benignity ! 
 
 I have now done with mortal things, and all to 
 come is vast eternity. Eternity — how transporting 
 is the sound ! As long as God exists, my being and 
 happiness are secure. These unbounded desires, 
 which the wide creation cannot limit, shall be satis- 
 fied for ever. I shall drink at the fountain-head of 
 pleasure, and be refreshed with the emanations of 
 original life and joy. I shall hear the voice of un- 
 created harmony speaking peace and ineffable con- 
 solation to my soul. 
 
 I expect eternal life not as a reward (of merit), 
 but a pure act of bounty. Detesting myself in every 
 view I can take, I fly to the righteousness and 
 atonement of my great Redeemer for pardon and 
 salvation. This is my only consolation and hope. 
 u Enter not into judgment, O Lord, with thy servant, 
 " for in thy sight shall no flesh be justified !" 
 
 Through the blood of the Lamb, I hope for an 
 entire victory over the last enemy, and that before 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 407 
 
 this comes to you, I shall have reached the celestial 
 heights ; and, while you are reading these lines, I 
 shall be adoring before the throne of God, where 
 faith shall be turned into vision, and these languish- 
 ing desires satisfied with the full fruition of immor- 
 tal love. Adieu. Elizabeth Rowe. 
 
 The devout exercises of her soul, which we have 
 thought proper to select from a very considerable 
 number, no fewer than thirty-six, are the three that 
 follow : 
 
 Glory to God for Salvation by Jesus and his Blood, 
 
 Let me give glory to God before I die, and take 
 shame and confusion to myself. I ascribe my salva- 
 tion to the free and absolute goodness of God. JNTot 
 by the strength of reason, or any natural inclination 
 to virtue, but by the grace of God I am what I am. 
 O my Redeemer, be the victory, be the glory thine ! 
 J expect eternal life and happiness from thee, not as 
 a debt, but a free gift, a promised act of bounty. 
 How poorw r ould my expectation be, if I only looked 
 to be rewarded according to those works which my 
 own vanity, or the partiality of others, have called 
 good, but which, if examined by the Divine purity, 
 would prove but specious sins ! As such I renounce 
 them. Pardon them, gracious Lord, and I ask no 
 more, nor can hope for that but through the satis- 
 faction which hath been made to Divine justice for 
 the sins of the w : orld. 
 
 O Jesus, my Saviour! what harmony dwells in thy 
 name! Celestial joy, and immortal life, are in the 
 sound ! Let the angels set this name to their 
 golden harps ! Let the redeemed of the Lord for 
 ever magnify it ! 
 
 O my propitious Saviour, where were my hopes, 
 but for thee ? How desperate, how undone were my 
 circumstances! I look on myself, in every view I 
 can take, with horror and contempt. I was born in 
 
408 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 a state of sin and misery, and in my best estate am 
 altogether vanity. With the utmost advantages I 
 can boast, 1 shrink back, I tremble to approach be- 
 fore unblemished Majesty. O thou in whose name 
 the Gentiles trust, be my refuge in that awful hour ! 
 To thee I come, my only confidence and hope. Let 
 the blood of sprinkling, let the blood of the cove- 
 nant be on me ! Cleanse me from my original stain, 
 and my contracted impurity, and adorn me with 
 the robes of thy righteousness, by which alone I 
 expect to stand justified before infinite justice and 
 purity ! 
 
 O enter not into judgment with me, for the best 
 actions of my life cannot bear thy scrutiny ! Some 
 secret blemish has stained all my glory. My devo- 
 tion to God has been mingled with levity and irre- 
 verence ; my charity to man with vanity and osten- 
 tation. Some latent defect has attended my best 
 actions ; and those very things which perhaps have 
 been highly esteemed by men, have deserved con- 
 tempt in the sight of God. 
 
 A Prayer for speedy Sanctification. 
 
 O Lord God, great and holy, all-sufficient, and 
 full of grace, if thou shouldest bid me form a 
 wish, and take whatsoever 1 had in heaven or earth 
 to ask, it should not be the kingdoms of this world, 
 nor the crowns of princes ; no, nor should it be the 
 wreaths of martyrs, nor the thrones of archangels. 
 My first request is to be made holy. This is my 
 highest concern. Rectify the disorders sin has made 
 in my soul, and renew thine image there. Let me be 
 satisfied with thy likeness. Thou hast compassed 
 my paths with mercy in all other respects, and I am 
 discontented with nothing but my own heart, because 
 it is so unlike the image of thy holiness, and so unfit 
 for thy immediate presence. 
 
 Permit me to be importunate here, O blessed 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 409 
 
 God ! and grant the importunity of my wishes. Let 
 me be favoured with a gracious and speedy answer, 
 for I am dying while I am speaking. The very 
 breath with which I am calling upon thee, is carrying 
 away a part of my life. This tongue that is now 
 invoking thee, must shortly be silent in the grave. 
 These knees that are bent to pay thee homage, and 
 these hands that are now lifted up to the most high 
 God for mercy, must shortly be mouldering in their 
 original dust. These eyes will soon be closed in 
 death, which are now looking up to thy throne for a 
 blessing. O prevent the flying hours with thy 
 mercy, and let thy favour outstrip the hasty mo- 
 ments ! 
 
 Thou art unchanged while rolling ages pass along ; 
 but I am decaying with every breath I draw. My 
 whole allotted time to prepare for heaven, is but a 
 point, compared with thy infinite duration. The 
 shortness and vanity of my present being, and the 
 importance of my eternal concerns, join together to 
 demand my utmost solicitude, and give wings to 
 my warmest wishes. Before I can utter all my pre- 
 sent desires, the hasty opportunity perhaps is gone, 
 the golden minute vanished, and the season of mercy 
 has taken its everlasting flight. 
 
 O God of ages, hear me speedily, and grant my 
 request while I am yet speaking. My frail exist- 
 ence will admit of no delay : answer me according 
 to the shortness of my duration, and the exigence of 
 my circumstances. My business, of high import- 
 ance as it is, yet, is limited to the present now, the 
 passing moment ; for all the powers of earth cannot 
 promise me the next. 
 
 Let not my pressing importunity, therefore, offend 
 thee. My happiness, my everlasting happiness, my 
 whole being, is concerned in my success. As much 
 as the enjoyment of God himself is worth, is at 
 stake. 
 
 Thou knowest, Lord, what qualifications will fit 
 
 VOL. I. t 
 
410 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 me to behold thee. Thou knowest in what I am 
 defective. Thou canst prepare my soul in an instant 
 to enter into thy holy habitation. I breathe now, 
 but the next moment may be death. Let not that 
 fatal moment come before I am prepared. The same 
 creating voice that said, u Let there be light, and 
 " there was light/' can in the same manner purify 
 and adorn my soul, and make me fit for thy presence ; 
 and my soul longs to be thus purified and adorned. 
 O Lord, delay not, for every moment's interval is a 
 loss to me, and may be a loss unspeakable and irre- 
 parable. Thy delay cannot be the least advantage 
 to thee. Thy power and clemency are as full this 
 present instant as they will be the next, and my time 
 as fleeting, and my wants as pressing. 
 
 Remember, O eternal God, my lost time is for ever 
 lost, and my wasted hours will never return. My 
 neglected opportunities can never be recalled. To 
 me they are gone for ever, and cannot be improved. 
 But thou canst change my sinful soul into holiness 
 by a word, and set me now in the way to everlasting 
 improvement. 
 
 O let not the Spirit of God restrain itself, but 
 bless me according to the fulness of thine, own being, 
 according to the riches of thy grace in Christ Jesus, 
 according to thy infinite, inconceivable love mani- 
 fested in that glorious gift of thy beloved Son, in 
 whom the fulness of the Godhead was contained. 
 It is through his merit and mediation I wait for all 
 the unbounded blessings I want, and ask for. 
 
 Longing for the Coming of Christ. 
 
 Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. O come, lest 
 my expectation faint, lest I grow weary, and murmur 
 at thy long delay ! I am tired with these vanities, 
 and the world grows every day more unentertaining 
 and insipid. It has now lost its charms, and finds 
 nay heart insensible to all its allurements. With 
 coldness and contempt I view these transitory glories, 
 
inspired with nobler prospects and vaster expecta- 
 tions by faith. I see the promised land, and every- 
 day brings me nearer the possession of my heavenly 
 inheritance. Then shall I see God, and live, and 
 face to face behold my triumphant Redeemer, 
 
 And in his favour find immortal light. 
 
 Ye hours, and days, cut short your tedious flight : 
 
 Ye months, and years, it* such allotted be 
 
 In this detested barren world for me, 
 
 With hasty revolution roll along;: 
 
 I languish with impatience to be gone. 
 
 I have nothing here to linger for. My hopes, my 
 rest, my treasure, and my joys, are all above. My 
 soul faints for the courts of the Lord in a dry and 
 thirsty land, where there is no refreshment. " How 
 " long shall I dwell in Mese-ch, and sojourn in the 
 " tents of Kedar ?" When will the wearisome journey 
 of life be finished ? When shall I reach my ever- 
 lasting home, and arrive at my celestial country ? 
 My heart, my wishes, are already there. I have no 
 engagements to delay my farewell; nothing to 
 detain me here ; but I wander an unacquainted 
 pilgrim, a stranger and desolate, far from my native 
 regions. 
 
 My friends are gone before, and are now triumph- 
 ing in the skies, secure of the conquest, possessed of 
 the rewards of victory. They survey the field of 
 battle, and look back with pleasure on the distant 
 danger. Death and hell for ever vanquished, leave 
 them in the possession of endless tranquillity and joy ; 
 while I, beset with a thousand snares, and tired with 
 continual toil, unsteadily maintain the field, till active 
 faith steps in, assures me of the conquest, and shews 
 me the immortal crown. It is faith tells me, that 
 " light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for 
 " the upright in heart." It assures me " that my 
 " Redeemer lives, and that he shall stand at the last 
 " day upon the earth ; and that, though after my 
 " skin worms destroy this body, yet, in my flesh 
 
 t 2 
 
412 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Ct I shall see God ; whom I shall see for myself, and 
 '* not another, and these eyes shall behold, though 
 " my reins be consumed within me." Amen, even 
 so come, Lord Jesus ! This must be my language 
 till thou dost appear, and these my impatient breath- 
 ings after thee. Till I see thy salvation, my heart 
 and my flesh will pine for the living God. 
 
 Grant me, O God, " to fulfil as an hireling my 
 " days." Shorten the space, and let it be full of 
 action. It is of small importance how few there 
 are of these little circles of days and hours, so that 
 they are but well filled up with devotion and all 
 proper duty. 
 
 Besides the compositions of Mrs. Rowe which 
 have been already mentioned, namely, Friendship in 
 Death, Letters Moral and Entertaining, The History 
 of Joseph, and The Devout Exercises of the Heart, 
 there are also two more volumes that go under the 
 name of her Miscellaneous Works ; the first of 
 which is a collection of her poems written at various 
 times, and on various occasions ; and the other a 
 long series, to the number of 167, of her familiar 
 letters to her friends. To the last volume are added, 
 according to Mrs. Rowe's order, that these poems of 
 her husband's should be joined with her own, several 
 essays in poetry of Mr. Rowe's, which " though/' 
 as the writer of her life observes, " they were de- 
 " prived, by the immature death of the author, of 
 " his corrections, yet shew so much strength of 
 " genius as will easily atone for any slight inac- 
 " curacies." — " She had no other view," says the 
 Editor of her Miscellaneous Poems, (Mr. Theophilu* 
 Rowe, her brother-in-law,) " in their publication, to 
 " use the words of the letter in which she intrusted 
 " them to my care, but the profit or innocent enter- 
 fi tainment of the reader. I hope, continues she, all 
 " my present design is abstractedly the interest of 
 " virtue ; for a reputation among mortals is a very 
 " insignificant thing to me, who hope, before these 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 413 
 
 " papers are published, to be above their censure or 
 " applause, and to receive the approbation of the 
 r * Supreme Judge : but, if they may be of any advan- 
 <l tage to the cause of virtue, it will be a great satis- 
 " faction to me." These volumes, with the compo- 
 sitions just recited, may be reckoned to complete 
 her works, in which, we may venture to say, a pious 
 and polite reader will not seek in vain for instruction 
 and entertainment. " The softness of her sex, and 
 " the fineness of her genius," says the ingenious 
 Mr. Matthew Prior*, " conspire to give her a very 
 " distinguishing character." And this character is 
 still more distinguishing, as it is mingled with such 
 uncommon piety and virtue, as we have seen in part, 
 but as will be more conspicuously shewn, while we 
 communicate the picture of the amiable excellencies 
 of her mind, as drawn by the just-mentioned Editor 
 of her Miscellanies. 
 
 She had the happiest command over her passions, 
 and maintained a constant serenity of temper, and 
 sweetness of disposition, that could not be ruffled 
 with adverse occurrences, nor soured by the ap- 
 proaches of old age itself. It has been questioned 
 whether she was ever angry in her whole life ; at 
 least with those little infelicities and displeasing 
 incidents that fell out in common life, which, though 
 really of a trivial nature, frequently prove too power- 
 ful temptations to indecencies of passion ; but, with 
 her, they were rather the subjects of mirth and 
 agreeable raillery. It ought also to be observed, as 
 persons are apt to be least on their guard against 
 excesses of this kind towards inferiors and domes- 
 tics, that her servant, who lived with her near twenty 
 years, scarce ever discovered in her mistress any 
 tendency to anger towards herself, or any warmth 
 of resentment against others, except in the cause of 
 Heaven against impiety and flagrant crimes; on 
 
 * See his Preface to his Poems. 
 
414 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which occasions some degree of indignation is not 
 only irreproachable, but truly deserving the name of 
 commendable and virtuous zeal. 
 
 Together with the most manly elevation of genius, 
 Mrs. Rowe possessed all that gentleness and soft- 
 ness of disposition which are so peculiarly the orna- 
 ments of her sex, and was entirely free from that 
 severity of temper which has made the character of 
 a wit unamiable, if not quite infamous. Next to 
 impure and profane writings, she expressed the 
 strongest aversion against satire, as it is usually so 
 replete with personal malice and invective. No 
 strokes of this kind can be found in her works ; and 
 her conversation was no less innocent of every ap- 
 pearance of ill-nature than her writings. She forti- 
 fied her resolutions against evil-speaking by par- 
 ticular and solemn vows, as appears by the following 
 sacred engagement, transcribed from her manuscript. 
 
 October 6, 1726. 
 
 O let me once again bind myself to the Lord, 
 never, by thy grace, to speak evil of any person. O 
 help me to govern my tongue by the strictest rules 
 of charity and truth, and never to utter any evil sur- 
 mises, or make the least reflection to the dishonour 
 of my neighbour. Let me in the minutest circum- 
 stances do to others as I would they should act to 
 me. Let me hope, let me believe all things to the 
 advantage of others. Give me thy divine assistance 
 to perform this great duty, and set thou a watch on 
 my words, and keep, O strictly keep the door of my 
 lips, that I offend not with my tongue. Now let 
 thy grace be sufficient for me, and thy strength be 
 manifest in my weakness. In thy strength, in the 
 name of the Lord, my Redeemer, let me engage 
 with all my future temptations. Look graciously on 
 this petition, and remember me when I am in 
 any suspense, any exigence, and am ready to forget 
 my engagements. In the moment that I shall waver, 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 415 
 
 strengthen me; restrain me when the malignant 
 thought arises ; and, while the yet unuttered words 
 are ready to issue from my lips, set thou a bridle 
 there, and govern my rebellious faculty. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe strictly regulated her conduct by this 
 solemn vow, and could hardly think any occasion 
 would justify the report of what was prejudicial to 
 the reputation of another. " I can appeal," says 
 she, in a letter to a lady with whom she had lived 
 in a long and most intimate friendship, " if you ever 
 " knew me make an envious or an ill-natured reflec- 
 " tion on any person upon earth. Indeed, the follies 
 a of mankind would afford a wide and various scene ; 
 u but charity would draw a veil of darkness here, 
 " and choose to be for ever silent, rather than ex- 
 " patiate on the melancholy theme." Scandal and 
 detraction appeared to her such extreme inhumanitv, 
 as no charms of wit and politeness could make 
 tolerable. If she was forced to be present at such 
 kind of conversation, she had sometimes, when the 
 freedom might be decently used, the courage openly 
 to condemn it; u and," says her biographer, " I 
 " believe always the generosity to undertake the 
 * defence of the absent, when unjustly accused, and 
 " to extenuate even their real faults and errors." 
 
 She was as much a stranger to envy as if it had 
 been impossible for so base a passion to enter into 
 the human heart, and was always forward to do jus- 
 tice to every fine writer and illustrious character of 
 the age. She exceedingly loved to praise, and never 
 failed to observe and applaud every appearance of 
 merit in those with whom she was acquainted, at the 
 same time overlooking all their frailties with more 
 than even the usual partiality of friendship. Yet, 
 though she could have wished to have made no other 
 use of speech than to commend worth and goodness, 
 a sense of duty on some occasions compelled her to 
 reprove ; but the seeming severity of this virtue 
 
416 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was tempered by the softest arts of gentleness and 
 love. In proof of which, it may not be improper 
 to add, as an instance of the honest artifice she used 
 to disguise her admonitions, that she has been fre- 
 quently observed to commend persons of distin- 
 guished eminence for one kind of moral worth, be- 
 fore some of her friends who were deficient in that 
 particular virtue, in hopes that they might be struck 
 with the beauty of the example, which she proposed 
 to their imitation in a manner so little liable to give 
 offence. 
 
 She had few equals in her excellent turn for con- 
 versation. Her wit was inexhaustible, and she ex- 
 pressed her thoughts in the most beautiful and flow- 
 ing language ; and as these uncommon advantages 
 were accompanied with an easy goodness and unaf- 
 fected openness of behaviour, she powerfully charmed 
 all who conversed with her. A peculiar elevation 
 of understanding made her despise those trifles which 
 so frequently dwell on the lips of the fair sex, and 
 she would always have chosen to talk on important 
 and instructive themes ; yet, lest constant discourse 
 of a serious kind should prove distasteful and weari- 
 some, she sometimes entertained her friends on 
 more gay and indifferent subjects. But, as soon as 
 a transition could be made without the appearance 
 of affectation, she returned to her favourite topics, 
 on which she exerted all her exquisite talents to 
 recommend the most exact morality and sublime 
 piety, so that it seemed impossible to be in her 
 company without growing wiser and better, or to 
 leave it without regret. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's wit, beauty *, and merit, had even 
 
 * Her person is thus described by the writer of her life. " Though 
 " she was not a regular beauty, yet she possessed a large mea- 
 " sure of the charms of her sex. She was of a moderate stature, 
 " her hair of a fine auburn colour, and her eyes of a darkish grey, 
 " inclinable to blue, and full of fire. Her complexion was exqui- 
 " sitely fair, and a natural rosy blush glowed in her cheeks. She 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH RQWE. 417 
 
 from her youth conciliated to her much compliment 
 and praise, and these from such judges of worth as 
 might have given some tincture of vanity to her 
 mind. Yet, amidst all these temptations to pride, 
 she retained all the humility of the meanest and most 
 obscure person of the human race. She rarely men- 
 tioned any of her writings, even to her most intimate 
 friends, nor ever discovered the least elation of mind 
 at their great success, and the approbation they re- 
 ceived from some of the finest writers of the age. 
 The praises with which her works were honoured, 
 only led her to ascribe the glory to the Original of 
 all perfection, on whose power she maintained a 
 constant sense of her dependence, and with the most 
 grateful piety owned her obligations to the Divine 
 goodness. " It is but for Heaven," said she, " to 
 " give a turn to one of my nerves, and I should be an 
 *' idiot." She assumed no indecent share in conver- 
 sation, and has been frequently known to be silent 
 on subjects she well understood, and on which she 
 could have displayed her capacity to great advan- 
 tage. Her friends could not fail to observe the 
 modest care she took in avoiding the mention of any 
 thing that could tend to her own honour; rt Nor can 
 " I remember," says the above-mentioned Mr. Theo- 
 philus Rowe, her husband's brother, M during the 
 " long intimacy with which she favoured me, one 
 *' expression of vanity, or sense of her own worth, 
 " that might in the least stain her humility. She 
 ** never dictated to others, nor arrogated any re- 
 *' spect and deference to her own sentiments, but, 
 *' in conversing with persons of parts and abilities 
 
 " spoke gracefully, and her voice was exceeding sweet and har- 
 " monious, and perfectly suited to that gentle language which 
 " always flowed from her lips. But the softness and benevolence 
 " of her aspect were beyond all description. They inspired irre- 
 " sistible love, yet not without some mixture of that awe and 
 " veneration which distinguished sense and virtue apparent in the 
 " countenance are wont to create." 
 
 T 5 
 
418 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 u far beneath her own, seemed to study to make the 
 " superiority of her genius easy to them by the most 
 u obliging goodness, and condescension of beha- 
 rt viour. Nor were her affability and readiness of 
 <{ access to those of the lowest rank less remarkable 
 " and exemplary. It was impossible for her to treat 
 u any one with insolence or contempt. On the con- 
 " trary, as she infinitely loved and reverenced true 
 u goodness, I have been witness of the real and 
 H peculiar respect she paid to sincere piety, when 
 " great degrees of ignorance and extremely mean 
 u circumstances might have quite obscured it to less 
 " humble and generous minds." 
 
 She was perfectly untainted with the love of plea- 
 sure, which is so inimical to religion and virtue. She 
 was ignorant of every polite and fashionable game. 
 Play, she believed to be at best but an art of losing 
 time, and forgetting to think ; but when she reflected 
 on the fatal consequences that attend a fond attach- 
 ment to cards and dice, she had even an horror of 
 them. Her taste was too just to relish those insipid 
 trifles called Novels and Romances, and which not 
 unfrequently are worse than insipid, being filled with 
 indecent images, which pollute the imagination, and 
 shock every chaste mind. She would indeed have 
 esteemed the diversions of the English theatre, espe- 
 cially those of the tragic kind, capable of affording 
 the most noble and rational pleasure, if she could 
 have believed them innocent; but so few of them 
 appeared to her inoffensive to virtue, that she 
 thought it fit to abstain from those entertainments, 
 which, in her opinion, generally tended to promote 
 impurity of manners, and expose piety to scorn and 
 ridicule. The grandeur of her soul preserved her 
 from any fondness for luxury in food, judging it 
 much beneath the dignity of a being possessed of 
 reason, and born for immortality. She was always 
 pleased with whatever she found on her table ; and 
 neither the kind of her food, nor the manner of dress- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROVE. 419 
 
 ing it, gave her any uneasiness ; for, if, in either of 
 these respects, it was not perfectly agreeable, it 
 only afforded her a subject of wit and pleasantry, 
 instead of occasioning any disgust or serious resent- 
 ment. She mixed in no parties of pleasure, and 
 extremely despised the trivial and uninstructive con- 
 versation of formal visits, which she avoided, at least 
 as much as decency would allow; and indeed (except 
 drawing) she had almost an equal contempt for every 
 thing that bears the name of diversion and amuse- 
 ment, even of the most innocent kind. u But I 
 " confess," says her Biographer, " this part of the 
 " character of this excellent lady may not be so fit 
 " for general imitation ; for, though the constant 
 •• vivacity and cheerfulness of Mrs. Rowe's natural 
 " temper might possibly seem to set her above 
 " the necessity of allowing herself some intervals of 
 " amusement to relax the mind, yet, such great ab- 
 ie stinence from every kind of recreation might, in 
 " some persons, tend to sour the mind with austere 
 " and unamiable dispositions, or at least to depress 
 " the spirits to such a degree of melancholy as 
 H would unfit them for the necessary duties and 
 "offices of life." 
 
 She had a contempt of riches that has been rarely 
 equalled. As she expressed herself much pleased 
 with the moderate fortune allotted her by the Divine 
 Providence, which afforded her ease and plenty to 
 the extent of her wishes, so, she never pursued any 
 designs to advance her circumstances in life. She 
 could not be persuaded to publish her works by 
 subscription, or even to accept the advantageous 
 terms of the bookseller, if she would permit her 
 scattered pieces to be collected and published to- 
 gether. She never saw a court; and if she has 
 occasionally mentioned with honour some of the 
 princes under whose reigns she lived, it was only 
 from a sincere veneration for them as the supporters 
 of liberty, which inestimable blessing she justly 
 
420 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 valued, and without the least expectation of any re* 
 ward beyond the pleasure of shewing her gratitude 
 to those who appeared to her public blessings to 
 their country. The high esteem she expressed for 
 some of her friends of distinguished rank, was 
 equally free from the suspicion of interested views ; 
 for, as she gained nothing by their friendship but 
 the pleasures of their conversation, and an acquaint- 
 ance with their virtues, the praises she gave them 
 ought only to be considered as the incense due to 
 merit. The love of money, she thought the most 
 sordid and ignoble of passions, and frequently la- 
 mented its too general prevalence over the human 
 mind. She did not know her own estates from 
 others, till some motives of prudence obliged her to 
 inform herself, when she apprehended she was soon 
 to leave them ; and she was so far from that rigour 
 in exacting her due which approaches to inhumanity, 
 that her neglect of her interest may rather be cen- 
 sured as carried to an extreme. She let her estates 
 below their intrinsic value, as appeared by the con- 
 siderable advance of their rents after her decease ; 
 and she was so gentle to her tenants, that she not 
 only had no lawsuit with any of them, but would not 
 so much as suffer them to be threatened with the 
 seizure of their goods on the neglect of the payment 
 of their rents. Several instances might be adduced, 
 in which she voluntarily departed from her right,, 
 when she had the strongest claim of equity. She 
 could scarce bear the mention of injustice without 
 trembling; and the tenderness and delicacy of her 
 conscience with regard to this sin, were so great, 
 that she hardly could keep far enough from it. " I 
 " can appeal to thee," says she, in an address to 
 God, " how scrupulously I have acted in matters of 
 " equity, and how willingly I have injured myself to 
 " right others/' She spoke with much emotion of 
 the extreme danger of any dishonest and fraudulent 
 practice, and expressed her wonder how persons 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 421 
 
 could die with any tranquillity of mind under the 
 least degree of such kind of guilt. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's indifference to glory was very re- 
 markable. As she seemed to shun fame by conceal- 
 ing herself, during almost the whole of her life, in 
 an obscure solitude, so she practised no arts to pro- 
 mote her reputation. She would not so much as 
 allow her name to be prefixed to any of her works, 
 excepting perhaps some few poems in the earlier 
 part of life ; and though this occasioned several of 
 her works to be ascribed to other hands, she did 
 not alter the modesty of her conduct. When she 
 intended to communicate to the world Friendship 
 in Death, she shewed the manuscript to no more 
 than one person, on whose secrecy she could rely ; 
 and after he had, by her order, copied it in his own 
 hand, she sent it to Dr. Young, only knowing him 
 by his works, and inscribed his name to the dedi- 
 cation, in hopes that, being published by him, and 
 appearing under the patronage of his name, all her 
 acquaintance would imagine this piece to be written 
 by some friend of that eminent poet. And when 
 the beauties of Mrs. Rowe's manner of writing dis- 
 covered the true author, and the performance began 
 to be universally admired, she still continued to avoid 
 owning it, as far as was consistent with the strictest 
 truth. She even declined the honour due to her 
 ashes and memory after death ; for, when she se- 
 lected from her manuscript volume of devotions some 
 exercises of piety, with a view to their publication 
 after her decease, she studiously omitted those parts 
 that would have discovered her unexampled charity 
 and other virtues, which most conciliate the esteem 
 and veneration of the world. Nor could any thing, 
 perhaps, says her Biographer, " but the suddenness 
 " of her death, have prevented her committing to 
 " the flames her manuscript volume of devotions, 
 " which has so often assisted me in my attempt to 
 " do justice to her character." The same modest 
 
422 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 disposition of mind appears in the orders she left in 
 writing to her servant; in which, after having de- 
 sired that her funeral might be by night, and at- 
 tended only by a small number of friends, she adds ; 
 " Charge Mr. Bowden not to say one word of me in 
 " the sermon. I would lie in my father's grave, and 
 " have no stone nor inscription over my vile dust, 
 *' which I gladly leave to corruption and oblivion, 
 " till it rise to a glorious immortality." 
 
 Mrs. Rowe was exemplary for every relative duty. 
 Filial piety was a remarkable part of her character. 
 She loved the best of fathers as she ought, and 
 repaid his uncommon care and tenderness by all just 
 returns of duty and affection. She has often been 
 heard to say, " That she could die rather than do 
 *' any thing to displease him ;" and the anguish she 
 felt at seeing him in pain in his last sickness, was 
 so great, that it occasioned some kind of convul- 
 sion ; a disorder from which she was wholly free in 
 every other part of her life. 
 
 When she had entered into the marriage state, the 
 highest esteem and most tender affection appeared 
 in all her conduct to Mr. Rowe ; and by the most 
 gentle manners, and the exercise of every social 
 virtue, she confirmed the empire she had gained 
 over his heart. She made it her study, to soften the 
 anxieties, and heighten all the satisfactions of his 
 life. Mr. Rowe had some mixture of natural warmth 
 in his temper, of which he had not always a perfect 
 command. If, at any time, this broke out into some 
 little excesses of anger, it never awakened any 
 passion of the like kind in Mrs. Rowe, but, on the 
 contrary, she always remained mistress of herself, 
 and studied, by the gentlest language and tenderest 
 endearment, to restore Mr. Rowe's mind to that 
 calmness which reason approves ; and she equally 
 endeavoured, in every other instance, by the softest 
 arts of persuasion, and in a manner remote from all 
 airs of superiority, to lead him on towards that per- 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 423 
 
 fection of virtue, to which she herself aspired with 
 the truest Christian zeal. During the long illness 
 which ended in his death, she scarce ever stirred 
 from him a moment, and alleviated his severe afflic- 
 tion, by performing, with inconceivable tenderness 
 and assiduity, all the offices of compassion suited to 
 his melancholy situation. She partook of his sleep- 
 less nights, and never quitted his bed unless to serve 
 him, or watch by him ; and, as she could scarce be 
 persuaded to forsake even his breathless clay, so, she 
 consecrated her future years to his memory with 
 resolutions of perpetual widowhood, which she in- 
 violably maintained. Her conduct in this last in- 
 stance, on the review of it, after an interval of several 
 years, and in the near prospect of death, afforded 
 her great satisfaction ; for she thus expresses herself 
 in a letter intended after her own decease to be 
 delivered to Mrs. Arabella Marrow, if that lady had 
 survived her. " The solitude in which I have spent 
 " my time, since Mr. Rowe's death, has given me 
 " leisure to make the darkness of the grave, and the 
 " solemnity of dying, familiar scenes to my imagina- 
 " tion. Whatever such distinguished sense and 
 " merit could claim, I have endeavoured to pay my 
 " much-loved husband's memory. I reflect with 
 " pleasure on my conduct on this occasion, not only 
 " from a principle of justice and gratitude to him, 
 u but from a conscious sense of honour, and love of 
 u a virtuous reputation after death. But if the soul, 
 u in a separate state, should be insensible of human 
 " censure or applause, yet, there is a disinterested 
 " homage due to the sacred name of virtue." 
 
 She mourned over the deaths, first of her husband, 
 and afterwards of her father, with all that tenderness 
 and sensibility which ought to touch every generous 
 heart at the loss of the dearest persons on earth ; 
 yet, her submission to the determinations of Divine 
 Providence was exemplary, and she never presumed 
 to breathe any criminal murmurs against the will of 
 
424 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Heaven, which is ever just and good, or behaved in 
 these dark hours of distress and temptation in a 
 manner unsuitable to that eminent piety which ap- 
 peared in every other part of her life. 
 
 She was a gentle and kind mistress, treating her 
 servants with great condescension and goodness, 
 and almost with the affability of a friend and equal. 
 She caused due care to be taken of them whenever 
 they were ill, and did not think it misbecame her to 
 sit bv the bed of a sick servant to read to her books 
 of piety. The tenderness of her humanity w r ould not 
 suffer her to be offended with light faults ; and, as 
 she never dismissed any one from her family, " so," 
 says her Biographer, " I think none of her servants 
 " ever left her, but with a view to the changing their 
 " condition by marriage." She knew when she was 
 well served, and reposed so much trust in those 
 whose fidelity she had experienced, that it might 
 verge on excess. " Yet, even such great confidence/' 
 continues her Biographer, u was due to that servant 
 " who was with Mrs. Rowe at the time of her death, 
 " whose long and faithful duty to her mistress, and 
 u remarkable sorrow for her loss, deserve to be men- 
 " tioned with honour." 
 
 Mrs. Rowe was a warm and generous friend, just, 
 if not partial, to the merit of those whom she loved, 
 and most gentle and candid to their errors. But, in 
 a distinguished manner, she studied to promote 
 their most important interest, by inciting them to 
 the practice of whatever was pleasing in the sight 
 of God, and would be crowned with his peculiar 
 favour. This she proposed as the best end of 
 friendship. 
 
 She was not entirely free from the attacks of 
 malice, that she might not be without the oppor- 
 tunity of exercising the divine spirit of forgiveness ; 
 yet, one could scarce learn from her discourse, that 
 she had an enemy, for she was not wont to complain 
 of any indecent conduct or injuries done to herself. 
 
M RS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 425 
 
 So that it was apparent that such treatment made 
 light impressions on her mind, or that she had 
 endeavoured to suppress them with the happiest 
 success. 
 
 Her charities were so great, if we consider the 
 mediocrity of her fortune, that they can scarce be 
 paralleled. They were indeed only limited by the 
 utmost extent of her power ; for she devoted the 
 whole of her income, besides what was barely suffi- 
 cient for the necessities of life, to the relief of the 
 indigent and distressed. This, her manuscript ac- 
 quaints us with in the following vow, which, as it 
 evinces a heart glowing with the love of God and 
 mankind, is worthy of the highest praise. But, as 
 this solemn engagement involved Mrs. Rowe in some 
 perplexities, it seems peculiarly fit to add, that her 
 example ought not to influence pious minds to fetter 
 themselves in things not absolutely commanded, 
 since the observation of such vows may be attended 
 with unforeseen difficulties, injurious to the future 
 peace of their lives. 
 
 " I consecrate,'' says Mrs. Rowe, in this her 
 solemn vow, " half my yearly income to charitable 
 " uses. And though by this, according to human 
 " appearances, I have reduced myself to some neces- 
 " sity, I cast all my care on that gracious God to 
 " whom I am devoted, and to whose truth I subscribe 
 " with my hand. I attest his faithfulness, and bring 
 " in my testimony to the veracity of his word. I 
 " set to my seal that God is true, and, O ! by the 
 " God of truth I swear to perform this, and beyond 
 " this. For if thou wilt indeed bless me, and enlarge 
 " my coast, all that I have beyond the bare conve- 
 " nience and necessity of life shall be the Lord's. 
 " And O grant me sufficiency, that I may abound in 
 " every good work ! O let me be the messenger of 
 u consolation to the poor ! Here am I, Lord, send 
 " me. Let me have the honour to administer to the 
 " necessities of my brethren. I am indeed unworthy 
 
426 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " to wipe the feet of the least of the servants of my 
 94 Lord, much more unworthy of this glorious com- 
 " mission ; and yet, O send me, for thy goodness is 
 " free ! Send whom thou wilt on embassies to the 
 " kings and rulers of the earth, but let me be a 
 u servant to the servants of my Lord. Let me admi- 
 " nister consolation and relief to the afflicted members 
 * of my exalted and glorious Redeemer. Let this 
 " be my lot, and I give the glories of the world to 
 " the wind." 
 
 Pursuant to this sacred vow, which, as she ex- 
 presses herself in another place of her manuscript, 
 was not made in an hour of fear and distress, but in 
 the joy and gratitude of her soul, she not only 
 avoided all superfluous expenses in dress and 
 luxury ; but, through an excess of benevolence, if 
 there can be any excess in such a godlike dispo- 
 sition, to enlarge her abilities of doing good to her 
 fellow-creatures, she denied herself what might in 
 some sense be called the necessaries of life. Misery 
 and indigence were a sufficient recommendation to 
 her compassionate regard and assistance ; yet, she 
 showed a distinguished readiness to alleviate the 
 afflictions of persons of merit and virtue ; and one 
 who had the best opportunity of making the observa- 
 tion, declared, that she never knew any such apply 
 to Mrs. Rowe without success. The first time she 
 accepted of an acknowledgment from the bookseller 
 for any of her works, she bestowed the whole sum 
 on a family in distress ; and there is great reason to 
 believe that she employed all the money that she 
 ever received on such an account, in as generous a 
 manner. Once, when she had not by her' a sum 
 large enough to supply the like necessities of another 
 family, she readily sold a piece of plate for this 
 purpose. It was her custom, on going abroad, to 
 furnish herself with pieces of money of different 
 value, that she might relieve any objects of com- 
 passion who should fall in her way, according to 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 427 
 
 their several degrees of merit or indigence. Nor 
 was her munificence confined to the neighbourhood 
 of the place where she lived, but, during her resi- 
 dence in the country, she sent large sums to London, 
 and other distant parts. She contributed to some 
 designs that had the appearance of charity, though 
 she could not approve of them in every respect ; 
 observing, " that it was fit sometimes to give for the 
 " credit of religion, when other inducements were 
 " wanting, that the professors of Christianity might 
 M not be charged with covetousness ;" a vice which 
 she so much abhorred, that scarce any grosser kind of 
 immorality could more effectually exclude a person 
 from her friendship. " I never," said she, u grudge 
 u any money but when it is laid out upon myself, for 
 u I consider how much it would buy for the poor.*'' 
 Besides the sums which she gave away, and the 
 distribution of books on practical subjects, she em- 
 ployed her own hands in labours of charity to clothe 
 the necessitous. This she did, not only for the 
 natives of the Lower Palatinate, when they were 
 driven from their country by the rage of war, which 
 appeared a calamity peculiarly worthy of compassion, 
 but it was her frequent employment to make garments 
 of almost every kind, and bestow them on those who 
 wanted them. She discovered a strong sense of 
 humanity, and often showed her exquisite concern 
 for the unhappy, by weeping over their distresses. 
 These were the generous tears of virtue, and not of 
 any feminine weakness, for she was rarely observed 
 to weep at afflictions that befell herself. She was 
 indeed so sensibly affected with the miseries of the 
 poor, as not only to send her servants to examine 
 what they stood in need of when they were sick, but 
 often visited them in person, when they were so 
 wretched that their houses were not fit for her to 
 enter into, and even when their distempers were 
 highly malignant and contagious. One kind of 
 munificence in which she greatly delighted, was 
 
428 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 causing children to be taught to read and work. 
 These she furnished with supplies of clothing, as well 
 as bibles, and other necessary books of instruction. 
 This she did not only at Frome, but also at a neigh- 
 bouring village, where part of her estate lay. And 
 when she met in the streets with children of pro- 
 mising countenances who were perfectly unknown 
 to her, if, upon inquiry, it appeared that, through the 
 poverty of their parents, they were not put to school, 
 she added them to the number of those who were 
 taught at her own expense. She condescended 
 herself to instruct them in the plain and necessary 
 principles and duties of religion ; and the grief she 
 felt when any of them did not answer the hopes she 
 had entertained, was equal to the great satisfaction 
 she received, when it appeared that her care and 
 bounty had been well placed. She was also a con- 
 tributor to a charitable institution at Frome, of a 
 more public nature, though, according to the general 
 custom of such schools, all who were educated in it, 
 were obliged to worship God in that one particular 
 form from which she herself took the liberty to 
 dissent. In truth, her charities w r erenot confined to 
 those of her own party or sentiments, but bestowed 
 on indigent persons of almost all the sects into which 
 Christianity is divided ; and even those whose reli- 
 gious opinions seemed to her of the most dangerous 
 consequence, were large recipients of her bounty. 
 Nor was her beneficence limited to those only who 
 in strict terms might be called poor, for, as she was 
 wont to say, " It is one of the greatest benefits that 
 " can be done to mankind, to free them from the 
 '.' cares and anxieties that attend a narrow fortune ;" 
 in pursuance of which generous sentiments, she has 
 been often known to make large presents to persons 
 who were not in the last extremes of indigence. 
 With regard to those whose circumstances were 
 such that the acceptance of alms might have put 
 their modesty to some pain, she studied to spare 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 429 
 
 their blushes, while she relieved their wants. When 
 one such person of her acquaintance was in some 
 distress, she contrived to lose at play a sum of 
 money sufficient to supply the necessity of the case, 
 which was perhaps the only time she touched a card 
 in her whole life. She possessed in an eminent 
 degree the art of giving, for she knew how to 
 heighten every favour by the ready and obliging 
 manner in which she conferred it. Indeed, to the 
 poor she seemed a ministering angel. Her goodness 
 prevented their requests * ; and smiles, gentle lan- 
 guage, and the warmest expressions of good-will, 
 always accompanied her substantial acts of mercy. 
 The distressed were encouraged to disclose all their 
 wants by the kindest assurances of relief ; and she 
 treated them with the sweetness and easy goodness 
 of a friend, rather than the superiority of a bene- 
 factress. Nor was she inclined to take offence at 
 the appearance of ingratitude in her dependents. 
 When she chanced to overhear some unthankful 
 poor, who sat down at her servants' table, murmur 
 at their food, though she had fed upon the same 
 herself, she only put this gentle construction on 
 their behaviour, u That they expected something 
 " better than ordinary at her table ;" and she was so 
 far from resenting this indecent delicacy of appetite, 
 that she did not even at that time omit the alms she 
 usually gave when indigent persons were entertained 
 at her house. 
 
 It is truly astonishing how the moderate estate 
 Mrs. Rowe possessed, could supply such various 
 and extensive benefactions ; and her own sense of 
 this once broke out to an intimate friend. " I am 
 
 * " These hands will shortly be stiff and useless in the grave, 
 " that are now capable of distributing to the necessities of the poor 
 " and afflicted, if thou wouldst give me the glad commission. O 
 u send me, the ready messenger of consolation, to their wants and 
 " distress ! Hear their blessings and prayers for me ! Before thej 
 " asked, I have heard their wants." — MS. Devotions. 
 
430 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " surprised," said she to her, u how it is possible my 
 " estate should answer all these things, when I con- 
 " sider what I do ; and yet, I never want money " 
 This she only spoke to give honour to the Divine 
 blessing, which, as she was 4 wont to acknowledge 
 with great piety, protected her from losses, and 
 succeeded all her affairs ; for it would be extreme 
 injustice to interpret her expressions of gratitude to 
 the goodness of Providence in a different manner, 
 since her great care to conceal her charities from 
 the observation of mortals, gives the highest evidence 
 that no love of human applause tainted the purity 
 of her benevolent dispositions. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's writings give a faithful picture of. 
 her soul. Her profound humility, and supreme af- 
 fection to God, her faith in his promises, and de- 
 pendence on his providence, her zeal for his glory, 
 and love to the holiness of his laws, appear in the 
 strongest light in her works. But, as it would too 
 much swell these memoirs to transcribe her senti- 
 ments on these heads, we shall only relate the 
 means she made use of to cultivate these Divine 
 graces, with the addition of some passages from her 
 manuscripts, that bear the amplest testimony to the 
 truth and vigour of her piety, and the connexion and 
 communion of her soul with her God. 
 
 She devoted herself to the service of Heaven in a 
 solemn covenant, which has a place among the 
 Devout Exercises of her heart, and is thus entitled : 
 
 A Covenant with God. 
 
 Incomprehensible Being, who searchest the hearts, 
 and triest the reins of the children of men, thou 
 knowest my sincerity, and my thoughts are all un- 
 veiled to thee. I am surrounded with thine im- 
 mensity. Thou art a present, though invisible wit- 
 ness of the solemn affair in which I am now engaged. 
 I am now taking hold of thy strength, that I may 
 make peace with thee, and entering into articles 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 431 
 
 with the Almighty God. These are the happy days 
 long since predicted, when one shall say, I am the 
 Lord's, and another shall call himself by the name 
 of Israel, and another shall subscribe with his hand 
 to the Lord : and I will be their God, and they shall 
 be my people, saith the Lord Jehovah. 
 
 With the most thankful sincerity I take hold on 
 this covenant, as it is more fully manifested and 
 explained in the gospel by Jesus Christ; and, 
 humbly accepting thy proposals, I bind myself to 
 thee by a sacred and everlasting obligation. By a 
 free and deliberate action, I do here ratify the articles 
 which were made for me in baptism in the name of 
 the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I re- 
 ligiously devote myself to thy service, and entirely 
 submit to thy conduct. I renounce the glories and 
 vanities of the world, and choose thee as my happi- 
 ness, my supreme felicity, and everlasting portion. 
 I make no article with thee for any thing besides. 
 Deny or give me what thou wilt, I will never repine 
 while my principal treasure is sure. This is my 
 deliberate, my free and sincere determination ; a 
 determination which, by thy grace, I will never, 
 retract. 
 
 O thou, by whose power alone I shall be able to 
 stand, put thy fear in my heart, that I may never 
 depart from thee. Let not the world with all its 
 flatteries, nor death nor hell with all their terrors, 
 force me to violate this sacred vow. O let me never 
 live to abandon thee, nor draw the impious breath 
 that would deny thee ! 
 
 And now let surrounding angels witness for me, 
 that I solemnly devote all the powers and faculties of 
 my soul to thy service ; and when I presumptuously 
 employ any of the advantages thou hast given me 
 to thy dishonour, let them testify against me, and 
 let my own words condemn me. 
 
 Elizabeth Rowe. 
 
432 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Thus have I subscribed to thy gracious proposals, 
 and engaged myself to be the Lord's. And now let 
 the malice of men and the rage of devils combine 
 against me ; I can defy all their stratagems, for God 
 himself has become my Friend, Jesus is my all-suffi- 
 cient Saviour, and the Spirit of God, I trust, will be 
 my Sanctifier and my Comforter. 
 
 O happy day ! transporting moment ! the brightest 
 period of my life ! Heaven with all its light smiles 
 upon me ! What glorious mortal can now excite my 
 envy? What scene to tempt my ambition could the 
 whole creation display ? Let glory call me with her 
 exalted voice ; let pleasure with a softer eloquence 
 allure me ; the world in all its splendour appears but 
 a trifle, while the infinite God is my portion. He is 
 mine by as sure a title as eternal veracity can confer. 
 The right is unquestionable ; the conveyance unalter- 
 able. The mountains shall be removed, and the hills 
 dissolved, before the everlasting obligation shall be 
 cancelled . 
 
 " In this covenanting with God," says the writer of 
 her life, " Mrs. Rowe imitated the example of her 
 " pious mother, to whose sacred engagement of this 
 u kind she made the following addition, which evi- 
 " dently appears by the hand to be written in her 
 " younger years : 
 
 " My God, and my father's God, who keepest 
 " covenant and mercy to a thousand generations, I 
 " call thee to witness, that, with all the sincerity of 
 " my soul, I consent to this covenant, and stand to 
 '.' the solemn dedication made of me in baptism ; 
 rt and to this I God's high name my awful witness 
 u make : and thus, with the utmost willingness and 
 "joy, I subscribe with my hand to the Lord, 
 
 " E. Singer." 
 
 And beneath, in the same paper, she writes thus : 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 433 
 
 ** Renewed Sept. 1728. When I am standing before 
 <( the Judge of all the earth to be sentenced for all 
 " eternity, let this contract be an evidence that 1 
 <e renounce the world, and take the supreme God for 
 *' my portion and happiness." 
 
 But her manuscript, of which Mr. Rowe has made 
 such excellent use in the Life he has given of her, 
 affords the following larger renewal of this sacred 
 covenant ; which, long as it is, is too valuable to be 
 withheld from our readers, especially as it shews the 
 interior, if we may so speak, of Mrs. Rowe's soul, in 
 respect of its holy and happy temper and state 
 towards God. 
 
 " Let me renew my vows, O God ! to thee. Let me 
 repeat the sacred obligation. Let my soul collect 
 its powers. Let me, if possible, make my ties more 
 strong — more entirely devote myself to thee. With 
 what pleasure do I reflect on the obligations I am 
 under to be thine ! I bless the sacred engagement, 
 and would not be free for ten thousand worlds. I 
 never knew an happy moment till I was thine. All 
 my joys are dated from that blessed period. Thence 
 they took their spring, and thence they will for ever 
 flow. O therefore let me joyfully renew my vows to 
 thee. Let angels instruct me how to confirm them. 
 Let them teach me their forms, and give me their 
 flames. Let all be noble, and pathetic, and solemn, 
 as their immortal vows. I would bind myself beyond 
 the ties that mortals know. But I cannot speak with 
 the ardour I wish. I cannot find words to express 
 the vehemence of my soul. But O thou, who canst 
 understand those desires which language fails me to 
 utter, accept the sincerity of my heart, regard and 
 accept my vows, and O let them be confirmed for 
 ever! 
 
 " Attend, ye angels ! let heaven and earth hear me ! 
 let the most "high God, the possessor of heaven and 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
434 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 earth, himself be my witness ! For even to him dare I 
 appeal, from whom no disguise can veil my thoughts ; 
 even thy sacred name I dare attest, whose favour is 
 my hope, and whose frown is the only thing I can 
 fear. Yet, my words are not the effect of terror and 
 distress, but of reason and love. No action of my 
 life was ever more deliberate and voluntary. My soul 
 gives its entire assent, and offers up all its powers. 
 I make no reserve. Thou hast my whole, my un- 
 divided heart. 
 
 " O thou that lookest down from the exaltations of 
 thy Majesty, that ridest upon the heavens in thine 
 excellency, and thence dost not disdain to be a Father 
 to the fatherless, and the Judge of the widow, I come 
 to thee destitute, forlorn, abandoned of every name 
 of joy or confidence on earth. I have found all the 
 specious titles and relations among men to be vanity 
 and a lie. But I rejoice in the conviction; I bless 
 the happy circumstance that has thrown a reproach 
 on all human trust, that has broken my engagements 
 with every thing below, and forced me, friendless and 
 defenceless, to fly to thee. O receive me with the 
 affection of a Father : take me into thy tenderest care 
 and protection ! O remember thy covenant with my 
 pious ancestors, to be a God to them, and their seed 
 after them, by an everlasting covenant ! Thy com- 
 passions exceed those of the tenderest relation on 
 earth. Thou dost delight to exercise loving-kindness 
 and truth in the earth. Thou art the God of all grace 
 and consolation. These are thy free, thy natural 
 operations ; fury is not in thee : thy name, thy boast- 
 ed name, is Love, and thou dost never deviate from 
 its gentle dictates. It is the beginning and end of all 
 thy works ; the glorious end thou hadst from all 
 eternity in view. Thou dost not withdraw thine eyes 
 from this design, but hast set thine heart upon it from 
 everlasting to everlasting. Goodness and compassion 
 for ever flow from thee. Thou canst not restrain those 
 glorious emanations. They will, and must for ever 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROVE. 435 
 
 stream from thee, the infinite abyss, the spring of 
 goodness, the sum, the plenitude of joy, its never- 
 failing source. 
 
 " O thou that hast purchased my soul with thine 
 own blood, before God and angels I put it into thy 
 custody ! With thee I solemnly deposit the sacred 
 pledge. Into thy hand 1 commit the precious 
 treasure. It is my all, my very being. O form it 
 after thy pleasure, and secure it from the stratagems 
 of hell! I am surrounded with danger, and a thou- 
 sand unseen snares attend me. I have but one cast 
 for eternity. Look with eyes of pity on my im- 
 potence and distress. I fly to thee ; let me find an 
 hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the 
 tempest. 
 
 * I am not, I cannot be my own keeper. Flesh and 
 blood are too weak to struggle with principalities 
 and powers, and the rulers of darkness in high 
 places. The combination is too strong for unas- 
 sisted nature to conquer. Thou knowest, my strength 
 is but weakness, my wisdom folly, my natural light 
 all darkness. I know not the next step before me ; 
 and if I stumble, it will bring reproach on thine 
 holy ways. 
 
 u 1 am on the Lord's side. I am in league with thee 
 against the confederacy of hell. I list myself under 
 thy banners to oppose the kingdom of darkness. 
 Give me strength and wisdom to encounter all oppo- 
 sition. Let me never be left to my own conduct, or 
 dishonour thy cause by any weakness or inadvertency. 
 O thou who dost not slumber nor sleep, watch my 
 goings, and let none of my footsteps slide ! O foun- 
 tain of love and grace, let me feel thy present influ- 
 ence ! There is no relation in all nature so near as 
 that between God and a virtuous mind ; and wilt 
 thou not adorn it with those graces which are capable 
 of being improved for ever ? 
 
 " In the name of the Lord God of Hosts, the God 
 of the armies of Israel, let me conquer the princi- 
 
 u 2 
 
436 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 palities and powers of darkness. I have taken thy 
 word for my defence. I have fled to the name of the 
 Lord for safety. Let me rejoice, let me triumph in 
 that sanctuary, nor know a thought of diffidence or 
 fear. Let me hope against hope, believe above belief, 
 with confidence worthy of that power on which I 
 trust, and of that veracity which is engaged to 
 protect me. Be the powers of hell confounded 
 while I make my boast in the Lord, and rejoice in 
 thy salvation. 
 
 " I can, I must, I dare set to my seal, that God is 
 true. I need not scruple to affirm what thou hast 
 attested. I may without hesitation give my assent 
 to the word of the living God. Let not my footsteps 
 slide. Keep me in the ways of life and salvation. 
 Direct every motion, for thou art my only counsellor. 
 Leave me not to choose for myself. Give me no 
 advantage but what I may employ for thy glory. 
 Cancel every prayer that has not been agreeable to 
 thy will. I retract every petition whose success will 
 not centre in thine interest. It is thee, and not my- 
 self, that I would honour. It is thee I would live 
 and die for. Make thine own terms : let them be 
 what they will, I take thee for my only portion for 
 this life, and for all eternity ; and with full consent 
 I subscribe with my hand to the Lord, 
 
 " E. Rowe." 
 
 Sept. 11, 1725, Mrs. llowe's birth-day. 
 
 This excellent woman practised secret prayer 
 three times a-day, as appears by this resolution 
 taken from her manuscript. " At morning, at noon, 
 i( and at night, I will praise thee, and pay my homage 
 " to the supreme and independent Being." And as 
 she was used to say, " that we ought to consecrate 
 " our brightest intervals to the service of Heaven ;" 
 agreeably to these just sentiments, she employed 
 those parts of the day in which she believed the 
 powers of the mind more free and active, as seasons 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 437 
 
 of holy retirement. But it was judged by one who 
 was well acquainted with her, that her devotions 
 were rather frequent, than protracted to such an undue 
 length, as might tend to distract the attention, and 
 fatigue and exhaust the spirits. 
 
 She had a high veneration and love for the Lord's- 
 day, which, abstaining from worldly affairs and plea- 
 sures, she wholly consecrated to the service of 
 religion. No slight indisposition, nor severity of 
 weather, prevented her constant attendance on public 
 worship, at which her attention and reverent beha- 
 viour showed the utmost composure and elevation 
 of soul. She also, in imitation of our blessed Sa- 
 viour's example of doing good on the Sabbath, sanc- 
 tified the Lord's day by entertaining a number of 
 poor people at her house, and by an abundant distri- 
 bution of her charity. But her devout regard to the 
 public worship of God will best appear by the follow- 
 ing passage extracted from the manuscript volume 
 of her devotions : 
 
 " I solemnly," says she, " set apart one day in 
 ' the week, if possible Saturday, for my retired de- 
 ' votions, to prepare myself for the noble employ- 
 1 ment of public worship ; and then let all the 
 ' powers of my soul be exercised in love and humble 
 i adoration. Let me make more sensible approaches 
 ' to the propitious Being whom unseen I love ; and 
 ' let him fill me with the ineffable delights bis pre- 
 1 sence affords, and make me joyful in the house of 
 8 prayer. Let me be abundantly satisfied with the 
 ' fatness of his house, and drink of the rivers of his 
 ' pleasure." 
 
 She never neglected any opportunity of partaking 
 of the Holy Communion, for which she had the 
 highest affection and reverence ; and the same 
 manuscript that has been so often cited, will show 
 what devout and virtuous resolutions she made at 
 such sacred seasons. 
 
438 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " With every sacrament let me renew my strength, 
 and with the bread of life receive immortal vigour. 
 Let me remember thy vows, O God ! and at my 
 return to the world, let me commit my ways to thee. 
 Let me be absolutely resigned to thy providence, 
 nor once distrust thy goodness and fidelity. Let me 
 be careful for nothing, but with prayer and suppli- 
 cation make my wants known to thee. Let the 
 most awful sense of thy presence dwell on my heart, 
 and always keep me in a serious disposition. Let 
 me be merciful and just in my actions, calm and 
 regular in my thoughts ; and O do thou set a watch 
 on my mouth, and keep the door of my lips ! Let 
 me speak evil of no man ; let me advance the repu- 
 tation of the virtuous, and never be silent in the 
 praise of merit. Let my tongue speak the language 
 of my heart, and be guided by exact truth and 
 perfect sincerity. Let me open my hands wide to 
 the wants of the poor, in full confidence that my 
 heavenly Father will supply mine, and that the High 
 Possessor of heaven and earth will not fail to restore, 
 in the hour of my distress, what I have parted with 
 for his sake. 
 
 " O let thy grace be sufficient for me, and thy 
 strength be manifest in weakness. Be present with 
 me in the hour of temptation, and confirm the pious 
 resolutions thou hast enabled me to form." 
 
 She had an inexpressible love and veneration for 
 the Holy Scriptures, and was assiduous in reading 
 them, particularly the New Testament, the Psalms, 
 and those parts of the prophetical writings which 
 relate to our blessed Saviour. For some time before 
 her death, she scarce read any thing besides these 
 sacred books, and practical treatises on religious 
 subjects. She was also used to assist her improve- 
 ment in holiness and the Christian life, by frequent 
 meditations on the blessedness of a future state, the 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 439 
 
 perfections of God, particularly his infinite goodness 
 and mercy in the redemption of the world by Jesus 
 Christ, and on other important articles of religion, 
 which appeared best suited to promote devout and 
 holy dispositions. Besides these her usual exercises 
 of piety, she observed some stated seasons of absti- 
 nence and extraordinary devotion. 
 
 The fervour of her zeal in the cause of godliness 
 was beyond the rate of common examples. As she 
 could not command her tears of transport, when she 
 was witness to any eminent instance of piety, so, 
 the declining state of religion rent her very soul ; 
 and as she saw with inexpressible grief the fatal 
 advances of infidelity in this nation, she spoke with 
 the highest esteem and gratitude of those excellent 
 persons who defended Christianity by their learned 
 writings, and truly venerated them as public bene- 
 factors to mankind. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe seemed to be peculiarly formed for the 
 practice of sublime and ardent piety. It was the 
 supreme pleasure of her life. Yet, her own words 
 assure us, that she did not set too high a value on 
 strong emotions of the passions and religious fer- 
 vours ; and her love of devotion was joined with the 
 utmost regard to social virtue. She thus expresses 
 herself in a letter to a noble friend : " I have written 
 H no pious meditations of late. The warmth of de- 
 " votion, perhaps, as well as that of the other pas- 
 '* sions, declines with life ; but I hope the calm, the 
 " reasonable, and solid part of religion will be still 
 " improved." She affected no kind of singularity, 
 or appearance of severity, nor presumed to censure 
 those who came not up to that strictness to which 
 she obliged herself; and she was so far from im- 
 posing any methods of devout life on others, to 
 whom, on account of their difference of temper, and 
 deeper engagements in the business of the world, 
 they might be inexpedient, that she did not recom- 
 mend them, " or I think," says Mr. Rowe, u so much 
 
440 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " as mention them to her most intimate friends ; but, 
 (< on the contrary, studied concealment so much, 
 " that it is only from her manuscript, and the infor- 
 " mation of her servant, from whom they could not 
 " be hid, that I have arrived at the knowledge of 
 " the greater part of them since her death." 
 
 She possessed a large measure of serenity and 
 cheerfulness of temper. This happy disposition of 
 mind, which is more than once recommended in the 
 sacred writings, and is so great an ornament to true 
 piety, continued with her to her last moments ; so 
 that, excepting some intervals of generous grief oc- 
 casioned by her devout and social affections, her 
 whole life seemed not only a constant calm, but a 
 perpetual sunshine. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's friendships were founded on virtue, 
 but not a perfect agreement in those smaller matters 
 which divide us as Christians and Englishmen. She 
 was favoured with the esteem and acquaintance of 
 the Countess of Winchelsea, the Viscountess Wey- 
 mouth, the Viscountess Scudamore, the Lady Car- 
 teret, the Lady Brooke, the Honourable Mrs. Thynne, 
 the Earl of Orrery, Dr. Ken, Bishop of Bath and 
 Wells, Sir Richard Blackmore, Dr. Watts, Mr. Prior, 
 Mr. Grove, &c. u But above all," says the writer 
 of her life, " she possessed the highest degree of 
 " friendship with another illustrious ornament of 
 " the age, which, as it began as soon as ever her 
 u ladyship was capable of this generous passion, so 
 " it continued without the least interruption to the 
 u last moments of Mrs. Rowe's life : and it gives 
 " me great pleasure that I can conclude the cha- 
 " racter of a lady whose memory ought to be most 
 " dear to me, with this testimony to her virtue and 
 " merit, that her life was honoured with the friend- 
 u ship, and her death lamented with the tears, of the 
 " Countess of Hertford.*" 
 
 * She was the daughter of the Honourable Mr. Thynne, brother 
 to the Lord Viscount Weymouth. She married Algernon, Earl 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 441 
 
 A large Collection of Poems, by several hands, in 
 honour of Mrs. Rowe, is prefixed to her Miscel- 
 laneous Works. We shall select only one, of dis- 
 tinguished excellence. 
 
 To Mrs. Elizabeth Singer, on the sight of some 
 of her divine Poems, never printed. 
 
 July 19, 1706. 
 I. 
 
 On the fair banks of gentle Thames 
 I tun'd my harp : nor did celestial themes 
 Refuse to dance upon my strings. 
 There beneath the evening sky 
 I sung my cares asleep, and rais'd my wishes high 
 To everlasting things. 
 Sudden from Albion's western coast 
 Harmonious notes come gliding by : 
 The neighb'ring shepherds knew the silver sound, 
 " 'Tis Philomela's * voice," the neighb'ring shepherds cry. 
 
 of Hertford, son of Charles Seymour, Duke of Somerset, who 
 succeeded to the honours and estate of his father on his demise, 
 Dec. 2, 1748, by which event she became Duchess of Somerset. 
 His Grace, her husband, died Feb. 9, 1750, and she survived him 
 only till July, 1754, leaving an only daughter, married to Sir 
 Hugh Smithson, Bart, who succeeded his father-in-law as Duke 
 of Northumberland, while Sir Edward Seymour, Bart, succeeded 
 him as Duke of Somerset. This daughter died towards the latter 
 end of the last year. 
 
 The Duchess of Somerset, Mrs. Rowe's intimate friend, not 
 only lamented the death of Mrs. Rowe, but wrote an Elegy upon 
 her, which it seems Dr. Watts had a sight of, and upon which he 
 composed the following commendatory lines: 
 
 On an Elegy written by the Right Honourable the Countess of 
 Hertford, on the Death of Mrs. Rowe. 
 Struck with the sight of Philomela's urn, 
 Eusebia weeps, and calls her muse to mourn : 
 While from her lips the tuneful sorrows fell, 
 The groves confess a rising Philomel. 
 
 * Mr. Grove cannot certainly say whether Mrs. Rowe's poeti- 
 cal name, Philomela, by which she was early known, wns as- 
 sumed by herself, or was a compliment to her by her friends. 
 The latter, says he, is most probable, and that it was given her 
 to the publication of her poems, in 1696, before which, her mo- 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
442 MEMOIRS, &C. 
 
 At once my strings all silent lie, 
 At once my fainting muse was lost, 
 In the superior sweetness drown'd. 
 In vain I bid my tuneful pow'rs unite ; 
 My soul retir'd, and left my tongue ; 
 was all ear, and Philomela's song 
 Was all divine delight. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now be my harp for ever dumb ; 
 My muse, attempt no more. 'Twas long ago 
 I bid adieu to mortal things, 
 To Grecian tales, and wars of Rome ; 
 'Twas long ago I broke all but th' immortal strings. 
 Now those immortal strings have no employ, 
 Since a fair angel dwells below, 
 To tune the notes of heav'n, and propagate the joy. 
 Let all my pow'rs, with awe profound, 
 
 While Philomela sings, 
 Attend the rapture of the sound, 
 And my devotion rise on her seraphic wings. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 desty not consenting that her own name should appear, this was 
 substituted in the room of it, as bearing a very easy allusion to it 
 (that of Singer) and happily expressing the softness and harmony 
 of her verses, not less soothing and melodious than the strains ot 
 the nightingale, when from some shady covert she fills the woods 
 with the rich music of her lays. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED B* J. MOVES, GREVILLE STREET, LONDON 
 
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