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This institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order If, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of the copyright law. A UTHOR: J TITLE: BIOGRAPHY RUSSELL LADY PLACE: DATE: 1836 Restrictions on Use: Master Negative # COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record ■IMWHlhi 942.06 R9X A Child, Mrs. Lydia Maria (Francis) 1802 -1880^ The biography of Lady Russell. Edlhburgh, T. Clark, 1836. 98 p. Bibliography: p. 98. 1. Russell, Lady Rewhel (Wriothesley) Vaughan, 1636-1723. TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA REDUCTION RATIO: ^W FILM SIZE: Vo v^^ v^ IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA (IIA) IB IIB _ DATE FILMED: U( \Tf^% INITIALS^^trvniJ,^ FILMED BY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRIDGE. cf o. r Association for Information and Image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue. Suite 1100 Silver Spring, Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter 12 3 4 5 iim[iiiiIiiiiIiiiiIiiiiIii | iIii|iIimi^ Inches 6 7 8 9 iiImiiIiiiiIiiiiIiiiiIiiiiIiiiiIih ^n I ^ T I I I 10 11 12 13 14 '""''n''"l'Tl'T'!'l"i''r!TiT 1.0 Urn 2.8 |5jO 1 1^ 1.4 12.5 2.2 I.I 2.0 1.8 1.6 1.25 15 mm MflNUFflCTURED TO flllM STRNDRRDS BY fiPPLIEO IMAGE, INC. '<.'> tnt^fCtlpof3Jtw3|m* THE LIBRARIES ft 'a J. y THE BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. BY MRS. CHILD, ALTfroPv vr ' r.oroMOK,' ' the siotheu's book,' Slc • ••••• • ' ::V. : v *. . THOMAS CLARK, 38, GEORGE STREET. MDCCCXXXyi. BIOGRAPHY or 39.46855 •• • • • ' • • • • . "•• »• • •• • • ;•."••• • • • • . J AMIS BCRNET, rRlNTEH, 2:1, FAsT TJIlSTf.K STREET. \ { CO ir> CJ) I LADY RUSSELL. !\Iany daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellcst them all." — Frov. xxxi. 29. Lady Rachel Wriothesley was the second daughter of Thomas Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, by his first wife, Rachel de Ruvigny, of an ancient Hugonot family in France. She was born in 1636 ; her mother died in her infancy, and her father afterward married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Francis Leigh, created Earl of Chichester. Lord Clarendon informs us that the Earl of Southampton was " a very great man in all re- spects, and brought much reputation to the cause of Charles L He owed no obligations to the court. On the contrary, he had undergone some hardships from it ; and as he kept aloof from all intercourse with it, he was considered one of the peers most attached to the cause of the pc^ople, and was much courted by the popular party. He had a great dislike of the high courses which had been taken bythe government, and a particular pre- judice to the Earl of Strafford for some exorbitant pro- ceedings. But when he saw the popular tide setting so violently against the government, perverting, as he thought, even the course of justice. Lord Southampton reluctantly allowed himself to be attached to the court- party. He was first made privy-counsellor, and soon after gentleman of the bed-chamber to the King. He had previously refused to sign the protestation of both houses of Parliament ; and as they had voted that no man 215 J BIOGRAPHY OF who refused liis signature should be capable of any pro- ferment in Church or State, he was believed to have ae- eepted these offices merely to show how little he regarded the advisers of such measures. He went with the Kin" to York and to Nottingham, was with him at Edge-hilF, and came and staid with him at Oxford to the end of the war — taking all opportunities to advance all motions to- wards peace. Although a person naturally loving his ease, and allowing himself never less than ten hours' repose, yet during the conferences at Uxbridge, which lasted twenty days, he was never more than four hours in bed,"— so earnest was he to effect a union between king and par- liament, as the only means of restoring tranquillity to his distracted country. " Violence on one side, and obstinacy on the other, rendered his efforts of no avail ; yet still the Earl of Southampton faithfully attended the daily diminishing court of the misguided Charles. After the King left Hampton Court, he remained some time at Tichfield, in the Earl of Southampton's house, and under the protec- tion of his mother, the old Countess of Southampton." W hen Charles became a prisoner, in the power of his own provoked subjects, the Earl made every possible attempt to save hmi. He was one of the four faithful adherents who <»ffered their own lives for the safety of the monarch, on the plea that they had been his counsellors, and therefore were alone worthy of punishment ; and when at last the Kmg's life was sacrificed to the liberty of the nation, lu« was one of those who asked and obtained permission to l)ay the last sad duty to his remains. After the execu- tion of Charles I. he retired to his seat at Tichfield, and lived in great seclusion until the restoration of Charles U. All Cromwell's advances to friendship were promptly re- jected ; and *' when the Protector was near his house, upon the occasion of Richard Cromwell's marriage, and had mtent to visit him, the Earl, upon private notice thereof, immediately hastened to remove to another house at a greater distance." Burnet tells us that he made large remittances to Charles H. during his exile. He styles him « A fast 216 LADY RUSSELL. 5 friend to the public — the wise and virtuous Southampton, who deserved everything the King could give him." Such were the obligations which the Stuarts owed to the family of Southampton ! But princes are apt to think the honour of serving them a sufficient recompense for all sa- crifices ; and none so shamefully forgot claims upon their 'iratitude as the profligate and selfish sons of Charles I. The tyranny and extravagance of Charles K. could not, of course, be pleasing to the firm, but conscientious friend of his unfortunate father. Oldmixon says, " That right noble and virtuous peer, the Earl of Southampton, whose loyalty was not more exemplary than his love to his country, said to Chancellor Hyde, ' It is to i/ou we owe all we either feel or fear ; for if you had not pos- sessed us in all your letters with such an opinion of Charles Ih, wo would have taken care to have put it out of his power either to do himself or us any mischief, which is likely to result from our trusting him so en- tirely.' " At the Restoration, the Earl of Southampton was made Lord High Treasurer — an office which he is said to have tilled with great integrity and address. He died in 1667. The thoughtless and unfeeling King had been for some lime desirous to snatch the treasurer's staff from his dying hand ; for he was angry at one who uniformly refused to pay court to his unprincipled mistress the Duchess of Cleveland, and he felt ashamed to let such a man know the secrets of his political corruption. "Of Lord Southampton's second marriage, one only, ifcut of four daughters, survived him. She was first mar- ried to Joceline Percy, the last Earl of Northumberland, and afterward to the Duke of Montague. As this daughter inherited her mother's estates, the whole of Lord South- ampton's princely fortune was divided between the two surviving children of his first marriage, EHzabeth and Rachel. The Lady Elizabeth married Edward Noel, son of Viscount Campden, afterward created Earl of Gainsborough. The Lady Rachel was first married to Francis Lord Vaughan, eldest son of the Earl of Car- herry ; and afterward to Lord William Russell, son of 217 6 BIOGRAPHY OF the Earl of Bedford" Her first marriage took place in 1653, when she was about seventeen years of age. Ac- coT-dinjT to the fashion of the day, this match was ar- ranged by the parents ; and perhaps Lady Russell's re- mark concerning such early unions was founded on her ow n experience : She says, " It is acceptance, rather than choosing, on either side." We have no means of knowing how far Lady Vaughan's affections were concerned, hut she was certainly a most exemplary wife ; and by her blameless conduct, amiable temper, and cheerful disposition, gained the lasting attach- ment of all her husband's family. There is extant the copy of a letter written to her in 1655, when she was re- siding with Lord Vaughan, at his fother's house in Wales,* which shows in what estimation she was held even at that early period of her life : — " Dear Madam, — There is not in the world so great a charm as goodness ; and your Ladyship is the greatest argument to prove it. All that know you are thereby forced to honour you, — neither are you to thank them, because they cannot do otherwise. Madam, I am among that number, gladly and heartily I declare it ; and I shall die in that number, because my observance of your virtue is inseparably annexed to it. I beseech you, Madam, to pardon this scribbling, and present your noble husband with my most affectionate service ; and I shall in my prayers present you both to God, begging of him daily to increase your piety to Him, and your love to each other." Little is known of Lord \'aughan's character and habits. The following letter to his lady, from the same correspondent, evidently written in raillery, implies that he was of a dilatory disposition : — " I beseech you not hereafter to hinder my Lord Vaughan from writing to • Golden Grove, in Carmarthenshire. At a fire which happened there in 1729, many family papers were destroyed, among which we have probably to regret the means of becoming acquainted with many details of Lady Russell's early life. 218 LADY RUSSBLL. / me ;— 1 am confident, whatever excuse you make for him, he had a most eager desire to write this week. I know his Lordship so well, that he cannot delay to make returns of civility. If it had been his custom to defer and put off to the last hour, I might believe your Lady- ship ; but in this particular I must beg your Ladyship's pardon. I was at Abscourt the last week, and found Mr. Estcourt courting your aunt. She received his ad- dresses with great satisfaction and content. I think. Madam, under favour, you were not so kind to my Lord Vaughan." , , i i In the year 1665 she became a mother; but her babe lived only to be baptized, and she had no other children by Lord Vaughan. In the autumn of that year, while the plague was raging in London, she again resided with lithe Earl of Carberry's family in Wales. A letter from her half-sister, Lady Percy, at this period, after express- ing how much her "company was desired by herself and the whole family, says, " I am glad for nobody's sake, but Lady Frances Vaughan's, that you are there [in Wales}; for i am sure she is sensible of her happiness in enjoying you. .11 In 1667 Lady Vaughan was a widow, hvmg with her beloved and only sister. Lady Elizabeth Noel, at Tich- field in Hampshire, which estate Lady Elizabeth, as the eldest daughter of Lord Southampton, inherited. His property at Stratton fell to the lot of Lady Vaughan. It is not known precisely when her acquaintance with Mr. Russell commenced. A letter from Lady Percy to Lady Vaughan, in 1667, leaves no doubt that he had then manifested an attachment for her half-sister. She says, " For his concern I can say nothing more, than that he professes a great desire, which I do not at all doubt he and everybody else has, to gain one who is so desirable in all respects." Mr. Russell was then only a younger brother, and Lady Vaughan was an heiress, without children by her first marriage. In a woridly point of view, the advan- tages of such a connection were almost entirely on his side ; and this idea, accompanied by the diffidence which BIOGRAPHY OP characterizes genuine love, made him slow to interpref the lady's sentiments in his favour. But Ladj' Vaughan was her own mistress ; and matters of interest could not long keep two such hearts as theirs strangers to each other. They were married about the end of the year 1669« She signed herself Lady Vaughan, fill* Mr. Russell, by the death of his elder brother,' succeeded to a title, when she assumed that of Lady Russell. The birth of her eldest daughter in 1674, was fol- lowed by that of another daughter in 1676 ; and her do- mestic happiness seems to have been completed by the birth of a son, in November 1680. In 1679 she experienced n severe affliction in the' loss of her beloved sister, Lady Elizabeth Noel. Devoted as Lady Russell wa< to her husband and children, her warm heart was not exclusive, even in these purest and happiest of human affections ; and in her letters, manv years after, we find her recurring to the memory of this sister with peculiar fondness. " Her letters to her husband, from 1672 to a twelve- month before his death, are written at distant intervals. During the fourteen happy years of their union they were little apart. Their only moments of separation seem to have been some visits of dutv to his fatlier, when livincr entirely at Woburn Abbey ,-lor during his elections fJr two successive Parliaments, — some short absences in London on private or political business, — and his attend- ance at Oxford during the only session of the Parliament so suddenly dismissed bv Charles. V ■,. " These letters are written with such a neglect of style, and often of grammar, as may disgust the admirers of well-turned periods ; and they contain such frequent repetitions of homely tenderness, as may shock the sen- timental readers of the present day. But they evlnci' the enjoyment of a happiness, built on such 'rational foundations, and so truly appreciated by its possessors, as too seldom occurs in the history of the human heart. They are impressed, too, with t'lie marks of a cheerful mind, a social spirit, and every indication of a character prepared to enjoy the sunshine, or meet the storms of life. 220 III mill Ill Ill LADY RUSSELL. , » " Thus gifted, and thus situated, her tender and pro- phetic exhortations, both to her lord and herself, to merit the continuance of such happiness, and to secure its per- fect enjoyment by being prepared for its loss, are not less striking than his entire and absolute confidence in her character, and attachment to her society. It was thus, surely, that intellectual beings of different sexes were in- tended by their great Creator to go through the worid together ; thus united, not only in hand and heart, but in^'principles, in intellect, in views, and in dispositions; — each pursuing one common and noble end, their own im- provement, and the happiness of those around them, by the different means appropriate to their sex and situa- tion ;— mutually correcting, sustaining, and strengthen- ing each other, undegraded by all practices of tyranny on the one part, and of deceit on the other ;— each finding a candid but severe judge in the understanding, and a warm and partial advocate in the heart of their compa- nion ; — secure of a refuge from the vexations, the follies, the misunderstandings, and the evils of the world, in the arms of each other, and in the inestimable enjoyments of unlimited confidence and unrestrained intimacy. " The frequent mention made of the health, progress, and amusements of the children, proves how much every thing that concerned them occupied, as well as interested their parents. Such iletails might be tedious to the reader, were it not consoling to trace the minute features of ten- derness in characters, which afterward proved capable of the sternest exertion of human fortitude." FROM LONDON TO STRATTON. Sept. 23, 1 672. ** If I were more fortunate in my expression, I could do myself more right when I would own to my dearest Mr. Russell what real and perfect happiness I enjoy, from that kindness he allows me every day to receive new marks of, such as, in spite of the knowledge I have of my own wants [deficiencies], will not suffer me to mistrust I want his love, though I do merit to so desirable a bless- - 221 10 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 11 '11 ing ; but, my best life, you that know so well how to love and to oblige, make my felicity entire, by beheving my heart possessed with all the gratitude, honour, and passionate affection to your person, any creature is capable of, or can be obliged to ; and this granted, what have I to ask but a continuance (if God' see fit) of these present enjoyments ? — if not, a submission, without murmur, to his most wise dispensations and unerring providence, having a thankful heart for the years I have been so per- fectly contented in. He knows best when we have had enough here. What I most earnestly beg from his mercy is, that we both live so as, whichever goes first, the other may not sorrow as for one of whom they have no hope. Then let us cheerfully expect to be together to a good old age ; if not, let us not doubt but he will support us under what trial he will inflict upon them. These are necessary meditations sometimes, that we may not be sur- prised above our strength by a sudden accident, being un- prepared. Excuse me if I dwell too long upon it ; — it is from my opinion that if wc can be prepared for all con- ditions, we can, with the greater tranquillity, enjoy the present, which I hope will be long, though when we change, it will be for the better, I trust, through the merits of Christ. Let us daily pray it may be so, and then admit of no fears. Death is the extremest evil against nature, it is true ; — let us overcome the immo- derate fear of it, either to our friend or self, and then what light hearts may we live with. But I am immode- rate in the length of my discourse, and consider this is to be a letter. To take myself off, and alter the subject, I will tell you that the news came on Sunday night to the Duke of York that he was a married man. He was talking in the drawing-room when the French ambassador brought the letters in and told the news; — the Duke turned about and said, * Then I am a married man.' It proved to be the Princess of Modena. She is to have 100,000 francs paid her; and now we may say she has more wit than ever woman had before, — as much beauty and greater youth than is necessary. He sent his daughter, 999 Lady Mary,* word the same night he had provided a play-fellow for her. ♦ « « * " I hope Friday will bring the chiefest desire in the world by your ^ ^ " R. Vaughan." FROM LONDON TO STRATTON. Fel, 10, 1675. « What reputation writing this may give me, the chamber being full of ladies, I know not, but I am sure to be ill in that heart (to whose person I send this) I dare not hazard ; and since he expects a letter from me, by neglect I shall make no omission, and without doubt the performance of it is a pleasanter thing than I have had sense of from the time we parted ; and all acts of obedi- ence must be so to my dearest man, who, I trust in God, is well, but ill entertained, I fear, at Stratton, but what the good company repairs. The weather is here very ill, and the winds so high, that I desire to hope you do not He in our old chamber, being afraid when I think you do. Our little Fubsf is very well — made her usual court to her grandfather just now, who is a Uttle melancholy for his horses ; but they are all sent to take the air at Ken- sington, or somewhere out of town. My Lord's gelding is dead, and more saddle-horses, and one coach-horse, I think. ***** " I am, my best love, more than I can tell you, and as much as I ought, — Yours, " R. Vaughan." FROM LONDON TO STRATTON. i^^. 11, 1675. " Every new promise of l\Ir. Russell's unalterable kindness is a most unspeakable delight to my thoughts, • She married the Prince of Orange ; — they afterwards came to the throne, under the title of William and Mary. She was then eleven years old. t Tueir little daughter. - 223 12 BIOGRAPHY OF therefore I need use no more words to tell you how wel- come your letter was to me ; but how much welcomer Monday will be, I hope you do imagine. « « Our girl is as you left her, I bless the mercy of God for it. I have silently retired to my little dressing-room for this performance, the next being full of company at cards. I am engaged with Northumberland;* but at nothing, nor to nothing upon earth entirely, but to my you have a thousand other failings, ) all the nonsense of this, and accept the passionate, kind intentions of yours, " R. Russell." FROM LOXDOX TO STRATTOX. June 12, 1680. " My dearest heart, flesh and blood cannot have a truer and greater sense of their own happiness than your poor but honest wife has. I am glad you find Stratton so sweet — may you livo to do so one fifty years more ; and, if God pleases, I shall be glad I may keep your company most of those years, unless you wish other at any time ; then I think I could willingly leave all in the world, knowing you would take care of our brats ; — they art' both well, and your great one's letter she hopes came to you. ♦ « ♦ J i^Qpg y^^^. letter will bring no worse news than I send — your girls and your wife being as well as my best love left them, I praise God. Little Kate makes her journey often to papa, but the other keeps her cares in her breast. * * * Four noblemen cnnfmod in the Tower on suspicion of beiny concerned in the pretended plot of the Papists to murder the Kiivj;. f The favourite mistress of Charles 1. much disliked by the people, because she was supposed to use her influence to attacli the King^ to the French interest. 230 I wish your business so soon dispatched, that I will not take more of your lime than is just necessary to tell you, you have a loving creature of your " R. Russell." FR0.M LONDON TO STRATTON. 1680. « These are the pleasing moments, in absence, my dearest blessing, either to read something from you or be writing something to you ; yet I never do it but I am touched with a sensible regret, that I cannot pour out m words what my heart is so big with, which is much more just to your dear self (in a passionate return of love and "gratitude) than I can tell you ; but it is not my talent, and so I hope not a necessary signification of the truth of it, at least not thought so by you. I hear you had the opportunity of making your court handsomely at Bag- shot, * if you had had the grace to have taken the good fortune offered. * FR03I LONDON TO WOBURN. Ati^. 24, 1680. « Absent or present, my dearest life is equally oblig- ing, and ever the earthly delight of my soul. It is my great care (or ought to be so) so to moderate my sense of happiness here, that when the appointed time comes of my leaving it, or its leaving me, I may not be unwill- ing to forsake the one, or be in some measure prepared and fit to bear the trial of the other. This very hot weather does incommode me, but otherwise I am very well, and both your girls. Your letter was cherished a^ it deserved, and so, I make no doubt, was hers,t which she took very ill I should suspect she was directed in, as truly I thought she was, the fancy was so pretty. My sister and Lady Inchiquin are coming, so that I must • The Duke of York was then residing there, f Th cir eldest little girl. 23i 20 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 21 leave a better diversion for a worse ; but my thougbts* often return where all my delight is. I am yours entirely, " R. Russell." FROM LONDON TO WOBURN. Sept, 6, 1680. ** My girls and I being just risen from dinner, Miss Rachel followed me into my chamber, and seeing me take the pen and ink, asked me what I was going to do ? I told her I was going to write to her papa. * So will I,' said she ; ' and while you write, I will think what I have to say.' And truly, before I could write one word, she came and told me she had done, so I set down her words ; and she is hard at the business, as I am not, one would conclude by the pertinence of this beginning. But my dear man has taken me for better and worse in all conditions, and knows my soul to him ; so expressions are but a pleasure to myself, not him, who believes better things of me than my ill rhetoric will induce him to by my words. To this minute I am not one jot wiser as to intelligence, (whatever other improvements my study has made me,) but I hope the afternoon's conversation will better me that way. Lady Shaftesbury sends me word if her Lord continues as well as he was this morning, I shall see her ; and my sister was visiting yesterday. I will suck the honey from them all, if they will be com- municative. Your birds came safe to feast us to-morrow. — I am yours, my dear love, " R. Russell." FROM LONDON TO WOBURN. Sept 17, 1680. " These moments of true pleasure, I proposed at the opening of your letter, were hugely disappointed ; first, when I found less than one, would despatch in the read- ing of it ; and secondly, yet more, that I could not pro- long my delight as usual, by reflections on those expres- sions, I receive as the joy of my unworthy life, which can 232 never be miserable in any accident of it, whilst my aflFection- ate heart can think you mine, as I do now. But your head- ache over night, and a dinner at Bedford next day, gives me more than ordinary longings for a new report of your health, in this crazy time. * » » " Dispose, I beseech you, of my duty and service and all other ways, as you please, in all particulars, of your ever faithful, obedient, passionately affectionate wife, " R. Russell." " Mrs. Cellier* stood this day in the pillory, but her head was not put in the hole, but defended one side of her head, as a kind of battledore did the other, which she held in her hand. All the stones that were thrown with- in reach, she took up and put in her pocket." FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. During the sitting of Parliament, 1680. Stratton, Thursday night. I « Sending your victuals by the higler, I take the same opportunity to let my dearest know I have his by -coach, and do humbly and heartily praise God for the refreshing news of his being well : yet you do not in words tell me if you are very well ; and your going to the House tells no more than that you are not very ill. If your nose bleeds as it did, pray let me beg of you to give yourself time to bleed in the arm. My heart, be assured mine is not easy, till I am where you are ; therefore send us a coach as soon as you can ; it shall find us ready as whenever it comes, if God bless us to be well. I wrote more fully to this purpose in the morning, only I am willing to hint it again, in case of its miscarriage. I have sent up one maid this day, and on Monday all follow. It seems to me the ladies at Petworth [the residence of her half-sister, ' Mrs. Cellier was a nurse of the Roman Catholic religion : a woman of some cleverness, but of very bad character. She had been charged with being concerned in the Popish plot, but was ftcquitted. Being afterwards convicted of the publication of a hbel, called * MaUce Defeated,' she was sentenced to stand three times in the pillory, and fined a thousand pounds. mSS fw 22 BIOGRAPHY OP LADY RUSSELL. 23 Ledy Percy] are as particular to the Marquis as they were to the Duke before ; but the wondrous things he tells, I may aim at, but shall never guess, nor care to do it, — or anything else but to move towards London, and meet my better Tife, as I wish to see him well and mine, as I am his, and so to be to an old age ; but, above all, praying for hearts and minds fitly disposed to submit to the wise and merciful dispensations of the great God. From the sharpest trials, good Lord preserve us, if it may he. I guess my Lord * will soon be in town — pray pre- sent my duty to him. Our girls are very well : we were altogether at the farm-house this day. Pray keep good hours Beheve me your obedient wife, " R. Russell." FROM LONDON TO WOBURN. Feh 1680. Tuesday Night. ' Since you resolve not to he here till Thursday, this may come time enough to tell you we are all well ; and I will say little more, guessing this as likely to miss of coming to your hands, as to be read by you, since 1 hope you lie at Dunstable to-morrow. I shall defer answering any particular of your last till we meet, and then I shall fail, I doubt, of my part in some ; but it will be by my incapacity, who can never be what I should or would to my best and dearest life ; but I will ever submit. ♦ * * ♦ I am in a little haste, and am content to be so, because I think what I have said is to no purpose ; but I defy Lord Russell to wish for Thursday with more joy and passion, and will make him own he has a thousand time^ less reason to do so, than has his " R. RussELL.**^ FROM LONDON TO STRATTON. About Feb, 1681. " From the opinion I have that Lord Russell is a very • The Earl of Bedford, Lord Russell's father. sincere personage, I am very well pleased with all the parts of his letter, that he came in good time to his mn, and had really such kind reflections as he tells me of. I hope we shall enjoy those dozen years he speaks of, and cannot forbear wishing to double them : as one pleasure passes, I doubt not but we shall find new ones,--our nursery will help to furnish us,— it is in good order, 1 thank God. Your father came this mormng, and gave me the report of Devonshire elections. * , r Your own story of thieves, and so many as we hear of every day, makes me very desirous of your being at poor Southampton House * again, in the arms of your " R. Russell." FROM LONDON TO OXFORD. March, 1681. « I hope my dearest did not interpret amiss any action of mine, from seven o'clock Thursday night to nine on Friday morning. I am certain I had suflScient punish- ment for the ill conduct I used, of the short time then left us to spend together, without so terrible an addition ; besides, I was really sorry I could not scribble as you told me vou designed I should, not only that I might please myself with remembering I had done you some little ser- vice at parting, but possibly I might have prevailed for the laving by a smart word or so, which will now pass current, unless you will oblige a wife, after eleven years, by making such a sacrifice to her now and then, upon ^ - ce A * * * The occasions oiiered. a»»«-' report of our nursery, I humbly praise God, is very good. Masterf improves really, I think, every day. Sure he is a goodly child : the more I see of others, the better • It was situated on the north side of Bloomsbury Square, then called Southampton Square, London. Lord and Lady RusseU usually passed the winters at Southampton House, and the summers at Stratton. After their death, their residence in London descended to their grandson, and received the name of Bedford House, it was pulled down by the Duke of Bedlbrd in 1800. f Her infant son. ^„p 2i BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 25 I he appears. I hope God will ofive him life and virtue. Misses and their mamma walked vesterdav to see their cousin Allinijton. * Miss Kate wished to see him, so I jjratified her little person.— Yours only entirely, " R. Russell." " Look to your pockets: a printed paper says you will have fine papers put into them, and then witnesses to swear." f FKOM r^OXDOX TO OXFORD. 3IarcJh 1681. " I cannot express to my dearest, how pleasant to me the sight of his hand is ; yet I readily excuse the seeintf of it, when he cannot perform it at a seasonable hour, or that he is pressed with more weighty aflfairs, so that I may be assured he will let me know if he be not well. ^c H*!* ^p •(* " The children are all well. I think this is sufficieni for one time, from your obediently affectionate wife, " R. Russell." " My duty to papa."| FROM STRATTOX TO FRFMLEV. 1681. IC A messenger, bringing things from Alsford this morning, gives me tlie opportunity of sending this by the post. If he will leave it at Frimley, it will let you know we are all well, — if he does not, it may let such know it as do not care, hut satisfy no one's curiosity in any other point ; for having said thus much, I am ready to conclude with this one secret — first, that as thy pre- cious self is the most endearing husband, I believe, in the world, so am I the most grateful wife, and my heart most * A new-born son of Lady Allington's. t The caution here given conveys a vivid idea of the suspicion and insecurity of the times. I These last words are written by the child. 236 gladly passionate in its returns. Now you have all for this time, from your " R. Russell." " Boy is asleep, girls singing a-bed." FROM STRATTON TO FRIMLEY. 1681. «* It is SO much pleasure to me to write to you, when I shall see you so soon after, that I cannot deny myself the entertainment. My head will lie the easier on my pillow, where I am just going to lay it down, as soon as 1 have scribbled this side of paper. All has been well here since you, our best life, went. I need not tell you I re- ceived your letter ; Will Wright coming shows it : nor I need less say anything to acquaint your dear self the joys it brought with it, from the expressions in it to poor unworthy nie. Some alloys possibly I found, but I defer that matter till Friday, when I hope once more to be blessed with the sight of what I love best — Good night, dearest life : love your " R. Russell." FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. Sept 20, 1681. « To see anybody preparing, and taking their way to see what I long to do a thousand times more than they, makes me not endure to suffer their going, without say- ing something to my best life, though it is a kind of anti- cipatincr my joy when we shall meet to allow myself so much before the time ; but I confess I feel a great deal, that, though I left London with reluctance, (as it is easy to persuade men that a woman does,) yet that I am not like to leave Stratton with greater. They will tell you how well I got hither, and how well I found our dear treasure here : your boy will please you— you will, I think, find him improved, though I tell you so before- hand. They fancy he wanted you, for as soon as I alighted, he followed, calling papa ; but, I suppose, it is It It 26 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 27 the word he has most command of, so was not disobliged by the little fellow. The girls were fine in remembrance of the happy 29th of September ; * and we drank your health after a red-deer pie, and at night your girls and I supped on sack- posset, — nay, master would have his room, and for haste burnt his fingers in the posset, but he does but rub his hands for it. It is the most glorious weather here that ever was seen. The coach shall meet you at the cabbage-garden, — be there by eight o'clock or a little after, though I guess you can hardly be there so soon, day breaks so late ; and Indeed the mornings are so misty, it is not wholesome to be in the air so early. I do propose going to my neighbour Worsley to-day. I would fain be telling my heart more things — anything to be in a kind of talk with him ; but I believe Spencer stays for my despatch. He was willing to go early ; but this was to be the delight of this morning, and the sup- port of the day. It is performed in bed, thy pillow at my back, where thy dear head shall lie, I hope, to- morrow night, and many more. I trust in His mercy, notwithstanding all our enemies or ill-wishers. Love, and l>e wiUing to be loved by " R. Russell." FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. Oct. 20, 1681. " The hopes I have, my dearest life, that this will be the concluding epistle, for this time, makes me undertake it with more cheerfulness than my others. We are very Imsy in preparing, and full of expectation to see a coach come for us." After some remarks about conveying the hawks, dogs, &c. to town, she proceeds : — " I hope you will tell us your mind about these things to-morrow, if you can think of any thing but Parliamen- tary affairs. I pray God direct all your consultations 238 • Lord Russeirs birth-day. there ; and, my dearest dear, you guess my mmd. A word to the wise. I never longed more earnestly to be with YOU, for whom I have a thousand kmd and grateful thou4ts. You know of whom I learned this expression. If I ''could have found one more fit to speak the passion of my soul, I should send it you with joy ; but I submit with great content to imitate, but never shall attam to any equality, except that of sincerity, and I will ever be (by God's grace) what I ought and profess, thy faithtui, affectionate, and obedient wife, " R. Russell. " Miss sends me word she is well, and hopes to see papa quickly ; so does one more." FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. Nov. 1681. Monday, 10 o'clock. «* I have felt one true delight this morning already, being just come from our nurseries, and now am preparing for another,— these being my true moments of pleasure, till the presence of my dearest Hfe is before my eyes acrain. How I long for it, I will not go about to tell YOU, nor how I take your abusing me about my pertec- tions : you should leave those things for your brother to say, when occasion serves. Yours entirely, „ " R. Russell. " Miss brings me her mite ; but there has been almost wet eyes about it, she thinks it so ill done." FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. Nov. 22, 1681. " As often as you are absent, we are taught, by expe- rience, who gives life to this house and family^; but we dodge on in a dull way, as well as we can. ^ # * * I have just come trom ■i "" Lr little master-he is very well ; so I left him, and saw your girls a-lacing. Miss Kate says, sure papa is upon *o BIOGRAPHY OF |t ! the road. I wish for Wednesday, that I may know if I am to hope he will be so this week. * * * * One remembrance more, my best life, — ^be wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove. So fare- well for this lime. — Yours, " R. Russell." The following letter from Lord Russell to his wife, is dated iVot;. 26, 1681. " I suppose you received mine of Thursday. I hope this will be the last time, for this bout, of troubling you in this kind ; for on Thursday, God willing, I intend to set out to go to my dearest dear's embraces, which, upon my word, I value now as much as I did ten, eleven, or twelve years ago, and more than any the town can afford, now you are out of it. On Monday we intend to be at Westminster, to be bail for my Lord Shaftesbury, in ease it be demanded ; and I hear the Lieutenant of the Tower has order to bring him Lord Howard, * Wilmore, and Whitaker ; so that it is concluded they will be re- leased, although some talk as if they would bring fresh matter, but I do not believe it. It is thought by some of your friends, where we dined together when you were in town, that the fair man was the person most troubled at Thursday's business ; and really by his looks, and what he said to-day in my hearing, one would have thought so. If the coach can conveniently come to Hertford Bridge on Tuesday, let it, — else Will Wright will ride upon great Dun, and lead little one. " I come just now from eating oysters with your sis- ter, which shall be all my supper ; and I hope to get to bed earUer than I have been able to do hitherto. My father is not come to town. Farewell, my dearest : kiss my little children from me ; and believe me to be, as entirely as I am, yours, and only yours, " Russell." * Imprisoned on the suspicion of having contrived a treasonable pamphlet. 240 lady RUSSELL. FROM STRATTON TO LONDON. M^ Sept. 25, 1682. « I staid till I came from church, that I might, as late as I could, tell you all your concerns here are just as you left them. The young man * as mad, winking at me, and strikincr with his drumstick whatever comes to his reach. If I had written before church, while my morning draught f was in my head, this might have entertained you better ; but now those fumes are laid, I find my spirits more dull th^n usual, as I ha\e more cause — the much dearer and pleasanter part of my life being absent from me : I leave my Lord Russell to guess who that is. * » * I know nothing new since you went ; but I know, as certainly as I live, that I have been for twelve years as passionate a lover as ever woman was, and hope to be so one twelve years more : happy still, and en- tirely yours. « R. Russell." Alas ! this hope was never to be realized ! Lord ^Rus- sell was a friend to liberty, and made no secret of his op- position to the unrestrained prerogative of the King. He thought the people were right in being jealous of French influence, and of the ever restless intrigues of the Roman Catholics at that period. Charles the Second and his brother James were warmly attached to the French court, from which they had received much kindness dur- ing the administration of Cromwell; and, perhaps, in their inmost hearts they could never forgive the English nation for having beheaded their father. It was natural that the licentious Charles, so far as he cared for any re- ligion, should prefer that, which, by half an hour's cere- mony on his death-bed, offered to absolve all the errors of a most sinful Hfe ;— he was, however, too coldly selfish to endanger his throne by an avowal of sentiments so dis- * Her infant son. t Coffee and tea were scarcely known in England at this period, — wine-posset was used for breakfast. ^ 241 30 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 31 tasteful to his subjects. The Duke of York, on the con- trary, made no concealment of his bigoted attachment to the Church of Rome ; and when we reflect how hard thati church struggled to regain its former despotic power, by means of its able and most effective instruments the Je- suits, we cannot be surprised at the universal alarm which prevailed among the English Protestants. It has already been mentioned that Lord Russell zeal- ously favoured the bill to exclude James from succession to the throne. But Charles was obstinately bent upon supporting his brother's claims ; and, what was still woriie, the indolent monarch allowed him to possess great influ- ence, which was generally exerted in favour of the most unjust and tyrannical measures. Waller remarked, that " Charles, in spite to the Parliament, who had deter- mined the Duke should not succeed him, was resolved that he should reign even in his lifetime." In this state of things, discontent was universal ; and there seemed to be no redress for the people, unless they could gain it by strong and determined resistance. A council of six was formed to consult upon what measures were necessary to be taken to check the despotic pro- ceedings of Charles and his brother. " This council consisted of the Duke of Monmoutli (the King's natural son)— Lord Russell— Lord Essex- Lord Howard — Algernon Sidney, son of the Earl of Leicester — and John Hampden, grandson of the ^rreat Parliamentary leader. The members of this council dif- fered extremely in their views. Sidney was passionate for a republic. Essex had embraced the same project. Monmouth entertained hopes of obtaining the crown fur himself. Russell and Hampden were much attached to the ancient constitution, and intended only the exclusion of the Duke of York, and the redress of grievances." But it unfortunately happened, that while these gentle- men were concerting schemes to restrain the abuse of kingly power, an inferior and more violent order of mal- contents, among whom were some of the old officers of Cromwell's army, were holding meetings, in which they openly talked of assassinating the King and the Duke, 242 under the familiar appellation of lopping. Lord Shaftes- bury, a rash man, whom the disaffected were in the habit of regarding as their leader, employed these men as his tools, unknown to Russell and his friends. It seems, in- deed, that Lord Shaftesbury formed the only link be- tween two plots totally dissimilar in their characters, and in the motives which originated them. Lord Russell ac- companied the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Grey one evening to the house of a wine-merchant, in whom they confided. They expected to meet Lord Shaftesbury and some of their friends ; but finding no one, except two of the desperate characters, above mentioned, they were displeased with the company, and entered into no con- versation, — Lord Russell merely stopped to taste some wines he wished to purchase, and they departed. The designs of these violent men were betrayed by the treachery of one of their confidants. Lord Shaftesbury, the only one who had countenanced them, went into Holland, where he died. The virtuous Lord Russell would have been at any time shocked with schemes of blood ; but the brief interview with Lord Shaftesbury's creatures, at the wine-merchant's, proved of fatal conse- quence to him. These men became witnesses against him ; but, for that circumstance, he might have escaped the utmost mahce of the crown, as did his friend Hamp- den. Being in the company of these conspirators was construed into a proof of knowing and sharing all their designs. Lord Russell was arrested, and the seizure of his associates soon followed. The dastardly and unprin- cipled Lord Howard confessed all he knew, in order to save his own miserable life. It was proved that Lord Russell, Essex, Hampden, &c. intended resistance to the government, in some form or other, at some indefinite time. All who from fear, or the love of reward, were friends to the Duke of York, were anxious to represent the two plots as one and the same : hence Lord Russell and his friends were charged with projected insurrection and intent to take the King's life. The Duke of Monmouth absconded, although his royal father came very near ensnaring him by that insidious 243 32 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 33 policy which always characterized his dealings with man- kind.* Sidney was beheaded — rejoicing to the last that he died in " the good old cause of republicanism." Lord Howard was the only evidence against Hampden, and the statute required two witnesses: the crown lawyers were therefore unable to make out a case of high trea- son ; but they managed to obtain a sentence against him for misdemeanour, and fined him the enormous sum of forty thousand pounds. Lord Essex was at his house in the country, when he heard that his friend Lord Russell was arrested. He made no attempt to escape ; and when it was urged upon him, he replied that he would not do it, lest his flight should be construed into an evidence of guilt, and thus do an injury to Lord Russell's cause : " My own life is not worth saving," said he, " if, by so doing, I bring his into danger." He was committed to the Tower ; and, on the very morning of Lord Russell's trial, he was found with his throat cut, said to be done by his own hand — a circum- stance of which the court made great use to the prejudice of Lord Russell. Even Hume, whose feelings are always on the Tory side, acknowledges that a most unjustifiable use was made of this incident. Considering the tender- ness Lord Essex had expressed toward Lord Russell's cause, suspicions very naturally arose that he did not die by his own hand. The King and the Duke of York had made a visit to the Tower that morning, under pretence of inspecting the ordnance. Two children, a boy and girl, from ten to twelve years old, heard a great noise from his window, and affirmed that they saw a hand throw out a bloody razor. The boy afterward contradicted his statement in open court ; but his father had an office in the custom-house, of which the King could deprive him. • The Kingf had a most affectionate interview with the Duchess of Monmouth, advising her to conceal her husband in her own apartment, which he sacredly promised should not be searched. The Duke being informed of this, said, " I will not trust him." The event proved that his suspicions were rij^ht ; for the apartment of the Duchess was the first place searched. 244 The girl always stood firmly to her story. On the other hand, it was said that Lord Essex was subject to very deep fits of melancholy, — that he had been heard to vin- dicate suicide, — that among other things, which he had ordered to be sent from his house, he had called for a penknife and a razor ; and the surgeons declared that his throat was cut in such a manner that he must have done it himself. The real truth can never be known in this world ; and historians and readers will judge of the trans- action according to their opinions of the Duke of York. From the manner in which Lord Russell was taken up, it seemed as if the court, always crooked and cowardly in its proceedings, were willing to connive at his escape. Burnet tells us that the day before Lord Russell was ar- rested, a messenger was observed many hours waiting near his door — " A measure that was taken in so open and careless a manner, (the back door of his house not being watched,) as led to the suspicion that it was in- tended to frighten him away." Had Lord Russell fallen into this snare, it would have saved them from the odium of his death, and would have given them a fine opportu- nity to blacken his character. But he, conscious of no other political opinions than those which he had long and openly avowed in Parliament, refused to avail himself of this insidious measure ; and his " faithful, obedient, and most affectionate wife" was tempted by no unworthy weakness to advise him to a course of conduct inconsist- ent with his innocence and honour. Lord Russell would not attempt to leave the house while the messenger from the council was pacing before his door, although he was ignorant of what, and by whom he was accused. His lady was sent to obtain information and consult his friends, — with what anxiety the task was per- formed, we can well imagine. Lord Russell was so well aware of the virulence of his enemies, that, from the mo- ment of his arrest, he began to prepare his mind for death. But this conviction occasioned no despondency m him, por did it prevent her from using every honour- able endeavour to save his precious life. Durinj? the lortnight that elapsed between his commitment to the VOL. in. NO. XXI. 24§ BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 35 t f. ' Tower and his trial, she was diligently employed in pro- curing information as to what was likely to be urged against him, and in adopting every measure of precau- tion. She accompanied him to Court on the day of his trial, — on which occasion the crowd was so great, that the counsel complained of not having room to stand. When Lord Russell requested to have a person to take notes of the trial for him, the Chief Justice said, " Any of your servants shall assist you in writing any thing you please." To which Lord Russell replied, " My wife is here to do it." As he spoke, the excellent daughter of the virtuous Southampton rose up, and stood by his side. At this sight, a thrill of anguish ran through the crowded audience. Her father's services — her husband's unsus- pected patriotism — the excellence of his private life, and their known domestic happiness — all combined to give her a peculiar claim upon public sympathy. It is much to be regretted that history does not inform us how she ■ supported herself through that fatal day, nor how she re- ceived the tidings of the death of Lord Essex, which was suddenly brought into Court, and which she was aware would have a material influence on her husband's destiny. We only know that she so commanded her feelings, as neither to disturb the Court, nor distract the attention of her husband. Lord Russell was not mistaken in what he had to ex- pect from the violence of his unprincipled enemies. The lawyers, desirous of paying court to the royal brothers, resorted to subtle evasions. The prisoner's strict adher- ence to truth would not allow him to deny that he had assisted in plans of resistance to the king's despotic mea- sures ; false charges were artfully mixed up with true ones, and he was not allowed to point out the difference between them. At one time, he intended to make a full confes- sion of all he had done and all he had thought ; but hii counsel suggested that use might be made of his dis- closures to endanger his friends ; and Lord Russell was not a man to save himself by sacrificing others. He there- fore simply pleaded not guilty to any designs upon the king's person, and threw himself upon the laws of his 246 country, which no doubt would have saved him if justice had been allowed to have its course. But even Lord Russell's virtues were turned against him ; it being said that the great estimation in which he was held made him i dangerous. The jury was picked out with great care, and consisted entirely of men strongly prejudiced in favour of the king and his brother. Some objections were made to this jury, but they were over-ruled. It was thought that Chief-Justice Pemberton did not state tl.ie matter with sufficient eagerness against the noble prisoner, and he was soon after turned out of his office. Sergeant Jef- fries, afterward the detestable Judge Jeffries, made an insolent speech full of fury and indecent invectives ; and in his address to the jury, he turned the untimely fate of Essex into a proof of his consciousness of the conspiracy. This brutal wretch was soon after appointed Chief Justice, and afterward Lord Chancellor. His life was divided between drunken riots and judicial murders. His name ought to be handed down to the everlasting execration of posterity, in common with all other judges, English or American, who allow personal enmity, or political preju- dice to influence their decisions. There is but one crime equal to thus poisoning the fountain of justice ; and that was committed by the priest, who administered death to his enemy in the form of the holy sacrament. Lord Russell's behaviour during his trial was calm and dignified. He expected to die, and was not disappointed when the jury brought in a verdict against him. The following extract from the London Gem for 1831, is historically true in facts, though some of the de- |tails are imagined. The editor may be blamed for in- serting it in the midst of a well-authenticated biogi'aphy ; l)ut the heart becomes so painfully interested in the lovely and most excellent Lady Russell, that we are eager to supply the deficiencies of history, and to imagine just what she said, and how she looked, during those agonizing scenes, which would have broken her heart, had not love been stronger than death : — *' At last her task was finished,— quietly she laid down her pen, — her eyes and her hand were weary, and her heart was sick al- 247 36 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 37 most unto death. She had heard the conviction and the condemn nation of her hu3band ; but not a sob, not a sound, had escaped her lips ; — she had come prepared to hear, and, with God's help, to sustain the worst, without uttering a word that might agitate her beloved husband, or shake his grave and manly composure. When •he rose up to accompany him from Court, every eye was turned toward them, and several of the kind and compassionate wept aloud ; but the Lady Russell was enabled to depart with the same sweet and modest self-possession — still her husband's nearest, dearest companion. When they reached his prison, she gave way to no wild and passionate bursts of grief; but, repressing every murmur, she sat down, and began to discuss with him all and every possible means of honourably saving his life. He had a settled con- viction that every exertion would be in vain, and secretly gave him- self to prepare for inevitable death ; but, to please and satisfy her, he entered into all her plans, at least consulted with her upon them ; and, at her request particularly, drew up a petition to the Duke of York, which, however, proved utterly fruitless — the Duke of York being his determined and relentless enemy. ** Still the Lady Russell was unwearied, and resolved that no- thing should daunt her. To the king she determined to go in person, and to plead at his feet for her husband's life. " When she reached Whitehall, she could not choose but re- member with what different feelings she had before ascended the staircase, and passed along the stately galleries of the beautiful pa- lace. She thought of the first time she entered those walls ; she thought of her light heart, her girlish curiosity, when those around her, and she herself had been loved and welcomed visiters to the royal presence. Fearful that an audience might be refused her, if her name or errand were told before-hand to the king, she had come with a very private equipage, her servants wearing a plain livery. She had before requested one of the lords in waiting, to whom she was well known, and in whose noble and friendly spirit she could place full confidence, to give her an opportunity of seeing the king, and to announce her merely as a gentlewoman of condition, who had soUcited an interview ; and she now besought him so earnestly to allow her to be admitted into the ante-reom to the chamber where the king was then sitting, that, after some decided refusals, and much hesitation, he at last permitted her to follow him. In a few minutes she was left alone in that ante-chamber ; for it hap- pened that a little page^ who had been waiting there, wag called away for a short time as she and Lord entered, *' She soon distinguished the king's voice from the room within, for its tones were loud and sonorous ; and the latch of the door, though pulled to, had not caught, so that the door stood partly open : * Who is it would see us, did you lay ?' The Lady Russell drew near, and bent her ear that she might not lose a word. * A gentlewoman of condition has demanded a private interview with your majesty.' 248 " The words were hardly spoken when a light, yet loud laugh rung through the chamber, and a woman's voice cried out, in tones of raillery, * You are a dangerons messenger, my lord ; there may be peril to the king's heart in such an interview.' * Pshaw, Pshaw,' interrupted the king, half joining in the laugh, and speaking in a tone of heavy merriment : * tell me this lady's age ; is she young or old, for much depends on that ?' ' She is a young and noble matron,' was the quiet, grave reply. * But how does she call her- self?' was the continued inquiry in the same jocular voice. • She bade me say a gentlewoman of condition.' « Sir, 'said the king impatiently, * no trifling, if you please !— What is the woman's name ? — Do you know her name ?' ' I cannot tell your majesty an untruth,' replied the nobleman ; I do know her name.' * Why, then, do you not de- clare it ?' ' Because, sire, I was forbidden by the lady to do so, and as a gentleman of honour — ' * As a gentleman of honour, you may be bound to your gentlewoman of condition, and may keep silence as far as she is concerned ; but as I am also a party concerned, allow me to decline the favour of this interview with your gentle- woman of condition ; I have seen mysterious affairs enough of late, and there may be danger in this interview. ' * I would stake my life, sire, there is none,' said the nobleman ; * and I will go beyond my commission, auid disclose a name unsullied and pure, and lovely to the ear, being made so by her who bears it ; the blameless, but un- happy Lady Russell, is the gentlewoman that has sought an audience with your majesty.' * Oh I I cannot see her,' cried the king, raising his voice ; * I forbid you to admit her to my presence. Remem- ber, sir, I am positive. Much as I pity the Lady Russell, I cannot see her : why should unnecessary pain be given to her and to my- self? __Tell her this from me. ' ' Alas, sire, I dread to deliver so dis- heartening a message from your gracious majesty, she is already in so woful a plight. I know not what her fiopes may be of urging her suit with success ; but I know she did hope to hear a refusal, if she must have one, given from no other lips than yours : even now she waits anxiously, fondly hoping that your majesty will see her.' Here again the female voice was heard ; kind and almost coaxing were its tones : — * Do see her — do admit her — ^poor unhappy lady I my heart bleeds for her — you may be stern to men, but you would never let a woman beg in vain.' ' It is to save a woman's feelings,' repUed the king, in a softer voice than he had yet spoken : * Do not urge me— you know that his life cannot be spared— you know it is •mpossible. Dismiss the lady at once, my lord, with the assurance of my regret. You said that she was waiting, — where did you leave her?' ^ * She waits in the ante-room to this very chamber.' * So near, sirrah 1' exclaimed the king ; ' thou hast taken a most unwarrantable liberty.' * She begged that I would let her follow me,* said the noble- man ; * and her importunity was so great and sudden, that she pre- vailed against my calmer judgment.' • Let there be no mistake con- tinued in,' cried the king ' and weary me no longer with your expla- nations. Dismiss the lady instantly.' 249 38 BIOGBAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 39 m 'li t ** The Lady Russell had heard all that had been spoken; ha«f hung breathless on every word ; and her heart had sunk within her, when she found how firmly the king seemed opposed to showiny any mercy to her husband. She had blessed the woman, whose voice pleaded so kindly for her, though she guessed, and guessed rightly, that she was blessing the frail Louise de Querouaille, then Duchess of Portsmouth. *' She heard the receding steps of the lord in waiting, and felt that in another moment her o|)j)ortunity would be gone. She di«l not stop to think or hesitate, but threw open the door, and ad- vancetl quietly and meekly to the very centre of the chamber. " The room which Lady Russell entered, was of large dimensions, and furnished rather with splendid luxuriousness than elegance. The windows opened into a balcony, filled with orange trees in full blossom, and the atmosphere ofthechamberwasrichly scented with the delicious perfume of the flowers : the walls were hung alter- nately with some of Lely's beautiful but wanton portraits, and with broad pier-glasses; and the profusion of gilding with which the sculptured frames and cornices, the tables, the couches and seats ot \arious de9crij)tion9, were enriched, dazzled and fatigued the gaze. Upon and underneath one table, amid piles of music, lay several kinds of lutes and other musical instruments. On another, an ivory casket of jewels stood open, glowing and blazing in a flood of sun- shine. Before a broad slab of the richest green marble, opposite one of the looking-glasses, sat Louise de Querouaille, on a low ottoman. She had been reading aloud to the idle monarch, and her book, — a loose French romance, — lay upon the table, the place kept open by a bracelet of large pearls. Very near her the king was carelessly reclining upon a sofa covered with cushions of Ge- noa velvet : his attention had been divided between listening to the French romance, and listlessly looking over a collection of Oliver'ss exquisitely painted miniatures, some of which lay on the sofa be- side him, others on the marble table. Into this chamber a pure and modest matron had entered, to plead for the life of one of the most noble and upright gentlemen of the land ; had she much chance of success with such a ruler ? ' I am prepared,' said the Lady Russell, as she kneeled before the king, ' to bear though not to brave your majesty's just anger. My coming thus uncalled into your presence is an intrusion, an impertinence, which the king may not perchance forgive ; but I make my appeal not to the king, but to the gentleman before whom I kneeL' Charles, who had sat asto- nished rather than angry at the unexpected appearance of the latly, rose up at these words, and, tenderly raising her, led her to a seat with that gallant courteousness in which he was excelled by no one in his day. ' My boldness is very great,' she continued ; * but grief makes me forget all difference of station : I am alive only to the power conferred upon your majesty's high station by the Almight\ and most merciful of kings. Forgive a wife, once a very happy wife, if she implores you to use that power in its most blessed eK- 250 III rrcise of mercy. Think that on the breath of your lips it depends whether the whole future course of a life, long so supremely happy, shall be gloom and wretchedness to the grave. But let me not take so selfish a part as to plead only for my own happiness. Do justice to an upright, honest subject ; or if you deem him faulty, (and who is not?) do not visit a fault with that dreadful doom that you would give to wickedness and crime. Nay, for yourself, for your own good interest, do not let them rob you of a servant whose fellow may not easily be found, one who shall serve your majesty with more true faithfulness than many that have been more forward in their words.' " The king listened with attention, with well-bred and courteous attention, and then expressed, with soft and well-bred excuses, his deep regret that it was impossible, beyond his power, as one bound to consider the welfare of the State, to accede to her entreaties : and as he spoke, the Lady Russell could not help contrasting the artful softness of his voice and manner with the rough, but far more honest, refusal she had heard when waiting in the ante-room. «* Charles ceased speaking ; and the Lady Russell, who had con- tinued seated all the time she spoke, and who had spoken with mo- dest and reverent dignity of manner, still sat calm, sad, and motion- less, perplexed and silenced by his cold, easy self-possession. '* * There is then no hope ?' she at length exclaimed. The mon- arch met the melancholy gaze of her soft eyes, as she asked the hopeless question, and the few words in which he replied were in- tended to destroy all hope ; yet they were spoken in the same smooth, courteous tone. " She rose up, but she did not go ; still she remained standing where she rose up, calm, bewildered, her lips unclosed, her eyes cast down, as if unwilling to depart, yet too stupified by grief and disappoint- ment to know what to say : too abashed, indeed, by his polite indif- ference, to know how to act. At last she roused herself ; and as she lifted up her head, a clearness and brightness came into her eyes, and over her brow, and over her whole countenance. ' I must not, will not go abashed and confounded,' she thought within her- self; ' I must not lose this last, this very last opportunity, I can ever have of saving him.' * Bear with my importunity,' she said, with a feminine sweetness, which, notwithstanding the deep dejection that hung on every look and every word, was inexpressibly fascina- ting ; ' bear with me, and do not bid me rise, till 1 have been heard :* and she again threw herself at the feet of the king. * At least let me speak in my own name, let me urge my own claims to your gracious mercy. As the daughter of Thomas Wriothesley, your long-tried servant, your royal father's faithful and favoured friend, 1 humbly ask for pity and for mercy ; forget not your friend and your father's friend. Alas, sire, you are not one to whom affliction is unknown ; your heart is not hardened, I am sure it cannot be, against such calamities as mine are likely to be very soon. You itave known,' she added, raising her clasped hands, and her meek II 251 •* i ^1/ BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 41 anil innocent face, over which the tear* flowed fast ; » you have known one, whose loved and honoured head was cruelly laid low ; you have seen something of what a widow and a mother suffers in such a desolate estate as mine will be, I fear, too soon. No, no ! you do not misunderstand me — you know well of whom I speak. Imagine what your royal mother would have felt, had she kneeled, as I do now, to one who could have saved the life of her beloved and noble husband ; and pity— pray, pray, pity me ! What, not one word — one kind, pitying word !' She turned her eyes, as one who looks for help on either side ; and her glance fell upon the frail, but kind-hearted Louise de Querouaille, who sat weeping and sobbing with unaflFected feeling. The Lady Russell rose from her knees, and went to her; — * Madam,' she said entreatingly, ' they say you have much influence with the king : I am sure you ha¥e a kind heart ; come and beg that for pity's sake he will hear me.' The Duchess of Portsmouth did not refuse — she came for- ward. Jmt then a rtde-^iom' was gently opened^ and the Duke of York entered the apartment. He stopped and stared at all present with a look of apparent astonishment : for a moment his eye met that of the king ; but he said not a word, walked to the farther end of the room, laid on the table a packet of papers, which he carried in his hand, and seemed to occupy himself busily with them. The Lady Russell felt, that if ever there had been a hope of success for her, there was now none. The king was still as courteous, and as smooth in speech as before, though' a little more commanding in his manner. The Duchess of Portsmouth was still careless to hide her weeping, and, kneeling in her tears before the king, she implored for Lord Russell's pardon ; and she herself, the wretched, heart- stricken wife, redoubled her entreaties ; nay, at last she ceased to ask for pardon, (seeing that her prayer was utterly in vain) and begged but for a respite of six weeks for her condemned husband. She turned to the Duke of York :_c()ldly and civilly he begged to decline offering any interference. The only words he spoke were those by which he replied to the Lady Russell j and he would have seemed to her entirely occupied with his papers, had she not once or twice observed his eye fixed with a calm and penetrating glance upon his royal brother. At last, the king grew weary ; his dark brow lowered heavily, and his strongly marked and saturnine features assumed an expression not commonly harsh and unpleasant — * What ! ' said he angrily, and almost brutally, ' shall I grant that man six weeks, who, if he had it in his power, would not have granted me six hours ! ' *' The poor, insulted lady spoke not another word of entreaty. She arose at once, and, with a grave, meek sorrow, at once digni- fied and sweetly humble, she departed. The Lady Russell went forth from the palace, convinced in her own mind that her husband's life would not be spared ; and, more at peace than she had been for many days, she could scarcely understand how with such a settled conviction she could be calm. But shs began to see the gracious ^ design of Him to whom she prayed so constantly, to prepare her for her heaviest trial by the strong supports and consolations of his grace. She entered her husband's cell, with a firm step and an untroubled countenance, and told him herself and at once, with a voice that fal- tered only when she began to speak, that according to his expectation, her errand to Whitehall had been utterly useless." All other possible measures were used to save Lord Russell. The Earl of Bedford, his father, offered the Duchess of Portsmouth the enormous sum of one hun- dred thousand pounds, if she would procure his pardon ; but notwithstanding her notorious love of money, she either did not dare to move in the case, or her exertions were rendered unavailing by some influence even stronger than hers. Lord Cavendish, a talented, high-spirited, though dissipated nobleman, was, both personally and po- litically, a warm friend to Lord Russell. He generously offered to manage his escape, and to stay in prison for him, while he should go away in his clothes ; but Lord Russell would not listen to such a proposition. The Duke of Monmouth likewise sent word, that if it would do him any service, he would come in and run fortunes with him. Lord Russell replied, that it could be no ad- vantage to him to have his friends die with him. Oldmixon informs us, that Lord Cavendish likewise proposed that a chosen party of horse should attack the guard as the coach passed on the way to the place of execution, by the street turning into Smithfield, while another party did the same on the Old Bailey side, to take Lord Russell out, and, mounting him on a horse, make off with him — a design which the people would have most cordially facilitated. But Lord Russell would by no means consent that his friends should risk their lives to save his. He had submitted his case to the deci- sion of the laws, and he was resolved to abide the penalty. Doctors Burnet and Tillotson, in hopes of saving his life, tried to prevail upon him to acknowledge to the King that subjects had, in no case whatever, a right to resist the throne. Lord Russell replied, " Upon such an hypothesis, I see no difference between our govern- ment and the Turkish. I can have no conceptions of a 253 42 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 43 limited monarchy, which has not a right to defend its own limitations ; and my conscience will not permit me to say otherwise to the King/' His heroic wife approved of this answer. She never wished to save his life by any base compliance, or by the abjuration of the noble truths for which he was persecuted ; — she shared in his steady ad- herence to his principles, as she shared in his sufferings for them. All the concession she had ever asked him to make, was to write to the Duke of York, promising, if his life were spared, to live beyond sea, and never again mingle with English politics. He took the step to satisfy her, though he himself had no hope. The Marquis de Kouvigny, the maternal uncle of Lady Russell, had a good deal of influence with Louis the Fourteenth ; and it is said, that he prevailed upon that monarch to write a letter to Charles the Second, in favour of Lord Russell. When Charles heard that Rouvigny was coming over with this letter, he said, " I cannot prevent the Marquis from coming here ; but Lord RusselFs head shall be struck off before he arrives." Doctor Burnet was with Lord Russell every day in prison, and accompanied him to the scaffold ; and he hani given some very interesting details of what occurred dur- ing the last moments of his life. He says—" All the while he expressed a very Christian temper, without sharpness or resentment, vanity or affectation. His whole behaviour looked like a triumph over death. Upon some occasions, as at table, or when his friends came to see him, he was decently cheerful. I was by him when the sheriffs came to show him the warrant for his execution. He read it with indifference ; and when they were gone, he told me it was not decent to be merry with such a matter, otherwise he was near telling Rich, (who, though he was now of the other side, yet had been a member of the House of Commons, and had voted for the exclusion of the Duke of York,) that they should never sit together in the House any more to vote for the Bill of Exclusion. The day before his death he fell a bleeding at the nose ; upon that he said to me pleasantly, * I shall not now let blood to divert this : that will be done to-morrow.' At 254 illlllll night it rained hard : and he said, * Such a rain to- morrow will spoil a great show, which was a dull thing in a rainy day.' He said the sins of his youth lay heavy upon his mind ; but he hoped God had forgiven them, for he was sure he had forsaken them, and for many years he had walked before God with a sincere heart : if, in his public actings, he had committed errors, they were only the errors of his understanding ; for he had no private ends nor ill designs of his own in them. He was still of opinion that the King was limited by law, and that when he broke through those limits, his subjects might defend themselves and restrain him : he thought a violent death was a very desirable way of ending one's life, — it was only the being exposed to be a little gazed at, and to suffer the pain of one minute, which he was confident was not equal to the pain of drawing a tooth. He said he felt none of those transports that some good people felt ; but he had a full calm in his mind, no palpitation of heart, nor trembling at the thoughts of death. He was much concerned at the cloud that seemed to be now over his country ; but he hoped his death would do more ser- vice than his life could have done. He thought it was necessary for him to leave a paper behind him at his death ; and because he had not been accustomed to draw such papers, he desired me to give him a scheme of the heads fit to be spoken to, and of the order in which they should be laid, which I did ; and he was for three days employed for some time in the morning to write out his speech. He ordered four copies to be made of it, all which he signed ; and gave the original, with three of the copies, to his lady, and kept the other to give to the sheriffs on the scaffold. He writ it with great care ; and the passages that were tender he writ in papers apart, and showed them to his lady and to myself, before he writ them out fair. He was very easy when this was ended. He also writ a letter to the King, in which he asked par- don for every thing he had said and done contrary to his duty, protesting he was innocent as to all designs against his person and government, and that his heart was ever devoted to that which he thought was his true interest. 255 n 44 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 45 He added, that though he thought he had met with hard measure, yet he forgave all concerned in it, from the highest to the lowest ; and ended, hoping that his Ma- jesty's displeasure at him would cease with his own life, and that no part of it should fall on his wife and children. " On the Tuesday before Lord RusselFs execution, alter dinner, when his lady was gone, he expressed great joy in the magnanimity of spirit he saw in her, and said the parting with her was the hardest thing he had to do, for he said she would hardly be able to bear it, — the con- cern 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 my 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 we left nothing undone that could have given any probable hopes, he acquiesced ; and indeed I never saw his heart so near failing him as when he spake of her, — sometimes I saw a tear in his eye, and he would turn about, and presently change the discourse. " The day before his death, he received the sacrament from Tillotson with much devotion. And I preached two short sermons to him, which he heard with great af- fection. And we were shut up until toward evening. Then Lady Russell brought him his little children, that he might take leave of them ; in which he maintained his constancy of temper, though he was a very fond father. Some few of his friends likewise came to bid him farewell. He spoke to his children in a way suited to their age, and with a good measure of cheerfulness, and took leave of his friends in a calm manner as surprised them all. Lady Russell re- turned alone in the evening. At eleven o'clock she left him ; he kissed her four or five times, and she kept hel' sorrow so within herself, that she gave him no disturbance by their parting. As soon as she was gone, he said to lllllll 256 • Even this small boon was denied her. me, * Now the bitterness of death is past ;' for he loved and esteemed her beyond expression, as she well deserved it in all respects. He ran out into a long discourse con- cerning her — how great a blessing she had been to him — and said, what a misery it would have been to him if she had not had that magnanimity of spirit, joined to her ten- derness, as never to have desired him to do a base thing for the saving of his life. He said there was a signal pro- vidence of God in giving him such a wife, where there was birth, fortune, great understanding, great religion, and great kindness to him ; but her carriage in this extre- mity was beyond all. He was glad she and her children were to lose nothing by 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 ; which I heard her do. «* He went into his chamber about midnight : and I staid all night in the outer room. He went not to bed till about two in the morning ; and was fast asleep till four, when, according to his order, we called him. He was quickly dressed, but would lose no time in shaving : for he said he was not concerned in his good looks that day. He went into his chamber six or seven times in the morning, and prayed by himself, and then came out to Tillotson and me : he drunk a little tea and some sherry- He wound up his watch, and said, ' Now I have done with time, and am going to eternity.' He asked me what he should give the executioner ; I told him ten guineas : he said with a smile, it was a pretty thing to give a fee to have his own head cut off. When the sheriffs called him about ten o'clock, Lord Cavendish was waiting below to take leave of him. They embraced very tenderly. Lord Russell, after he had left him, upon a sudden thought came back to him, and pressed him earnestly to apply himself more to religion ; and told him what great com- fort and support he felt from it now in his extremity. " Tillotson and I went in the coach with him to the place of execution. Some of the crowd that filled the streets wept, while others insulted : he was touched with a tenderness that the one gave him, but did not seem at 257 i 46 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 47 Hi if III all provoked by the other. In passing?, he looked toward Southampton-House : the tear started in his eye, but he instantly wiped it away. He was singing psalms a great part of the way ; and said, he hoped to sing better very soon. Observing the great crowds of people, he said, * I hope I shall soon see a much better assembly.' When he came to the scaifold, he walked about it four or fivt* times. Then he turned to the sheriff and delivered his paper. He protested he had always been far from any designs against the king's life, or government : he prayed God would preserve both, and the Protestant religion. He wished all Protestants might love one another, and not make way for popery by their animosities. After he had delivered the papers, he prayed by himself: then Tillot- hon prayed with him. After that he prayed again by himself, and then undressed himself, and laid his head on the block, without the least change of countenance : and it was cut off at two strokes." iill Of Lady Russell we know nothing during this melan- choly scene. But who cannot imagine her feelings, till the heart aches with the painfulness of sympathy ? While there was anything to do for him — while there was a shadow of hope — there was something to support her fortitude ; but when she had looked on him for the last time — when she returned to her desolate home, where she was never more to welcome him, — there to count the wretched minutes that should elapse before the fattil stroke was given — Oh God ! what but thine infinite mercy ( ould have supported her through that mortal agony ! Lord Kussell was beheaded on Saturday, July 21st, 1683. He died as he had Uved : the firm friend of truth, of the Protestant religion, and ofthe liberties of his couniry- His firmness in refusing to make any retraction of senti- ments which his conscience approved, is the strongest • 1 111. evidence of that mtegrity and virtue, which gave him so much influence in his own time, and have for ever conse- crated his name to posterity. In private life he was un- exceptionable. His benevolence never kept pace with his income ; and the greatest satisfaction he took in the prospect of inheriting large estates was, that they would 258 increase his power of doing good. — He was not beheaded on Tower-Hill, (the common place of execution for men of high rank) but in Lincoln's-inn-fields, in order that the populace might be humbled by the sight of their favourite leader carried through the city, to the place of execution. This plan, like most others of a similar kind, produced an effect totally different from what was intended. Perhaps the death of Lord Russell, followed by that of his friend Sidney, tended more than any other single event, to bring about the Revolution, which not long after for ever freed England from the insupportable tyranny of the Stuarts. Oldmixon informs us, that the Duke of York descended so low in his revenge, as to desire that this innocent noble- man might be executed before his own door in Blooms- bury- Square : an insult the king himself would not con- sent to. " The substance of the paper Lord Russell gave the sheriff, was, first a profession of his religion, and of his sincerity in it ; — that he was of the Church of England, but wished all would unite together against the common enemy ; — that churchmen would be less severe, and dis- senters less scrupulous. He owned he had a great deal against Popery, which he looked on as an idolatrous and bloody religion ; but that, thou2:h he was at all times ready to venture his life for his religion or his country, yet that would never have carried him to a black or wicked design. No man ever had the impudence to move to him any thing with relation to the King's life ; he prayed heartily for him, that in his person and govern- ment he might be happy both in this world and the next. He owned he had been earnest in the matter of the ex- clusion, as the best way, in his opinion, to secure both the King's life and the Protestant religion ; and to that he imputed his present sufferings : but he forgave all con- cerned in them, and charged his friends not to think of revenge. He thought his sentence was hard : killing by I forms of law was the worst sort of murder." At the close, he says, " Since my sentence, I have had few thoughts but preparatory ones for death ; yet the importunity of my friends, and particularly the best and dearest wife in 259 48 BIOGRAPHY OP LADY RUSSELL. 49 the world, prevailed with me to sign petitions for my life, to which I was ever averse ; for (I thank God) though in all respects I have lived the happiest and contentedest man in the world, (for now very near fourteen years,) yet I am so willing to leave all, that it was not without dilli- culty that I did any thing for the saving of my life, that was begging ; but I was willing to let my friends see what power they had over me, and that I was not obstinate nor sullen, but would do any thing that an honest man could do for their satisfaction, which was the only motive tha| swayed or had any weight with me. " And now to sum up all, as I had not any design against the king's life, or the life of any man whatsoever, so I never was in any contrivance of altering the govern- ment. What the heats, passions, and vanities of other men have occasioned, I ought not to be responsible for, nor could I help them, though I now suffer for them. But the will of the Lord be done, into whose hands I com- mend my spirit ! and trust that Thou, O most merciful Father, hast forgiven all my transgressions, the sins of my youth, and all the errors of my past life, and that Thou wilt not lay my secret sins and ignorances to my charge, but will graciously support me during that small time of life now before me, and assist me in my last mo- ments, and not leave me then to be disordered by fear, or any other temptation, but make the light of thy coun- tenance to shine upon me. Thou art my sun and my shield, and as thou supportest me by thy grace, so I hope thou wilt hereafter crown me with glory, and receive me into the fellowship of angels and saints, in that blessed inheritance purchased for me by my most merciful Re- deemer, who is, I trust, at thy right hand, preparing a place for me, and is ready to receive me ; into whose hands I commend my spirit !" The speech of Lord Russell to the sheriffs, and the paper )ie delivered to them at the place of execution, are still preserved at Woburn- Abbey in letters of gold. The speech was so soon printed, that it was selling about the streets an hour after Lord Russell's death. The King and the Duke of York were extremely angry. Doctor Burnet was accused of advising and assisting in it, and was called before the King to answer for himself. At the command of the monarch he read to him a journal containing a minute account of all that had passed be- tween him and Lord Russell, which he had written at the request of Lady Russell. The light in which this pre- sented the noble-minded victim was quite as displeasing to the Court as the paper delivered to the sheriffs had been ; and Dr. Burnet was universally considered as a ruined man. Lady Russell, in these first days of her despondency, was aroused to address a letter to the King, to repel the attack made upon her husband's memory, by thus deny- ing the authenticity of the papers he left. In this letter she does full justice to Dr. Burnet's conduct and senti- ments. LADY Russell's letter to charles ii. 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 appeased with his blood, but still con- tinue to misrepresent him to your Majesty. 'Tis a great addition to my sorrows to hear your Majesty is prevailed upon to believe, that the paper he delivered to the she- riffs at his death was not his own. I can truly say, and am ready in the solemnest manner to attest, that I often heard him discourse the chiefest matters contained in that paper, in the same expressions he therein uses, as some of those few relations that were admitted to him can like- wise aver. And sure 'tis 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 as we like, or are accustomed to, in our conversation. I beg leave farther to avow to your Majesty, that all that is set down in the paper read to your Majesty on Sunday night, * to be spoken in my presence, is exactly true ; as I doubt VOL. III. NO. XXI. * The Journal. T 261 50 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 51 I ii 11 III not but the rest of the paper is, which was written at my request, and the author of it in all his conversation with my husband, that I was privy to, showed 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 Majesty would be so chari- table 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 his own, what was not properly and ex- pressly so. And if, after the loss in such a manner of the best husband in the world, I were capable of any conso- lation, your Majesty only could afford it by having bet- ter thoughts of* him, which, when I was so importunate to speak with your Majesty, I thought I had some reason to beheve I should have inclined you to, not from the credit of my word, but upon the evidence of what I had to sav. I hope I have written nothing in this that will displease your Majesty. If I have, I humbly beg of you to consider it as comiiiq: from a woman amazed with grief: and that you will pardon the daughter of a person who served your Majesty's father in his greatest extremi- ties, (and your Majesty in your greatest posts,) and one that is not conscious of having ever done any thing to offend you (before). I shall ever pray for your Majesty's long life and happy reign. Who am, with all humility. May it please your Majesty," &c. Not long after this, Dr. Burnet was discharged from preaching the Thursday lecture at St Clement's, for a ser- mon on the words — " Save me from the lion's mouth thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns This was thought of dangerous construction, because tht lion and unicorn supported the king's escutcheon ; sj timid a thing is tvranny ! He was soon after dismissed from being preacher of the Rolls. On the accession of James the second, he deemed it safe to leave England ; during his reign he resided in Holland, enjoying the 262 friendship and confidence of the Prince and Princess of Orange, who afterward came to the Ens^lish throne. Vio- lent pamphlets against Lord Russell, full of bloody charges, were published by those hirelings, of whom plenty may be found in every age and country, always ready to bow 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 sorrow, 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 com- passionate my distress, 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 unwor- thy a creature, that though I have desires, yet I have no dispositions or worthiness toward 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 a one, it may be questioned how few can glory in the like happiness, so consequently lament the like loss. Who can but shrink from such a blow, till, by the mighty aids of his Holy Spirit, we will 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 1 my understanding is clouded, my faith weak, sense strong, and the devifbusy to fill my thoughts with false notions, difficulties, and doubts, as of a future condition ; * 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 discouragement!* of my own thoughts. I know I have deserved my pun - ishment, and will be silent under it ; but yet secretly my heart mourns, too sadly, 1 fear, and cannot be comforted, because I have not the dear companion 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 unwelcome, 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 quitting a lesser good for a bigger? Oh! if I did steadfastly be- lieve, I could not be so dejected ; for I will not injure myself to say, I offer my mind any inferior consolation to supply this loss. No : I most willingly forsake this world — this vexatious, troublesome world, in which I have no other business than to rid my soul of sin,^secure, by III faith and a good conscience, my eternal interests, — with lllii • » • •.•i'» J 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 perfection in God's good time, when, by his infinite mercy, I may — be accounted worthy to enter into the 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 continu- ance of your prayers, for your infinitely afflicted, but very faithful servant, « R. Russell." DR. BURNET TO LADY RUSSELL. Feb. 2. 1684. (( * Some words are lost in this sentence. 264 I can truly say, the vast ve- neration I have for your Ladyship, both upon his account to whom "you were so dear, and on your own, which in- creaseth with every letter I receive from you, makes me impatient if any thing occur that might be matter of cen- sure.* I know you act by worthy and noble principles, and you have so strange a way of expressing yourself, that I sincerely acknowledge my pen is apt to drop out of my hand when I begin to write to you, for I am very sensible I cannot rise up to your strain. I am confident God has * This refers to some advice about a matter not explained, pro- bably something which he feared would offend the government. 265 54 BIOGRAPHY OF not bestowed such talents on you, and taken such pains, both by kind and severe providences, to distinguish you from most other women in the world, but on a design to make you an instrument of much good ; and I am very glad you intend to employ so much of your own time in the education of your children, that they shall need no other governess ; for as it is the greatest part of your duty, so it will be a noble entertainment to you, and the best di- version and cure of your wounded and wasted spirits. I long so much to see your Ladyship, and those about you, in this employment, that I hope you will pardon me,^ if I beg leave to come down and wait on you, when the Master of the Rolls goes out of town ; for since it was not thought fit that I should go on with the Thursday's lecture, I am master of my own time during the weeks of the vacation ; and I will esteem that which I hope to pass at Woburn as the best of them. I will not touch in all this letter vour deep and ever green and tender wound. I beheve the touching of it in the softest manner, gives more pain than all I can say about it can mitigate ; and therefore I shall say no more of it, but that it comes in iLS large a part of my best thoughts that God would give you such an inward sense of his love, and of the wisdom and kindness of his providence, and of the blessed state to which he has raised that dearest part of yourself, and whither the rest will follow in due time, that all these thini's may swallow up the bitter sense of the terrible stroke you lie under, and may possess you with these true and solid joys that are the only proper cure for such a wound. But I will dwell no longer on so dismal a sub- ject, for I am afraid you dwell too much on it. * ♦ * Now the business of the printer* is at an end; and, considering how it was managed, it has dwindled to a very small fine, which one may well say was either too much or too httle. The true design of the prosecu- tion was to find me in it, and so the printer was tampered with much to name the author." # * « ■ The printer was convicted of printing a libel, called Lord Ruasell's Speech, and, having made his submission, was fined only 20 marks. 266 LADY RUSSELL. Mr. Hoskins, a lawyer, on whose good sense and dis- cretion Lady Russell had great reHance, thus writes to her : — " I am much pleased to hear your Ladyship so resolved to follow your business. Your Ladyship will requnre less help than most others, and are so much va- lued, that there is nobody of worth but will be glad to serve you. Nothing but your sorrows can hinder you doing all that is to be done ; and give me leave. Madam, as often as it comes in my way, to mind your Ladyship, that the hopes your dear Lord had, that you would bear his loss with magnanimity, and nothing would be wanting to his children, loosened all the hold this world had of him." Having been some time at Woburn- Abbey with her, in March 1684, the same gentleman, after treating of business, says, " I wish I could find your Ladyship had a little more overcome your mighty grief. To see how it had wasted your body, how heavy it lay upon your mind, and how hardly you struggled with it, made me melan- choly all the time I was at Woburn. * » * At all times and places I shall sadly reflect on your Lady- ship, and pray that God would comfort you, and lift up your drooping spirit." In the April following, after some details about her affairs, he writes — " I do indeed wish w^ell to your Lady- ship's affairs ; but what most concerns me is, to see you so overwhelmed with grief. I should not doubt their good success, were you not so much oppressed with that : it pities me to see how hard you struggle with it, and how doubtful it is which will overcome. Continue, good Madam, to do your utmost,— the more you strive, the more God will help. All the Httle service that I have done, or can do your Ladyship, are not worth half the notice you take of them. ' There cannot be a greater pleasure in the world than serving a person I so much value, both on your own account, and upon his of whom you were so deplorably bereft." But as Lady Russell had never been selfish in pros- perity, neither would she be selfish in sorrow. In the midst of her affecting struggles with her " mighty grief," 267 56 BIOGRAPHY OP LADY RUSSELL. 37 »he neglected no immediate duty, either to the memory of her Lord — ^to her own children — or the children of her beloved sister. By the condemnation of Lord Rus- seH for treason, the trust of Lady Elizabeth Noel's chil- dren devolved upon the King, In a letter concerning tll0 re-settlement of her sister's trust, Mr. Hoskins Says — >" I cannot but very much approve the great care you have of my Lady Elizabeth NoePs children, answerable to your near relation and great friendship." LADY RUSSELL TO DR. FITZWILLIAM. " *Tis above a fortnight, I believe, good Doctor, since I received your comforting letter, and 'tis displeasing to me that I am but now sitting down to tell yon 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 dis- charge well or wisely, especially under the oppressions I feel ; — ^however, 'tis my lot, and a part of my duty re- maining to my choicest friend, and those pledges he has left me. That remembrance makes me do my best, and so occasions the putting by such employments as suit bet- ter my present temper of mind, such as I am now about. If in the multitude of those sorrows that possess my soul, I find any refreshments, (though, alas ! such are but mo- mentary,) 'tis by casting off some of my crowded thoughts to compassionate friends, such as deny not to weep with those that weep, or in reading such discourses and advices as four letter supplies me with. ♦ • » You deal with me, Sir, just as I would be dealt withal ; and 'tis possible I feel the more smart from my raging griefs, because I would not take them off, but upon fit considerations : 'tis easiest to our natures to have our deep wounds gently handled ; yet as most profitable, I would yield, nay, desire to have mine searched, that, as you rehgiously design it, they may not fester. 'Tis pos- sible I grasp at too much of this kind, for a spirit so broke by affliction. I am so jealous that time or necessity, (tie ordinary abater of all violent passions,) nay, even 268 employment, or company of such friends as I have left, should do that which my reason or religion ought to do, as makes me covet the best advices, and use ^methods to obtain such a relief^ as I can ever hope for-.-a silent submission to this severe and terrible providence, without any ineffective unwillingness to bear what I must suffer ; and to gain such a victory over myself, that, when once allayed, immoderate passions may not be apt to break out again upon fresh occasions and accidents, 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 which is incumbent on me, in faithfulness to him I owe as much as can be due to man, it may be with 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 on me, humbly imploring, that by the mighty aids of his Holy Spirit, he will touch my heart with greater love to himself, — then I shall be what he would have me. But I am unworthy of such spiritual blessings, 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 ex- pect 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 that great enemy of souls, taking all advantage upon my present weak and wasted spirits — assaulting me with divers temptations, as when I have in any measure overcome one kind, I find another in the room : when I am less afflicted, then I find reflections troubling me, as omissions of some sort or other ; that if either greater persuasions had been used he had gone away, or some errors at the tri^ amended, or other applications made, he might hav^ heePi^cquitted, and so yet have been in the land pf the living (though I discharge not these things as faults upon myself, yet as ag- gravations, to my sorrow) ; so that not being certain of our time being appointed, beyond which we cannot pass, my heart shrinks to think his time possibly was shortened ^ 269 1 58 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 59 by unwise management. I believe I do ill to torment myself with such unprofitable thoughts." LADY RUSSELL TO DR. FITZWILLIAM. Wohnm Abheij, April 20, 1 684. * * « « The future part of my life will not, I expect, pass as I would just choose : sense has been long enough gratified ; indeed so long, I know not how to live by faith ; yet the pleasant stream that fed it near fourteen years together, being gone, I have no sort of refreshment, but when I can repair to that living fountain, from whence all flows : while I look not at the things which are seen, but at those which are not seen, expecting that day which will settle and com- pose all my tumultuous thoughts in perpetual peace and quiet ; but I am undone, irrevocably so, as to my tem- poral longings and concerns. Time runs on, and usually wears oflF some of that sharpness of thought inseparable with my circumstances, but 1 cannot experience such an eflFect ; every week making me more and more sensible of the miserable change in my condition ; but the same merciful hand which has held me up from sinking in the extremest calamities, will, I verily believe, do so still, that I faint not to the end in this sharp conflict, nor add sin to my grievous weight of sorrows, by too high a discon- tent, which is all I have now to fear. You do, I doubt not, observe I let my pen run on too greedily upon this subject : indeed it is very hard upon me to restrain it, especially to such as pity my distress, and would assist toward my relief any way in their power. * * * * * I am entertaining some thoughts of going to that now desolate place Stratton for a few days, where I must expect new amazing reflections at first, it being a place where I have lived in sweet and full content ; considered the condition of others, and thought none deserved my envy : but I must pass no more such days on earth; however, places are indeed nothing. Where can I dwell that his figure is not present to me I Nor would I have it otherwise ; so I resolve that shall 270 be no bar, if it prove requisite for the better acquitting any obligation upon me. That which is the immediate one, is settling, and indeed giving up the trust, my dear lord had from my best sister. Fain would I see that per- formed as I know he would have done it had he lived. If I find I can do as I desire in it, I will (by God's permis- sion) infallibly go ; but indeed not to stay more than two or three weeks, my children remaining here, who shall ever have my dili'ocl. VOL. III. NO. XXI. U ^77 66 BIOGRAPHY OF Lady kussell. 67 principles that were so, unless misguided by ^s under- standing, and that his own, "O*"""* "*' t thintcoS: as he could discern, he never went into any «ing cona "e!Lwe upon the mere submi^on to ^ on«'s p^^^^^^^^ iudrnient: Now his own, I know, he could never have SS o have thought well of the late actmg^ J^ before most probably must have set loose from them But I am afraid his excellent heart, had>e>'ved, would have been often pierced, from the tune hs We was tak^n awav to this. On the other hand, hav ng, I trust, a rea Sfe ground of hope he has found tWe --«^^^^^^^ he died with a cheerful persuasion he should, there is no rtson to mourn my los^' when that soul I loved so well lives in felicities, and shall do so to all eternity. The rapid strides of James the Second toward the sub- versionTthe religion and constitution of England were ^orunmarked by Lady Russell. Her letters show that tl "ooTa strong interest in the political news of the day, hough always with a reference to him whose memory she WthfullytreLured in her heart. Speaking of the depraved tfrnes she says-" The new scenes of each day make mc Xn'conc Je myself very void of temper and reas-. that I still shed tears of sorrow and not of joy, that so good a man is safe landed on the happy shore of a bWd Lrnity. Doubtless he is at rest, thbugh I find "one without him, so true a partner he was in all my joys and TfXvour to suppress all wild imaginations a melan- S fancy is apt t^o'let in, and say, ^th the man in the gospel, * I believe, help thou mine unbehef. Lady Russell was detained m London much longer than she intended or wished. Her uncle, M. de Rou- Xny, had come from France to solicit James the Second fof the removal of the attainder of Lord Russell from h.. children. He brought with him his wife and mece ;^^^^^^^ the young lady was unfortunately seized with the small- 273 pox and died. Lady Russell, at the earnest entreaties of her uncle, immediately conveyed her children to their grandfather's, at Bedford-House in the Strand, and after- ward saw the little tribe safely lodged in Wobum- Abbey. She writes to Dr. Pltzwilliam : — " I returtied myself to Bedford- House, to take my last leave (for so I take it to be) of as kind a relation, and as zealous, tender a friend as ever any body had.* To my uncle and aunt their niece was an inexpressible loss, but to herself death was the contrary. She died (as most do) as she had lived — a pattern to all who knew her. As her body ^ew weak, her faith and hope grew strong, comforting her com- forters, and edifying all about her, — ever magnifying the goodness of God, that she died in a country where she could in peace give up her soul to him that made it.f What a glorious thing. Doctor, it is to live and die as sure as she did ! I heard my uncle and aunt say, that in seven years she had been with them, they never could tax her with a failure in her piety or her prudence ; yet she had been roughly attacked, as the French Gazettes will tell you." Among the MSS. at Woburn- Abbey are preserved copies, in Lady Russell's handwriting, of two letters from the Marquis de Rouvigny to the King, and notes of se- veral conversations with his ministers, Hyde and Godol- phin, upon the subject of removing the attainder from Lord Russell's children. This was promised from time to time, with the insincerity that characterized the court. Among these papers is one indorsed by Lady Russell, — " Some discourses upon a visit from the Lord Trea- surer [Hyde] to me. " The Lord Treasurer told me that my uncle had seemed to have set the effecting it much on his heart, and with the greatest kindness to me imaginable. I told my Lord I believed it, and indeed the friendship was so * The Marquis de Rouvigny. t The Hugonots were then cruelly persecuted in France. 279 i 68 BIOGRAPHY OF LADY RUSSELL. 69 surprising, his Lordship knew very well the world im- puted his coming to England to some o^her^^.f «'/'*]?! least thought he had been earnestly mvited to it : for the last, I poltively affirmed he had not been; but as to ithe tirst, it was too deep for me to judge of. At the same time, I am sure nothing can be done/«i me now, that can diminish, or to me, that can augment what J ff \ m * ♦ I do assure vour Lordship I have much more care to make my children worthy to be great, than to see them so. 1 wi» do what I can they may deserve to be so, and then qmetly wait what will follow. That I am very solicitous, 1 con- fess, to do my duty in such a manner to the children ot one I owe as much as can be due to man, that if my son lives, he may not justly say hereafter, that if he had had a mother less ignorant, or less neghgent, he had not then been compelled to seek for what, perhaps, he may then have a mind to have." After her uncle's return to France, she rejoined her children at Woburn-Abbey. The last of November 16S5, she writes—" I believe it may be near Christmas before my Lord Bedford removes for the winter, but 1 have not yet discoursed with him about it, nor how long he desires our company ; so whether I will come before him, or make one company, I know not ;— he shall please himself, for I have no will in these matters, nor can like one thing or way better than another, if the use and con- veniences be aUke to the young creatures, whose service IS all the business I have in this world, and for their good I intend all diligence in the power of your obliged servant, " R. Russell." In January 1686, Lord Delamere was tried for par- taking in the Duke of Monmouth's rebellion, and was acquitted. This circumstance painfully reminded Lady Russell of her husband's harder fate. Speaking of this event, she says—" I do bless God that he has caused me to take offence at sol "•''""' " '"""''^ he wrong rious part of the to^^nh7"J^:T'"'V '^' '^-^- for the sake of talk. Tmt Z h. •"' '"l^ '"""« "P°n and not answering q„estio™ " '"'"'"»" ""^ ^'"S U Charlto^ 2 iTj^y^et^/dlr'^"""" '^^ ''^ ^r. had given himself hVownelsent^'li'^ 'T ^ •>« found him under great ,mn,,;^ , ^* told me he him with his thouK whT sIT'k '"''"" ^^ ''*1"»'nted anxieties a man could feel how to' bl\r^ ""•'^' »" '^e 't was then but a thought orM. " '° ""'' 'hough ''ould not conceal from me. M^ rT"', /"' ^. ■»»«=»• he "■ me. Mr, Charlton undertook to 307 96 BIOGRAPHY OF tell me. and I did as soon resolve to let it pass, as easy between him and me, as I could, by bidding Mr. Charl- ton let him know I would begin to him. I did so, wkch put us both ia some disorder, but I beheve he took as I meant it, kindly. A decency m time was all I e»pe<=ted. In 1718, she writes, "My very long acquaintance. Lady Essex, is no longer of this world ; but not to be Ument^in relation to herself, being certainly sincerely de"out in those points we ought to make our biggest care." Lady Kussell was now eighty-two years old ; and many of her cotemporaries, as well as many a one who^ coui^e had begun long after hers, had gone a"»y "H^^ one after another, and left her almost alone in this vale of tears. Yet we find her to the last, keeping up a con- stant and affectionate intercourse with her daughter her erandchildren, her nieces, and her friends, bhe was in- terested in their happiness, sympathized with their sor- rows, and her advice was always sought for, when (hfficul- ties of any kind arose. Indeed the conscienUous Lady Russell seems herself to have been the only one in the world who ever discovered that she Imd any ^"1'^ The following charges against herself were found "T"|X'^& to me, I fear. O Lord! in all I say, in all I do. In all I suffer, proud, not enduring to dights and neglects, subject to envy the good parU of others, ^en as to worldly gifts. FaiUng in my duty to my su- perior! apt to be'sSon angry with, and without cause too ofteu7 an5 by it may have grieved those that desired to p eaLe me. o/ provoked others to sin by my rash anger, ilot ready to own any advantage I may have je^eived by eood advice or example. Not well saUsfied if I have not !S the respect I expected, even from «ny superiors Such has been the pride of my naught heart. I fear, and »Jso neglect in my performances due to my supeno^, oJiildren, friends, or servants. I heartily lament my ».n. But, alas! in my most dear husband's roubles, seeking help from man, but finding none. H.s life was take. away, and so sorely was my spirit wounde.1, even witho" prospect of future comfort and consolation-the more 308 •'*'''' StJSSELU faulty in mp I, ■ 97 ''«• But,lj"^,\*^"^tion as iththiT"^ ^'^ ««• I-ord ! even fJ°^^^ *<> me, yet thn,. I, . ^^^ ^^ath .Even after rshaTf- t° ^' '»''^"t at t^ '"1^''^ '" i"& my time chl Lm '"^ ""'' ^an^er at A '',''"''"= °"«^- ^«"' at the sa P?' ^""'^ ^ontent'ed j uj ^f^ '««d a '» please her 4?"' ""''' and tlllZ'Z" 'T'*"' '"d ^tinued t^ ofinT"'^^" years of ™y ^'^er-in-Ja^ Pl'ys, and trifli„;i;/''^e towp, as thrParr"j'lf. «" to London, I c^l^.y P^^'^'oustime 4, "*"'"?' Sunday to BoT .'^^'^fect that I ^™IH i^* "WTefurn "vhen, at mv fi#^^^' dinner, and aft^ ® sennon co"«e more^eHY • '' '^^ se™on if f'' '''"% talk ; England. I„ hT'/' "?? several muLl^V^'f ^""^ fi«t child; with hP" ^^^^' '^« ^m^hi 1° J^^'^^ and "Stew ; I donhf ^ '.""e as beforS m.?[ -^^ strength ^r '°° »u h^„7^"dg!. and iter', fn"'"' ">' '- idleness. At flafh 7 '""" '» oareSJ^' f .^alh, """" '". -NO. xxr ^ ""^ "«e i" diveL" ^"""'^ 'he • **'■ y "'"eRion, and think- 309 ^g BIOGRAPHY, &C. i„g but little what was serious ; consid^™^ "teS of body, than that of my soul. ^^^.^^ and slolh i» ^P-tuak./o£-'j^;";eShat sometimes « After this, I must stiU ?«»»« ""> .^'^ ^.^^ in good ;„ Wales, and other t.mes ^nh^^ni my «. e ^^ ^J, ^^^ Has not suited to my du^ t w. h tW ^^^^ i'^r mv God for he mercies of the past day, and re- thee, my t'"'*' 7^, V „ omissions of domg good collected my os. '"'^g;- JJ ,„efuUy fixing my wdl my power. Not in the mor .j ^^ and purpose to pa»s "le aay P' ^ , ^^^^ as under giving g^d e-7':;,° -".trC "3 marriage, for- ^Jtt^^iXseXS I was sJhappy, consuming too much time with him. .. n [ The end wanting.i . , T A B.,«ell alter a few days' illness, during which Lady ""^seU, alter a • j Devonshire, died she was -"ended by the Duch-s ot^^^ ^^^ ^ September 29th, 17 i3, in ner o/ J pjWimage for her beloved husband forty y«^?T? ^jPL^d be God, one whose heart was ever with h.m. Ble^se we believe in a heavenly home, «he « her pure q spirit has gone to eJY - sterna union ^.^^ ^^^^ j, principles revered in the other. NOTE. LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO. Udy Russeir. Letters, from ofjln^s^^n^in, to the Duke of Devonshire; with some account other ue ^^ j^^^ Lady Russell's Letters, from ^"^^y"^^^^^^^ Duke of Bedford, with minutes of Lord Russell Hume's History of England. Burnet's History of his Own Times. La Biographic Universelle. 310 > r GAYL/ PAMPHI 942.06 OCT 1 2 1953