THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY Presented in 1923 By Professor Evarts Boutell Greene 920.7 B 76 9 this material is re- fi:pt::rocr :nT::xit''r- — the University. ^ dismissal from To renew coll Telephone Center, 333-8400 ....A., „ feToT^ L161 I ' rr If *#: Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/aboverubiesormemOObrig memorials of CHRISTIAN GENTLEWOMEN BY MISS BRIGHTWELL, author of “annals of industry and genius,” etc. “ Her price is far above rubies.” A woman lliat feareth the Lord, she sliall be praised.” Proverbs xxxi. 10, 30. LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW: EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK. 1865. szbj 1 ®"'^ sao.1 N the series of biographical sketches contained in this volume, the reader will find, if I mis- take not, some choice examples of feminine excellence and worth. Many of these— my favourite heroines — have not, indeed, been distinguished for re- markable deeds of courage or daring; but all were kind- hearted and true, firm friends, and exemplary in the dis- charge of domestic duties. I am persuaded the Wise King would have prized each of them “ far above rubies,” and have placed them all in the category of those daughters who have ‘‘done virtuously,” and whose “ works praise them in the gates.” Much is heard in the present day of woman’s mission, and it is very pleasant to see on all sides such satisfactory evidence that feminine zeal has been kindled, while we observe, with mingled wonder and delight, the noble self-devotion of certain highly-cultivated and superior women, who, in a perilous crisis, and under the pressure 5r4r,f>‘} IV PREFACE. of extraordinary circumstances, have performed rare deeds of courage and high service. All honour to these heroines of our age and country. They show what the feebler nature of woman is capable of, when animated by Christian principle and pure charity. It is not, indeed, given to many of the sex to run a course so arduous, and win the palm assigned to such exalted merit; but, in the quiet, unobtrusive, and com- mon-place duties of the household, most women may find their proper sphere, and employ themselves both usefully and honourably. And there is, for such, sweet encouragement in the thought that home-duties, fulfilled in a right spirit, are approved by God, as well as accept- able to man. I am persuaded that the example set by every good woman is calculated to encourage and help others; and when we are able to trace in the life-story of such an one the whole of her course, we may see how, step by step, she progressed, learning wisdom by experience, gaining strength and discretion by the exercise of watchful care, and thus becoming qualified to govern her household in a right way. Above all, we are taught by the failures, as well as by the successes of others, not to despair when diniciillies assail us, nor to give over hojie when storms obscure for a season that sky we long to see ever serene and im clouded. PREFACE. T Not a few of those who are commemorated in the following pages had to pass through deep waters of affliction, and learned, in the school of adversity, the highest lessons of wisdom and virtue. Happy they who act well the part assigned them here by Providence. Most happy who, with loving trustful spirit, tread the narrow path that leadeth unto life, and enter at last their Father’s house, welcomed with the approving words, “ Well done, good and faithful servant!” C L. BRIGHTWELL. Norwich, 1S64. I. ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, AND HER DAUGHTER LADY ANNE LINDSAY, ... II. MADAME GUIZOT AND HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, HI. CAROLINE PERTHES, IV. MRS. GRANT, OF LAGGAN, V. MADAME NECKER, VI. LADY FANSHAWE, VII. WINIFRED HERBERT, COUNTESS OF NITHISDALE, VIH. LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA, IX. MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY, ... ‘ X. KATHERINE VON BORA, LUTHER’s WIFE, XL MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON, Page 9 43 58 87 115 139 163 185 219 244 27s ♦ I. ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, AND HER DAUGHTER LADY ANNE LINDSAY. “ To narrate — the favourite amusement of old age ! And why not?” fN Lord Lindsay’s admirable Memoirs of the Houses of Crawford and Balcarres, there is a domestic portraiture drawn by the hand of one of the ladies of the family, which cannot fail to charm and edify every admirer of feminine excellence. Pro- bably many of the readers of these sketches may not have access to the original volumes, and they will, I persuade myself, be glad to have here a short memoir, obtained from the materials scattered through several chapters of the “ Lives of the Lindsays.” Anne, wife of James, fifth Earl of Balcarres, was the daughter of Sir Robert Dalrymple, of Castleton. She had early lost her father, and was brought up by her widowed mother, a placid and gentle woman, who pro- bably held the reins of maternal government with indul- gent hand. One incident of her youth, related by an lo ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, old friend of the family, proves that the girl had a noble and generous spirit : — when a very, very young woman, she had received a legacy of ;^5o; a humble friend, with a numerous family was beginning business, and in distress for a little ready money. Miss Dalrymple gave him her and being asked why she had not bestowed half of it only, she replied; “The half of it would have done him little good, and to go without the whole does me little harm.” This opportune gift was the making of the man, and we may well believe the generous maiden’s own feelings amply repaid her. When she grew up to womanhood the personal attrac- tions of Miss Dalrymple rendered her the object of general admiration; and she joined to them good sense, activity, a generous disposition, and abundant vivacity. “ She had,” says her daughter, “everything but softness;” had tliis most alluring charm been added to the rest, she would, in all probability, not have remained mistress of her hand and heart at the time she captivated the Earl of Balcarres. That nobleman had succeeded, in the year 1736, to the family titles and inheritance, the latter deeply em- barrassed by the Jacobite debts incurred by his father, lOarl Colin. Karl James had himself, when a youth, taken part in the insurrection of 1715, and the stigma remained on him through life. 1 le served the Hanoverian kings, first as a sailor and afterwards as a soldier, all through the vigour of his life, but as he had “drawn his sword for the Stuart,” lie was never allowed to rise to the rank even of a field oHicer. After a severe struggle of more than thirty years, “tired out with fruitless service, with thwarted ambilioii, and with vague hojies,” he sought, AND LAD Y ANNE LINDS A K II in the retirement of Balcarres, ^^a large and fine house, with gardens, great enclosures and much planting,” the quiet and happiness he so well deserved. He was a man of deep and ardent feeling whose affections had been concentrated upon his only brother and sister. By the death of the former, he was left, the chief of his clan and the last of his race ; but, while his beloved sister, Lady Elizabeth Lindsay, survived, he felt not solitary. Their mutual love was such as is rarely experienced by the busy mortals of earth ; each lived in the heart of the other, and they found, in the deep simple earnestness of the domestic affections, consolation and happiness amid much relative and personal trial. This admirable woman appears to have been a model of all that is amiable and excellent in her sex; ‘^She died,” says Earl James, in his memoirs, ^^unmarried, though extremely handsome, with the completest merit. She had a long tract of ill health, yet ever serene and cheerful, always entertaining from wisdom and the brightest imagination, yet never known in word or deed offensive to any one, as piety and goodness regulated her whole life. To the writer, she appeared the most perfect pattern of agreeable virtue he ever knew among man- kind.” The bereaved brother found himself now indeed alone. The few trusty servants who had accompanied his fortunes, the old library of books “which had made chemists and philosophers of all the moths in the castle,” and even the stores of a mind replete with ideas and enriched with varied information, did not suffice to fill the void. Some- thing, he perceived was wanted to complete his satis* faction. 12 AJVN£, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, The picture of her father is admirably drawn by the pen of Lady Anne Lindsay: “Had the honest people who composed his society possessed discernment to know the treasure they had acquired, they would have blessed the illiberality of King George, who had refused him that rank which many years of faithful service then entitled him to. “The accomplished gentleman, the reasoning philo- sopher, the ardent soldier, the judicious farmer, and the warm partisan, my father argued on everything, discussed everything, with fire and ability; but concluded every subject with the beauty and wrongs of the fair Mary Queen of Scots, and with the base union of the two crowns, which had left the peers of Scotland without Parliament and without consequence. “These were topics of inexhaustible disapprobation. No guest escaped from his table without his sentiments being sounded, and, whether opposed or not. Lord Bal- carres always ended in a passion, and was sorry for it till he sinned again. That which made his greatest difficulty was the old attachment of a Jacobite amidst the habits of a Whig; his blue and white as a seaman, his scarlet and yellow as a soldier, shut up his lips from abusing the reigning Government; yet, certain it is, that while he fought over again the battles of George L, his eye kindled wlien the year fifteen was mentioned, with an expression that showed his heart to be a fiiithful subject yet to the old d'ory cause.” As we have intimated, the carl, after a time, grew weary of Palcarres and the society of his neighbours, who, though well educated for country gentlemen, were unable to coj)C witli a man of his calibre. J Ic needed something AND LAD Y ANNE LINDS A K n which he could not well define; and, willing to discover what it could be, he left his old mansion and went to drink the waters of Moffat, at about fifty miles dis- tant. It was there he met with Miss Dalr}^mple; she had arrived a short time before with her mother, and they and Lord Balcarres were invited to the same party. It was at the house of a Mrs. L , who had an unmarried niece. In the early part of the evening the young ladies were playfully speculating as to their success in capti- vating the new arrival. ^'You need not give yourselves so much trouble,’' said Miss Dalrymple, laughing; know he will fix on me.” She had never then seen him. When he made his entry late in the evening, Mrs. L said to him, in badinage, ‘‘My Lord, here is choice for you !” naming the young ladies present. His eye glanced with the keenest eagerness at each of the fair circle; he came round, and, to Miss Dalrymple’s dismay and astonishment, laid his finger on her shoulder and said, “I fix here!” Lady Dalrymple and her daughter imme- diately returned to Edinburgh, whither Lord Balcarres followed them, deeply smitten with his charmer. “ She was fair, blooming, and lively,” continues Lady Anne, “her beauty and embonpoint charmed my dear, tall, lean, majestic father; at sixty he began to love with the enthusiasm of twenty-five. Lord Balcarres had now discovered what it was that he stood in need of; that it was the society of a charming princess to add to that of his books, — a princess less unfortunate and more alive than our old friend Queen Mary. But though Miss Dalrymple respected and looked up to him, she was not disposed to pass the bounds of 14 AjVJV£:, countess of balcarres, gratitude for his marked admiration of her. Lord Bal- carres was almost sixty, and what was worse, the world reckoned him eighty ! Though his aspect was noble and his air and deportment showed him at once to be a man of rank, yet there was no denying that a degree of singu- larity attended his appearance. To his large brigadier wig, which hung down with three tails, he generally added a few curls of his own application, which, I suspect, would not have been reckoned quite orthodox by the trade. His shoe, which resembled nothing so much as a little boat with a cabin at the end of it, was slashed with his penknife for the benefit of giving ease to his honest toes; there — there, he slashed it where he chose to slash, without an idea that the world or its fashions had the smallest right to smile at his shoe; had they smiled, he would have smiled too, and probably said, “Odsfish ! I believe it is not like other people's, but as to that, look, d’ye see? what matters it whether so old a fellow as my- self wears a shoe or a slipper?” To these peculiarities of appearance and dress was added the calamity of almost total deafness, which was occasioned (an affecting proof of his goodness) by tlie sensitive tenderness of his nature. The death of his brother, to whom, as has been said, lie was devotedly attached, had so nervously affected him that it suddenly took from him the use of his hearing, which was never tolerably restored. Yet, notwithstanding all these draw- liacks, the charms of his company and conversation exerted a j)owerfiil attraction in society, while the bene- volence of his heart, the liberality of his sentiments, and the uncommon extent of his information secured him the friendship of the learned and the good. AND LAD Y ANNE LINDS A K 15 This, as his daughter says, was a character which could only be taken in the aggregate. “Lord Balcarres had proposed. Miss Dalrymple had not courage to accept ; she refused him — fully, frankly, finally, refused him. It hurt him deeply — he fell sick, his life was despaired of Every man of sense may know that a fever is the best oratory a lover can use ; a man of address would have fevered upon plan, but the fever of my simple-hearted father was as real as his disappointment. Though grieved, he had no resentment; he settled upon her the half of his estate — ^she learnt this from his man of business — he recovered, though slowly — and in one of those emotions of gratitude, so virtuous at the moment but which sometimes hurry the heart beyond its calmer impulse — she married him.’^ This singular marriage proved a happy one. “She brought him,” said the fond husband — “an approved merit, with all the ornaments of beauty. She gave him a numerous offspring and all other blessings, and thus possessed of the rational and natural felicities so over- looked in this vain world, he became thankful to his Maker for his disappointments in the visionary aims that so disturb the minds of men.” In a short time the old family chateau became again the cheerful residence of a domestic circle, and was, in due course, repeopled with a tribe of merry children. The eldest of these. Lady Anne, became, in after years, the memorialist of her family, and her recollections, full of animation, spirit, and intelligence, possess especial interest as descriptive of a period, and style of life and manners long since passed away. Of her mother she speaks as a woman of high principle, i6 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, possessed of inherent dignity without pride, and the reality of that which many try to assume by lofty manners and external appointments. Married when only twenty- two to a man who was on the verge of sixty, she spent the earlier years of her married life in acting up, in all points, to her sense of duty. Her daughter, while regretting that she had not more of the tenderness and softer affections so attractive in young women, utters this high eulogium upon her conduct, — ‘H have rarely seen any woman, enjoying as she did, the admiration that her beauty and animation naturally attracted, who retained the same purity of manners and innocence of heart. She never lost sight for a moment of her being the wife of a most respectable but very old man, and this recollection restrained into caution a vivacity that never exceeded the bounds of the most critical propriety, and taught her daughters, I hope, that cheerfulness might be indulged without levity and ingenuous openness without impru- dence. Honour, magnanimity, and justice guided the whole of her conduct, and she laid down, as the laws of the Medes and Persians, the absolute necessity of our being always governed by them. In short, my dear mother was a woman to make men of men, and wise women of silly ones.” No wonder her husband praised her. “Time daily adds to her goodness and comi)lacency,” he says, when writing of her to his mother-in-law; and so entirely could lie rely upon her prudence and sagacity that he gave ii]) to her the entire management of the house and the chil- dren, rarely interfering in her jurisdiction, unless when he found what he thought little misdemeanours punished too severely when he would occasionally cry, “ Otlsfish, AND LADY ANNE LINDS A V 17 madam ! you will break the spirits of my young troop — I will not have it so.” Lady Anne has charmingly described the youthful progeny of her father’s marriage. There had long existed a prophecy that the first child of the House of Balcarres was to restore the family of Stuart to their hereditary rights, and expectation was raised high upon the occa- sion. So much the greater were the dismay and dis- appointment of the Jacobite friends of the family when Lady Balcarres gave birth to a daughter — ‘'after all, absolutely but a daughter— that child was the Anne Lindsay who now addresses you, and in the arms of my nurse I promised to be a little heiress, perhaps a heroine worthy of having my name posted on the front of a novel. But twelve succeeding years robbed me of my prospects by enriching me with ten friends whom I would not now exchange for that crown which it was foretold I was to have placed on the brows of the Pretender. “ My father’s patience was happily rewarded next year by the birth of a son and heir, my dear Cummerland. A twelvemonth after came my beloved Margaret; Robert and Colin followed them as soon as possible ; James,. William, Charles, and John did not lag long behind ; my dear little sister Elizabeth almost closed the pro- cession, though not entirely ; Hugh, though last not least beloved, finishes my list. “ Queen Mary herself and the evils arising to the Scot- tish nobility by the Union, gave sometimes way to the pride of my father’s heart when we all entered the room after dinner. It has even been known, though rarely, that he stopped short when abusing Queen Elizabeth, to ( 82 ) 2 i8 ANNEy COUNTESS OF BALCARRESy say to his guests, ‘Look at those brave fellows and charming princesses ! ’ ” Unfortunately for these young nurselings, it was not the system of that century to treat children with gentle- ness, everything was done by authority and by correc- tion ; and this was even in a still greater degree the case with the former generation, when no child was permitted to speak before or sit down in the company of its parents. This rigid discipline was not at all to the taste of Lady Anne, who was persuaded that the law of kind- ness would have worked far better, and that the little brood might have been led on, to every good purpose, by a single hair. But Lady Balcarres, seeing them all cheerful and tolerably good, was convinced that her government was the best possible, and so went her own way, “paying all reasonable attention to the point of health, taking the weekly account of our progress in the first rudiments of learning from the tutor, and chastising us with her own little white hand, which, though soft, was no slight species of flagellation.” That her ladyship’s chastisements were not severe enough seriously to damp the spirits of her young rebels is evident from the picture drawn of their proceedings by tlie .senior of the group : — “ As my mother’s family grew up in divisions, my brother Cuininei land, Margaret, Colin, along with Anne, formed the first battalion, to which I, being the eldest, generally elected myself cajitain ; and whether we stole tarts, robbed the garden, or possessed ourselves of the sjioils of the sugar box, all was common stock. “ As we conceived that the tasks of languages, geo- graphy, and arithmetic, under which we laboured, were AJVD LAD Y ANNE LINDS A Y. 19 harder than those laid on the children of Israel, which provoked a revolt, Margaret, who had a taste for public speaking, taking the lead, assembled us one day in a favourite resort of ours, and proposed an insurrection. She complained of hard laws and little play, and as- sured us, if we would be ruled by her, that she would carry us to a family where she had once spent a week after the whooping cough very agreeably indeed. She was certain they would receive us kindly, as they had no children of their own, they would make us welcome to live with them, which would be much better than the ‘ horrious ’ life we led at home. “ The proposal was agreed to with acclamations of joy, and we instantly set out on the journey, intending by forced marches to reach the neighbour’s house that night, as it was but three miles distant, and by the side of the sea ; but as we could not think of leaving little James behind, who had not yet got into breeches, it considerably retarded us, as we had to carry him by turns. Our flight was discovered by old Robin Gray, the shepherd : ‘ All the young gentlemen and the young ladies, and all the dogs are run away, my lady!’ A messenger being despatched, not to negotiate, but to bring us back nolens volens, the six criminals were car- ried before the countess, who declared that on this occasion whipping was too good for us, and that we should each have a dose of tincture of rhubarb, to teach us to stay at home — a punishment classically just in its degrees, as the eldest, consequently the most guilty, had the last and most offensive glass of the bottle.” So much for the adverse days of the young Lindsays. They had their sunshiny ones, however ; for. 20 AJVJVB, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, In spite of this, we were not without our pleasures. We often puddled in a glen at some little distance from the chateau, and were half way up the legs in water, along with our three esquires. Margaret’s dress and mine, perhaps, were not exactly calculated for bathing in : we wore yellow and silver silks, which had been made into slips out of an old wedding gown of Lady Balcarres’ ; the pattern, which had been done for one, being scanty for two, it had been flounced with blue gauze, which tucking up, with our trains of capacious silver flowers, and jumping in. Pharaoh’s daughter made a not more splendid appearance, when pulling Moses out from the bulrushes. Between the hours of twelve and one, while the tutor took his walk, we generally galloped down in squadron to visit the fat oxen in the farm-yard, partook of their turnips uninvited, and sat down on their lazy sirloins, paid our compliments to the swine, fed our pigeons, and played at swing. But there was in each week one whole day which I may call a happy one, and that was Sunday. On it, along with the manservant and the maid, the ox and the ass, we all enjoyed the privi- lege derived from the Fourth Commandment, of ‘doing no manner of work,’ save getting by rote twelve verses of a psalm, which we repeated to our tutor before break- fast, and in which I was always deficient unless I said my lesson the moment T had learnt it. We then walked lo cliurch, wliich was two miles distant, and listened with reverence to all we understood, and with smiles to the horrid discords with which a Presbyterian congrega- tion assails the ears — a discord to me now more pious’ in its sound of willing jiraise than all the organs or hired choir singers in the world, and exceeded by nothing in AND LADY ANNE LINDSAY 21 the sensations it awakens but by a congregation of con- verted Hottentots joining in one hymn.^ ‘‘We then returned to dinner, at which we all ap- peared, and after it received my father’s Sunday bounty, namely, eleven heaps of sweetmeats of all sorts and shapes, piled up by one of us according to my mother’s order, to teach us to calculate well, the compiler having the last heap, to insure justice being properly adminis- tered in the distribution. It was then remarkable that each child invariably chose the portion most out of his reach ; whether this may not go into something beyond the age of sugar plums, I leave you to say. The rest of the week was devoted to acquirements as I have men- tioned ; but, alas ! our house was not merely a school of acquirements, it was often a sort of Bastille, in every closet of which was a culprit ; some were sobbing and repeating verbs, others eating their bread and water; some preparing themselves to be whipped, and here and there a fat little Cupid who, having been flogged by Venus, was enjoying a most enviable nap.” The ancient mansion in which this numerous family was brought up was completely secluded from the rest of the world, the sea girt it around in semi-circular form, and being there but fourteen miles broad, the opposite shore on a clear day seemed to invite the dwellers on the other side to pay it a visit. The Bass Rock, so famous in Scottish story, rose “ like a great whale ” per- * In after years Lady Anne accompanied her husband to the Cape of Good Hope, where she had an opportunity of listening to these st/ains of simple devo- tion. How much her heart sympathized with them appears in one of her papers : “ I have always,” she says, “ had a strong wish to visit Botany Bay — not from a longing to commit a crime, but from a desire to rejoice with the angels over re- pentant sinners. If one reformed rogue gives to beatified spirits so much joy, what a feeling must be created by such a group ! ” 22 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, pendicularly out of the water between the two shores and exactly opposite the castle, which stood on an eminence commanded by a very elevated and extensive prospect, and surrounded by tall trees, inhabited by the ancestral rooks which had tenanted their branches for ages. In short, it was a fine old place, and nothing was wanting but money to make it a noble mansion. Its hospitable portals were flung wide for the reception of all comers ; insomuch that there is a traditional anecdote to this effect. There had been many robberies in Fife- shire, every house in the neighbourhood had been visited except Balcarres. The robbers were at last captured and brought before the county court. “ Why did you never come to me V asked Lord Balcarres. My lord,” they replied, we often did ; everywhere else we found closed doors, but at Balcarres they stood always open, and, where such is the case, it is a rule among us not to enter.” It was a sort of creed in the family, that it was im- possible any one at Balcarres could wish to be anywhere else ; an idea, as Lady Anne says, by no means in- judiciously fostered, seeing the place was, in fact, to all intents and i)urposes, a prison — though a cheerful one, still a prison. “ The sea all around was our zone, and if we had supposed ourselves islanders,” says the lively (lame, “ we should not have been much mistaken. Of what value was the beautiful country except to a i)aintcr, or the vicinity of Iklinburgh save to a crow h We be- held it sweetly smoking at a distance, but then it was impossible to get at it ! Though twenty miles to the ferry of Kinghorn does not sound terrible, yet the diffi- culties of winds, tides, the bad roads, and all the incon- AJVD LAD Y ANNE LINDS A Y, 23 veniences of leaving home to those who unfortunately are not rich enough to have money to spare easily on extraordinary occasions, rendered every planned excur- sion so difficult to settle, and so productive of dispute, that it was generally given up in a pet by the pro- poser. “ My mother said that we saw more company than anybody, and we were convinced of it. The parson — an excellent bust of Homer, and his wife of Seneca — with their daughter, came frequently to see us ; a few neigh- bours did so too, but seldom : they were honest country gentlemen, living on the produce of grounds they cul- tivated themselves, but we were told they were as gen- teel as people ought to be. However, the society at home was so numerous that we did not much feel the need of any other. ‘‘ They consisted of my father, my mother and my grandmother. Lady Dalrymple; of Miss Sophy John- stone, an original whom I shall mention by and by ; of the Misses Keith, three maiden cousins of my mother ; of Mrs. Cockburn, an intimate friend of Lady Balcarres, who had goodness, genius. Utopianism, and a decided passion for making of matches, for which reason she was the confidante of all love-sick hearts ; of the eleven chil- dren, who made no inconsiderable addition to the society ; of my brother’s tutor, a pious but very absent man, who occupied a chair ; and of a young lady to whom I dare hardly, ev6n at this moment, give the title of our governess. My mother had found her weeping and painting butterflies in the garret of a house where she lodged for a few days in Edinburgh. She wept be- cause she was not placed, she said, in the sphere of life 24 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCAEEES, for which she was formed. She boasted that in her veins descended the blood of some old Highland chief, I forget who. She sang sweetly, wrote and worked well ; my mother was amused with the variety of her uncul- tivated talents, and formed the plan of carrying her to Balcarres in a sort of nondescript situation, till she saw how she liked her. ‘^By degrees she rendered herself of use, while she maintained her independence, and the ascendency she acquired over my mother’s mind, while bending to her in nothing, became evident.” This fantastic being knew well how to play her cards. She refused to accept pecuniary remuneration, but con- sented as an act of friendship ” to perform the part of governess to the young ladies Lindsay, and in this way obtained all she desired, and preserved the footing of a friend in the family, scorning that of a humble depen- dant. ‘‘ Behold her then,” continues Lady Anne, “ settled at Balcarres, the least little woman that ever was seen for nothing. Fanciful in her dress, and naive in her man- ners, her countenance was pretty, her shape neat and nice; but in that ca.sket was lodged more than Pandoras box contained, not only of sorrows and ills to demolish mankind, but of powers of every kind, good as well as bad ; i)owers of attaching, powers of injuring, powers of mind, powers of genius — magnanimity, obstinacy, pre- judice, romance, and occasionally enthusiastic devo- tion. “ 1 ’laced among such a diversity of characters, all to be studied, I was in a school where I could scarcely fail to learn something of my own.” AJVD LADY ANNE LINDSA K 25 Lady Anne Lindsay had indeed begun “ to see with her eyes, and reason on what she saw with her mind,” at an early age. It was a happiness for her that her father survived until she had attained her seventeenth year. She was for several years his constant companion, and drank in the lessons he inculcated with all the ardour of a young and admiring mind. It is evident that she idolized the chivalrous, noble-hearted old man, while her affection helped to shed a soft light upon his declining path, and called forth all the gentle and tender feelings of his heart. Nothing can be more beautiful and appro- priate than the counsel he gives his daughters in the fol- lowing letter, which I have transcribed entire for the benefit of youthful readers. ‘‘ Indeed, my dears, your father is now no more than the ruin of an old building that never had much beauty in it, but still most affectionate to my children and friends; and you seem to think so, when you say you would wil- lingly part with your ears to cure my deafness, — but how unnatural would it not be in me to accept them ! Many years have passed since I heard soft sounds from a pair of fine lips, — the sweetest of all music ; it is only bestowed upon youth,— you may likely hear a good deal of it, and even from the wise and agreeable, if you can confirm their inclinations by being good and mild, cheerful and complacent. Men love such companions as can help to make them gay and easy. For this end fair nymphs should provide chains as well as nets to secure as well as acquire captives. You must have the Muses as well as the Graces to aid and perfect nature. It is the manner and expression of the passions that makes the beauty of music, — to excel, you should under- 26 AJVJVE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, stand the Italian. So much for the Graces, — the love of the Muses is not so easily gained, but there is a long and lasting pleasure to be found in the pursuit of their favour; they will acquire you friends that will soften all the ills of life, and the helps of knowledge and virtue will make even distress and disappointment easy to you. For these ends you must have books both to instruct and entertain you. They are said to be the best of friends, as they advise without flattery, and reprove without anger. Real religion is taught in few words, and is, as you well know, the foundation that makes us live and die in peace and hope. History is the best help to think justly of things. Poetry will cheer you, and as much of philosophy as con- cerns the moral virtues will help to make you happy even if condemned to be old maids. If you become wives, be amiable, ’tis the best means to have power, as your hus- band will have more pleasure in pleasing you than him- self" Earl James died on the 20th February 1768, and was buried in the chapel at Balcarres. His loss was sincerely deplored by all who knew and loved him, and the tears of his dependants fell fast as they saw him committed to the grave. “ I really believe never man was so well served as he has been," said his venerable mother-in-law. After this event Lady Balcarres, then scarcely forty years of age, and still a beautiful woman, devoted herself assi- duously to the discharge of her important duties. The education of her eleven children, the youngest of whom was Init four years old, together with the management ot her estate, was no light task, especially as her means were very limited. “ N on see," she wrote to a iriend whom she was entrusting witli a commission, “ J’m very thritty; AND LADY ANNE LINDS A Y. 27 and you would think it very necessary had you seen us some nights ago at a family ball, when we were about fifty souls, all belonging to this identical house, — literally all of them breakfast, dine, and sup off our little bit land.” Doubtless thrift” must have been indispensable under such circumstances, and her daughter’s testimony proves that the generous open-handed impulses of her kind heart were but too frequently curbed by the necessity for care- taking, nor did she ever so much lament the smallness of her income as when it compelled her to stint her libe- rality. Selfishness was a vice she especially detested, and from the indulgence of which she carefully guarded her young charge, at the same time taking care to incul- cate prudence and self-denial. One of her boys ran to her one day begging for sixpence to give a poor man at the door. ‘‘ You are right,” she said, “ to give to the poor, but give what is your own; the sixpence you ask for is mine ; if the man is hungry, let him have half your din- ner, or if he is cold and you are sorry for him, as you have a coat and a waistcoat, give him which of them you please, but do not give him both, becai^, if you do, you will be colder than he is.” The m(>mer who knew how to teach her sons after this sort deserved to find them growing up men of honour and integrity; nor was she disappointed. Eventually all her anxieties were removed by the growing prosperity of her children, and it was then,” says her daughter, “ when the gales of this trouble- some world had subsided, and the breakers ceased to rage which hid from the common observer the rock on which my dear mother’s stronghold of happiness was built, that we perceived a deep and firm reliance on her God to have been always the basis of that true fortitude 28 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, and independence of mind which had sustained her through so many difficulties without her ever allowing them to be such.” If it be true that we may measure the real worth of man or woman by the friendships they maintain, it is evident from these memoirs that Lady Balcarres was a woman of no common mould. We are told that one of her friends, who came to spend a few months with her soon after her marriage, remained an inmate of the house- hold for many long years, devoting herself to each suc- cessive child till it became fledged, and when age and poverty came upon her, experiencing the kindness of those whose infancy she had watched. Mrs. Cockburn, the intimate friend of Lady Balcarres before mentioned, was a woman of genius, the authoress of the well-known and admired song called “ The Flowers of the Forest.” Her friend looked upon her as a second mother, she was ten years her senior, but her mind was so gay, enthu- siastic, and ardent, her fancy ever lively, and she had such goodness of heart united to manners so attractive and conciliatory, that she proved an invaluable friend both to the mother and the daughters. Sir W. Scott, speak- ing of this lady at a very advanced period of her life, says, “ slie retained a play of imagination and an activity ot intellect which must have been attractive and delightful in youth, but were almost preternatural at her age. Her active benevolence keei)ing pace with her genius rendered her equally an object of love and admiration.” Her let- ters, some of which were preserved by 1 -ady Anne, lully l)ear out the character given of her. I cannot resist making a slujrt (juotation from one of them. “ ^ our let- ter reached me, Anne, when J was with a friend in the AND LAD Y ANNE LINDS A K 29 country; it had everything in it to delight me, and I read it with pride, for it had that kindness of heart, too, with- out which all the rest is but whipped cream. The mother of the family I am now with was my school companion fifty years ago. I recommend it to you to lay in these kind of treasures for old age, — they are the coals that, laid up in summer, keep us warm in winter; no "money can purchase them after the chill of life begins to creep on. Let kindness, therefore, be the moving spring in your soul ; it produces happiness in this world and beati- tude in the next. No matter though you are sometimes cheated and deceived, — that must happen through life, — you will cheat yourself most if you lose that blessed dis- position of which you have so truly the seeds. The Scripture calls it charity, I call it kindness; choose which name you like best, but keep the thing, my child.’’ But of all her intimates there was none so much be- loved by Lady Balcarres as Mrs. Anne Keith, her cousin- germain, and dearest friend through life. A constant and ever-welcome resident at Balcarres during Earl James’s life, she was the inseparable companion of her widowed friend during the many years she resided in Edinburgh after her children had all been settled and gone their various ways in life, and latterly found a home with her under her son’s roof at Balcarres. This admirable woman was the original of Mrs. Bethune Baliol in the Chronicles of the Canongate.” She resided for some years with the venerable Lady Dalrymple, who, after her son-in-law’s death, took a house in Edinburgh, situate in a close of tlie Canongate, and there the young descendants of the family spent much time as they grew up. One of Lady Anne’s 30 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, most captivating and life-like sketches is the portrait of her maternal grandmother. Here it is : — ‘‘ I now remem- ber with a smile the different evolutions that grand- mamma’s daily fidgets had to perform, though at the time they plagued me a little. At ten she came down stairs, always a little out of humour till she had her breakfast. In her left hand were her mitts and her snuff-box, which contained a certain number of pinches. She stopped on the seventeenth spot of the carpet, and coughed three times; she then looked at the weather-glass, approached the tea-table, put her right hand in her pocket for the key of the tea-chest, and not finding it there, sent me up stairs to look for it in her own room, charging me not to fall on the stairs. ‘ Look!’ said she, ‘ Anne, upon my little table, there you will find a pair of gloves, but the key is not there; after you have taken up the gloves, you will see yester- day’s newspaper, but you will not find it below that, so you need not touch it : pass on from the newspaper to my black fan, beside it there lie three apples, — (don’t eat my apples, Anne, mark that!) take up the letter that is beyond the apples, and there you will find’ “ ‘ but is not that the key on your left hand over your little finger?’ ‘‘ ‘ No, Annie, it cannot be so, for I always cany it on my right.’ “ ‘ 'J'liat is, you intend to do so, my dear grandmamma, blit you know you always carry it on your Iclt!’ ‘‘ ‘ Well, well, dear child ! I believe I do; but what then? Is the tea made? \n\i in one spoonful for every jicrson and one over, Annie, do you mark me? “ 'riuis, every morning grandmamma smelt three times AJVB LADY ANNE LINDSAY. 31 at her apple, came downstairs testy, coughed on the seventeenth spot, lost her key, had it detected in her left hand, and the morning’s parade being over, till the even- ing’s nap arrived (when she had a new set of manoeuvres) she was a pleasing, entertaining, talkative, mild old woman. I should love her, for she loved me; I was her god- daughter and her sworn friend. She was the mildest and most innocent of beings.” The lapse of years brought the usual changes in the domestic circle at Balcarres. One by one the junior members were launched upon the stream of active life. Each went his different course, and in a few years “there was scarce a quarter of the world of which a Lindsay was not a denizen.” Two brothers fought in India, two in America, Robert was in the East India Company’s service, and resided at Sylhet, on the borders of the Burmese Empire, William and Hugh entered the navy. “ I have very great reason,” said their mother, “ to- be thankful. Most of my sons are now afloat, and with a fair wind, — Balcarres leads the van with colours flying. I pray God no reverse may stop a progress so well begun and really so justly deserved, for young men free from capital vices are rarely now to be met with. If Bob live a few years he may acquire a reasonable and easy fortune. Glory and laurels must content the sons of Mars.” Of the three daughters of Lady Balcarres, the first who quitted the old nest in which so numerous a brood had been reared was Lady Margaret Lindsay. She and Lady Anne were attached to each other through life by unusu- ally warm feelings of sisterly affection. Of her personal charms and mental accomplishments a glowing picture is 32 AiVJVB, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, given in these memorials. It was this lady’s youthful beauty which inspired Sheridan with the well-known lines : — Marked you her eye of heavenly blue, Marked you her cheek of rosy hue ; That eye in liquid circles roving, That cheek abashed at man’s approving ; The one Love’s arrows darting round, The other blushing at the wound.” Her marriage to Alexander Fordyce, Esq. of Roe- hampton, took place in 1771 , and her consequent de- parture for England was a keen trial for Lady Anne, then in her twenty-first year. She solaced herself by exercising her genius for composition. “ Residing,” says she, “ in the solitude of the country, without other sources of en- tertainment than what I could draw from myself, I used to mount up to my little closet in the high winding stair- case, which commanded the sea, the lake, the rock, the birds, the beach, and with my pen in my hand, and a few envelopes of old letters, scribble away poetically and in prose till I made myself an artificial happiness, which did very waW pour passer h temps, though far better would my attenijits have been had I had Margaret’s judgment to correct them.” “ There was an ancient Scottish melody,” she says elsewhere, “ of which I was i)assionately fond, Sopliy Johnstone used to sing it to us, — I longed to sing the air to different words, and to give to its plaintive tones some little history of various distress in Inimble life such as might suit it. While trying to clfect this in my closet, I called to iny little sister, now Lady llard- wickc, who was the only person near me, — ‘ 1 have been writing a ballad, my dear, I am oi)prcs.sing my heroine with many misfortunes, — 1 have alre.ady .sent her Jamie to sea, and broken her lathei’s arm, and made her mother AND LAD Y ANNE LINDS A K 33 fall sick, and given her an old lover, but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow, — help me to one, I pray!’” ‘‘Steal the cowl” said the little Elizabeth. “ The cow was immediately lifted by me, and the song completed.” This ballad, so characteristically described by I^ady Anne, was no other than “ Auld Robin Gray.” The authoress was far from suspecting that she had produced a song which was to become the admiration of the world. For many a long year she kept her secret so success- fully that even Lady Balcarres, who was greatly pleased with it, did not suspect its origin for a considerable time. While all agreed in admiring this exquisite ballad, con- jecture failed to trace its source. Lady Anne was once applied to concerning the matter by some Antiquarian Society, her answer was as follows : — “ The ballad in question has, in my opinion, met with attentions beyond its deserts. It set off with having a very fine tune put to it by a doctor of music, was sung by youth and beauty for five years and more, had a romance composed from it by a man of eminence, was the subject of a play, of an opera, and of a pantomime, was sung by the united armies in America, acted by Punch, and afterwards danced by dogs in the street, but never more honoured than by the present investigation.” Not till a year or two before her death did she publicly acknowledge it, and then she confided its history to Sir W. Scott, who had quoted some lines from it in “ The Pirate.” In his reply he said, — “ I have sometimes won- dered how many of our best songs have been written by Scotchwomen of rank and condition. The honourable ( 82 ) 3 34 ' AN.VE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, Mrs. Murray (Miss Baillie of Jerviswood born) wrote the very pretty Scotch song,— ‘ An’t were not in my heart’s light I wad die.’ Mrs. Elliot of Minto, the verses to ‘ The Flowers of the Forest' which begin — * I have heard a lilting,’ &c. “ Mrs. Cockburn has composed other verses to the same tune — ‘ I have seen the smiling of fortuning beguiling,’ &c. Lady Wardlaw wrote the glorious old ballad of ^ Hardyknute.' Place ^ Auld Robin’ at the head of this list, and I question if we masculine wretches can claim live or six songs equal in elegance and pathos out of the long list of Scottish minstrelsy.” Lady Balcarres passed the evening of her life in her beloved Scotland. She continued to reside in the family mansion for many years after her younger children had quitted it. ‘‘ Balcarres’ behaviour to me,” she wrote to her daughter, “ is perfectly to my mind. This house is, 1 think, more my own than ever it was ; he is perfectly adored in this country where he is known.” Lady Anne, after a visit in Fifeshire, described her as “ well, lively, and hapi)y, without any essential approaches of old age being evident, a failure in memory excepted, of which she comj)laincd not, wisely regarding it as the common lot of humanity, and believing that the goodness of (lod is seen in depriving us, one by one, of those enjoyments, which attach us to a life we must shortly quit.” Some time later she took up her resilience in Edin- burgh, with Mrs. Murray Reitli. Her house was o[)po- AND LADY ANNE LINDSAY. ' 35 site to her daughter-in-law’s — “ though it was but the premier Hage^ it was a very handsome one ; her little income had recovered its good health — she had, there- fore, enough to live on comfortably, and, with the addi- tion which her friend could bring, great ease of finance appeared.” Here she saw the best society the northern metropolis afforded, and here her daughters frequently visited her, and, after their removal to England, en- deavoured to persuade her to spend the alternate years with them. She liked the invitation, but replied gaily, “ No, no, ladies — no residences but in my ow?i country — a visit, perhaps, you may have from me, if I think myself well enough to go to court, in order to see my flirt the king (George III. and the royal family had paid her much attention); but even that must be a short one. Write often to me, however,” she added, “ it will be a great amusement to me, and be sure to tell me every- thing you think I should like to know.” When increasing infirmities rendered it desirable the venerable lady should have the protection of her son’s abode, she transferred herself and her beloved com- panion thither. In 1809, when Lady Anne, after a long absence, revisited Balcarres, she wrote : — ‘‘ We found my mother better than we could have conceived; more erect, more active, younger by five years than she was five years ago, and, if not much better in her memory, more cheerful and lively than I have seen her these twenty years. A little instance you shall have. To-day a chattering woman, whose conversation is endless but empty, had been here, and on her leaving the room my mother said, ‘ I remember a line of Shakespeare Avhich I could easily fit to that woman’s talk, if I might make a 36 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, small alteration.’ We begged to hear the line. ‘ This is it,’ said she : — ‘ Nothing can come of nothing ; speak again !’ Now the alteration I wish to make is this, — ‘ Nothing can come of nothing; hold your peace !’ This was a very pointed quotation for eighty-two, and a bad memory ; but whatever rises out of the present moment she is equal to, though not to any stretch of recollection.” In another letter there is the following pleasant de- scription of “ the great family festival”— her birth-day. “ On the 25th December each person was 1 repared with his or her ccidcciu. Mine was a black lace cloak or hood. When I put it over her nice little figure, and wished her many happy returns of the day, she seemed proud and pleased; her eye sparkled. ‘Is this not too fine for me?’ said she; ‘but I accept it with pleasure, and m return, Annie, I will make you a present which I hope you will live to enjoy the benefit of. I mean the know- ledge that old age is not the miserable state people sup- pose it to be. On the contrary, it is one of calm enjoy- ment. You can have no idea how much amusement is derived from tilings that we disregarded in our youth; the attentions of friends, for instance, are more jirized, and the misfortunes of life are easier borne. Of what C()nse<|uence are tliey to a jicrson who is on the brink of (|uitting tliis world for a better? 'I'he thoughts of that untried country to which I am inviteil by my Saviour, are to me the source of inexh.austible delight. 1 trust,’ added she with fervour, ‘ that I shall then meet with you all again, through his merits, in periietual youth and end- AND LADY ANNE LINDSAY 37 less happiness; and this castle of mine is not a chateau d’ Espagne, as Madam Ann Keith calls some of my pro- jects when she does not approve of them.’ ” Five years afterwards Mrs. Keith described her as ^Miappy, with her knotting, her calculations, and her little castles in the air, and so entranced with her Bible and the lives of the patriarchs, that she is one of the hap- piest of human beings.” At length the union which had so long subsisted be- tween these two endeared companions was severed by the hand of death. Mrs. Keith expired somewhat sud- denly in the autumn of 1817. The venerable countess survived her three years, retaining to the last her cheer- fulness, and declining so gradually that when the sum- mons came, those around her could scarcely realize the event. “ So gently did her soul depart we could not believe she was gone.” Gone to that happy home, where, as she had been wont often to say to her beloved daughter, ‘‘ We shall all be young together again, Annie !” Hi ^ ^ ih At the time of her mother’s death. Lady Anne had at- tained the usual age of man. During the fifteen or twenty years of her brother’s wanderings in search of fame and wealth in foreign lands, she had resided with her widowed sister in London, where, in the words of their brother, Lord Balcarres, their house became the meeting-place of great and good characters, literary and political.” A host of distinguished names, Burke, Sheridan, Windham, Dundas, and the Prince of Wales, were their familiar guests and friends, and the attachment of the latter to Lady Anne ended only with his life. This pleasant 38 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, period was terminated by the marriage of Lady Anne with Mr. Barnard, son of the Bishop of Limerick, whom she accompanied to Africa on his appointment as Colonial Secretar}^ After her husband’s death, she again kept house with her sister till the second marriage of Lady Margaret, which took place in 1812. From that time Lady Anne resided almost uninterruptedly in Berkeley Square, en- joying the occasional society of her family, and devoting her declining years to the compilation of the memor.als of her family. It had been the wish of Earl James that one of his children should undertake this task, and it must have been a sweet satisfaction to her, in her latter days, to carry out his desire. To the family taste,” as she calls it, “ of spinning from the brain in the sanctum of the closet,” she owed the chief amusement of a serene, placid, and contented old age, prolonged, like that of several of her family, far beyond the period usually allotted to human life, and enlivened to the close by the proverbial cheerfulness of the “ light Lindsays,” and unimpaired vigour of mind and fancy. dTe following letter, from the pen of her nephew. Colonel Lindsay, conveys a most pleasing impression of tliis gifted woman, and contains a short epitome of licr life: — “ You ask me to give you some account of my dearly loved aunt, J.ady Anne Barnard, as I remember her in my young days Having early lost her fallier, she soon saw that the prosperity ol herself and her brothers and sisters depended mainly on their own exertions, for the fortune which was left by her father was not imieh more than enough to ))ring them up and AND LADY ANNE LINDS A K 3^ educate them in a moderate way, whilst her elder brother contributed all he could to his mother for this purpose, living for many years on his pay in the army. The feel- ing that she was the example, that much depended on her, roused her abilities and called forth every latent talent within her. These talents were not trifling. A stream of genius ran sparkling through her character, and she possessed application. Women were but indif- ferently educated in those days ; few of them knew any language but their own, a little arithmetic, and cookery ; but Lady Anne and her sisters studied and read together, working out instruction for themselves; and I am in- clined to think it was this struggle of the intellect against difficulties which drew forth their energies, and occa- sioned that originality of thought which was so captivat- ing. “ My grandmother’s house in Edinburgh was open to the learned and to all strangers of distinction; her rank, station, and character, as the widow of the old and re- spected Earl of Balcarres, placed her in this situation. Thus Lady Anne became acquainted with Hume, John- son, Mackenzie, Monboddo, and other philosophers of that day, as she did with the wits and statesmen of Eng- land at a later period, when she and Lady Margaret settled in London. She was graceful, witty, and elegant, full of life and animation, her sister and herself charm- ing musicians, and both of them peculiarly affable. What wonder then that their fame spread far'? “ The peculiar trait of Lady Anne’s character was benevolence — a readiness to share with others her purse, her tears — or her joys, an absence of all selfishness. This, with her talents, created a power of pleasing which I 40 ANNE, COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, have never seen equalled. She had in society a power of placing herself in sympathy with those whom she ad- dressed, of drawing forth their feelings, their talents, their acquirements, pleasing them with themselves, and, con- sequently, with their companions for the time being. I have often seen her change a dull party into an agree- able one; she could make the dullest speak, the shyest feel happy, and the witty flash fire without any apparent exertions. A characteristic anecdote was told of her. She was entertaining a large party of distinguished guests at dinner, when a hitch occurred in the kitchen. Her old servant came up behind her and whispered, ‘ My lady, you must tell another story; the second course won’t be ready for five minutes!’ It were impossible to name the numbers who claimed her intimacy, even from the prince on the throne to the peasant at Balcarres. I recollect George IV. sending for her to come and see him when he was very ill. He spoke most affectionately to her, and said, ‘ Sister Anne (the appellation he usually gave her), I wished to see you, to tell you that I love you, and wish you to accept of this golden chain for my sake. I may never see you again.’ “ Her hand was sought in marriage by several of the first men of the land, and her friendship and confidence by the most distinguished women; but indecision was her failing; hesitation and doubt upset her judgment. Her heart had never been captured, and .she remained single till late in life, when she married an accomplished but not wealthy gentleman, younger than herself, whom she accompanied to the Cape of Good Hope, when he was a[)pointed Colonial Secretary under Lord Macartney. As you know, her latter years were spent in London, AxVB LADY ANNE LINDS A K 41 where her house was ever a home to us. I loved her as a mother, and so did all who dwelt under her roof.’’ It appears to me tliat this sketch cannot be more fittingly closed than by permitting Lady Anne to give my readers the benefit of her counsel and experience in a page torn from her scrap-book, and headed OCCUPATION.” So far as my poor experience goes, occupation is the best nostrum in the great laboratory of human life, for pains, cares, mortifications, and ennui. It amuses in sickness, it lightens the distress of circumstances, it acts as a gentle opiate to ill-requited love; it is a solace to the heart when a fellow -creature can be benefited by our exertions; and even in sorrow — even when the heart is sinking under the load of grief — if we can feel it a duty to bear up, we find it an atlas to the human mind, giving it strength to support what might otherwise crush it. “ But to treasure up the power of occupying ourselves in a manner to interest us in old age, we must begin, my dear young friends, by occupying ourselves in youth, by cultivating some taste or talent to which our mind leads us, which may amuse our solitary hours as we advance in life. Never should the day pass in which a young per- son ought not to endeavour to make some step forward to improvement. If we do so in youth, the taste will not depart from us in old age, and instead of giving up the point of happiness, if we make it our aim to keep our irdnds awake to a sense of our duties, it will stand us in good stead, although Providence may not have gifted us with imagination or ingenuity ; the independence of hav- ing your amusements within yourselves will render you 42 ANNE, COUNTESS OE BALCAERES, beloved and looked up to; the same independence in old age will prevent your ever feeling yourselves a burden on society. Rich in your own resources, you will ask no subscriptions from others, but gladly afford a share of what little it may be in your power to bestow.” Such was Lady Anne’s philosophy. May it be ours also, my reader! Let us “redeem the time,” remember- ing how surely “ The culture of the early spring • Secures the summer’s joy, the autumn’s pride, And makes the rugged brow of winter smile ! ” i. 11 . MADAME GUIZOT AND HER DAUGHTER- IN-LAW. “ Dearly bought, the hidden treasure Finer feelings can bestow ; Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, Thrill the deepest notes of woe,” N few occasions has a more numerous and dis- tinguished assemblage met within the walls of the French Academy in Paris, than congregated there on the 5th of February IS57. The occasion was one of unusual interest; — it was the reception of the distinguished savant, M. Biot, as successor to the cele^ brated historian of the Revolution, M. de Lacretelle, recently deceased. It being known that M. Guizot would pronounce the discourse of reception, there was a very general anxiety to seize the opportunity of hearing that eminent man, who was for so many years, in power as well as in reputation, the leading statesman of France. Among the audience was a considerable number of foreigners as well as of French, and most of the Acade- micians were present. Long before the arrival of the members of the Academy, every place was occupied, and a goodly show of ladie.s, in their brilliant and becoming dresses, added picturesqueness and colouring to the scene. 44 MADAME GUIZOT, When M. Guizot rose to reply to the speech of M. Biot, a deep silence prevailed, which was uninterrupted throughout his address, except by an occasional outburst of applause, elicited by some parts of it. The eloquent orator closed his instructive and deeply interesting dis- course with a few touching and pious words, which much impressed some present. After having enlarged on the literary merits of M. de. Lacretelle, he painted him in the possession of unimpaired intellectual activity to the ter- mination of a very long life, in the enjoyment of the noblest affections, and the object of the tenderest dome.s- tic regard. “ Thus,” said he, “ God granted to M. de Lacretelle the sweetest recompense that can be bestowed on man in this world.” He then proceeded to draw, from this pleasing picture of the last hours of one so worthy of honour and so honoured, an impressive lesson. He described the general feeling of disappointment which, during the last half century, has overtaken the counsellors and rulers of nations what baffled hopes ! what illu- sions destroyed ! what glowing hopes quenched ! A premature decay or a violent end has overtaken all that once promised a long and happy future. “We have lived,” concluded he, “ in the midst of ruins; the greatest warriors have been vanqui.shed, the wi.sest politicians have failed, tlic noblest institutions have been over- thrown.” What, then, lias stood firm amid this general wreck 1 He answers, “The coiKpiests of mind h.ave alone re- mained durable, and the jiower of intellect has alone stood erect, amid fallen greatness.” The inference to which he directs the attention of the advancing genera- tion is, the superior advantages afforded liy the pursuit AATD HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. 45 of intellectuar research. Not that he would separate literature from the practical interests of human society; on the contrary, he would have it used as a means of preparation for active duty and service. But the pith and kernel of his advice to his youthful auditors lies in these striking words : “ The Divine Master of men addressed to his disciples, assembled around him on the mount, words which I will repeat to you in concluding — for these words are equally important for the safety of nations as for the salvation of individual souls — ‘ Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ ” Such counsel as this sounds doubly impressive when uttered by such lips, in such an assemblage; and one cannot help asking. Whence did this man learn these things'? Was he taught such wisdom in the schools of France in his youthful days? No! his education was a widely different one. It has been remarked that in the speech, the writings, and the general conduct of M. Guizot, there is a steadiness and seriousness which are the reverse of national, and which he doubtless owes to the teaching of Geneva. From the few notices which have been gleaned concerning his early days, we are dis- posed, however, to ascribe, in no small degree, to the influence of maternal excellence, the superior moral worth of the great French statesman. His father fell a victim to the revolutionary mania which agitated France at the close of the last century. He was descended from an ancient house, the Protestant branch of which had settled at Nimes; and although only twenty-seven years of age at the time of his death, is said to have earned a high reputation, in that his native 46 MADAME GUIZOT, town. It was on the 5th of April 1794, the very clay of Danton’s execution, that he was seized in the night, and on the 19th of the same month condemned to death by sentence of the judges of the Criminal Court of Nimes, and immediately executed. There was no definite charge brought against him : he had fallen under suspicion, and was accused of conspiracy against the Republic; and not having obeyed the summons, was condemned solely for his contumacy. The original sentence concluded with ordering the property of the condemned to be confiscated for the benefit of the Republic, and his children (in case he had any) to be received into the Foundling Hospital, there to receive such education as that same merciful Republic might see fit to give them ! A striking incident occurred in connection with the tragical fate of M. Guizot, which deserves to be recorded. A compassionate gendarme offered, at the peril of his own life, to contrive his escape; but the brave spirit declined to accept safety at such a risk, and he marched unfalteringly to the scaffold. There was one being whose heart never recovered from the effects of that terrible blow, which cut short a life so valuable and so endeared. M. Guizot had, in very early youth, married the daughter of a respectable Pro- testant vicar, Mdllc. Elizabeth wSophie Ponicel. d'his lady was\a woman of rare worth and high moral (pialities, and her attachment to the memory of her husband, whom she mourned to the day of her death (during fifty-four years of widowhood), insiiired general interest and admiration. She never, it is said, jiarted from the last letter she received from him, even for a single inslant, and always wore it enclosed in a case, next her heart. AATD HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. 47 After the dreadful event, she 'displayed tlie utmost decision and firmness of character ; nor did her presence of mind ever fail her. She had been trained under cir- cumstances which early braced her mind to endurance and fortitude in the cause of that religion to which she manifested through life a devoted attachment. At the period of the birth of the future statesman (4th October ^7^7)j lite French Protestants were subject to every form of obloquy and oppression. Deprived of civil rights, they had no churches, no public worship, no recognised marriages. “ Even in the towns where, as at Nimes, they formed a large and respectable body of many thousands, they were not allowed to offer in common their prayers to the Almighty. In order to hear the exhortations of their pastors, they were obliged to repair to some remote and concealed spot— they called it the Desert— io which they were frequently tracked by the police, who dispersed them by firing at them, as if they had been wild beasts.”* In her youth, the daughter of the Protestant clergyman had often shared the perils of these prohibited meetings, and probably, after joining in the stolen services, had fled in terror at the sound of those fusilades by which such heretical proceedings were violently interrupted. There is much justice in the observation, that persecution sel- dom fails to increase the devotion of high-minded persons to the faith of their fathers ; and there can be little doubt that these reminiscences of her girlish days caused Madame Guizot to adhere with increased affection and tenacity to the Protestant faith of her father and husband. Being left a widow with two infant sons, under circum- * See an excellent and most able article on M. Guizot in the Quarterly Review. vol. XCIV. p. 122. 48 MADAME GUIZOT, stances so perilous as well as so overwhelmingly afflictive, this woman of rare courage and worth nerved herself to fulfil the arduous duties that now devolved upon her. As soon as she was permitted to leave Nimes, having gathered together what remained to her in the way of pecuniary resources, she immediately went, with her children, to Geneva, resolving to devote herself wholly to the task of their education, being persuaded that in France she should not be able to secure to them a sound moral and religious culture. During the next six years she remained at Geneva, herself superintending the studies of her boys. The remarkable talents of M. Guizot soon manifested themselves, and he made rapid progress in classical studies, as well as in philosophy and mathema- tics, while his aptitude for acquiring languages excited general surprise. As he advanced from boyhood to youth, his character became developed; and while his talents excited admiration, his regular habits of life, up- right conduct, and high moral feeling, secured him the esteem of those who knew him. At the age of eighteen the embryo-historian and states- . man left Geneva and went to Paris, there to pursue the study of jurisprudence. He shortly became a contiibutor to one or two of the literary periodicals then existing; and three years later, published his first work a Dic- tionary on Synonyms. From that time lorward he pursued his ujiward career along the path ol literary fame, and at a later ])eriod entereil on the more stormy and dilhcult arena of politics, being elected a member of tlic Chamber of Deputies, as soon as he had attained the legal age of forty years. it is not my j;urpose, even had I the ability, to attempt A ND HER DA UGHTER-IN-LA W. 49 to give the history of M. Guizot’s career. It is sufficient here to say that he became the champion of true con- stitutional ideas, and that, by his frequent appeals through the press, he was one of the most influential causes of re-awakening freedom of thought and opinion in France. It may be imagined with what proud satisfaction his widowed mother watched his successful progress, and how thankfully she recognised the fruits of her early care and training in the liberal and Protestant principles of her illustrious son. But she trembled for his safety amid the convulsions of party strife; and when she recalled to mind the agonies produced by the horrors of the Revolu- tion, she shrank from the thought of enduring a renewal of those anxieties. “ Taught,” said she, “ by a tremen- dous experience, I did all in my power to prevent my son from entering a political life ; but his indomitable courage renders him insensible to the dangers which surround him.” On one occasion, especially, when M. Guizot was assailed by his adversaries with an unpre- cedented storm of abuse and violence,’ and was pusil- lanimously left by his party to stand up singly against the attack, he finally returned home so fatigued that he could not speak, and went to bed, desiring that, as soon as the proofs of the ]\/fouitcuT came, he might be awakened to correct them. Knowing but imperfectly what had taken place,” said his mother, “I was in great alarm; and while he slepb I remained with the children round the bed, men- tally imploring the Almighty for the happiness of France and for the safety of my son. . Catching a glimpse of his pale and motionless countenance, I had a terrible vision. I had before my eyes the head of my poor husband 4 MADAME GUIZOT, 50 Alas!” she adds, “God only knows the extent of the sacrifices we must make for our country. This was said in January 7, 1844. There were more troubles yet for this aged mother to undergo. In the insurrection of the 23d February 1848 M. Guizot was separated from his family. The next morning he was assured by a confidential friend that they were for the present in a place of safety. He was then urged to leave the country without delay, Paris being in confusion, the government virtually at an end, and the revolutionists enraged against him. A few hours later the Chamber of Deputies was invaded by a furious mob, and dissolved ; the King and all the royal family were fugitives; and legal proceedings were ordered against M. Guizot and his colleagues by the French magistrates. What followed has been thus succinctly told : “ For four days all exit from Paris was closed. On the fifth day the daughters of M. Guizot escaped with a false passport, made out in the names of young English ladies travelling with their governess. 1 hey crossed the Chan- nel during those tremendous gales which, for several days, prevented the royal family from coming over, and reached London on the ist of March. The escape of M. Guizot was not so easy. Three days later he got to England, i)assing through Belgium in the livery of a servant. He was several times on the point of being detected, during his Journey through the nortliein pio- vinces of J'rance, because his mock master would not allow his servant ‘John’ to carry the luggage. 'J'he next day he was joined by his son; and lastly, on the 5di March, came Madame Guizot.” 'J'he anxiety and agitation proved, as might have been AND HER DA UGIITER-IN-LA W, 5 1 expected, too much for her enfeebled powers, at the age of fourscore. She survived barely a fortnight and two days, expiring on the 31st instant, ‘‘in great affliction at the events she had witnessed, but with a firm trust in the goodness of God.” One comfort was granted to her amid these distressing circumstances,— she had the consolation of seeing the whole of her family gathered around her bed of death. Although the life of one so aged could not have been much prolonged, even under the most favourable cir- cumstances, it is nevertheless certain that she fell a victim to the last Revolution as assuredly as her husband did to the first. One cannot reflect on so stormy a close to her long and honourable life without a feeling of tender regret ; and had it been permitted to those who loved her to choose how she should die, they would, doubtless, have prayed that a life of storm and anxiety might close in the midst of domestic tranquillit}-. But the God and Saviour, whom she in her early days had chosen for the guide of her youth, and to whose loving-kindness she had all her life long trusted, called her, through “ much tribulation,” to himself. Her remains have found a resting-place in this land of Protestant freedom, — they repose in that “ out-of-doors Westminster Abbey,” Kensal Green. Her grave is in a somewhat retired spot, and only one other is found in its near vicinity. There rests one most near and dear to the writer, who also “sleeps in Jesus.” The earthly history of the two was widely different in- deed. To one was allotted a life of trouble, agitation, and change, prolonged to extreme old age. To the other a short span, with naught of vicissitude or turmoil. 52 MADAME GUIZOT, Calm was her life ; sweet and gentle her spirit ; and, while it was yet noon, her sun went down. Now side by side lie these two, sleeping the sleep of the faithful departed. Sisters in Jesus, and fellow-heirs in his kingdom, they shall, by and by, wake up in his likeness; for in the day of their probation they obeyed the words of heaven- ly wisdom : Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness.” >X- *X- -K- M. Guizot remained in England lor more than twelve- months, residing principally at Brompton. At length the prosecution against him was withdrawn, and he was free to return to Paris, where he has ever since lived, occupied in the pursuit of literature, and enjoying in his retirement the respect of his compatriots. In his “ Memoirs of his own Time,” he has recently given to the world a record of the events in which he himself took an active part, together with a review of his jfublic career. In these pages we find a touching episode of his domestic history at once arresting the attention and affecting the heart of every reader. In the summer of 1832 that awful and mysterious scourge, the cholera, suddenly invaded Paris. M. Ciuizot, after giving an impressive picture of the aspect of the h'rench metropolis during tlie time when the disease was at its height, says, “It was not through indirect and distant observations, but by close pcrson.al evitlence, that 1 saw and estimated the moral condition of Pans at this epoch. 1 lived in the midst of the |)ublic calamity, and of the labour assiduously persevered in to jnevide a remedy. \N’l)y shouUl 1 not render to a beloved memory the tribute so justly duel Aliection may command AA^n HER DA UGHTER-IN-LA IV. 53 reserve without interdicting truth. A constant visitor of the poor in the quarter where we dwelt, my wife, as soon as the scourge appeared, devoted herself to protect the families committed to her charge and many others also whose destitution was increased by the new misfortune. She employed several hours every day in visiting them, in furnishing precautions to those who were well, in providing attendance for, and often in attending herself, on such as were infected, in promptly removing those who had fallen, and in sustaining and consoling the sur- vivors. Her youth, activity, calmness, and unaffected courage, her kindness, at once sympathetic and encourag- ing, soon acquired for her the confidence of the terrified, the sick, the physicians, the public officers, and of all who in the district were either the allies or the objects of her labours. They were incessantly coming to request her visits, assistance, and advice; some to acquaint her with their misfortunes and necessities, others to put her in possession of the measures adopted by the authorities and the remedies employed by science. From my study I heard the constant inquiry, Hs Madame Guizot within V I saw her — with uneasiness that she readily divined, but of which we never spoke to each other— go out, return, and leave the house again several times during the -day, in prosecution of her task. Her health sustained no injury, but she was soon compelled to confine her atten- tion to her own home. I was myself seized with cholera, not very acutely, but enough for my physician. Dr. Ler- minier, to say, ‘ If M. Guizot were nervous, he would be extremely ill.’ I had no occasion to arm myself against such an impression. During a single day only my in- disposition was excessive. I felt a sensation of great 54 MADAME GUIZOT, uneasiness and internal disorganization. The remedies adopted, especially a constant supply of ice, arrested the disease. I became rapidly convalescent, and my wife resumed her external duties. This atmosphere of charity in which I lived, and my own attack, rendered me quite familiar with the history of the cholera in 1832. This sad epoch left me deeply penetrated with esteem for the benevolence, courage, devotion, intelligent zeal, and affectionate sympathy, and for all the domestic endearments which abound in every class of French society, and were then displayed with captivating en- thusiasm as soon as the great trials called for their exercise.” But a few months elapsed after this eventful period when the great French statesman was called on to bow beneath the stroke of domestic bereavement, and he has thus impressively recorded his sentiments on the occa- sion : I have been strongly attached to political life, and have applied myself to it with ardour. I have de- voted to public duties without hesitation the sacrifice and efforts they have demanded from me ; but these pursuits have ever been far indeed from satisfying my desires. It is not that I complain of the incidental trials. Many public servants have spoken with bitter- ness of the disappointments they have experienced, the reverses they have undergone, the severities of fortune and the ingratitude of men. J have nothing of the kind to say, for J have never acknowledged such sentiments. However violently I may have been stricken, 1 have never found men more blind or ungrateful, or my j*olitical destiny more harsh than 1 expected. It has had alternately, and in great abundance, its joys and AND HER DAUGHTER-m-LAlV. 55 sorrows. Such is the law of humanity. But it has been in the happiest, and in the midst of the most brilliant successes of my career, that I have found the insuffi- ciency of public life. The political world is cold and calculating; the affairs of government are lofty and powerfully impress the thought ; but they cannot fill the soul, which has often more varied and more pressing aspirations than those of the most ambitious politician. It longs for a happiness more intimate, more complete, and more tender than that which all the labours and triumphs of active exertion and public importance can bestow. What I know to-day, at the end of my race, I have felt when it began, and during its continuance; even in the midst of great undertakings domestic af- fections form the basis of life; and the most brilliant career has only superficial and incomplete enjoyments, if a stranger to the happy ties of family and friend- ship. ‘^This felicity I thoroughly enjoyed in 1832, when I took my place in the cabinet of the nth of October. I permit myself here to indulge, not without some degree of hesitation, in the melancholy pleasure of citing an evidence which says more on this point than I either would or could express myself. On the 2 2d of October my wife wrote thus to her sister : ^ I know that affairs are complicated, stormy, and perhaps dangerous ; never- theless, I am rejoiced to see my husband in office. Be- fore our marriage he once asked me if I should ever be dismayed at the vicissitudes of his destiny. I still see his eyes beaming upon me with delight as I replied, that he might assure himself I should always passionately en- joy his triumphs, and never heave a sigh over his de- 56 MADAME GUIZOT, feats. What I said to him then I have proved ; what I promised I will perform. I am anxious and uneasy on account of the obstacles, the vexations, the struggles and dangers he will find in his path ; but, in spite of all, I am confident and content, for he is both. My life, be- sides, is not broken up, as when he was Minister of the Interior. I see him much less than I desire, but still I see him. My chamber adjoins his cabinet. He is quite well, although he works incessantly. Moreover, his present office is agreeable to him. He finds him- self again with much pleasure in the midst of the companions and avocations of his youth. Public in- struction relieves him from politics in general. This is a great advantage. In conclusion, my dear friend, if God spares us to each other, I shall always be, in the midst of every trial and apprehension, the happiest of beings.’ Within less than three months after the date of this letter, on the nth of January 1833, my wife presented me with a son, her most ardent desire in the midst of lier happiness, and the object, enjoyed but for a mo- ment, of her young maternal pride. Eleven days after, slie got up, full of confidence, in which all around her i)articii)ated. M. Royer Collard liappencd to call ui)on me. She insisted on seeing him, and con- versed gaily. On leaving the house he said to me: “She seems (piite well, but take care of her nevertheless, 'rhe .sj)irit is stronger than the Ixxly. She is one of those heroic natures who never suspect evil until it has conquered them.’ d’hree days after, she was attacked by fever, and compelled to resume her bed. AVithin six week.s, on the 1 ith oi March, I had to mourn her loss. AND HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. 57 “ It is with calamity as with happiness, we can neither speak of it nor remain absolutely silent. I hastened to resume my labours, and returned to the cabinet councils and the chambers as soon I could do so with propriety and effect. Every day, when my public duties were over, I remained alone with my children, my mother, and often with the Duchess De Broglie, whose sympa- thetic friendship I found under this trial extremely sooth- ing and acceptable.” “ One touch of Nature makes the v/hole world kin,” There is something truly heart-touching in this appeal to the sympathy of his readers, which breaks forth as it were from the inner depths of the man’s soul, while he thus ingenuously confesses the insufficiency of genius, success, and the most distinguished consideration, to yield that genuine satisfaction which the devoted love of woman can alone inspire in the true heart of a generous and affectionate man. Oh, woman ! what a mission,” after all, is thine. III. CAROLINE PERTHES. ^ Ah, woman ! formed to bless mankind ! (I speak but of the good) — With every gentle grace adorned, Each tender art endued.” a HE life of Friedrich Perthes written by his son, ! is one of the most interesting biographies of modern times. “ It affords a perfect insight,” says Mrs. Austin, “ not only into the recesses of German life in the hard and troublous times when that excellent man lived, but into the very hearts and minds of the actors and sutferers. Nor can we imagine a more touch- ing picture of love and faith than that exhibited by Perthes and his valiant and affectionate wife.” d'liis admirable woman was a daughter of Matthias (daudius, commpply called the “ Wandsbeck Messenger,” an author of considcral)le note in North Germany, and an excellent and jiious man. He resided at Wandsbeck, a small town in the neighbourhood of Hamburg, at the time when Perthes established himself in that “greatest of the noble Hansc towns,” and commenced business there as a bookselhu', “a bold anti adventurous under- taking,” as he called it later in life, but which [irovctl in the result eminently successful. Caroline, the eldest datighler of Claudius, was born in CAROLINE PER TILES, 59 1774, and was in her twenty-second year when Perthes visited at her father’s house. She was the eldest of nine children, and had been brought up in the diligent dis- charge of domestic duties. Accustomed to the simple life of her quiet home, she knew nothing of the world, its troubles or its temptations. Her father had carefully trained his children in the ways of piety, and instructed them in the pure doctrines of Christianity, which he held in all their integrity. '' The belief that he was recon- ciled to God through the redemption of Jesus Christ was not in him a mere speculative doctrine,” says his bio- grapher, but a faith which acted upon his whole life, and banished all sad, gloomy, and anxious feelings from him and his household.” Caroline, under such happy influences, had grown up to womanhood, sheltered from everything that could en- danger her peace and agitate her spirit. Though not handsome she was of a most pleasant countenance, and the strength and repose of her nature imparted a quiet but irresistible charm to her manners. Throughout life she inspired confidence in all with whom she associated intimately : to her the happy confided their joys, secure of friendly sympathy, and to many of the afflicted she ministered consolation, and imparted hope and courage. Her principal accomplishment was music : she had a clear rich voice, and a fine musical taste. She was well- informed, and acquainted with several modern languages, and had gone far enough in Latin to teach the rudi- ments of it to her sons. Perthes was immediately captivated. ''Her bright eyes and her open clear look pleased me, and I loved her,” he afterwards wrote. Their first interview took So CAROLINE PERTHES. place on the 27th November 1796; a few weeks later they again met on Christmas evOj at the house of a mutual friend. “ Before the entertainment commenced accident threw them together alone in a side room ; he had not a word to say, but he experienced a calm and a happiness which he had never felt before. The Christ- mas games began, but Perthes had eyes for nothing but the expression of calm happiness in the young girl’s face. In his opinion the best that the evening offered was hers by right, and yet her younger sister’s gift seemed better than hem. On the topmost branch of the Christmas tree hung an apple, finer and more richly gilt than any : Perthes dexterously reached it, and, blushing deeply, presented it to the conscious Caroline. From that evening matters went on between them as they usually do between those whose affections are engaged.” It was not long before Perthes avowed his love, and Caroline’s was frankly confessed and pledged in return. But to her father the engagement, not unnaturally, ap- jjcared a hasty one. Perthes had only just entered his twenty-fifth year, and had boldly established a business which was attended with considerable risk. Moreover, Claudius was not altogether without a species of Jealousy, which made it painful for him to resign the protection of his daughter to another, and it was almost with grief he discovered that she loved an inexperienced youth better than her father. Many a fond parent will .sympathize with this feeling ; but he forgets that it was onee his turn to act the tempter’s part with a fair young daughter of 1^0, in whose ear he whisi)ered : “ For my sake thou slialt leave father and mother.” Ciaroline’s heart was too deeply impressed to permit of any doubt, and befoie CAROLINE PERTHES. 6i long the desired consent was obtained, and the young couple were betrothed on the 15th July. This cere- mony, which in Holstein is a religious ordinance, was graced by the presence of the Princess Galetzin, and Count Stolberg, friends of the Claudius family. Shortly before its commencement the bride was re- minded by the pastor that after it had taken place she was no longer free, and could be released from her vows only by the consistory. It is long since I took the step from which I could be released neither by you nor by the consistory,” was her reply. Clearly, this was a woman who knew her own mind, and having once loved would ^Gove on to the end.” The marriage was solemnized on the 2d August 1797. At the commencement of their married life the young people found considerable difficulty in assimilating them- selves to each other’s minds and habits. Perthes had been fitted for the sphere in which he now moved by natural character and by the circumstances of his early life. It had been his lot to encounter difficult and clianging circumstances ; above all, to come in contact with men of the most opposite opinions. On the con- trary, Caroline had known nothing of the outer world, but had lived in entire seclusion. ‘‘To her the chief duty of man seemed to consist in withdrawing as much as possible from worldly business and motives, and in abstaining from all lively participation in transient things. The first three books of Thomas-a-Kempis, taken as a whole, might be regarded as reflecting her views of life. Now that she had left her father’s house, she experienced on all hands an infinite variety of new impressions, and felt perplexed and disquieted.” 62 CAROLINE PERTHES. I fer affection for her husband was, liowever, deep and strong ; and she felt in her inmost heart that she was a happy woman. On one occasion, some weeks after her marriage, her father surprised her in tears. ‘^Ah!'’ ex- claimed he, did I not tell you that the first flush of happiness would not last if you left your father and mother “And if I am to pass the rest of my life in weeping,” she instantly replied, “I should still rejoice that I am to spend it with my Perthes.” Yet this loving confidence did not overcome the uneasi- ness occasioned by her spiritual anxieties. She felt that it was not with her as in the quiet of her early home, when she walked as in the light of God’s countenance, and was not perturbed by the claims of the world, and by intercourse with those who could not sympathize with her nor understand her feelings. She was ready to ex- claim : “ Oh, that it were with me as in days that are gone ;” and she complained to her husband, who wisely cheered and encouraged her, urging that, as his wife, it was necessary she should move in an active sphere, and learn to discharge aright the duties of her new situation. “My Caroline,” he wrote to his uncle, “makes me un- s|>eakably happy. She is a pious, faithful, true-hearted being ; but she shapes her inward course for herself, and jiursues it with a steady stej).” Perthc's himself trod as steadily the j)ath he had marked out for himself “ 1 am more than ever ])ersuaded,” he said to his wife, “that iny destiny is an active masculine career; that J am a man born to turn my own wheel and that of others with energy.” lie did not sym])athizc with his wife’s dislike to contact with the world ; on the contrary, he believed it to be her duty to a('cej)t with cheerfulness the ( hums CAROLINE PERTHES. 63 of her new position. '' I understand your feelings,” he said to her; while you lived in your father’s house you maintained, it is true, a constant walk with God. You had but one thought and object. But then you were only a child in experience. I have taken you from that child-like life, and brought you into the bustle of the world ; and now, for the first time, you learn the sinful- ness of your own heart and of human nature. You are perplexed, and would gladly regain the simplicity and innocence of your childhood ; but it cannot be. Would you, my love, live apart from everything '2 Were you even to withdraw into some retreat where sorrow and disquiet could not reach you, you would soon become cold and unsympathizing No ; we are not to drift away from the world : God demands not the sacri- fice of natural ties, but the submission of our will to his. The sorrows and annoyances which befall us in the world where he has placed us, we should bear with in- ward tranquillity rather than seek to escape from them.” There is much wisdom in these observations; but Caroline still held on her path, and her husband respected and loved her conscientiousness. When I see her,” he said, holding fast by her inward life, in spite of the annoyances which the agitation and' distractions of her daily existence too often cause her, and also fulfilling the outward duties of her position in a manner so self- denying, kind, and noble, she imparts strength to me, and becomes truly my guiding angel.” Domestic joys and sorrows came apace on the young couple, and maternal love was the school in which Madame Perthes first learned wisely and vigorously to exert her powers in the new and important sphere 64 CAROLINE PER TILES. Opened to her. Their eldest child, a daughter named Agnes, was bom in 1798; and during the succeeding six years two more boys and a girl were added to the family. Increasing household cares, the influence of her husband, and constant intercourse with men of the most varied characters and opinions, further tended to bring out her capabilities, and fit her to exert her proper influence upon others. She retained, indeed, to the end of her days a desire after a life of unruffled tranquillity — a longing which would occasionally dispose her to melan- choly ; but the lessons taught during the first ten years of her married life produced an important and lasting effect in strengthening her character, and preparing her to encounter the trials which were in store for her. As years passed on she felt increasingly that her lot was a happy one. “ What you now feel,” she wrote in 1803, to a newly married friend, “is only a foretaste, and will every day increase. At least, the merciful God has so ordered it for me these six years, and my eyes overflow as I think of it. May God continue to be with us and our children, and preserve us to a peaceful and blessed end.” With domestic happiness there came also ])rosperity in business ; and the care and industry of berthes were rewarded by the acquisition of wealth and consideration. Numerous friends, also, among them a number of the most distinguished men in Germany, gathered around him and testified their good-will and esteem for the worthy man. His library was regarded as the finest in North Germany, and Niebuhr si)ortively called liim “the king of the booksellers from the Jhns to the baltic.” 'The sky was bright over his head, and all smiled uj)on him. Hut dark days were at hand. 'I'he CAROLINE PERTHES. 65 French armies overran Gernriany, and the ambition of Napoleon, like a dark blighting storm, swept over the land, leaving desolation and misery behind it. In November, 1806, immediately after the battle of Jena, the French entered Hamburg, and a few months later all intercourse with England was prohibited on pain of death, and trade was allowed to be carried on only under a system of restraint. “ There is no longer any trade as it formerly existed,” wrote Perthes to his friend Jacobi, ‘‘everything that was is at an end.” Owing to the general insolvency which followed the issue of the French regulations, the personal losses of Perthes involved all that ten years of toil and anxiety had realized. In Mecklenburgh alone he reckoned them at twenty thousand marks. Still his courage and hopefulness did not desert him. The spirit that animated this admirable man, and the domestic happiness he enjoyed during those years of political turmoil and suffering, are strikingly exhibited in a letter written to Jacobi in the autumn of 1807 : “ My mind becomes every year stronger and more free, and thus I am able to meet all events with courage and cheerfulness. I am, indeed, an ever erring mortal, but unhappy I am not ; I am indeed singularly happy for one who has so restless a career allotted him. A multi- plicity of interests for this world and the next; much love, many friends, many children, much labour, much business, much to please, much to displease me, much anxiety and little gold ; moreover, a dozen Spaniards in my house, and for the last nine days three gendarmes to boot, who drive me almost to distraction ! ” To shut himself up within the circle of his own family 66 CAROLINE PERTHES. and business was not, however, in Perthes’ nature. His inclination and the influence of the times led him rather to take a lively interest in the great events which then commanded the attention of the whole civilized world, and he eagerly set himself to the work of resistance, from which he never for a moment flinched or paused. The constant political excitement to which he was now exposed, and the difficulties attending his business, were almost more than his strength could bear. Family joys and sorrows added also to his anxieties. On the 2nd of March, 1809, a son was born, and two years later a daughter; and one promising and lively boy had been removed by death. His heart was overflowing with love and merriment,” wrote his poor mother, so that he was our joy and delight. We yearn after him, and cannot yet fully realize that we must continue our pilgrimage without him ; it is but a melancholy pleasure we feel in the blessings that God has left us.” In the meantime the condition of Hamburg was dis- tressing in the extreme. The once proud and wealthy city presented a picture of gradual decay and ruin. Many of the wealthier citizens quitted the town, in order not to lose their all, and those who remained went about dejected and depressed, a prey to care and want. Trade and commerce were annihilated, and the most oppressive measures carried into effect witli savage barbarity. The inliabitants had not even the comfort of being secure in their own houses. Jsvery hope seemed at an end. In 1812 the citizens liardly dared to believe the vague rumours which reached them of the f'rcnch reverses in Russia. On the 2.tth I )erember, just as they were ])re- juiring, with heavy hearts, to celebrate Cliristmas, the CAROLINE PERTHES, 67 tidings arrived of the destruction of Napoleon’s army at Moscow. Christmas Eve was kept in Hamburg as it had not been kept for years. On the 12th March the French garrison marched out, “ all very grave, the officers pale as death,” says Madame Perthes. I am beside myself,” she adds, “and know not what I am doing since the great life and soul burden was taken off us.” On the 17th, Tettenborn with his Cossacks entered Hamburg, and was received with transports of joy. “All the misery of the past was forgotten, and all the peril of the future in the joy of the present. Scarcely a German mile off was the enemy, and in a few hours might return and lay waste the city with fire and sword ; but nobody thought of him or his rage. The city presented a won- derful spectacle to one who, after the tumultuous joy of the day, wandered alone through the streets in the mild spring night. Everywhere deep stillness and careless repose — not a sentinel, not a patrol, not a policeman to be seen. The bright moonbeams fell on the houses with their sleeping inhabitants, and completed the picture of peace and security. The joy-wearied city had com- mitted itself to the protection of God alone.” But the security of the city was short-lived. In May, the French, having been reinforced, returned, and the almost unarmed citizens had to defend themselves as best they might They enrolled themselves in a sort of burgher militia, to the number of seven thousand ; and these, with a few regular troops from Lubeck, formed the Hanseatic Legion. While this small and unwarlike band was in the outskirts of the city, endeavouring to defend it against their mighty foe, now advancing in great force on the left bank of the Elbe, their situation 68 CAROLINE PERTHES, and that of their families may be gleaned from the following passage, written when the enemy were in sight of the walls : — Since the ninth of May,” writes his wife, '' Perthes has been twenty-one nights without taking off his clothes or going to bed. Every day I had to fear for his life, and he only now and then came home for half an hour. My three youngest children I had sent away; the four eldest would stay with me. I had no man in the house, all were on guard. All day long people came out and in, wanting food and drink, for not one of our acquaint- ances had any household in town. I had filled our large sitting-room with sacks of straw, upon which, day and night, lay citizens who came in to rest. Day and night I was on the balcony, looking out to see whether Perthes, or any of our nearest friends, were among the wounded who were carried past.” In the night of the 19th May tlie city was bombarded. Perthes, who had passed the night at Wandsbeck, wrote next day to his wife, “ I entreat you, from the bottom of my lieart, command yourself, and place yourself and me in (lod’s hand; and next to him, trust in me, and believe that'wliat I am about to do I shall be able to answer for to him.” In the night of the 22nd there fell about five hundred grenades in the city; but even tlicn the spirit of the citizens was not broken. With unwearied activity and undaunted courage, clay and night, Terlhes went alK)ut exhorting them to j)ersevere, and taking eveay possible means for the j»rovisioning and defence ol the city. When all chance of successful resistance vanished, he removed his wile and childre.n over the I )anish Ij'ontier. 69 CAROLINE PERTHES. He remained behind, but with what hopes these few words will show: think it is all over with us, and I know not what more to do ; but we trust constantly in God. Farewell, dear friend: I go with my wife and seven children into the wide world, not knowing whether in a week we shall have bread. But God will help us.’’ At Wandsbeck, which was in the Danish territory, Caroline and her family were safe from the perils of war. Concerning those sad days she afterwards wrote to a friend, You can form no idea of the anguish and dismay of our last three weeks in Hamburg. My heart is full, and I rejoice to be able to tell you how much more kindness, truth, and fortitude we all evinced than we had supposed ourselves capable of How heartily do I thank God for this experience ! I never knew how strong we are when all concentrate their energies on one point.” She had left the city but a few hours when the firing recommenced, and after an arduous struggle the French remained victorious. There was nothing to hinder tueir triumphant re-entrance ; and Perthes fled without delay to Wandsbeck, where he arrived at two in the morning, and told his wife all was lost. To escape a rebel’s death by the hangman’s hand he continued his flight, under cover of the darkness, after appointing Niitschau, the residence of one of his friends, as the next place of refuge for his family. Thither Caroline immediately hastened. “As soon as he had left me,” she says, “ I began to pack up, and then, exhausted as I was, set out with my seven children and the nurse in an open carriage. It was a very affecting parting \ my mother could not control her 70 CAROLINE PERTHES. feelings, and my father was deeply moved ; the children' wept aloud, and I felt as if turned to stone. My sister Augusta went with us, to comfort and assist me in all my labours and anxieties. When we reached Niitschau we found only two beds for ten persons. I was obliged to divide our cloaks and bundles of linen so that the children might at least have something under their heads. These have been weeks of life and death struggle. God help every poor man who is in trouble of mind or body in these eventful times !” The husband and wife met again, on the 7th June, and wept freely in each other’s arms, “ which, in all our trouble, we had never been able to do before,” says Caroline. The whole family then removed to Aschau, a summer villa on the Baltic, belonging to Count Reventlow, and made themselves as comfortable as they could. “ There,” continues the heroic wife, ‘‘ I for awhile forgot all our troubles for joy that I had got my Perthes, and I can truly say we were inexpressibly happy in each other. I thought neither of the past nor of the future, but thanked God incessantly, and rejoiced that, out of all these perils he had brought my husband to me, sale and sound.” Perthes had lost everything. 1 1 is shop in Hamburg was sealed, and his other property sequestrated. His dwelling-house, after being plundered of every moveable, was assigned to a ITench general. ‘‘Do not suppose that I complain,” he wrote to his uncle ; “ he who has nothing to rej)ent of has nothing to complain of. I have acted as in the j)rcsence of God. J have often risked my life, and why should I be dispirited because I have lost my fortune] God’s will be done I” 71 CAROLINE PERTHES. No sooner had he set his affairs in order, so far as circumstances permitted, than he was informed by the Danish government that it would be impossible for them to protect him, in the event of his being demanded by the French, and that he must leave Aschau. He looked around him for a retreat. A number of influential men of various parties were assembled in Mecklenburg, and thither he determined to repair, hoping also to procure resources for the present support of his family by col- lecting many outstanding debts due to him in that place. When he communicated his purpose to Caroline her heart sank within her. She knew that weeks, perhaps months, must pass before they met again. It might be they would never again see each other’s face! No wonder her soul was filled with sorrow, anxiety, and care. On Thursday, the 8th July, under the shade of the gloomy pine trees of Aschau, they parted. Perthes travelled to Kiel, and thence to the little town of Heiligenhafen, on the shore of the Baltic. The feelings of his heart found expression in many letters, written from that place. “ It was the most painful parting of my life,” he says ; “ I feel, however, spirit and courage to meet the perils I go to face. Resignation to the divine will, firm convictions, and rich experience, a heart full of love and youthful feeling, truth, and rectitude, such are the treasures which my forty years of life have given me j — Lord, my God, I thank thee for them . forgive a poor sinner, and lead me not into temptation. He next proceeded to Rostock, to see what might be done to serve his country’s interests ; and during the next few months was actively engaged in reviving the Hanseatic Legion, and in taking measures for the de- 72 CAROLINE PERTHES, fence of the Hanse towns, and for their full recognition as an important political element in North Germany. In the meantime tidings came from Hamburg that a general pardon had been proclaimed. Ten individuals were excepted, among whom was Perthes. thank you from my heart, my beloved husband,” wrote Caro- line, “ that your name stands among the names of the ten enemies of the tyrant. This will bring us joy and honour as long as we live.” While the noble-hearted woman wrote these words, her condition was truly de- plorable. Near a farm-house, close to the sea and in the middle of the wood, was a garden-house, in which the refugees lived. It contained one sitting-room and a few small bed-rooms. The farmer was the only inhabitant within a circle of four miles. Nothing could be got from him, kind as he was, but milk and butter; bread, soap, salt, and all other necessaries, had to be fetched by the two elder children from a place four miles distant. During eighteen weeks they had neither meat nor white bread. What was called the kitchen was about forty paces from the house ; the cooking utensils consisted of four copper pots, a bowl, and a few plates. They had brought a few knives and forks and spoons; everything else had to be dispensed with. To add to her anxiety, slie was expecting her confinement in a few months. 'I'he eldest of her cliildren was a daughter of fifteen, and the youngest, a l)()y, did not yet run alone. 'J'here was a friendly old farrier near, but the only |)hysician lived at a distance of at least twelve or fifteen inile.s. Inexjjressibly jialhetie and elevating are .some of her letters written amid this jirivation of all earthly coinfoits. She dwelt little on her griefs, but solaced herself in the CAROLINE PERTHES, 73 sympathy and love of her children and friends. The little ones especially comforted her. “ They refreshed me in my distress,” she afterwards wrote, ‘‘each in his own way, and out of the simple and genuine affection of their hearts. I am indeed convinced from experience that God can give us no greater joy or sorrow than through a loving and beloved child. Nothing else so revives and sustains the heart and shames us into energy. This I have experienced a thousand times; and I scarcely think that I could have continued mistress of myself if God had not given me my little angel Bernard, and in him a living image of childish love and confidence. When in such deep affliction and anxiety, I was often on the brink of despair; but when at such times I folded my child in my arms, and looked into his clear infant eyes, and saw that he was neither troubled nor afraid, but calm, sweet, and loving, I found faith again, and prayed to God that I might become even as this little one.” She did, indeed, stand in need of strong consolation ; and at times the dark clouds seemed to gather over her spirit : “ If I bide my time here, and remain without tidings of you, knowing you in constant danger, I shall not outlive it. If I die, as you love me, take care that my children, and especially the little ones, are com- mitted to those who will teach them to love God. That is the main thing. All the rest is not suited to little children.” These touching letters wandered about for months, the communications being everywhere interrupted. The replies of Perthes are full of tenderness and grief, but also of unswerving faith in God and the good cause. From the 7 th of August to the 2d of October, Caroline 74 CAROLINE PERTHES. was without any tidings of him. At length she received the joyful news that he was removed to Bremen, and that she had now nothing to fear for his life, for that he was employed on a peaceful mission. On Christmas night he travelled to Kiel, now no longer threatened by a hostile army, and there he found his wife and family. Unexpected and in the twilight he entered my room,’’ wrote Caroline, after a separation of nearly six months ; and I had the happiness of restoring all the children to him safe and well, with the addition of a darling healthy infant. What this was, none can know but one who has experienced it.” This joy was speedily overcast. The sweet and lovely child who had been such a solace to her in the dark hour, now sickened and died. She wrote to her hus- band, who was absent at the time, “ Our angel Bernard is with God. He died this morning at half past nine. May God be our help.” Her husband answered her in loving words: 'C . . . This is your fortieth birth-day, my still young and ever youthful bride, and gladly would I hasten to your arms and press you to my heart. Be comforted, my dear Caroline! True love is immortal, and by some bonds of love I feel sure that our departed little ones are still united to us.” A new trial was at hand. Berthbs had suffered severely from constant ex])osiire and anxiety. Terrible scenes on every side met his eye, and the sight of so much misery filled his heart, already saddened by the loss of his child, with a horror such as he had never before experienced. He arrived in Kiel on the 19th lAbruary, carrying with him the germ of a dangerous fever; and for nine weeks he was confined to bed, during the first i)art of which ho CAROLINE PERTHES. 75 was in a very precarious state. His good constitution carried him through all, and his wife rejoiced that he was with her, so that she had the happiness of nursing him.” Early in May 1814 the French evacuated Hamburg, and the city was delivered from its oppressors. On the 31st of that month Perthes with his family returned to tlie home they at one time hardly expected to see again. Many an anxious thought mingled with their feelings of gratitude. God be praised that he has brought us thus far, that he has stood by us and helped us in this year of heavy trial,” wrote Caroline to her parents on the day of their return. “We have still many trials before us even under the most favourable circumstances.” It was indeed no easy task that awaited them. Even to render the house habitable was a difficult undertaking. The pleasant and beautiful apartments on the ground- floor had for many months been used by French soldiers as guard-rooms. The whole place was little better than a heap of filth. All the furniture was gone, and there was not a single room fit for use ; dirt and rubbish a foot high covered the floors. Everything had to be replaced, while the want of money and the heart-breaking spec- tacle of numbers of hungry and sorrow-stricken exiles flocking into the city, made the strictest economy a duty no less than a necessity. To place the business, which had been entirely broken up, on its former footing, was a matter of far greater difficulty. Perthes determined to resume it, and issued a circular announcing his intention, and expressing his hope that he should succeed in re- establishing himself and in paying all his creditors. These expectations were abundantly and speedily realized. 76 CAROLINE PERTHES. Friends rallied round liim, and in about twelve montlis he was* in a condition to show that all his obligations were discharged. From that period the house took the important position it ever after maintained. The demands of business were by no means pennitted to engross the whole attention of Perthes. He laboured hard to alleviate the distress and misery of his fellow- citizens, especially of the lower classes, on whom the calamities of the war had fallen most heavily. For this purpose large sums were contributed among the wealthy burghers, and from various quarters help poured in. A number of the most experienced citizens, among whom was Perthes, distributed the supplies thus obtained, and in this way he was brought into contact with people suffer- ing the extremity of privation. In eveiy instance he found they were labouring under other than mere bodily wants. ‘‘ I have gathered much valuable experience among the poor,” he said; “and, thank God, I have often found that suffering and sorrow have been the means of rousing many from their former spiritual death, and of awakening in their hearts a sense of divine and eternal things. Hundreds of families would fain seek lielp and comfort in God; but they know not the way that leads to him. What can our handful of clergy do with this multitude of j)eoijlc1 The Piblc, too, is known but to few families. I have found it wanting even in schools.” It was just at tliis oj)i)()rtune season that the London Dible Society, formed in ino.j, began to direct its ettorts towards Germany. Drs. Jkiterson and Steinkopf were (lejmted to form an association in Hamburg and Altona, and their design was eagerly hailed by Perthes. In the CAROLINE PERTHES. 11 month of October of that year the preliminary meetings were held at his house, and the Society founded. Its twenty-fifth anniversary was celebrated in 1839, on which occasion the important services rendered to it at its com- mencement by Perthes were gratefully commemorated. The anxieties and privations of the year of exile had told severely on Caroline’s health. But though occa- sionally depressed by languor and excitability of the nervous system, she was not forgetful of the many blessings which had been restored to her. ‘‘The old song is every morning new,” she exclaimed, “ that, if possible, I love my husband still better than the day before. How inadequate seems all the gratitude I feel for having been permitted to retain him. Affection is certainly the greatest wonder in heaven and on earth, and the only thing that I can represent to myself as insatiable through eternity.” From the time when Napoleon’s fall put an end to the public anxieties, and peace resumed its sway, Madame Perthes enjoyed in tranquillity her happy home. Although constantly ailing, she was able to superintend her domes- tic affairs; and her gentle influence was felt beyond the limits of her own family, and many around blessed her in their hearts. Her eldest daughter, Agnes, was married in 1818. This event called out all the tender feelings of her heart. The young people were to live at Gotha, and the mother and daughter kept up a constant correspondence, relating to each other every incident of their daily life. Caroline had confided to her child all her cares, her joys and her sorrows, and a tender friendship subsisted between them. Some passages in these letters are especially interesting, 78 CAROLINE PERTHES. as they give us an insight into her heart and experience, and show how her loving spirit was gradually preparing for a higher state of existence. On one occasion, when she was spending a few days in a quiet seclusion, she says, “ It was a still, peaceful evening; we had escaped from the world, were alone, and inconceivably happy. Would that we had more such hours ! When our busy life in Hamburg occurred to me, I felt rather discouraged ; and yet I am convinced that my work there is, on the whole, better for me than this calm blessedness. God has led me by a very different way from that which I had laid out for myself, but it has been the right way. This I not only believe, but know. He has given me in labour and tumult what I would gladly have sought and found in quiet and solitude.” In many other letters we see the struggle in her heart between her joy at the happiness of her daughter and the sorrow of separation : “ To-morrow is our wedding- day,” she says; “it is the first on which I have had to look back on gifts resigned. Dear Agnes, love me still, and keep as close to me as you can. Your father is (|uite well and cheerful, and as dear to me as he was twenty years ago. 1 never believed it jiossible that affection could continue so uninterruptedly. How much longer it will last it is not for me to say.” but it was not only the joyful anniversaries that Caro- line loved to devote to converse with her absent daughter; those consecrated by sad reineinbrancc were also s])cnt in the same way. “ U i.s six years to-day since my angel Iternard was burn,” she writes on the 27th .Septembei. “ I still sei'iii to see his dear, bright eye, which, when 1 in trouble, used to revive and comiuit me, and vv.is CAROLINE PERTHES, 79 renew my confidence and joy in the Lord. How gladly would I know more about the nature of the happiness of my beloved departed children ! God does, indeed, allow us to apprehend it in the depths of our hearts, as something transcending thought; but whenever I would realize this presentiment of the heart in my understand- ing, it dissolves and vanishes away.” The return of the Christmas season awakened her grateful songs and fervent prayers : Let us again,” she cries, bless God, and place ourselves and those who are near and dear to us with confidence and faith in his arms, and rejoice. You, too, must help us to thank Him. Let us with united voice sing, ‘ Oh for a thousand tongues to praise,’ &c. That sweet hymn always recurs to me when I know not what to say on reviewing the years bygone. As for their hours of sore and burning trial, who knows, and who can reckon, the benefit we derive from them] They are not appointed in vain.” In the spring of the year 1820, a second daughter married and went to reside at Gotha; and at the same time Matthias, the eldest son, went to the University of Tubingen, to study theology. Madame Perthes had now three absent children, each of whom expected letters from lier regularly, and they were rarely disappointed. To her daughters she gave much wise and prudent counsel as to the duties of young wives. For example : ‘‘ Thank your husband with all your heart for sharing his cares with you, rather than concealing them in order to spare you, If a wife cannot remove, she can often lighten care; and sweet and bitter should be shared by man and wife. Men’s characters differ widely, and with them, God’s means for 8o CAROLINE PERTHES. promoting their welfare. Your father and I had many struggles which were often painful; but when I look back, I see clearly that all served to unite us and make us better acquainted with each other, and that is a result which can never be bought too dear. Be on your guard against all sources of irritation. It is great and noble to attain a state of mind which does not allow affection to be saddened or interrupted by the trifles of daily life. A strong determination against this must be rooted in the heart; but I have learned from experience that there are many things which, though they ought not to be lightly regarded, must be lightly handled.” Upon her son she urged the necessity of realizing the responsibilities of his sacred calling. “ I was well aware, she writes, “ that the time would come when you would see many things in a different light from us ; but I did not say this, because I hoped and believed that you were earnest and truth-loving, and because I trusted that God would give you right views and opinions at the right time. Moreover, I know diat man can impait but little to his fellow-man ; each must seek and find for himself. I have found it better not to think so much of one’s self, but rather to think more of God, and to long earnestly after him ; and if we have fallen, to rise at once and go on, trusting in him : thus we are continually advancing by God’s grace, towanls a i)caccful and blessed end. . . . 1 always take comfort from that man in lire gospel to wliom our l-ord Jesus said that he must A’/dw before he could be helped; and who replital, ‘ I.ord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.’ 'I’his is all we can do, and where we can do nothing, God is ever ready to aul ; be- sides, there may be much unrest and unbelief in the CAROLINE PERTHES. 8i head, while the heart holds firmly by its anchor ‘ God is love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God.’ I know of nothing more certain, imperfect as our love must needs be here below.” In another letter she writes : “ I believe with you that, in order to deal honestly with your future congregation and with your own understanding, you must diligently in- vestigate, in order that you may come to the steadfast knowledge and the clear consciousness that ‘ in Christ Jesus are hidden all the treasures of wisdom;’ but I also trust m God that, if you wrestle and strive earnestly, he will give you a steadfast faith by which he will carry on the work of grace in your heart, even when your under- standing labours under perplexity.” The mother s care extended to the minutest details of the student-life, and she warned him against bad habits, so easily acquired by young men when removed from the parental surveillance. “Tell me of your daily life,” she says, “so that I may see exactly what you are about. Be sure you make a point of opening your windows, and keeping your room neat and clean. And I entreat you, dear Matthias, out of love to me, dress yourself on first rising, and don’t sit for hours half-dressed, and with shoes down at the heels. I dislike it very much. Dress yourself for the day, and you will feel fresh and cheerful, prepared for whatever may come.” One more extract from a letter, written on the i8th October 1820, must be given, as it contains a deeply interesting reference to the past “ The anniversary of the battle of Leipsic was right festively commemorated. Early m the morning all the bells were ringing, all the 83 CAROLINE PERTHES. churches were full, und crowds waited without , at noon the whole town-guard turned out ; the streets were so full of holiday folks walking, driving, and riding, that I could not hear myself speak ; in the evening there were fireworks in every direction. “ I sat at home and thought. The recollection of that great epoch is engraven in my heart. I have lived those iron months over again, with all their joys, and sorrows, and anxieties. You will believe that my eyes overflowed, and I thanked God as well as I could, though not so fervently as I wished, for all his goodness. If I could but once keep this day in the Aschau cellar, gratitude would rise spontaneously, and overpower all other thoughts. That cellar I shall remember as long as I live ; how perplexed I often was when I left you all for a quarter of an hour, to be alone and to give free course to my tears. “ Surely on this day we ought all to rejoice and be glad in the deliverance which God wrought for us ; and when I think of each one in particular, wliat overflowing ])leasure do I see ; only my darling, blessed Bernard’s place is empty. We miss him, and shall miss him till we go to him.” “ 'I'ill we go to him.” Fond, yearning heart ! The hour is not distant when thou shalt rejoin thy lost darling. The bodily sufferings to which Madame Perthe-s had been subject ever since the trying scenes of 1813, now rapidly increased. 'I'hc irritability of the nervous system and the heart disease soon reached an alarming height; and it became evident that unless she speedily tallied, her constitution must finally succumb. Gonscious ol her precarious condition, she appears to have pondeied CAROLINE PERTHES. 83 thoughtfully, and with earnest self-searching, her spiritual condition. ‘‘ If I am not deceived,” she said, when I examine myself as in the sight of God, I feel an increase of peace and assurance ; and there are seasons when I am even confident. God grant that the peace and con- fidence may be abiding, and not a mere play of fancy ! God will surely help me ! The desire of my heart is for peace and submission to his will, but I cannot always master the desire to live here on earth.” The last anniversary of her betrothal was greeted with peculiar emotion. She seems to have had a sort of presentiment that there was in reserve for her a higher satisfaction than even the best joys of earth can yield. My day of days ! the first of May. I thank God that after four-and-twenty years I can keep it with feelings of the most thorough joy and satisfaction. A few sighs may escape, for my breath is short ; but joy shall be continually renewed. Such a fulness of spring splendour and beauty I think I have never before seen ; the love- liness of the trees and foliage, grass and flowers, is inex- pressible. And this great change from death to life has come to pass in a few days — I might say in a few hours. When we stand in the sweet spring-tide, looking through the tall bright green trees to the pure blue sky, one can scarcely realize all the trouble and sorrow that may be within us and around us. Yes, spring is the time of joy, and that joy carries my heart upwards to that bright and happy land where there shall be no more pain or sor- row.” To her children she wrote in a strain of consolation and tender sympathy. “ What a constant and profound sense have I of God’s mercy,” she says, ‘‘ in the bright 84 CAROLINE PERTHES. hopes he has given me, and to so great an extent already realized in and through you all. You cannot imagine what bright and blessed hours your father and I enjoy when we sit down together to think over this. It is a gift of God’s grace unspeakably precious to see our children walking in the way to heaven, however great may be our fears and anxieties respecting them ; for God, who has begun the good work, will perform it in us all, and will perfect that which concerns us.” Early in June a severe attack of nervous fever brought her exceedingly low, and she became fully aware of her danger. I am weary and exhausted,” she wrote when the danger was past for a season ; and could you see me, you would feel that my days are numbered. I could gladly live among you yet awhile, were it God’s will. Assuredly God cannot have less good in store for us in heaven ; but that which we have here we see with our eyes, and thus it has a stronger hold on our hearts than the anticipation of even the better things awaiting us above. My greatest comfort is, tliat God knows me perfectly ; and certainly I desire more than I can ac- complish.” In the middle of July she was taken to Wandsbeck, to be nursed away from the bustle of home, for she was suffering much from difficiflty of breathing and cramj) in the chest. “ I long indescribably to return to my duties,” she wrote to one of her children, “and to sj)are my dear IV-rthes further anxiety about my health. 1 cannot do any kind of work, nor even knit ; neither can 1 read ; but I feel no lediousness, and am in good sj)irils. I must not write any more, my dear. It is not my heart, but my head that is weary.” CAROLINE PERTHES. 85 These were almost the last lines she was able to pen. On her return to Hamburg all hope of her recovery diminished day by day. Although not in immediate expectation of death, she evidently enjoyed a closer communion with heaven. The old hymn, beginning, ‘‘ Lord, I would venture on thy word,” was her delight. When, through her sufferings and the restlessness of fever, she could with difficulty recall its verses, she would take up her pen and write a few of the lines, in order to impress them on her memory. As her end approached she became delirious at inter- vals, but when consciousness returned for a few hours, the peace of faith, the assurance of hope, and the joy of love, were victorious over suffering and death. On the 28th August 1821, a stroke of paralysis ter- minated her existence so suddenly that she was unable to give any token of farewell to those around her. Her husband had long been aware of her danger, and from his letters to his children it is evident that, in the midst of his anxiety and distress, he found comfort and support in submission to the will of God. When the bereaving stroke at length came, he appears to have most fully and painfully realized the greatness of his loss. She had been indeed a ‘‘ helpmeet ” to him. All that I have done and planned that was not immediately con- nected with business,” he wrote, has been solely in reference to your mother. She never knew — at least fully — how dependent I was upon her; she only thought, in the depth of her love for me, what sacrifices I had made. But now all this is over, and next to the yearning after her, I am most oppressed by the feeling of solitude. I know by experience the instability of man when he is 86 CAROLINE PERTHES. left alone, and if humility can bring down help from above, I may venture to hope that it will not be denied. ‘‘ If it were not for you, children, my wish would be to depart; but my course is not yet ended, and I must continue to struggle and to act.’^ IV. MRS. GRANT, OF LAGGAN. ORD COCKBURN, in the fascinating “ Me- morials of his Time,” has drawn some admir- able pictures of the old Scotch ladies who flourished in his younger days, and who live again in his lively pages. For professed literary dames his lordship had evidently no great predilection, though occasionally his prejudices were overcome when he came in contact with such as were ‘‘ not too blue,” and whose “ sense covered the colour!” He accordingly mentions with commendation Mrs. Hamilton, the authoress of the “ Cottagers of Glenburnie,” and Mrs. Grant, “ widow of a minister of Laggan, who had unfolded herself in the ' Letters from the Mountains,’ an interesting treasury of good solitary thoughts.” His picture of Mrs. Grant, as he knew her, about the year i8ii, is very pleasing and graphic. “ She was,” he says, a dark, tall woman, of very considerable intellect, great spirit, and the warmest benevolence. Her love of individual Whigs, particularly of Jeffrey, in spite of her amusing horror of their principles, was honourable to her heart. She was always under the influence of an affec- tionate and delightful enthusiasm, which, unquenched by time or sorrow, survived the wreck of many domestic at- 88 MRS, GRANT, OF LA GG AN tachments, and shed a glow over the close of a very pro- tracted life.” He adds that both she and Mrs. Hamilton were re- markable for the success of their literary conversational gatherings ; their evening parties having ‘‘ the greater merit from the smallness of their houses and of their means.” Mrs. Grant wrote herself a brief sketch of the earlier part of her life, giving a rapid view of the principal inci- dents of her career, until she became known to the pub- lic as the authoress of the Letters from the Mountains;” and this autobiographical notice gives a very pleasing idea of herself, and a lively portraiture of persons and things. I am persuaded some extracts from it will afford entertainment to the reader. It commences thus : — ‘‘ My father, Duncan Macvicar, Avas a plain, brave, pious man. He was born in the parish of Craignish in Argyllshire ; was early left an orphan, and removed, when a young man, to Fort AVilliam, in Inverness-shire, where he had some concern in farming, along with his relation. Captain Macvicar. In 1753 he married my mother, who was a grand-daugh- ter of Mr. Stewart of Invernahylc, an ancient family in the neighbouring county of Argyll. Some time after their marriage my j^arents removed to Glasgow, where I was born on the 21st lAbruary 1755, but was immediately .sent home to be nursed in the house of my grandmother, near I'ort William. At the end of eighteen months I was carried back to Glasgow, with red cheeks and a (]iianlity (jf soft light hair, all which, 1 was afterwards told, made me acc(nmted a i)retty child. I lay, however, under some sus])ieion in regard to my mental powers, MRS. GRANT, OF LAGG AN 89 from my quiet and abstracted manner of gazing at ob- jects near to me. Fortunately, as I grew more active I became less clumsy ; and when I spoke plainly, my in- tellectual powers were no longer questioned. ^‘In 1757, my father went out to America under the auspices of Colonel Archibald Montgomerie, afterwards Earl of Eglinton, in whose regiment (the 77th foot) he had a commission, leaving my mother and myself in Glasgow with the intention of sending for us if the country held out any inducement for his settling in it. “ The only particular of my infantine history that I remember to have heard related took place in the streets of Glasgow. My mother lived in the eastern ex- tremity of the town. I suppose she often spoke of my father being in America, and might very probably point westward when describing in what direction the New AVorld lay. Be that as it may. One Sunday evening, when I was at most two years and eight months old, I walked deliberately by myself very nearly a mile to the western extremity of the Trongate. How much further r might have gone is not known. A lady looking out at a window, saw with some surprise a child neatly dressed in white, with bare head and arms, alone and unattended, in the middle of the street. She sent for me, and asked me where I came from. I said, ‘ Erom mamma’s house.’ She next inquired where I was going. I answered that I was ‘ going to America, to seek papa.’ This explanation did not diminish her interest in so young a traveller. She gave me tea, put me to bed, and determined to wait till morning to make further discoveries, finding me per- fectly satisfied to remain. However, while I was en- 90 MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN joying repose after my long walk, a bell was heard in the street, the public crier having been sent through the town describing a lost child. How or when I was car- ried back I know not ; but I have often heard the story from my mother, who certainly was tlie last person to embellish, far less to invent. The first she would not, the second she could not. I never knew a person of more perfect integrity, or more deficient in imagination.” When she was nearly three years old, little Anne Grant accompanied her mother to America. They landed at Charleston in 1758, and found Mr. Macvicar absent on an expedition to Pittsburg. The following year they removed to Transylvania, and soon afterwards to the province of New York. Plere a new scene opened to the observant eyes of the child. The father, being stationed with a party of Highlanders at a Dutch settle- ment below Albany, called Claverock, on the domain of a worthy, well-to-do, and most primitive family, so much recommended himself to their good opinion by his con- duct and that of his men, in contrast to a company of soldiers previously billoted there, who had been insolent and rapacious, that he became a great favourite, and easily ])revailed on these worthy people to receive his wife and child at a nominal board, while he took the lirld with the army. “ d'herc, says the autobiography, ‘‘ 1 learnt very rapidly to read from my mother, never having any other teacher while there. 'I 'here, too, among the luimitivc pcoide of the settlement 1 learnt that love of truth and simplicity which I found a charm against artifice and jjretension of every kind. J learned also to. love the Indians, who were always well received and well treated by the kind-hearted family. MRS. GRANT, OF LAG GAN. 91 “ Early in 1760 my father returned, and took us to the town of Albany on the Hudson river, where I saw with keen though childish sorrow, the Highland soldiers dragging through the streets cannon destined for the attack on the Havannah, where so many of them after- wards perished. “ In October we set out with a party in boats for Oswego, on the banks of the Lake Ontario. We had a most romantic journey, sleeping sometimes in the woods, sometimes in forts, which formed a chain of posts in the then trackless wilderness. We had no books but the Bible and some military treatises; but I grew familiar with the Old Testament, and a Scotch sergeant brought me Blind Harry’s ‘‘ Wallace,” which by the aid of the said sergeant, I conned so diligently, that I not only understood the broad Scotch, but caught an admiration for heroism and an enthusiasm for Scotland that have ever since been like a principle of life. ‘‘ On our return from this remote residence the follow- ing year, a Captain Campbell, an old friend of my father, then stationed on the Mohawk river, gave me a fine copy of Milton, which I studied, to very little purpose no doubt, all the way down in the boat, but which proved a treasure to me afterwards, as I never rested till I found out the literal meaning of the words, and in process of time, at an age I am ashamed to mention, entered into the full spirit of it.” The family next resided in the town of Albany, in which place Mr. Macvicar was stationed for three or four years with a detachment of his regiment. Here the little Anne formed a friendship which continued warm and undi- minished through life. Madame Schuyler, her new ac- 92 MJ^S. GRANT, OF LAGC AN. quaintance, was the daughter of one of the most respect- able families in the province of New York. She was the widow of a colonel, who, dying early and leaving no children, bequeathed to her the greater part of his ample fortune of which she made the most liberal use. Her house at Albany was the resort of all strangers whose manners or conduct entitled them to her regard, and not long after their arrival, the Macvicars went one evening to pay her a visit, taking with them their little girl. She has thus described the part she played on the occasion, and which she ascribes to the fact of her mind having been recently absorbed in the study of Milton : — “ The conversation fell upon dreams and forewarnings. I rarely spoke till spoken to at any time; but of a sudden the Spirit moved me to say that bad angels sometimes whisper dreams into the soul. When asked for my authority, I surprised every one by a quotation from Eve’s fatal dream, infusing into her mind the ambition that led to guilt. After this I became a great favourite, and Madame Schuyler never failed to tell any one who inquired the origin of her partiality for me. While we remained in America I enjoyed much of her society, and when my father removed from Albany, I spent two winters with her in that city. Indeed, if my parents would have parted with me, she would have kept me en- tirely with herself.” This lady is the original of the heroine in Mrs. (hant’s “ Memoirs of an .American lady,” ])ublishcd in 1808, of which Mr. Jeffrey remarks: It contains a very ani- mated |)icture of that sort of simple, tranquil, patriarchal life which was common within these three hundred years in the central parts of England, but of which we arc MRS. GRANT, OF LAGG AN. 93 rather inclined to think there is now no specimen left in the world.” The education of this intelligent and precocious child had been, owing to the peculiar circumstances of her parents’ history, entirely neglected. More than forty years after this period she thus excuses her defective orthography : — “ I was taught to write when a girl in America by a soldier in my father’s regiment, who began life in the character of a gentleman, but being an incor- ' rigible sot, retained nothing but a fine hand to distinguish him from his fellows, when he was chosen to be my teacher. This tutor of mine visited the black hole so often that I got copies at long intervals, when he was removed into another regiment. I was thus deprived of all instruction of this and almost of every other kind ; but then it was intended to send me to a convent in Canada, where officers’ daughters got some sort of super- ficial education. This was deferred from year to year, and then dropped, because we thought of coming home, where I was to learn everything; but by that time I was grown very tall, very awkward, and so sensitive that a look disconcerted me, and I went to no school except that where dancing was taught, which I very soon left from the same miserable conscious awkwardness.” Mr. Mac vicar was a careful man, and had, according to his daughter, a faculty of making money where it could be fairly acquired.” Upon the termination of the war in Canada the British government granted allotments of land to retired officers, two thousand acres to each. One of these was given to him upon his retiring from the army on half pay, in 1765. Few or none of the officers who received these grants had any taste for living in the 94 MRS, GRANT, OF LA GG AN woods, or for the expense or trouble of taking out patents, and going out with surveyors and a party of Indians to locate and mark out the lands. He, how- ever, was familiar with the ways of the country, spoke the language, and was well liked among the people. He purchased for a trifle the rights of some young officers who were in haste to return home to Britain, and addino- their rights to his own, and taking them out in a fertile corner as yet unoccupied, having them carefully sur- veyed and his title established, he became a landholder to a considerable extent. The property thus acquired was situated in what afterwards became the state of New Vermont. It was the intention of Mr. Macvicar to reside upon his estate, which was every day rising in value as the countiy around became cleared and inhabited. Unfortunately, being a keen sportsman, he exposed himself so much to cold and wet, that he became a victim to ague and rheumatism, and after intense suffering for a year, took a sudden resolution to return to Scotland in 1768. This intention was so precipitately carried into effect that he had no time to arrange his affairs, but constituted a friend, whose property adjoined his own, his agent in cither selling or letting his lands. “ "J'hus,” continues Mrs. Urant’s narrative, “ we re- turned to Scotland with very few available funds except my father’s half j)ay, the produce of which would, with our ([uiet and frugal habits, afford abundance. I had but lately entered the fourteenth year of iny age. The revolutionary temj)est was even then gathering in America. Cflfieers and servants of government were looked upon with an evil eye, yet did not dream of MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN. 95 events which were shortly to occasion their ruin and banishment. ‘‘We arrived in Scotland in May 1768, encountering one continual storm in a small, ill-found vessel, and put into Larne, in the north of Ireland, where we remained some days to recruit. We arrived at Glasgow, strangers an d in limited circumstances; but my usual source of happi- ness, which has followed me through life, did not fail me there — I mean that of having friends of true merit faith- fully attached to me. I was first regarded as something curious and anomalous, having none of the embellish- ments of education, knowing only reading, writing and needlework — writing, indeed, very imperfectly, yet fami- liar with books, with plants and with trees, with all that regarded the face of nature, perfectly ignorant of the cus- toms and manners of the world, combining, with a childisli and amusing simplicity, a store of various knowledge, which nothing less than the leisure of much solitary re- tirement, and the tenacity of an uncommonly retentive memory, could have accumulated in the mind of an overgrown child, for such I appeared to those who knew my age.” Such is Mrs. Grant’s picture of herself and her acquire- ments at this period of her history. She possessed, in a remarkable degree, the power of sympathy, and attached to herself wherever she went the kindly regard of those with whom she associated. She mentions with especial warmth of attachment one family with whom she now formed a close intimacy. At their country house on the banks of the river Cart, near Glasgow, she spent part of three summers, and she ever after spoke of their society as a most valuable portion of her early training, both 96 MI^S. GJ^ANT, OF LAG GAN. mental and moral. Innocence of manners, purity of thought, perfect simplicity associated with genuine re- finement, formed in these excellent people an assemblage of qualities rarely united in the same individuals. ‘‘Here, too, were the relics of the old Covenanters,” she says; and here I enriched my memory with many curious traits of Scottish history and manners, by frequenting the cottages of the peasantry, and perusing what I could find on their smoky bookshelves. Here was education for the heart and mind well adapted for the future lot whidi Providence assigned me.” With these friends Mrs. Grant kept up an intimate connection which was only closed by death. Two of the sisters of the family were her con- stant correspondents, and many of her published letters were originally addressed to them. In 1773 Macvicar was offered the office of barrack- master of Fort Augustus, in Inverness-shire. He could not resist the temptation of a military employment, which best suited his habits; and emolument was not so great an object, as he was then receiving flattering accounts of the offers made for his transatlantic estate. The idea of living in the Highlands was by no means unpleasant to his daughter, her sequestered habits and love of natural scenery disposing her rather to relish the thought. Her chief regrets were parting from Iier beloved companions, with whom she agreed to maintain an active correspond- ence. At I'ort Augustus she resided six years, and the inti- macies which she formed there are described at length in her “ Letters.” In 1779 she married Mr. (h*ant, “a young clergyman, connected with some of tlie most re- sj)ectable families in the neighbourhood, possessing great MRS. GRANT, OF LAGG AN 97 personal advantages, and adding those of much refine- ment of mind, sound principle, and a most correct judg- ment,” who was at that time chaplain to the garrison. Intimacy was in a manner unavoidable between young people of similar tastes, who, in the narrow circle in which they moved, met of necessity every day. Mr. Grant had been placed in the neighbouring parish of Laggan three years before. “ His popularity was secured by his manners and conduct,” says his wife ; mine was of more difficult attainment, because I was not a native of the country, and Highlanders dislike the intrusion of a stranger. However, I had both pride and pleasure in overcoming difficulties. Thus, by adopting the customs, studying the Gaelic language, and above all, not won- dering at anything local and peculiar, with the aid of a most worthy and sensible mother-in-law, I acquired that share of the goodwill of my new connections and the re- gard of the poor, without which even with the fond affec- tion of a fellow-mind, such a residence would have been scarcely supportable. In course of years I acquired a taste for farming, led a life of fervid activity, and had a large family of children, all promising, and the greater number of them beautiful.” The distance between Fort Augustus and Laggan was only twenty-five miles, but the two were divided by. a lofty mountain called Corryarrick, which was impassable in winter. This formidable barrier rose high above the region of the clouds, and the sudden descent on the other side was peculiarly dangerous, not only from deep snows concealing the unbeaten track of the road, but Irom whirlwinds and eddies that drove the snow into heaps ; besides an evil spirit which the country people (^ 2 ) 7 98 MRS, GRANT, OF LAG GAN devoutly believed to have dwelt there time out of mind. “ After crossing this awful mountain,” says the minister’s helpmeet, “ we travel eastward through twelve miles of bleak inhospitable country, inhabited only by moor-fowl, and adorned with here and there a booth erected for a temporary shelter to shepherds, who pass the summer with their flocks in these lonely regions. On leaving this waste you enter a valley six miles in length and half a mile broad, which wants nothing but wood to be beau- tiful; it has indeed some copses, or what the Scottish bards call shaws. “ It consists entirely of rich meadow and arable lands, and has the clear and rapid Spey running through the middle of it. About the centre of this vale, at the foot of a mountain which screens it from the north wind, stands our humble dwelling. It is a comfortable cottage, consisting of four rooms, light closets, and a nursery and kitchen, built out by way of addition. It is situated in a south aspect, at the foot of an arable hill, behind which stretches an extensive moss, once a forest, and still abounding in fuel, which is surmounted by a lofty moun- tain, the top of which is often lost in the clouds, while its bosom, hollow and verdant, is a reservoir of copious springs, and abounds in early pasturage and berries pecu- liar to these regions. Our little domain, to which the church lands are added, stretches about a quarter of a mile through a flowery valley. I should have told you that at one end of our cottage is a garden, in which we have planted a variety of trees, and where small fruit abounds. At our door is a stone porch with scats; this rural i)ortico is so covered with honeysuckle that you would take it for a bower. Wc have a little green court MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN. 99 enclosed before, which, in fine weather, forms a supple- ment to the nursery. We hold a farm at a very easy rent, which supports a dozen milk cows and a couple of hundred sheep, with a range of summer pasture on the mountains for our young stock, horses, &c. “ This farm supplies us with everything absolutely necessary; even the wool and flax, which our handmaids manufacture to clothe the children, are our own growth. But it is time to introduce you within doors, where you will find the master of the dwelling in the midst of the circle he most delights in, and in that home where he appears to most advantage, because his hospitality and warmth of heart here shine through that cloud of reserve and diffidence which conceals him everywhere else. Singu- larly domestic, a fond husband, and tenderly indulgent father, he delights in his children from their birth with- out nursing them like an old woman; judicious and at- tentive in what regards out-door management, but totally unconcerned as to what passes within, considering, like a true Highlander, household affairs as entirely the female province, and the duties of his sacred function as the only object beyond his family deserving of serious regard. Next, his mate, very little altered in sentiment and principle since her earlier days, yet having the wings of romantic elevation somewhat dipt by increasing years and cares, and the fervour of enthusiasm a little abated with that matronly cast of manners which the constant exercise of authority, mingled with affection, naturally produces.” As years went by the family at Laggan grew by de- grees more and more numerous. Happy in her husband and her children, Mrs. Grant describes with charming 100 MJ^S. GRANT, OF LAG CAN. ingenuousness her daily life. Here, for example, is her lively “ Diary of one July Monday:” — “ I mention Mon- day, being the day that all dwellers in glens come down for the supplies. Item, at four o’clock Donald arrives with a horse loaded with butter, cheese, and milk. The former 1 must weigh instantly. He only asks an additional blanket for the children, a covering for himself, two milk tubs, a cog, and another spoon, because little Peter threw one of the set into the burn, — two stone of meal, a quart of salt, two pounds of flax for the spinners, for the grass continues so good that they will stay a week longer. He brings the intelligence of the old sow’s being the joyful mother of a dozen pigs, and requests something to feed her with. All this must be ready in an hour ; before the conclusion of which comes Ronald from the high hills, where our sheep and young horses are all summer, and only desires meal, salt, and women with shears to clip the lambs, and tar to smear them. He informs me that the black mare has a foal, a very fine one, but she is very low, and I must instantly send one to bring her to the meadows before he leaves. The tenants who do us service come ; they are going to stay two days in the oak wood cutting timber for our new byre, and must have a comj^etent provision of bread, cheese, and ale for the time they stay. Then I have Caro’s breakfast to get, Janet’s hank to reel, and a basket of clues to dispatch to the weaver; K.’s lesson to hear, her sampler to rectify, and all must be over before eleven ; wlnle his reverence, calm and regardless of all this bustle, wonders what de- tains me, urges me out to walk, wliile the soaring larks, the smiling meadows, and opening flowers second the invitation, and my imagination, if it gets a moment loose MRS, GRANT, OF LAGGAN loi from care, kindles at these objects with all the eagerness of youthful enthusiasm. . . . Now I will not plague you with a detail of the whole day, of which the above is a competent specimen. Yet spare your pity, for this day is succeeded by an evening so sweetly serene, our walk by the river is so calmly pleasing, our lounge by the burn side so indolently easy, our conversation in the long- wished for hour of leisure so interesting, sliding so imper- ceptibly from grave to gay, — and then our children ! Say you wish me more ease and leisure, but do not pity me. ... I declare, had I my pilgrimage to begin anew, I would not give my share of the endearing charities of life, my bustles and struggles to procure ease and comfort for those I love, my faithful friendships, and * My humble toils and destiny obscure,’ for all that wealth and fashion can bestow.” This pure happiness was overshadowed by affliction before many years had elapsed. The narrative con- tinues, — In 1 7 94 my father returned to Glasgow. This was in some degree convenient for us, as it enabled us to send our children there for education. A particular circumstance made us known to the family of the late Mr. Macintosh of Dunchattan, in that neighbourhood, who procured a commission in the army for our eldest son, then a mere boy, but a most amiable and promising one; he died at Glasgow of consumption in his sixteenth year. This was a heavy blow, and bore heavy on his father, whose health had been always very precarious. I. had mourned over three children who died previously in early infancy.- The birth of my youngest child, — a fort- night after his brother’s death, carried off my thoughts in some degree from this affliction. The daily decline of 102 MRS. GRANT, OF LAGGAN Mr. Grant’s health, though I was unwilling to see it, now forced itself on my attention. He outlived his son but eighteen months. ... I cannot go into details ever pain- ful to memory. Suffice it to say that he was removed in i8oi, after an attack of inflammation of three days’ conti- nuance, and I was thus left with eight children not free from debt, yet owing less than might be expected, considering the size of our family and the decent hospitality which was kept up in a manner that, on . looking back, astonishes even myself, as it did others at the time. I was too much engrossed with my irreparable loss on the one hand, and too much accustomed to a firm reliance on the fatherly care of Him who will not abandon the chil- dren of a righteous man on the other, to have any fears for the support of so many helpless creatures. I felt a confidence on their account that to many might appear romantic and extravagant.” Where now was the American property] Entirely swallowed up in the gulf of the Revolution. It lay un- happily within the bounds of Vermont, — a new state, which had risen like a volcanic island in the tumult of that civil commotion. The inhabitants were disbanded soldiers and lawless characters from every other state; they well knew that much of the land of which they had usurped the possession belonged to officers and other ]>ritish subjects. But they refused to accede to the con- federation of the other states if their rights were called in question, so that Mr. Macvicar lost his property en- tirely, as he could not claim the merit of loyalty in troublous times, having left America before the troubles commenced. A small provision from the War Office, which Mrs. MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN. 103 Grant received as the widow of a regimental chaplain, was all the provision on which she could count. Friends, indeed, were not wanting in this time of need. The Duke of Gordon allowed her to possess the farm which her husband had occupied, not only for the year after his death, but for the ensuing one also. “ This,” she says, “ was not quite satisfactory to my friends in Glas- gow, who generously wished me to live near them that they might be in many respects useful to me. But my elder daughters found a home there under my father’s roof, who had removed to that city chiefly on their ac- count. I also thought my mountain abode at Laggan more frugal and safe in its remote obscurity. I loved the common people too, chiefly because of their own class they were very uncominon people, and also because they revered the memory of their departed pastor, and truly loved his family. I knew them well; nor do I think that any educated or informed person ever was more intimately known to an unlettered and seemingly unin- formed populace.” In the meantime she was induced to try her powers as a writer, and urged by her friends, prepared a volume of poems, which was published in 1803, in the spring of which year she visited her parents in Glasgow ; her last visit to them, for Mr. Macvicar was suffering from an illness which shortly proved fatal. During the same eventful twelve months Mrs. Grant unwillingly quitted her beloved Laggan, and engaged a house near Stirling at a place called Woodend, where she established herself with her children and her mother, who, after her hus- band’s death, resided with her daughter. It was a neigh- bourhood of great beauty, the scenery calculated to 104 MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN. nurse a soothing and gentle melancholy,” and here she made new and kind friends; and in devoting herself to her numerous duties, found the best relief for her heavy griefs. In 1806 she published her ‘‘Letters from the Moun- tains,” which she was induced to do in order to procure the necessary funds for the equipment of her eldest re- maining son Duncan, who had received a commission in the military service of the East India Company, and whose outfit was a new and heavy expenditure for his anxious mother. “ I confess,” she says, “ it was a re- source in which I had but little faith, and no person, I be- lieve, was so astonished at the success of the book as myself. My publishers dealt liberally with me, and many persons of distinguished merit interested themselves in me, and sought my acquaintance, in consequence of per- using these letters.” Mrs. Grant’s sketch of her own life breaks off about the period of her daughter Charlotte’s death, which oc- curred in April 1807. She was an amiable and beautiful girl, of premature understanding, and appears to have considerably resembled her mother in many respects. Three months afterwards Catherine, the second daughter, died in her twenty-fifth year. When alluding to this period, their mother says, in a letter to a friend, “ I can- not dwell on all the anguish of this beginning of maternal sorrow, — I mean that of seeing my hopes blasted by consumption, since so fatal to my fiimily. I had lost children before, but I was not then their on/y ])arent.” d'hese were indeed but “ the beginning of sorrows.” l^oiir (laughters who survived Catherine lived to grow II]), and were amiable and talented girls, but all succcs- MRS, GRANT, OF LAG GAN. 105 sively drooped and sank. The eldest of the two remain- ing sons was prosperous in his military career in India. He was himself deserving, and he had met with kind and influential friends; and to him his mother looked with pride and hope, which were suddenly extinguished by the unexpected tidings of his death in 1814 in his twenty- seventh year. The letters she addressed to him are truly affecting, and show that her afflictions had been sanctified to her own spirit, by the earnest appeals she makes to him on the all-important matter of his spiritual well-being. When communicating the tidings of his sister’s death, she thus writes, — Chastened and sub- dued as I am by many sorrows, believe me, even with the fair prospects that are now open to your view, I would rather, could I be assured of the fact, hear of your dying now, if you left the world in the same frame of mind the dear departed ones did, leaving a conviction that you were taken from the evil to come, than be told that you commanded the army in India, living without God in the world, and hurrying through the glare of worldly grandeur to final destruction. My dear son, you must needs taste of the bitter cup we have been drinking : sisters so affectionate and so beloved cannot be removed without making an impression on your mind, but, oh ! do not pass it lightly by ; drink deep of it and you will find the sweetness of divine consolation at the bottom, . . . and when from this scene of sad vicissitudes your soul departs, may you be found in the number of those who have not rejected or trampled under foot the free grace, the inestimable salvation purchased by the blood of a Redeemer.” In 1810 Mrs. Grant removed with her family to Edin- io6 MRS. GRANT, OF LAG GAN burgh, her object being to take a house fit to accom- modate a few young ladies, the children of wealthy per- sons in the upper circles of life,” whom she proposed to educate and bring up with her own daughters. She ac- cordingly hired ‘‘a good and very pleasant house” in Heriot Row, where she established herself to her entire satisfaction. I have every reason,” she writes, ‘‘ to think my residence here will be agreeable and advan- tageous. Were I to go on in the way of taking under my tuition all that could pay me well for doing so, I might soon, I am sure, fill a larger house than this. But I see daily more reasons to adhere to my first intention of restricting the number of my pupils to three or four, and will not wear out an enfeebled frame and exhausted mind with the severe anxiety resulting from such a mode of life. I live in a part of Edinburgh called Heriot Row, op- posite Queen Street, a new range of buildings, with gar- dens in front, and a view of the sea behind; nothing can be more airy and pleasant. Mr. Henry Mackenzie, of the Exchequer, otherwise called the ‘ Man of Feeling,’ is one of our nearest neighbours; and several others whom we know and esteem live in the same range of buildings. AVe have received many visits and invitations since we arrived, but from the hurry of a new establishment, have not yet returned them. “ Walter Scott and the formidable Jeffrey have both called on me, not by any means as a scribbling female, but on account of links formed by mutual friends. You would think by their ai)j)earance that the body of each was formed to lodge the soul of the other. Having met lliein both fonneily, their a])pearancc was not anything MRS. GRANT, OF LAG GAN. 107 new to me; but Jeffrey looks the poet all over, — the ardent eye, the nervous agitation, the visibly quick per- ceptions, keep one’s attention constantly awake in expectation of flashes of the peculiar intelligence of genius, nor is that expectation entirely disappointed, for his conversation is in a high degree fluent and ani- mated. ‘‘ Walter Scott, again, has not a gleam of poetic fire visible in his countenance, which merely suggests the idea of plain good sense ; his conceptions do not strike you as by any means so rapid or so brilliant as those of his critic, yet there is much amusement and variety in his good-humoured, easy, and unaffected conversa- tion.” Some time later she says, I continue to like Edin- burgh very well; nothing can exceed the kindness we meet with from all manner of people. I foresee though that here I shall be like the hare with many friends ; those endearing intimacies which have been to me the cordial of life, I must not look to have, for here society is so diffused that its spirit is diluted. Conversation in this Northern Athens is easy, animated, and indeed full of spirit and intelligence. Yet, though the feast of rea- son abounds, there is not so much of the flow of soul, — this, like the gum on the trees is produced by genial warmth, that warmth which glows only in the limited circle of social intimacy, — there are syllogisms and epigrams, and now and then pointed and brilliant sentences, and observations and reflections both acute and profound, but neither the heart nor the imagination are much con- cerned. People are too well bred, too well informed, and too well amused by the passing scene to seek those to8 MRS. GRANT, OT LAC GAN. resources in their imaginations, or to be hurried by those feelings which occupy and delight the simple children of nature. By simplicity I do not mean ignorance, but being unspotted by the world. At the same time I am greatly amused by these parties, and find them incom- parably superior to the dull unvaried gossip of a country town; for here there is no detraction, and little per- sonality.” Her sketch of Dr. Chalmers is full of character. “ All the wits and philosophers of Edinburgh, when this won- der of the age attended the General Assembly last week, bowed down to the power of his mighty genius, and heard from him with reverence and admiration truths which they would have sneered at from one less rich in the highest powers of intellect. He made a speech in the Assembly against pluralities, which delighted and amazed all his hearers; even Jeffrey, the fastidious Jeffrey, though retained on the opposite side, owned that he never in his life heard such a torrent of powerful and luminous eloquence. But I should tell you his disad- vantages. Were it not for an air of manly simplicity, you would call his countenance not merely plain but vulgar; his voice and the worst Scotch accent are equally unfavourable. His language rises and falls with his sub- ject; sometimes he uses familiar and rational phrases with a carelessness thatshows his indifference to all studied elegance, but with the importance of the sulrject his style becomes forcible, elevated to the loftiest sublimity, or melting into the tendercst pathos. His reasonings too, — for he always reasons, — are so close that there is no escaping their force. Determined to preach only Christ and him crucified, he has not a single word ol that cant MRS, GRANT, OF LA GOAN 109 which has been abused and degraded either by welb meaning ignorance or dangerous pretension.’^ In 1820 Mrs. Grant met with a severe accident, — a fall down stairs caused a serious injury, followed by severe suffering for many months, and by lameness for the rest of her life. She bore the long confinement and protracted pain with cheerful submission, grateful for every kindness and for every alleviation. Some months after the occur- rence she wrote, — “ I had many reasons for thankfulness notwithstanding this terrible fall ; my health was, and is perfect, no'way affected by the confinement, which I did not feel as a hardship, being surrounded by domestic comforts, and every hour visited by friends who doubled their kindness in the time of distress.” There were indeed some sorrows which fell to her lot, such as human friendship sufficed not to alleviate. Speak- ing of the death of her youngest daughter Moore, which took place in the summer of 1821, she says, — “ Thank God I have been supported under this new privation in a manner that I could not have hoped. When I think of those whose shadows seem ever hovering over my solitude, and can say with full assurance, — ‘ Safe are they lodged above these rolling spheres, The fatal influence of whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all below,’ I return to my wonted occupations with a composure that surprises myself, and think that I have brought my mind to be all that it ought to be, till a sudden rush of recollection awakens all that I dread and shun. Few have been tried in such a furnace as that through which I have been enabled to walk, but advancing life brings sorrows with it, for which the mind should be in some 10 MRS. GRANT, OF LAG GAN measure prepared before they arrive. The great panacea in such cases must be trust in God and hope in a Re^ deemer, but even physical aids are not to be slighted in these terrible exigencies; exercise in the open air, and above all, constant occupation.” . . . Poor mother! In 1827 she was called on to part with Mary, the eldest and last surviving of her daughters, after a long period of anxious nursing. I was never more submissive, never on any occasion so fully convinced that the infliction was a dispensation of mercy to her who has been taken away,” wrote the stricken-hearted woman, “ yet I never felt such a thorough sense of desolation, such a total want of interest in all that is said and done around me. This is, indeed, an unnatural state for a mind so active and excursive as mine has ever been. The chapter of sorrow and anxiety is now closed, but has left a blank behind not easily filled up. I do not, on that account, indulge the impiety of thinking myself for- saken by the Hand that has all along so wonderfully supported me. Pray for me that I may not be afflicted in vain I” Of all her twelve children her eldest son alone survived her. His profession of a Writer to the Signet had fixed him in Edinburgh, and he continued to reside with his mother. Her cheerfulness and the lively appreciation she had of everything done to promote her comfort, rendered her, till the latest period of her prolonged existence, a delightful comj)anion to live with, while the warm interest she felt in whatever could contribute to the ha[)pincss or even to the amusement of others, kept her own feelings and affections ever alive. Of her conversa- tional powers it was remarked by a friend that they were MJiS. GRANT, OF LAGC AN. rii perhaps still more attractive than her writings. Her in- formation on every subject, combined with her uniform cheerfulness and equanimity, made her society very de- lightful, while the native simplicity of her mind and an entire freedom from all attempt at display quickly made the youngest person with whom she conversed feel in the presence of a friend. If there were any quality of her well-balanced mind which stood out more prominently than another, it was that benevolence which made her invariably study the comfort of every person who came in contact with her. Her pen has drawn a pleasant picture of her daily life, when approaching her eightieth year:— “I have not, per- haps, told you how I spend my day. It is monotonous, as I go out to visit very rarely; indeed, I cannot afford it; sedan chairs, my usual conveyance, would soon find their way to the bottom of my little charity purse. At this summer season I wake very early, and read some- thing not too interesting till six or seven o’clock, then slumber for an hour. I can redeem a little time for the best purpose, but am always dressed and at the break- fast table by nine, to accommodate my son. We read the Bible only before breakfast; afterwards I have a sacred half hour. Then I a begin a letter, or write two or three pages in a MS. I am preparing. Afterwards come de- pendants— could you dream of my having dependants, who have all my life been standing on the edge of the gulph of poverty without falling in ; and this not because I had much worldly prudence, but because I made stern self-denial, and what Miss Edgeworth calls civil courage, serve me instead. Well, my proteges want a letter of re- commendation or advice, or agoverness’ place, &c. I shall 1 12 MRS. GRANT, OF LAGG AN. not lead you through this gallery of humble though often meritorious characters; but proceed to my visitors, pre- mising that I receive them free from the embarrassment of household cares; for my young relation, Mary Mac- coil, who lives with me, takes all that weight off me con amove. Well, then, many people come if the sun shines, because the day is good ; and if it does not, because par- ticular persons wish to see me alone on various pretences. There are a few who have no motive but pure good-will. Among all interruptions I make shift to begin a long letter or finish a short one, and to read a book. My son seldom comes in till past five, and I spend in good days an hour in the garden, where my visitors join me in occupying a long seat. Then comes the dinner, which is followed by that period betwixt dinner and tea, when I can never apply to anything, and which would be drowsily wasted in languid half slumber, if I had not taught Mary chess, of which, though no good player, I am very fond. Tea is my only nectar, and never fails to refresh and in- vigorate me. In the evening I knit, and Mary reads to me, and perhaps I read to her by turns, for the sake of commenting. While my son goes to his office, two or three persons sometimes drink tea and coffee with me. 'I'his is the sketch of the routine of our quiet days.” For the last twelve years of Iier life Mrs. (irant re- ceived a pension of wliich was granted by George IV. on the joint representation of Sir W. Arbuthnot, Sir W. .Scott, Lord Jeffrey, Mr. M.ackcnzie, Sir R. Liston, and Jffinci]>al liaird. In the memorial presented on the occasion, these gentlemen attest their oj'inion that “ the character and talents of .Mrs. Grant liavc long rendered MRS. GRANT, OF LA GG AN, her not only a useful and estimable member of society, but one eminent for the services she has rendered to the cause of religion, morality, knowledge, and taste. The late Sir W. Grant, Master of the Rolls, bequeathed to her an annuity of a similar amount, and these sums, added to some other resources, placed her in her latter days not only beyond the reach of want, but enabled her to enjoy the happiness of giving to others. She retained to the last her love of nature and simpli- city. She was fond of having flowers and birds in her sitting room, and loved to collect parties of children about her. Until confined to bed, a fortnight before her death, the fine view of the country from her windows in Manor Place — to which she removed when her son mar- ried — was a never-failing source of delight to her. The trees, the green grass, the distant hills, the sky, the set- ting sun, all had charms for her, and drew from her the utterance of praise and admiration. She continued to correspond with her absent friends, and received and glady welcomed those who visited her. I was sitting alone lately,” she wrote not many months before her death, “ when the servant announced Mr. Campbell. Looking up, I saw a dejected-looking gentle- man. I should know you,’ said I, ^ but cannot be sure.’ ‘ Campbell, the poet,’ said he, with a kind of affecting simplicity. Though by no means approving his politi- cal principles, my heart warmed to him when I saw this sweet son of song dejected, spiritless, and afflicted. The death of his wife, to whom he was much attached, seems to have sunk him greatly.” During the summer of 1838 she continued to enjoy her usual health, but towards the end of October was ( 82 ) 3 1 14 MRS. GRANT, OF LAC GAN. seized with a severe attack of influenza, and expired on the 7th November, in the eighty-fourth year of her age. She was buried beside four of her daughters in the new cemetery of St. Cuthbert’s, Edinburgh, where her son erected a monument to her memory. V. MADAME NECKER. “‘There was nothing more exemplary than the courage which this respectable person always showed in proclaiming and defending her opinions, religious and moral, in the society of Paris, where they were not only unpopular, but the objects of general ridicule. Her principles were strongly rooted in her mind, and at all times firmly maintained in her conversation as well as shown forth in her practice.” — Lord Brougham. HE wife of M. Necker and the mother of Madame de Stael has no ordinary claim upon the reverence and esteem of her sex. A religious and pure-minded woman she appears amidst the gay coteries of the Parisian society of her day in striking contrast to the worldly, attractive, and witty French- women who then ruled the artificial world of the saloons. Her early history is at once peculiar and interesting. Madamoiselle Susanne Curchod is familiar to the English reader as the object of the first, indeed only, love of the liistorian Gibbon. The account he has given of her in his autobiography is full of vivacity,* and bears a highly honourable testimony to her merits. At the time when he first saw her he was residing at Lausanne, and in his journal he made this significant entry, record- ing the event: — ‘^June 1757. I saw Mdlle. Curchod. Omnia vincit amor^ et nos cedamus amori, I need not blush,” he says, ‘‘ at recollecting the object of my choice, and though my love was disappointed of success, I am MADAME NECKER. 1 16 rather proud that I was once capable of feeling such a pure and exalted sentiment. The personal attractions of Mdlie. Curchod were embellished by the virtues and talents of the mind. Her fortune was humble, but her family was respectable. Her mother was descended from a high French Protestant family of Provence which had been driven into exile by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The profession of her father did not ex- tinguish the moderation and philosophy of his temper, and he lived content with a small salary and laborious duty in the obscure lot of minister of Grassy, in the mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud, from the county of Burgundy. In the solitude of a sequestered village he bestowed a liberal and even learned education on his only daughter. She surpassed his hopes by her proficiency in the sciences and languages ; and in het short visits to some relations at Lausanne, the wit, the beauty and erudition of Mdlle. Curchod were the theme of universal applause. The report of such a pro- digy awakened my curiosity; I saw and loved. I found her learned without pedantry, lively in conveisation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in manners; and the first sudden emotion was fortified by the habits and know- ledge of a more familiar acquaintance. She permitted me to make her two or three visits at her father s house, i passed some happy days there in the mountains of Burgundy, and lier parents honourably encouraged the connection. 1 felt 1 might even presume to liope that I had made some impression on a virtuous heart. At ( ’rassy and Lausanne I indulged my dream of felicity; but I discovered on my return to ICngland that my father would not hear of this strange alliance, and that with- MADAME NECKEE 117 out his consent I was myself destitute and helpless. After a painful struggle I yielded to my fate ; I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as a son. My wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, and the habits of a new life, and my love subsided in friendship and esteem. The minister of Grassy soon afterwards died j his stipend died with him. His daughter retired to Geneva, where by teaching young ladies, she earned a hard sub- sistence for herself and her mother ; but in her lowest distress she maintained a spotless reputation, and a dig- nified behaviour. A rich banker of Paris, a citizen of Geneva, had the good fortune and good sense to dis- cover and possess this inestimable treasure ; and in the capital of taste and luxury she resisted the temptations of wealth, as she had sustained the hardships of indi- gence. The genius of her husband has exalted him to the most conspicuous station in Europe. In every change of prosperity and disgrace he has reclined on the bosom of a faithful friend, and Mdlle. Curchod is now the wife of M. Necker, the minister, and perhaps the legislator, of the French monarchy.” Such is the historian’s portrait of this admirable woman. One cannot but feel how widely different would have been the lot of Mdlle. Curchod, had she married Gib- bon. In all probability such a union would not have been productive of happiness, an inference which seems naturally to follow from the observations of Madame de StaH in reference to the peculiarities of her mother’s temperament. She says : — “ Her affections were so impassioned she would have been very unhappy had she contracted merely what is called an excellent mar- riage, and given her hand to a respectable and worthy ii8 MADAME NECKER. man. She required in the partner of her life an exalted sensibility such as is only to be found in the higher order of minds. In short, she needed the unique man who could alone meet and respond to her feelings, and she found him and passed her life with him, and was spared the anguish of surviving him.” M. Necker, the beau-ideal of her imagination, was born at Geneva in the year 1732. His family, which came originally from Germany, had been long settled in the republic at the time of his birth, and though, as would appear, his ancestors were of patrician rank, these dis- tinctions had been lost sight of in the course of years, and from his childhood the parents of the lad destined him to commercial life. At the age of fifteen he was sent to Paris, to learn business in the banking-house of Vernet, where he quickly showed uncommon talents, and soon acquired the ascendant where he had been only a clerk. Afterwards, being employed in the well-known house of Thellusson, he became a partner, and gained a complete and general knowledge of all commercial trans- actions, by means of which he succeeded in establishing the fortune of the great firm, while at the same time he accumulated a large independent fortune. While yet in the prime of life he thus found himself in a position to retire from mercantile pursuits, and to devote himself to the study of philosophy and of political economy, for which he Iiad early evinced a strong disposition. He liad l)y this lime gained a liigh reputation both as a man and a financier, and being clioscn resident for tbc re- public of Geneva at the court of Versailles, soon became universally esteemed in the circles of the aristocracy as he had been in those of commerce, for his amiable man- MADAME NECKER. 1 19 ners and his strict integrity. ‘‘ His information,” says Lord Brougham, “ was extensive, and it was accurate. He had especially studied finance, and was extremely knowing on all matters connected with it — a subject of peculiar and universal interest at the time when he came into patrician society. His wealth, we may well sup- pose, added greatly to the charms of his society in a luxurious capital like Paris, and was not even without its effect on the courtly circles of Versailles. But his con- versation and his manners were calculated to win their way independent of a brilliant fortune ; the former, lively, cheerful, elegant, and instructive; the latter, simple, natural, and if somewhat pedantic, yet honest and manly.” The marriage of M. Necker took place in 1764. His acquaintance with Mdlle. Curchod had been formed some years previously, when he was poor and in ob- scurity. They first met in the house of a lady named Madame de Vermenoux, who had induced Mdlle. Curchod, after her mother died, to come to Paris in order to teach Latin to her son. Struck with the noble character and grave beauty of the young governess, Necker fixed his regards upon her, with an interest which eventually settled into a deep and enduring affection. Mutual poverty delayed their union for a time, but it was not long before the fortunes of the young Genevese banker were secured. In addition to all the attractions which each found in the otheq the young couple had a powerful bond of union in the identity of their religious creed : both were the children of Protestants; and adhered tenaciously to the tenets in the belief of which they were nurtured. Amid the gaiety and irreligion which surrounded them — 120 MADAME NECKER. censured as heretics by the few devout Catholics with whom they associated, they naturally turned to each other with the peculiar and heart-touching emotions of those who name — “ One Lord, one faith, one baptism.” In a strange land, too, they met as fellow-countrymen ; their infant eyes had first opened upon the same beau- tiful scenery, and their childish feet had trodden the same soil ; they could talk to each other in the language of the same fatherland, and could recall the sweet memories of early days in common. What wonder that,- so talking, they grew into each other’s heart and became one in spirit and in affection. The delay of their marriage, rendered necessary by adverse circumstances, afforded them time for more perfect mutual acquaintance, and served but to strengthen their love. “ From the moment of their union,” says Madame de Stael, “ his wife was the ruling thought of my father’s life ; the object of the most tender and devoted senti- ment.” The feeling was reciprocal; Madame Necker was devotedly attached to her husband, and, while he regarded her with a mixture of reverence, admiration, and love, it was the object of her existence to make him happy. For this end she did not hesitate to sacrifice her i)crsonal inclinations; shortly after their marriage she expressed the desire to devote herself to literature, Imt a hint from her liusband, intimating tliat he should regret seeing her adopt such a course, sufficed to induce her cheerfully to reliinjuish her intention. She loved him so entirely that without effort she could yield her own desires to his. Naturally ambitious, she had an ardent love of honourable distinction, and there is reason MADAME NECKER. I2I to believe that her influence was successfully exerted to stimulate the energies of her husband, and to urge him forward in the arduous career upon which he shortly entered, to play so important a part. Of that career Lord Brougham has, in a few pregnant sentences, given a striking epitome. He says : — ‘‘ The clerk in a Paris banking-house, though of a respectable, and indeed ancient, Genevan family, he became early in life, by the successful pursuit of commerce, one of the richest men in France. The student of letters for his amusement, and without anything like genius in the sciences or the belles lettres^ he lived to be the centre of all literary society in the most refined capital of Europe, to which he was a stranger by his birth. The trader first, then the envoy of the smallest state in Europe — a state rather known among other powers as a butt of their gibes than the companion of their councils — he rose to be the chief minister of the greatest among them ; and the young adventurer from Geneva, by his errors, or by his patriotism, as men may variously view it, lived to be the proximate cause of that mighty event which shook all Europe to its centre, and exercises to this hour an influence uni- versal and unparalleled over the destinies of the world.” Madame Necker entered the Parisian world about twenty-five years before the outbreak of the Revolution, at a period when men of letters exerted great influence upon general opinion. She quickly perceived the power which her talents and the wealth at her command gave her, and saw how easily she could acquire an influence which might be highly advantageous to her husband. In the management of domestic affairs M. Necker never interfered. The finances of his household were entirely 122 MADAME NECKER. entrusted to the hands of his wife ; he professed, indeed, an inaptitude for, and an utter aversion to the details of expenditure. In a portrait she has drawn of his character, Madame Necker thus illustrates his extraordinary disinterestedness or unconcern in money matters : — “ M. Necker quitted business at a moment when he might easily have enlarged his fortune, simply because he was weary of the de- scription of labour which offered him nothing attractive or novel I vainly sought to induce him to continue for a time in the pursuit of occupations which he no longer relished; he separated himself completely from the firm which he had established, and wholly abandoning his interest in it, he without reserve gave up his share in its concerns, and withdrew his property entirely, placing it at my sole disposal He did not even retain in his hands a single paper nor the smallest sum. From that time I alone managed it ; I purchased, sold, farmed, budded, ordered, and disposed the whole at my pleasure, scarcely venturing to consult him on any point, as he instantly manifested impatience or mortal ennui. His fortune only acquired an interest in his eyes when he desired to use it for the public benefit; then only it became a matter worthy of his attention. He has so entirely and without reserve abandoned his aftairs to my control, that he a[)pears to have forgotten his ownership, and is even grateful to me when I make an expenditure at his request Our manage presents, in this respect, a most curious and amiable incongruity ; a great genius in leading-strings ; a man who could dispense the altairs of both Indies, so utterly indifferent to money, that his dependants regard it as a species of incapacity, and down MADAME NECKED 123 to the most minute details are referred to me, and de- cided, and carried into execution, without even a thought of consulting him.” Madame de Stael has given us the clue to this conduct on the part of M. Necker. “ My mother,” she says, ‘‘ was a very proud woman ; she had brought my father no dowry, and if she had been united to a man of ordinary mould, she would have felt the utmost delicacy in using his wealth. So completely did he understand her peculiarity that he managed to persuade her he cared nothing for his money, and that the management of it was not only indifferent but positively wearisome to him, and thus by degrees she was induced to feel herself the sole mistress of all he possessed.” Desirous to add to her husband’s growing popularity, Madame Necker opened her house to all the members of the Philosophic Society, and drew around her the most noted men of the day, who readily responded to her invitations. Buffon, Marmontel, St. Lambert, La Harpe, Grimm, the Abbe Raynel, and others of the same illustrious circle, assembled at her reunions, to which they were attracted by the growing importance of M. Necker, and her own real, though not brilliant talent. It seems to have been generally felt that she had mistaken her vocation when she endeavoured to shine in the gay circles of the aristocratic world. Her early education had imparted a certain austerity to her manners, and she was deficient in the light brilliant wit and graceful ease of deportment which rendered the fair Parisian dames so irresistibly attractive. Her formal, methodical, and severely correct demeanour was not likely to please those who valued the charm of a light 124 MADAME NECKED and piquant wit far more highly than the most sterling qualities. Her guests found her bearing too rigid and constrained ; her language too cold and precise : yet the perfect truthfulness and even simplicity of her pure nature commanded their respect and esteem. One of those who frequented her society, thus relates the im- pressions he received i — The mind of Madame Necker preserved its purity like x\rethusa amid the waves of the sea. She never lost an opportunity of expressing the severely religious opinions which she entertained amid the circle of her philosophic guests. M. Thomas, her most intimate friend, alone sympathized fully with her views, but she was surrounded by a numerous circle of men of genius, who took pleasure in listening to her, and in imparting the stores of their wit and talent for the entertainment of this fair recluse of the Alps, trans- ported into their midst. Frequently she did not even suspect the errors of her friends, sometimes she flattered herself with the hope of reclaiming them from their wanderings, and under all circumstances she fearlessly held on her way amid the passions and false systems they engendered, with a steady consistency which secured respect. She knew little of the ways of the world, and her manners, though not devoid of natural dignity, were formal and somewhat awkward: she had learned eveiy- thing from books and little from intercom se with men, and in her conduct she was regulated by the dictates of her conscience, to which alone she listened. Another of her habitue's- -the baron de (jrimm com- j>laincd bitterly that, either through mismanagement oi economy, she failed in providing them with good cheer ; and that her I-riday dinners were not only too stittly MADAME NECKER, 125 solemn, but very indifferent in a gastronomic point of view. This was, undoubtedly, a capital error in the opinion of the philosophers, who love good cheer no less than the more avowed gourmands. To procure her husband a pleasant relaxation and to advance his interests in society were the sole motives of Madame Necker in opening her house to the literati ; and the task of directing the conversation devolved upon her alone, for her husband^ though always present, spoke little and allowed his guests to talk for his amusement He pro- bably thought them amply repaid by the privilege of listening to his wife, for he saw and heard with admiration all she did ; cultivated her with the observance of a votary, watched her lips for the lessons of wisdom or the sparkles of wit, and would even communicate to his friends beforehand, with the air of one who announces an exquisite and rare pleasure in store for his company, ‘‘Ah, entendez-vous. Messieurs, nous allons avoir Madame Necker a diner aujourd’hui !” He did not even suspect, what was sufficiently evident to others, that she was not unfrequently dull and pedantic, and even tiresome. It was suspected that she occasionally prepared beforehand her evening conversations : undeniably, they were deficient in that spontaneity and ready flow which constitute the principal charm of social converse. It may be readily believed that the exclusive mutual devotedness of this excellent pair occasioned some wonder to the cynical philosophers, who beheld the rare sight of a conjugal union so admirable in its very strictness. Gibbon’s account of his first interview with Madame Necker in her Parisian home is highly amusing. He went to pay his respects to her, and was received with a 126 MADAME NECKER. cordial unembarrassed manner, which plainly showed that while she entertained no resentment on account of his youthful infidelity, she regarded him with the indiffer- ence of a common acquaintance. “ I saw at Paris,” he writes, ‘‘ the Curchod ; she was very fond of me and he particularly civil, could they insult me more cruelly ] Ask me every evening to supper ; go to bed, and leave me alone with his wife — what an impertinent security ! It is making an old lover of mighty little consequence. She is as handsome as ever, and much genteeler ; and seems pleased with her fortune, rather than proud of it. I was (perhaps indiscreetly enough) exalting Nanette’s good luck and the fortune. ‘What fortune^ said she, with an air of contempt, ‘ not above twenty thousand livres a year.’ I smiled, and she caught herself imme- diately, — ‘ What airs I give myself in despising twenty thousand livres a year, who twelve months ago looked upon eight hundred as the summit of my wishes.’” How very natural is this little episode ! For the rest Necker appears to have taken pleasure in the conversa- tion of Gibbon, and when he subsequently visited England accom])anied by his wife their friendship was renewed. 'riie great inlluence wliich Madame Necker exerted over her husband was ])roved beyond a doubt, and in a manner most honourable to herself, not only by the singular tokens of resjx^ct he always displayed towards her in the j)rivatc circles of Paris, but in the distribution and management of the vast charities which they exer- cised, and in the direction of some of the branches of administration entrusted to him, such as the amelioration of the prison system, the administration of hospitals, &c., as also in the great and important points which he had MADAME NECKER. 127 treated in the compte rendu^ in regard to which he pays Madame Necker the extraordinary compliment of de- claring that some of the most weighty matters in which he had succeeded owed their accomplishment to her. When, in 1776, Necker became Director-General of the Finances, his wife, with noble self-devotion, gave herself, heart and soul, to the laborious work of alleviating mis- fortune, and aiding her husband’s projects for the reform of the numberless abuses which then existed in every department of the state. During the five years he con- tinued in power, the prisons and hospitals of the capital occupied much of her attention, and she was unwearied in her endeavours to succour the unfortunate beings who languished in those abodes of wretchedness. She sought, and not wholly in vain, to mitigate the evils which pre- vailed there, and the blessings of the wretched and forlorn followed her steps. By her generosity an asylum was founded in Paris, which is still called by her name; and her claims have been universally acknowledged as the humane and beneficent benefactress of suffering humanity. Her self-denying benevolence shone with double lustre in contrast to the heartless selfishness of the surrounding world. In the accomplishment of her holy mission she hesitated not herself to penetrate the recesses of the dungeons in which lay incarcerated the unhappy victims of crime or of injustice. It having come to her knowledge that a certain Count of Lautrec had been imprisoned in a dungeon of the fortress of Ham for twenty-eight years, and that the unhappy captive had sunk into a state of such deplorable misery as had almost obliterated the traces of humanity, a feeling of deep compassion touched her heart. It was beyond her power 128 MADAME NECKER. to liberate a state-prisoner, but she determined, if it were possible, to relieve in some measure the terrible load of his suffering. She set out, with this object, for Ham, and succeeded in obtaining a sight of M. de Lautrec. She found a miserable-looking object, stretched listlessly upon the straw of his dungeon, scarcely covered with a few tattered rags, and surrounded by rats and vermin. Madame Necker endeavoured to soothe his fixed and sullen despair with promises of speedy relief, nor did she depart until she had succeeded in accomplishing her benevolent purpose, and seen the poor sufferer removed to an abode where, though still a prisoner, he might pass in comparative comfort the few days left him by the tyranny of his oppressors. Similar acts of generous beneficence are related of this excellent woman during this period ; and the greater part of her time was given to the performance of such works of mercy. M. Necker did not escape criticism for having so pub- licly eulogized his wife. But why, as M. Lally Tollendal inquires, when it is permitted so many authors to speak of themselves with interest, and often with enthusiasm, and to poets to dedicate the productions of their genius to their mistresses, forbid to conjugal affection so natural an expression of its emotions'? When, in the year 1781, M. Necker, finding himself thwarted and liaffled by the intrigues of his enemies, determined to retire, and sent in his resignation, his wife, indignant at the conduct he liad experienced, and appreliensivc for liis safety and lionoiir, used all her influence to induce him to adhere unchangeably to his resolution. 'J'his ajipears to have been admitted on all hands, and it has been lamented that she should have MADAME NECKER. 129 made such a use of her power. Writing to Mr. Gibbon at this juncture, she says, M. Necker has been for a long time unwell, not in consequence of his regret at his resignation, but owing to his grief at being obliged to give it. The uneasiness which I have endured in my apprehension for his health, makes me think little of any troubles which do not touch the affections. When he took upon him an important ofhce, I thought I was leading him to honour, and not to honours; and when the latter could only be preserved at the expense of the former, I resumed with delight the happiness I had re- linquished. The retirement of M. Necker has been accompanied with the regret and astonishment of all France ; and from the bottom of our hearts we are still unable to comprehend how we have been constrained to abandon an administration, the success of which was answerable to the purity of its intentions We have not yet had time to experience the void which follows the cessation of a connection with state affairs ; we have only a fear that they will take a direction different from that which we had traced out for them. We propose to pass the approaching summer in Switzerland, but I dare not flatter myself that such will be the case. M. Necker is very undecided in minor points.” His resignation accepted, Necker, retiring from the management of affairs, devoted himself for a time to the pleasures of domestic life, and to writing one of the most famous works that ever was published on that branch of administration which he had lately quitted. His Co^npte rendu was probably the most popular work of the kind ever written, and eighty thousand copies of it were sold in onfe week, ( 82 ) 9 130 MADAME NECKER. It is time to speak of the only child of this devoted pair, afterwards the celebrated Madame de Stael, and whose character, even in childhood, differed so strikingly from that of her mother. Germaine Necker was born in 1766, and consequently was in her fifteenth year at the time of her father’s retirement from office. From the earliest dawn of her existence she showed indications of unusual ability, and of a nature singularly ardent and impassioned. Unlike her mother, who, as we have seen, submitted every feeling and action of her life to the con- trol of reason, the young girl was prompted by the impulses of her impetuous spirit beyond the boundaries of all formal rules. It was strange to witness in one of such tender years so much intensity of emotion. The least occurrence of joy or grief affected her even to pain. She could scarcely hear those whom she loved com- mended without bursting into tears, and when impressed by any noble sentiment or action would pour forth her admiration in burning words of enthusiasm. Madame Necker, finding her apt and willing to learn, imagined she could not teach her too much, and determined to train her upon a system strictly in accordance with her own ideas. Gentle and docile to the will of her parents, Germaine would willingly have obeyed her mother’s dictate.s, had not an irresistible impulse carried her away to follow the guidance of her own imagination. One of her favourite amusements as a child was to cut out j)aj)er kings and queens, and make them act in tragedies wliich she imj)rovised for the occasion, herself speaking for all the characters successively. These theatrical j)reililections were strongly disapi)roved by her in )ther, who endeavoured to check them by j)rohibiting MADAME NECKER, 131 her indulging in this amusement, which the child, loth to relinquish, followed in secret. It was also by stealth that she read most of the popular novels of the day, and with such delight, that she was accustomed to say the fate of Clarissa Harlowe was one of the events of her girlhood. We have a lively picture of this child of genius when eleven years of age, drawn by the pen of a Mdlle. Huber, who was chosen by Madame Necker as the friend of her daughter. The young girls were introduced to each other, and Germaine expressed intense joy at the idea of having a companion, and promised her, on the instant, to love her for ever. “ She spoke,” Mdlle. Huber writes, with a warmth and facility which were already eloquence, and which made a great impression on me. We did not play like children. She imme- diately asked me what my lessons were, if I knew any foreign languages, and if I went often to the play. When I said I had only been three or four times, she exclaimed, and promised that we should often go together, and when we came home write down an account of the piece. It was her habit, she said ; and, in short, we were to write to each other every day. We entered the drawing-room. Near the arm-chair of Madame Necker was the stool of her daughter, who was obliged to sit very upright. As soon as she had taken her accustomed place, three or four old gentlemen came up and spoke to her with the utmost kindness. One of them, in a little round wig, took her hands in his, held them a long time, and entered into conversation with her as if she had been twenty. This was the Abbe Raynal; the others were Messrs. Thomas, Marmontel, the Marquis de Pesay, and MADAME NECKER, 13 ^ the Baron de Grimm. We sat down to table. It was a picture to see how Mdlle. Necker listened. She did not speak herself; but so animated was her face that she appeared to converse with all. Her eyes followed the looks and movements of those who talked ; it seemed as if she guessed their ideas before they were expressed. She entered into every subject, even politics, which at this time was one of the most engrossing topics of con- versation. After dinner a great deal of company arrived. Each guest, as he approached Madame Necker, addressed her daughter with some compliment or pleasantry; she replied to all with ease and grace. They delighted to attack and embarrass her, and to excite her childish imagination, which was already brilliant. The cleverest men were those who took greatest pleasure in making her talk. They asked her what she was reading, recom- mended new books, and gave her a taste for study by conversing concerning what she knew or on what she was ignorant.” Thus did this extraordinary woman imbibe, from her very childhood, a taste for society and display. She learned to take intense pleasure in the communication of ideas with intelligent men, and in sharing the spark- ling wit of the choice spirits that gathered around her. Jt was lier mother’s plan to cultivate her mental and in- tellectual ])Owers to the utmost. She was incited to study diligently, and all her j^lcasures and occupations were so many exertions of miiul. At length the species of pcr|)etiial excitement in which she lived, and the excessive aj)|)lication and attention exacted from her, seriously affected her health. 'I'lie advice of the j)hy- sicians was asked, and alarmed by her sym|)toms, they MADAME NECKER. »33 ordered that she should be removed into the country, to spend her life in the open air, and to abandon all laborious study. This was a great blow to Madame Necker. She saw all the materials for a prodigy of learning and information in her daughter, and was deeply disappointed to find her scheme of education thwarted, and all her projects at an end. Meanwhile the vivacious Germaine enjoyed the leisure she had obtained; and, left to follow the bent of her inclination, gave the rein to her fancy, and impelled by the promptings of her genius, became poetess, tragedian, and authoress, almost in childhood. Chilied by the reproofs of her mother, who regarded with disapproba- tion the errors into which she was led by her impetuous- ness and vivacity, she yielded herself with all the ardour of her temperament to that which became the rulin'^ passion of her heart— filial affection towards her father. She eagerly sought his society, and delighted him with her talents, which displayed themselves with peculiar advantage in his presence. By her wonderful powers of conversation she charmed all who approached her, but from all other admirers she turned to seek the approba- tion of his smiles. Her sallies and pleasantries amused his leisure hours, and his goodness of heart, admiration for herself, and the judicious manner in which, while he rallied her for her defects, he praised her e.xcellencies, secured her grateful and loving response. The calm and decorous mother was soon thrown into the shade by her brilliant and accomplished daughter. She felt that her child’s love was not given to her as it was to her father, and it was almost impossible that there should not arise in her secret heart a feeling of 134 MADAME NECKER, disappointed affection. Her decaying health, too, con- tributed to add to her daughter’s importance in the society which frequented their house. She had suffered greatly from the anxieties attendant upon her position, especially during the period of her husband’s second ministry, when he was surrounded by a thousand dangers and discomforts, and proved incapable of directing the helm of the state under the awful difficulties of that terrible crisis, which resulted in the Revolution. Madame Necker was, says one of her biographers, singularly con- stituted. There was in her an extraordinary union of strength and of weakness. At the call of duty she was ready to brave for herself and for those she loved the greatest perils ; but under every other circumstance none was more keenly susceptible of alarm, and for no earthly consideration would she have consented to en- danger the safety of a beloved object. So early as 1784 her health showed symptoms of decline, and it was thought desirable she should try the effect of a change of residence and of climate. In a letter to Lady Sheffield, dated Lausanne, October 22, 1784, Gibbon writes: “ M., Madame, and Mdlle. Necker are here. They have purchased the barony of Coppet, near Geneva; and as the buildings are very much out of repair, they passed this summer at a country house at the gates of Lausanne. Of him I have a much higher idea than I ever had before. In the moments when we were alone he conversed with me freely, and I believe truly, on the subject of his administration and fall. I saw a gix’at deal of his mind, and all that I saw is fair and worthy. Should they spend the summers at the Castle of Co])pet, about nine leagues from hence, a fort- MADAME NECKER, 135 night or three weeks’ visit would be a pleasant and healthful excursion. But, alas ! I fear there is little appearance of its being executed. Her health is im- paired by the agitation of her mind. Instead of returning to Paris, she is ordered to pass the winter in the southern provinces of France ; and our last parting was solemn, as I much doubt whether I shall ever see her again.” Madame Necker became afflicted towards the close of her life with a painful nervous disease, which com- pelled her to remain constantly standing. Her dazzling complexion had wholly vanished, and she drooped like a withered flower. When, in 1790, M. Necker finally quitted France, he retired to his estate at Coppet, and there, in seclusion and retirement, the beloved object of his affection enjoyed that repose for which she had pined. Encouraged by her husband, she now prepared for publication her Reflections upon Divorce,” — a book which Lord Brougham pronounces to be ably written, though heavily, and in a style forced, not natural. One chapter, he says, contains eloquent passages; and she espoused that side of the question most unpopular at the time, and looked down upon as that of narrow- minded and bigoted persons. The subject of this eloquent chapter is the happiness of the married state in old age. She did not herself survive to experience what she so feelingly described. The work was published at the commencement of the year 1794, and almost at the moment of its appearance Madame Necker expired, when scarcely past the prime of her age. Madame de Staffl has given some touching details of her mother’s illness and death ; ‘‘ It was during the period of her illness, and above all at the time of hei 13^ MADAME MECKER. decease,” she writes, that the devotion of my father became still more conspicuous. He lavished upon her throughout that lengthened season of trial, attentions of which it is impossible to give an adequate idea. She suffered much from insomnolence, and occasionally she dropped asleep with her head resting on her husband’s arm ; and I have seen him, at such times, remain whole hours standing in the same position for fear of awaking her by the slightest movement. These tender cares were rendered, not at the call of duty only, but flowed from the deep well-spring of a love which suffering and years could not exhaust in those pure and devoted hearts. My mother found relief in her illness by the sound of music, and every evening she had a band of musicians perform within hearing ; on the last day of her existence a variety of wind instruments played in the chamber adjoining hers, and I cannot express how melancholy was the effect. Once during the course of her indis- position, the musicians failed to come, when my father desired me to play the piano : after executing several pieces, I commenced singing the air of CEdipus at Colo- nos, in which occur the words : — “ Kile ?n':i prodigue sa tendresse et ses soins, Son zele dans mes maux m'a fait trouver des charmcs.” My father, as he listened, burst into a flood of tears : I was ol)liged to cease, and T lieheld him, for hours after, kneeling beside his dying wife, and abandoning himself to the deep emotions of liis sensitive and tender heait. My mother died. W'ith the most j)erfect self-j)ossession he executed her every Vvisli, with reference especially to licr obsetjuies. She liad seen, during her attendance at the hospitals, many frightful instances of precipitate MADAME NECKER. 137 burial, and the impression made upon her imagination had never been effaced. She was also exceedingly desir- ous that her remains should rest, side by side, with those of her husband. A few hours after her death I entered my father’s room. The window nearest Lausanne com- manded one of the finest Alpine prospects, and the beautiful rays of the morning sun were just beginning to gild the snowy peaks of the mountains. Pointing to a light cloud which was passing overhead he said, ‘Perhaps her spirit hovers yonder.’ Ah ! why was it not of me he spoke % I should have experienced no dread of death while by his side : he was to me the impersonification of religion ; and now, alas ! I must accomplish alone the long and last period of my earthly pilgrimage ! “ I possess two papers written by my father, and which he composed on occasion of my mother’s death. In one he enumerates all the reasons he has to regret her loss, and in tlie other he calls himself to account for all his conduct toward her — prompted by the inconceivable fear that he had not done enough to promote her happiness. He imagines every possible circumstance in which he might have grieved her or given her pleasure, and con- soles or reproaches himself according as he is satisfied with his sentiments or the reverse. Not content with calling in review his words, actions, and whole conduct, he goes into the recesses of his heart and examines the secrets of that sanctuary in order to judge of the love which dwelt there.” M. Necker survived his wife about ten years : his daughter, in her memoirs of him dwells with impassioned eloquence upon his virtues, and pours out in lamentations the bitterness of her sorrow for his loss. Living in com- 138 lilADAME NECKER, parative neglect, in the seclusion of Coppet, he passed his latter days in peaceful tranquillity, untroubled save by painful reflection upon the fatal consequences of that revolution in which he had taken so mistaken and injurious a part. As a private individual his character shines with unblemished lustre, but, “ as a statesman he has left behind him the memory of one whose good intentions were far more than counterbalanced by his want of judgment, and who, having ventured to pilot the vessel of state in a tempest without the firm hand of a steersman, could neither prevent the shipwreck of his charge nor of his reputation.’' VI. LADY FANSHAWE. *‘The beauteous half, his lovely wife Did all his labours and his cares divide, Nor was a lame nor paralytic side, — In all the turns of human state And all the unjust attacks of fate. She bore her share and portion still, And would not suffer any to be ill.” OW little can the wives and mothers of England in the present day realize the trials endured by their countrywomen who lived two centuries ago, when civil war, with all its horrors, was devastating this fair kingdom from end to end ! As we read of the heroism and self-denial evinced by many of the most virtuous and accomplished of their number, we may well admire them, while we gratefully acknowledge our happi- ness who live in better days and are permitted to enjoy the freedom and immunities for which our forefathers longed, and struggled, and died. Few, perhaps none, of the examples of feminine worth we have on record surpass Lady Fanshawe in conjugal devotedness and fortitude under the calamities of a life passed in perpetual uncertainty and trouble. This ad- mirable woman was the wife of one of the most faithful servants of Charles the First and Second, who, after severe sufferings in the royal cause, became a member of the 140 LAD Y FANSIIA WE. Privy Council and ambassador to two foreign courts. She was his constant companion through all the vicissi- tudes of his career, and from the day of her marriage until she became a widow, a period of more than twenty years, her life was a scene of constant activity, privation, and danger. After the death of her husband she wrote a memoir, for the use of her only surviving son, then a youth : its style is simple and attractive, and the advice she gives her child is sound and excellent, while the narrative contains much varied and valuable information. The great charm of her character, is the deep and devoted love she bore to her husband. Of their mutual attach- ment she writes thus touchingly : “ You will expect that I should say something of us conjointly, which I will do, though it makes my eyes gush out with tears and cuts me to the soul to remember and in part express, the joys I was blessed with in him. Thanks be to God, we never had but one mind throughout our lives. Our souls were wrapt up in each other : our aims and designs were one, and our resentments one. We so studied one another that we knew each other’s mind by our looks. So re- served was he that he never showed fully the thought of his heart but to myself only ; and this I thank God with all my heart for, that he never imparted his trouble to rnc but he obtained cheerfulness and content, nor revealed his joys and hoj)es but he would say they were doubled by my sharing them. Whatever was real ha])piness God gave it me in him ; and might 1 be permitted, I could dwell incessantly on his ])raise most justly.” Ann, Lady f'anshawe, was the eldest daughter of Sir John Harrison and of Margaret, daughter of Robert J*'anshawc, J^.S(i. She was born in London, on the 25th LAD y FANSHA WE, 141 March, 1625. Of her education and early life she has given this pleasing description : — I was born in St. Olaves, Hart Street, in a house my father took of the Lord Dingwall, father to the nor/ Duchess of Ormond. In that house I lived the winter times, till I was fifteen years old and three months, with my ever honoured and most dear mother, who departed this life on the 20th July, 1640. Her funeral cost my father above ;^iooo, and Dr. Howlsworth preached her funeral sermon. She was of excellent beauty and good understanding; a loving wife and most tender mother ; very pious, and charitable to that degree that she relieved, besides the offals of the table, which she constantly gave to the poor, many with her own hand, daily out of her purse, and dressed many wounds of miserable people, when she had health, and when that failed, as it did often, she caused her servants to supply that place. “ It is necessary to say something of her education of me, which was with all the advantages that time afforded, both for working all sorts of fine works with my needle, and learning French, singing, lute, the virginals and dancing, and notwithstanding I learned as well as most did, yet was I wild to that degree that the hours of my beloved recreation, took up too much of my time, for I loved riding in the first place, running, and all active pastimes ; in short, I was that which we graver people call a hoyting girl ; but to be just to myself, I never did mischief to myself or people, nor one immodest word or action in my life, though skipping and activity was my delight ; but, upon my mother’s death, I then began to reflect, end, as an offering to her memory, I flung away those little childnesses that had formerly possessed me, 142 LAD Y FANSHA WE. and by my father’s command, took upon me charge of his house and family, which I so ordered by my excellent mother’s example, as found acceptance in his sight. I w^as very well beloved by all our relations and my mother’s friends, whom I paid a great respect to, and I was ever ambitious to keep the best company, which I have done, I thank God, all the days of my life. My father and mother were both great lovers and honourers of clergy- men ; and we lived in great plenty and hospitality, but no lavishness in the least, nor prodigality, and I believe my father never drank six glasses of wine in his life in one day.” Thus, in uninterrupted prosperity and domestic comfort the family continued until the outbreak of the great civil war, when Sir John Harrison, having warmly espoused the royal cause, joined the court at Oxford, and shortly after desired his two daughters to go to him in that city. Here they endured many privations, as Lady Fanshawe in her memoir thus narrates: — ‘‘We, that had till that hour lived in great plenty and great order, found ourselves like fishes out of the water, and the scene so changed that we knew not at all how to act any part but obedience, for, from as good a house as any gentleman of England had, we came to a baker’s house in an obscure street, and from rooms well furnished, to lie in a very bad bed in a garret, to one dish of meat, and that not of the best ordered, no money, for we were as poor as Job, nor clothes more than a man or two brouglU in their cloak bags. We had tlie perj)etual discourse of losing and gaining towns and men; at tlie windows the sad spectacle of war, sometimes plague, sometimes sicknesses of other kind, by reason of so many people being packed together LAD Y FANSHA WE. 143 as, I believe, there never was before of that quality ; always in want, yet I must needs say that most bore it with a martyr-like cheerfulness. For my own part, I began to think we should all, like Abraham, live in tents all the days of our lives.” The offer of a baronetcy to her father, the only return which it was then in the power of the crown to bestow for the heavy losses he had sustained — was gratefully declined on the ground of poverty. In 1644 important changes took place in her family; or, as she poetically expresses it, alluding to the state of public affairs : ‘^as the turbulence of the waves disperses the splinters of the rock,” so were they separated. Her brother William died in consequence of a fall from his horse which was shot under him in a skirmish against a party of the Earl of Essex in 1643 ; and in the following year, she became the wife of Mr. Fanshawe. They were married in Wolvercot Church, two miles from Oxford, she being then in her twentieth year and her husband about thirty-six. He was at that time Secretary of War to the Prince, afterwards Charles II., and was promised promotion so soon as the royal cause should triumph. In the meantime the fortune of the young people was in expectation: We might,” she says, ‘‘be truly called merchant adventurers, for the stock we set up our trading with did not amount to ^20 betwixt us; but, however, it was to us as a little piece of armour is against a bullet, which, if it be right placed, though no bigger than a shilling, serves as well as a whole suit of armour ; so oui stock bought pens, ink and paper, which was your father’s Irade, and by it, I assure you, we lived better than those that were born to ;^2ooo a year, as long as he had his 144 LAD Y FANSHA WE, liberty. Thus did we appear upon the stage to act what part God designed us ; and as faith is the evidence of things not seen, so we, upon so righteous a cause, cheer- fully resolved to suffer what that would drive us to, which afflictions were neither few nor small, as will appear.” One of the earliest trials of their wedded life was a separation rendered necessary by the claims of duty. Her husband was obliged to leave her, shortly after the birth of their first son, to attend the Prince to Bristol, and the poor young wife, extremely weak and very poor,” was left with a dying baby, and sick at heart to be thus severed from the object of her fond love. When she had sufficiently recovered from her confinement she joined him at Bristol, “where,” she says, “my husband had provided very good lodgings, and welcomed me with all expressions of joy, and gave me a hundred pieces of gold, saying, ‘ I know thou that keepst my heart so well, will keep my fortune, which from this time I will ever put into thy hands, as God shall bless me with increase and now I thought myself a perfect queen, and my hus- band so glorious a crown, that I more valued myself to be called by his name than born a princess, for I knew him very wise and very good, and his soul doated on me.” This sweet innocent young creature goes on to relate how, being urged by one of the court ladies who was de- sirous to j)ry into state affairs, she was induced to try her j)owcr over her husband after this fishion : “ I, that was young and inexj)erienccd began to think there was more in iiujuiring into i)ublic affairs llian 1 thought of, and that it, being a fashionable thing, would make me more beloved of my husband, if that had been possible, than I was. So, when he returned home from council, after LAD Y FANSHA WE. >45 welcoming him, as his custom ever was, he went with his handful of papers into his study for an hour or more, I followed him, he turned hastily and said, ‘ What wouldst thou have, my life?’ I told him I heard the prince had received a packet from the queen, and I guessed it was that in his hand, and I desired to know what was in it. He smilingly replied, ‘ My love, I will immediately come to thee, pray thee go, for I am very busy.’ When he came out of his closet, I revived my suit, he kissed me and talked of other things. At supper I would eat nothing; he, as usual, sat by me, and drank often to me which was his custom, and was full of discourse to com- pany that was at table. Going to bed I asked again, and said I could not believe he loved me if he refused to tell me all he knew, but he answered nothing, but stopped my mouth with kisses. So we went to bed, I cried, and he went to sleep; next morning early, as his custom was, he called to rise, but began to discourse with me first, to which I made no reply ; he rose, came on the other side of the bed and kissed me, and drew the curtains softly and went to court. When he came to dinner he presently came to me as was usual, and when I had him by the hand I said, ‘ Thou dost not care to see me troubled,’ to which he, taking me in his arms answered, ‘ My dearest soul, nothing upon earth can afflict me like that, but when you asked me of my business, it was wholly out of my power to satisfy thee, for my life and fortune shall be thine, and every thought of my heart in which the trust I am in may not be revealed, but my honour is my own, which I cannot preserve if I communicate the prince’s affairs, and pray thee with this answer rest satisfied.’ So great was his reason and goodness that upon considera- 146 LAD Y FANSHA VVE. tion it made my folly appear to me so vile, that from that day until the day of his death I never thought fit to ask him any business, but what he communicated freely to me in order to his estate or family.” How charming is this little domestic episode. So full of genuine nature, simplicity, and truth. The narrative goes on to relate that before many weeks had elapsed it was found necessary to quit Bristol, the plague increasing so much that the court hastily departed, proceeding to Barnstaple, and thence to Launceston and Truro, in Corn- wall, and, in the spring of 1646 the prince, with his suite, embarked for the Scilly Islands. Great as had been the privations endured by the Fanshawes at Oxford, they were much exceeded by their sufferings at Scilly. To illness were added cold and hunger; they were plundered by their friends while flying from their enemies, and to aggravate the misery of their situation Mrs. Fanshawe was very near her confinement. She thus describes her wretched condition : — “ The next day after we had been pillaged by the sailors, I, being extremely sick, was set on shore almost dead on the Island of Scilly. When we had got to our quarters near the castle, where the prince lay, I went immediately to bed, which was so vile that my footman ever lay in a better, and we had but three in the whole house, which consisted of four rooms, or rather partitions, two low rooms and two little lofts, with a ladder to go up. In one of these I lay, but, when 1 waked in the morning, I was so cold I knew not what to do, but the daylight discovered that my bed was near swimming with the sea, which the owner told us afterwards tliat it never did so but at .spring tide. With this we were destitute of clothes; meat, and fuel, for half LAD Y 'FANSHA WE. 147 the court, to serve them a month, was not to be found in the whole island; and truly we begged our daily bread of God, for we thought every meal our last. At length, after three weeks and odd days we set sail for Jersey, where we safely arrived, praised be God, though through great danger.” Here she gave birth to her second child. On the prince’s quitting Jersey, in the month of July, for Paris, Mr. Fanshawe’s employment was at end, and he remained for a short time in the island, but afterwards went to Caen accompanied by his wife, whom he pre- sently sent to England to procure, if possible, the neces- sary supplies. “ This was the first time,” she says, ‘‘ I had taken a journey without my husband, and the first manage of business he ever put into my hands, in which, I thank God, I had good success.” She obtained permis- sion for him to compound for his estates in the sum of ^-^Soo^s-nd to return home. They had thus made acquaintance with trouble, and early learned at what cost they would have to serve the royal cause; and, as everybody knows, the adherents of the unhappy monarch passed through a long series of trials. Year succeeded to year finding the Fanshawes fugitives and outcasts, hoping for better days which never came. In affecting and simple manner the story of their troubled course is told by the fond wife and mother. In process of time a numerous family was born to them, most of whom were cut off in infancy, while their anxious, heroic, and sweet-tempered mother never lost heart, but did her utmost to cheer and aid the partner of her life, and when help was out of her power, she lessened his grief by her tender sympathy. In December 1648 Mr. Fanshawe went to Paris, on LAD y FANSIIA WE. 14S the prince’s affairs, whither he was followed by his wife, and they passed six weeks there in the society of the queen-mother and the princess royal and their suite, among whom were the poet Waller and his wife. From Paris they proceeded to Calais, where they met Sir Kenelm Digby, of whom the memoir gives an amusing account : “ When we came thither we met the Earl of Strafford and Sir K. Digby, with some others of our countrymen. We were all feasting at the governor’s, and most excellent discourse passed ; but, as was reason, most share was Sir Kenelm’s who had enlarged somewhat more in extraordi- nary stories than might be averred, and all of them passed with great applause and wonder of the French then at table; but the concluding one was, that barnacles, a bird in Jersey, was first a shell-fish to appearance, and from that, sticking upon old wood, became in time a bird. After some consideration they unanimously burst out into laughter, believing it altogether false; and, to say the truth, it was the only true thing he had discoursed with them (!) That was his infirmity, though otherwise a per- son of most excellent parts, and a very fine bred gentle- man.” Again the loving couple were compelled to part; Mr. Fanshawe was sent to Flanders, and his wife went to Eng- land ; their next meeting was in Ireland, where they re- sided six months near Cork, in comparative tranquillity, and receiving great kindness from the nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood, ddieir happiness, however, was but transitory, d'he death of tlieir second son plunged them into aflliction, and the landing of Cromwell, obliged JVince Rui)ert’s fleet, tlie ])resence of which had contri- buted to their security, to (piit Ireland, and shortly after- LAD Y FANSHA WE. 140 wards, in November 1649, Cork declaxed for tlie Pro- tector. At that moment Mr. Fanshawe was in Kinsaie; his wife thus relates the danger to which she was exposed, and her perilous escape, together with her family and servants. ‘‘ I immediately wrote to my husband, and sent the letter by a faithful servant, who was let down the garden wall, and, sheltered by the darkness of the night, he made his escape. I then packed up my husband’s cabinet, with all his writings and nearly ;2£’iooo in gold and silver, and all other things of clothes, linen, and household stuff that were portable, of value ; and then about three o’clock in the morning, by the light of a taper, in great pain by reason of having shortly before broken my left v^^rist by a fall, I went into the market-place, and passing through an unruly tumult, with swords in their hands, searched for their chief commander, Jeffries, who, whilst he was loyal, had received many civilities from my husband. “At my request he wrote me a pass, both 'for myself, family, and goods, and with this I passed through thou- sands of naked swords to our house, where I hired the next neighbour’s cart, which carried all that I could re- move ; and myself, sister, and little girl Nan, with three maids and two men, set forth at five o’clock, in Novem- ber, having but two horses among us all, which we rode on by turns. We went ten miles to Kinsaie, in perpetual fear of being fetched back again; but, by little and little, I thank God, we got safe to the garrison, where I found your father the most disconsolate man in the world, for fear of his family, which he had no possibility to assist ; but his joys exceeded to see me and his dar- 150 LAD y FANS IT A WE. ling daughter, and to hear the wonderful escape we had made.” A few days after this affair Mr. Fanshawe received the king’s commands to go to Madrid with a letter to his Catholic Majesty, on which mission he proceeded, and embarked with his wife at Galway, in February, 1650, on board a Dutch ship bound for Malaga. As if their every movement was to be attended with peril, the ship in which they embarked was menaced by a Turkish galley soon after it passed the Straits of Gibraltar. The captain re- solved to fight rather than lose his ship. Lady Fanshawe’s narrative is as follows : — My husband bid us be sure to keep in the cabin, and not appear (the women), which would make the Turks think that we were a man-of-war, but if they saw women they would take us for merchants and board us. He went upon the deck and took a gun and bandoliers, and sword, and, with the rest of the ship’s company, stood upon deck expecting the arrival of the Turkish man-of-war. That fellow, the captain, had locked me up in the cabin; I knocked and called long to no purpose, until at length the cabin-boy came and opened the door; I, all in tears, desired him to be so good as to give me his blue thrum cap he wore, and his tarred coat, which he did, and I gave him half a crown, and putting them on and flinging away my night-clothes, I crept up softly and stood upon the deck by my liusband’s side, as free from sickness and fear as, I confess, from discretion ; but it was the effect of that passion which I could never master. “ by this time the two vessels were engaged in i)arley, and so well satisfied with speech and sight of each other’s forces that the 'Turks’ man-of war tacked about, and we LAD Y FANSHA WE. 151 continued our course. But when your father saw it con- venient to retreat, looking upon me, he blessed himself, and snatched me up in his arms, saying, ‘ Good heaven, that love can make this change ! ” and though he seem- ingly chid me, he would laugh at it as often as he remem- bered that voyage. In the beginning of March we all landed, praised be God, in Malaga,, very well and full of content to see ourselves delivered from the sword and plague, and living in hope that we should one day return happily to our native country; notwithstanding we thought it great odds, considering how the affairs of the king’s three kingdoms stood; but we trusted in the providence of Almighty God, and proceeded.” Not succeeding in his effort to obtain a ^supply of money from the Spanish court, Mr. Fanshawe embarked at St. Sebastian for France, and arrived at Nantz, after a dangerous passage, a]DOut the end of October 1650, reach- ing Paris in the middle of November. He was now created a baronet, and was despatched to the king who was then in Scotland. Lady Fanshawe and her husband proceeded to Calais, where they again parted, she going to England to procure money while he immediately went into Scotland, where he was received with marked favour by the king and by the York party, who gave him the custody of the Great Seal and Privy Signet. No persuasions could induce him to take the Covenant, but he discharged the duties of his office, as his wife assures us, with a zeal and temper which obtained for him the esteem of all parties. Lady Fansha^ve’s situation at this time was one of great discomfort. She continued in London, filled with un- easiness about her husband, with very limited resources, having two young children on her hands, and to add to 152 LAD Y FANSHA WE. her trouble, she was again very near her confinement. Under these depressing circumstances she seldom left her lodgings, and spent her time chiefly in prayer for the de- liverance of the king and her husband. Her daughter Elizabeth was born on the 24th June, and early in Sep- tember the news of the battle of Worcester reached her. Some days of painful suspense followed, at the end of which she learned that Sir Richard had been taken prisoner. One of the most touching parts of her memoir is the account she gives of what transpired after this distressing event. Immediately on receipt of the tidings she pre- pared to quit town, and seek her husband wherever he might be, but her purpose was hindered by a messenger bringing a letter, saying that he would shortly be carried to London, and he appointed a place near Charing Cross where she should meet him. “ I expected him,” she says, with impatience on the day appointed, provided a dinner and room as ordered, in which I was with my father and some more of our friends, where, about eleven of the clock we saw some hundreds of poor soldiers, both Eng- lish and Scotch, march all naked on foot, and many with your father, who was very cheerful in appearance, arid, after he had spoken and saluted me and his friends there, said, ‘ Pray let us not lose time, for I know not how little I have to spare ; this is the chance of war, nothing ven- ture nothing have, so let us sit down and be merry whilst we may;’ then taking my hand in his and kissing me, ‘('case weejjing, no other thing on earth can move me; remember, we are all at Cod’s disposal.’ ” "I'heir interview lasted only a few hours; after which lie was conveyed to V.’hitchall, and was closely confined LAD y FANSHA IFF. ' 153 there for ten weeks, expecting daily to be put to death. Imagine the anguish and terror of his poor wife ! All that woman could do under the circumstances she did ; and with unwearied efforts strove to mitigate his suffer- ings and to obtain his release. In this she was ultimately successful; and it was owing to her exertions alone that he was at length set at liberty on bail. She says : “ During his imprisonment I failed not constantly to go, when the clock struck four in the morning, with a dark lantern in my hand, all alone and on foot, from my lodging in Chancery Lane, to Whitehall, in at the entry that went out of King Street into the bowling green. Then I would go under his window and softly call him; and, after the first time, he never failed to put out his head at my call; thus we talked together, and sometimes I was' so wet with the rain that it went in at my neck and out at my heels. He directed me how I should make my addresses, which I did ever to their general, Crom- well, who had a great respect for him, and would have bought him off to his service on any terms.” After Cromwell’s death Sir Richard and his lady made their escape from England, and followed the fortunes of the royal family, until the Restoration, when they accom- panied the king on his return. Lady Fanshawe thus describes their jubilant voyage: — The Duke of York, then made Admiral, appointed for my husband and his family a third-rate frigate, called the Speedwell; but his majesty commanded my husband to wait on him in his own ship. We had by the states’ order, sent on board to the king’s most eminent servants, great store of pro- visions. For our family we had a tierce of claret, a hogshead of Rhenish wine, six dozen of fowls, a dozen 154 • LAD Y FANSHA WE, of gammons of bacon, a great basket of bread, and six sheep, two dozen of neats’ tongues, and a great box of sweetmeats. Thus taking our leave of those obliging persons we had conversed with in the Hague, we went on board upon the 23rd of May, about two o’clock in the afternoon. The king embarked at four of the clock, upon which we set sail, the shore being covered with people, and shouts from all places of a good voyage, which was seconded with many volleys of shot inter- changed. So favourable was the wind that the ships’ wherries went from ship to ship to visit their friends all night long. But who can sufficiently express the joy and gallantry of that voyage, to see so many great ships, the best in the world; to hear the trumpets and all other music; to see near a hundred brave ships sail before the wind, with the vast cloths and streamers, the neatness and cleanness of the ships, the strength and jollity of the mariners, the gallantry of the commanders, the vast plenty of all sorts of provisions ; but above all, the glorious majesties of the king and his two brothers were so beyond man’s expectation and expression. The sea was calm, the moon at full, and the sun suffered not a cloud to hinder his prospect of the best sight, by whose light and the merciful bounty of God the king was set safely on shore at Dover, in Kent, upon the 25th May, 1 660.” 'The morning after Charles’ arrival at Whitehall, Lady Fanshawe, with other ladies of her kimily, waited upon him to offer their congratulations, on which occasion he received her ‘‘ with great graces,” assured her of his favour, and j)romiscd fairly for the future. Jn tlic parliament summoned immediately after the LAD V FANSIIA WE. 55 Restoration Sir Richard was returned for the University of Cambridge ; and ‘‘ had the good fortune,” his loving biographer says, “to be the first chosen and the first returned member of the Commons’ House in parliament, after the king came home; and this cost him no more than a letter of thanks, and two brace of bucks, and twenty broad pieces of gold to buy them wine.” To the jealousy of Lord Clarendon, who was anxious to remove Sir Richard from about the king’s person, his wife imputes the circumstance of his being sent to Portugal to negotiate the marriage with the Princess Katharine, to whom he was charged to present his majesty’s picture; but this appointment was strong proof of the confidence which was reposed in his discretion and abilities. He returned to England in December; and early in 1662 was nominated Privy Councillor of Ireland. Two years later he was appointed Ambassador to the Court of Madrid, and embarked with his family and a numerous retinue at Portsmouth, reaching Cadiz on the 23rd of February. Lady Fanshawe’s Memoir gives a very lively account of their journey to the Spanish capital, of their splendid reception, of the manners of the Spaniards, of various places, and of public events and ceremonies. Many of her anecdotes are highly interesting, her descriptions displaying considerable judgment and quickness of observation. During her residence at Madrid she gave birth to her son Richard, the only one who survived her; to which event she thus touchingly refers : — “ August 6, at 1 1 o’clock in the morning, was born my son, God be praised! and christened at 4 o’clock that afternoon, by LADY FANSHAIVE. 156 our chaplain, Mr. Bagshaw. The same day the Duke of Medina and his duchess sent to give us joy. Upon the 7th the duke came in person, with all his best jewels on, as the custom of Spain is, to show respect. Upon Thursday, the loth, the queen sent to give me joy; and the next day the Princess Alva did the same, as likewise most of the other greatest ladies at court. “ O ever living God, through Jesus Christ, receive the humble thanks of thy servant for thy great mercy to us in our son, whom I humbly beseech thee, O Lord, to protect, and to make him an instrument of thy glory. Give him thy Holy Spirit, to be with him all the days of his life ; direct him through the narrow paths of right- eousness, in faith, patience, temperance, chastity, and a love and liking of thy blessed will, in all the various accidents of this life. This, with what outward blessings thou, O heavenly Father, knowest needful for him, I beg of thee, not remembering his sins, nor the sins of us, his parents, nor of our forefathers, but thy tender mercy, which thou hast promised shall be over all thy works, and for the blessed merits of our only Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.’^ On Thursday, the 17th of September 1665, Philip IV. of Spain died, having been sick but four days. Lady Fanshawe’s description of the funeral ceremonies is so striking that the reader will not think it an impertinent digression if I give it at length: — “The body of the king lay expo.sed from the i8th September till Saturday night, the 19th, in a great room in his palace at Madrid, where he died ; in which room they used to act plays. The walls were lumg with fourteen ])ieces of the best liangings, and over them rich pictures round about, all LAD Y FANSHA WE, 157 of one size, placed close together. At the upper end of the room was raised a throne of three steps, upon which there was placed a bedstead, boarded at the bottom and raised at the head. The throne was covered with a rich Persia carpet; the bottom of the bedstead was of silver; the valance and head-cloth, for there were no curtains, were cloth of gold, wrought in flowers with crimson silk ; over the bedstead was placed a cloth of state of the same with the valance and head-cloth of the bedstead, upon which stood a silver gilt cofiin, raised about a foot or more higher at the head than at the feet, in which was laid a pillow, and in the coffln lay Philip IV. with his head on the pillow ; upon it a white beaver hat, his head combed, his beard trimmed, his face and hands painted. ‘‘ He was clothed in a musk colour silk suit, em- broidered with gold ; a gollila about his neck; cufls on his hands, which were clasped on his breast, holding a globe and a cross on it therein. His. cloak was of the same, with his sword by his side; stockings, garters, and shoe-strings of the same, and a pair of white shoes on his feet. In the room were erected six altars for the time, upon which stood six candlesticks with six wax candles lighted, and in the middle of each altar a crucifix ; the fore-part of each altar was covered with black velvet, embroidered with silver. Before the throne a rail went across from one side of the room to the other. At the two lower corners of the throne, at each side, stood a nobleman, the one holding an imperial crown, the other the sceptre; and on each side of the throne six high candlesticks with tapers in them. “ On the Saturday night he was carried upon a bier, hung between two mules, upon which the coffin 15 ^ LAD Y FANSHA WE. with the king’s body was laid, covered with a covering of cloth of gold ; and at every corner of the bier was placed a high crystal lanthorn, with lighted tapers in it. He was attended by some grandees, who rode next after him, and other noblemen in coaches, with between two and three hundred on horseback, of whom a great part carried lighted tapers in their hands. This was the company, besides footmen. When the king’s body came to the convent of the Escurial, the friars of that convent stood at the gate and asked the grandees who carried the monarch on their shoulders (for none other must touch him), ‘ Who is in that coffin, and what they do there demand^’ Upon which the Duke de Medina answered, ‘ It is the body of Philip IV. of Spain, whom we here bring for you to lay in his own tomb.’ Upon which the duke delivered the queen’s letter, commanding the king’s body should be there buried. Then the prior read the letter, and accom- panied the body before the high altar, where it was placed till the usual ceremonies had been performed; after which the grandees carried it down into the pantheon, where they left it with the prior, who, after the body’s lying some time in the place where the infants are buried, placed it in his own tomb.” On the 17th December 1665 Sir Richard signed a treaty with the Spanish minister; but, as the king refused to ratify it, he was recalled, and the Earl of Sandwich was sent to replace him. Previous to this event Lady I’'anshawe had purj)osed returning to fjigland to see her father, wlio was on the verge of the grave, but she now resoI\x*d to wait her husband’s departure. Little did she aiiticijate the grief that was awaiting her in the LAD Y FANSI/A WE. 159 death of Sir Richard, who, after introducing his successor at court on the 15th of June, was seized with an ague, and expired on the 26th of the same month. No language could more appropriately express the feelings of the afflicted wife under her loss than that in which she poured them forth while supplicating the divine pity and succour amidst her anguish. Thus she prays, — O all powerful good God, look down from heaven, upon the most distressed wretch upon earth. See me, with my soul divided, my glory and my guide taken from me, and in him all my comfort in this life. Have pity on me, O Lord, and speak peace to my dis- quieted soul, now sinking under this great weight, which, without thy support, cannot sustain itself See me, O Lord, with five children, a distressed family, the temptation of the change of my religion, the want of all my friends, without counsel, out of my country, without any means to return with my sad family to our own country, now in war with most part of Christendom. But above all, O Lord, I do lament, with shame and confusion, my sins. Thou hast showed me many judgments and mercies, which did not reclaim me, nor turn me to thy holy conversa- tion, which the example of our blessed Saviour taught. Lord, pardon me ! O Lord, forgive whatsoever is amiss in me ; break not a bruised reed. I humbly submit to thy justice ; I confess my wretchedness, and know I have deserved not only this, but everlasting punishment. But, O my God, look upon me through the merits of my Saviour, and for his sake save me. Do with and for me what thou pleasest, for I do wholly rely on thy mercy, beseeching thee to remember thy promises to the father- less and widow, and enable me to fulfil thy will cheer* l6o LAD y FANSHA WE. fully in this world, humbly beseeching thee that, when this mortal life is ended, I may be joined with the soul of my dear husband, and all thy servants departed this life m thy faith and fear, in everlasting praises of thy holy name. Amen.” Lady Fanshawe resolved on accompanying her hus- band’s corpse to England; but previous to her quitting Madrid, the Queen Regent of Spain offered her a pen- sion, and promised to provide for her children, if she and they would embrace the Roman Catholic faith. To this offer, she says, “ I answered, I humbly thanked her majesty for her great grace and favour, but I desired her to believe that I could not quit the faith in which I had been born and bred, and in which God had pleased to try me for many years in the greatest troubles our nation hath ever seen, and that I do believe and hope in the profession of my own religion.” Having disposed of her plate, furniture, ^nd horses, she left Madrid, in a private manner, on the night of th 8th July, and, as she truly and sorrowfully observes, never did any ambassador’s family come into Spain so gloriously, or went out so sad.” On her arrival in England she received much atten- tion and sympathy from the royal family, the court, and some of the ministers ; but, in common with every other jjerson who had pecuniary claims on the government, she exj)erienced great difficulty in procuring the arrears due to her liusband, and it was not until nearly three years that the whole was paid ; by which delay, she says, she sustained a loss of above £^ 2000 . d'he memoir describes, in a touching manner, the situation in which J.ady 1^'anshawe found herself after LAD Y FANSHA WE, i6i her husband’s death ; and it is scarcely possible to read her allusions to his long and faithful services, and the heavy sacrifices which he endured, without feelings of indignation on learning that his claims were neglected, and the interests of his widow and children disregarded. In this great distress,” says the bereaved lady, I had no remedy but patience. But God did hear and see and help me, and brought my soul out of trouble. And now, seeing what I had to trust to, I began to shape my life as well as I could to my fortune, in order whereunto I dismissed all my family but some few persons. At my arrival I gave them all mourning and a-piece, and put most of them into a good way of living, I thank God. ‘‘ In 1667 I took a house in Holborn Row, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, for twenty-one years. Here, in this year, I only spent my time in lament and dear remembrance of my past happiness and fortune; and though I had great graces and favours from the king and queen, and whole court, yet I found at the present no remedy. I often reflected how many miscarriages and errors the fall from that happy estate I had been in would throw me; and as it is hard for the rider to quit his horse in a full career, so I found myself at a loss, that hindered my settling myself in a narrow compass suddenly, though my narrow fortune required it ; but I resolved to hold me fast by God, until I could digest, in some measure, my afflic- tions. Sometimes I thought to quit the world as a sacrifice to your father’s memory, and to shut myself up in a house for ever from all people ; but upon the con- sideration of my children, who were all young and un- provided for, being wholly left to my care and disposal, ( 82 ) II LAD Y FANSIIA WE, 162 I resolved to suffer, as long as it pleased God, the storms and flows of fortune.” Lady Fanshawe wrote her Memoir in the year 1676, and died on the 20th January 1679, being in her fifty-fifth year. Her life had been marked by extreme vicissitudes, and its close was dark and cheerless; but there is reason to believe she had sought and found consolation, where alone it can be obtained in the hour of suffering and bereavement. Though her earthly hopes were disap- pointed, and her only happiness consisted in reflecting on the past, she still maintained her self-composure, and confided in the divine protection and favour. Alluding to the fallen circumstances of her family, she closes with the following striking remark : — And very pathetical is the motto of our arms for us — ‘The Vic- tory IS IN THE Cross I’ ” VII. WINIFRED HERBERT, COUNTESS OF NITHISDALE. “The tenderest wife, the noblest heroine too.” MONO the chosen examples of feminine excel- lence are some few women who have immortal- ized themselves by a single deed of heroic devotedness, to which they have been incited by a pas- sionate love or conjugal tenderness. Of these, one of the most renowned is the wife of Grotius, whose courage and sagacity effected the escape of her illustrious husband from the fortress of Louvenstein, in which she had shared his imprisonment by the space of nearly two years. A similar instance is found in the records of our own peerage. William Maxwell, fifth Earl of Nithisdale, who was one of the unfortunate gentlemen taken prisoners after the battle of Preston, in the ill-fated Jacobite insur- rection of 1715, is ‘^celebrated for effecting his escape from the Tower of London, 23rd February 1716, the night before his intended execution, through the heroic agency of his devoted and incomparable Countess, the Lady Winifred Herbert, youngest daughter of William, first Marquess of Powis.” * Lord Nithisdale was a descendant of the brave Sir Burke’s “ History of the Commoners of Great Britain and Ireland.’ 164 WINIFRED HERBERT, Eustace Maxwell, who distinguished himself by his un- alterable fidelity to the cause of Robert Bruce. When, in 1300, Edward I. invaded the western marches of Scotland, then under the guardianship of Sir Eustace as Lord Warden, he attacked the Castle of Carlaverock, the stronghold of the Maxwells. Of this celebrated fortress there is a minute and interesting description in an old heraldic French poem, preserved in the British Museum, and the passage describing the situation and form of the castle is thus rendered : — “ Carlaverock was a castle so strong that it did not fear a siege, therefore on the king’s arrival it refused to surrender, it being \fell furnished against sudden attempts, with soldiers, engines, and provisions. Its figure was that of a shield, (the ancient shield was triangular), for it had only three sides, with a tower on each angle, with a sufficiency of other defences. There were also good walls and deep moats, filled to the brim with water. And it is my opinion no one will ever see a castle more beautifully situated, for at one view one might behold towards the west the Irish Sea, towards the north a delightful country encompassed by an arm of the sea, so that no creature born could approach it on two sides, without putting himself in danger from the sea ; nor was it an easy matter towards the south, it being, as \)y tlie sea on the other side, there encircled by the river, woods, bogs, and trendies; wlierefore tlie army was ()l)liged to attack it on the east, where there was a mount.” After sustaining an assault, Carlaverock was obliged to ca])itiilale, but it was subseciucntly re-taken by the Scotch, and its owner afterwards demolished it, lest it should fall again into the hands of the enemy, and jirove COUNTESS OF NITHISDALE. 165 advantageous to their progress. It appears to have been in later times re-foi^tified, and underwent frequent sieges and dismantlings. Its owners, through successive genera- tions, continued firmly attached to the royal interest, and, in the reign of Charles I., the Earl of Nithisdale suffered much by sequestration and imprisonment for the cause of the Stuarts. It is chiefly to this circumstance, and to his being a Catholic, that the wife of Earl William attributes the severity which was experienced by her husband. “He being,” says she, “a Roman Catholic upon the frontiers of Scotland, who headed a very con- siderable party — a man whose family had always signalized itself by its loyalty to the royal house of Stuart, and who was the only support of the Catholics against the invet- eracy of the Whigs, who were very numerous in that part of Scotland — would become an agreeable sacrifice to the opposite party. They still retained a lively remembrance of his grandfather, who defended his own castle of Carlaverock to the very last extremity, and surrendered it up only by the express command of his royal master. Now, having his grandson in their power, they were determined not to let him escape from their hands.” At the commencement of the insurrection in favour of the Pretender, the earl possessed rich patrimonial estates in one of the most fertile and luxuriant counties in Scotland. The valley of the Nith, from which he derived his title, owned his lordship over some of its fairest scenes. Young, rich, and happily married, he was in the full sunshine of prosperity, when, in the year 1715, he was called upon to prove the sincerity of that fidelity to the House of Stuart, for which his family had so greatly suffered, and, in common with the other members of IVLVIFRED HERBERT, 1 66 what was termed the Jacobite Association, prepared diligently for the contest. When matters were con- sidered ripe for action, it was decided that the chiefs of the insurgents, under the command of Lord Kenmure, should proceed to the assistance of Mr. Forster’s ill- concerted enterprise in the north of England, and Lord Nithisdale, collecting a party of his tenantry who followed their chieftain, proceeded to cross the border, having taken a last farewell of the beautiful country of his fore- fathers. It may be readily supposed that he quitted it with anticipations the very reverse of those which the result justified. Probably his day-dreams were of a suc- cessful march, and a triumphant return. It is unneces- sary to relate the incidents of the contest which followed. As has been said, the earl was taken prisoner after the battle of Preston, and with other prisoners of the same rank was removed to London. When these unfortunate gentlemen had crossed Finchley Common and reached the brow of Highgate Hill, they were made to halt, and to submit to numerous indignities, — their arms were tied behind their backs like cut-throats; their horses were led by foot soldiers; and their ears were stunned by all the drums of the escort beating a triumphal march ; and by the shouts, scoffs, and jeers of the multitude. Upon their reaching the city, such as were lords or noblemen were sent to the Tower — the rest were divided among the four common jails. d1iey were not long suffered to remain there in doubt and uncertainty : the nation, the rarliament, which re-assembled on the 9th January, were eager for an e.xample, ojkI far too anxious, in the spirit of the time, for blood. On the very day of the 0])cning of Parliament, a debate concerning the prisoners COUNTESS OF NITHISDALE, 167 taken in rebellion ensued, and a conference was deter* mined on with the House of Lords. Mr. Lechmere, who was named to carry up the message to the Lords, returned, and made a long and vehement speech con- cerning the rise, progress, and extent of the rebellion ; after which, it was resolved unanimously, to impeach the Earl of Derwentwater, Lord Widdington, the Earls of Nithisdale, Win ton and Carnwath, Viscount Kenmure and Lord Nairn, and on the 19th instant these noblemen were all brought before the House of Lords, assembled as a court of justice in Westminster Hall, with Earl Cowper, the Chancellor, presiding as Lord High Steward. They knelt at the bar till the Chancellor desired them to rise, and then they all, but one, confessed their guilt and threw themselves upon the mercy of King George ; and then sentence of death was pronounced in all its barbar- ous particulars. Lord Nithisdale returned with his companions in mis- fortune to the Tower to await his doom, which, however, was averted by the fearless and devoted affection of his wife. “ Winifred, Countess of Nithisdale,” says Mrs. Thompson in her Memoirs of the Jacobites^ “ appears, from her portrait painted by Kneller, in the bloom of her youth, to have conjoined to an heroic contempt of danger a feminine and delicate appearance with great loveliness of countenance.” It is thus described, ‘‘ Her hair is light brown, slightly powdered, and is represented with large soft eyes, regular features, and fair, rather pale complexion. Her soft expression and delicate appearance give little indication of the strength of mind and courage which she displayed. Her dress is blue silk, with a border of cambric, and the drapery of a cloak of brown > WINIFRED HERBERT, silk. This lady was descended from a family who kncAv no prouder recollection than that their castle towers had been the last to welcome the unhappy Charles 1. in the manner suited to royalty. Her mother was the daughter of Edward, the second Marquis of Worcester, and author of “The Century of Inventions.’^ Her maternal family was of the same faith with her husband, and had equally suffered for the cause of the Stuarts. On her father’s side she was descended from the Herberts of Powis Castle, who were ennobled in the reign of James I. She was the fourth daughter of William, Marquis of Powis, who followed James II., after his abdication, to France, and died at St. Germain’s in 1696. After that event his two daughters, Lady Lucy and Lady Winifred Herbert, were placed in the English convent at Bruges, of which the former eventually became Abbess. At what period, or under what circumstances. Lord Nithisdale was introduced to his future consort has not been ascertained, nor have the descendants of the family ever been able to learn the date of their marriage. That their hearts were united in a strong and indissoluble attachment, the subsequent events of their history^ suffi- ciently prove. In the romantic haunts of Nithisdale the first years of their conjugal happiness passed away, and, as it should appear from tlie account given by the lady, she had remained in the north occupied with her domestic cares— for slie had two sons— and taking no part in the troubled field of politics, although it was the custom of the day for women to sliare, more or less, in the intrigues of faction. 1 lie surrender of Treston occurred in the middle of November. Winter had set in with unusual rigour COUNTESS OF NITHISDALE, 169 before the countess received the melancholy tidings that her husband was in the Tower, and that his life was in imminent danger. She learned at the same time that lie had expressed the utmost anxiety to see her, having nobody in his distress to comfort him until she arrived. In those days, when modes of transit were of the most imperfect and unsatisfactory nature, a, journey to the metropolis in such a dreary season was no light under- taking, but nowise daunted, she immediately commenced her preparations and rode to Newcastle, whence she pro- ceeded to York by the stage. On her arrival at York, the country was covered to such a depth with snow, and the weather was so inclement, that it was impossible for the stage to continue its progress. Even the mail could not be forwarded. At a loss what to do under such try- ing circumstances, she says, “ I put my confidence in Almighty God, trusting that he would not abandon me when all human succours failed.” Nerved by these assurances, and determined to run all risks, she took horse and went forward, and though the snow was generally above the horse’s girths,” she reached London unharmed and without any accident. Her first step on her arrival was to apply for information to those who were in place, and to endeavour to secure their assistance. No one, however, received her favourably, all assuring her that the case was a hopeless one, and that, although some among the prisoners were to be pardoned, Lord Nithisdale would certainly not be of the number. On her inquiring the reason she could obtain no direct answer, but readily concluded that his antecedents were all against him, and that, indeed, there was little or no hope. Upon this she at once formed the resolution to 170 WINIFRED HERBERT, effect his escape, and in order to concert measures for the purpose, urgently solicited permission to see her husband, which was refused, unless she would consent to remain confined with him in the Tower. This she refused, alleging as an excuse that her health would not permit her to undergo the confinement ; the real reason being that it would have been then impossible for her to accomplish her plans. She found it, however, no difficult matter to gain admittance by bribing the guards, and in this way she procured several interviews with the earl, till the sentence of death had been passed, when, during the last week, the friends of the doomed prisoners were per- mitted to see and to take leave of them. Having matured her scheme. Lady Nithisdale confided it to her faithful attendant, a woman whom she calls ‘‘ Evans,” and whose assistance was indispensable to her during the whole affair. Her account of the manner in which she proceeded is given in a letter written to her sister, the Lady Lucy Herbert, Abbess of the convent at Bruges, and who, it seems, had expressed her desire to have a circumstantial history of the affair by her own pen. hrom a direct appeal to the sovereign there was little or no prospect of benefit. Indeed the king was known to have expressly forbidden that any petitions should be presented to him ; but Lord Nithisdale was extremely desirous that he should receive one, flattering himself that it might excite interest on behalf his family, d’he countess was convinced it would be of no avail, but, in compliance with her husband’s re- ng upon a war with me?’ ‘ Sir, some allowance must be made for us if the glory of the great Frederick has led us astray in regard to the actual state of our resources, even if we have been deceived with reference to them.’ This answer was retained in memory by Talleyrand, who was present, and related by him in the presence of several ]>eople afterwards.” 'J'he principal object the queen had at heart was the J.reservation of Magdeburg to Prussia, and all her powers o sua.sion were exerted to overcome Najioleon’s reluc- tance to concede this point. lie, on the other hand hke a subtle politician, contented hiimsclf with geneinl’ an,l evasive answers, and with coinplinients on her dress anu the beauty of her person. “All! niadame, vous t tc.s SI Jcllc, jc nose ])as ncgocicr avee vous; ce n’est j)as' inoi (Jill exige taut, e'est le gouvernenient Fran(;ois.’' 207 LOUISA, QUEEN. OF PRUSSIA. “ Mais tout cela,” as he afterwards told the story with a smile of self-complacence at his own powers of with- standing such charms and such solicitation, “ n’dtoit pas Magdebourg;” and he, at the time, said that he had yielded much out of private regard to the emperor, but that he would not give up more even to the beaux yeux of the queen. During the whole period of her stay, the queen con- tinued steadily tq urge her suit with all the address and persuasion of which she was mistress, until Bonaparte, to put the matter at once beyond doubt, gave directions for the signature of the Prussian treaty early in the morn- ing, without awaiting the next visit of his fair petitioner, which was arranged to take place at a later hour of the day. Being aware of what had transpired, she main- tained a dignified silence on the subject which so deeply interested her heart, until the moment of her departure, when, as Bonaparte was handing her to the carriage, she could not refrain from expressing her extreme disap- pointment at the decision to which he had come , and afterwards she complained bitterly to Duroc, the Grand Marshal of the palace, shedding tears as she referred to the behaviour of his master, and the manner in which she had been foiled in her efforts. On her return to Memel, the queen wrote the follow- ing letter: “Peace is concluded; but at how painful a price ! Our frontiers will not henceforth extend beyond the Elbe. The king, however, has proved himself, after all, a greater man than his adversary. It is true he has been compelled by necessity to negotiate with his enemy, but no alliance has taken place between them. This will some day bring a blessing upon Prussia. I say the 2o8 LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. king’s just and honourable conduct will bring prosperity to Prussia in the end. This is my firm belief.” The treaty of Tilsit, which put the seal to the disasters of her country, caused the most profound grief to this high-spirited and sensitive woman. She declared, when writing to her father, that, while resigned to the will of Providence, and without a murmur submitting to the calamities under which she mourned, she could hope no longer, though she strove, for the sake of those around her, to appear cheerful. This grief preyed upon her constitution, and, beyond a doubt, was the proximate cause of the disease which shortly terminated her life. Yet, though heart-stricken, she continued to find sweet consolation in the domestic happiness that never for a moment was clouded. ‘'The king,” she says, “is more affectionate and kind to me than ever — great happiness and a great reward after a union of fourteen years.” In the spring of 1808 the Princess Louisa was bom. The queen recovered well from her confinement, and during the summer the royal family took up their resi- dence on a small estate called Hufen, in the neighbour- hood of Konigsberg. The situation, in the midst of a luxuriant valley, was beautiful, but the extent of the domain was limited. On this being observed by some visitor, the queen replied, “ Happy in ourselves and in our children, we need nothing further to render us con- tent. We have good air and tranquillity, and though not an extensive prosj)cct, we have some fine trees, some beds of flowers, and a shady grove at hand. We are lui]>py in each other; and then I have good books, an excellent |)ianoforte, aiul a conscience at peace : with these we live tramiuilly amidst the storms around.” LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. 209 The Archbishop Borowsky, a good and venerable man, who was the friend and counsellor of the king, writing from Konigsberg at this time, describes the appearance and manners of the queen very touchingly : “ In this time of deep affliction she is grave, but serene and com- posed in every action. Her eyes have lost their bril- liancy; no wonder, she has wept many bitter tears, and they continue still to flow; but their mild expression of melancholy and resignation is more interesting than the brightness of her youthful glance. The rose on her cheek has been replaced by a soft pallor more captivat- ing than it; while around her mouth, where formerly a bright smile played, a slight contraction of the lips occa- sionally is perceptible, bespeaking sorrow — not bitter- ness. Her dress is always simple, yet invariably in the best style ; her choice of colours exhibits her pure taste ; they are frequently in accordance with the tone of her feelings at the moment."^ In her presence one is reminded of the words of St. Peter, who describes the outward adorning of holy women to consist not in plaiting the hair, and wearing gold, and putting on apparel, but in the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. It is a great happiness to me to know that all her convictions, her hopes, and her confidence are founded on the promises contained in the sacred Scriptures. The Book of Psalms affords her especial instruction and consolation, as she often finds them applicable to her own circumstances. Last Sunday I found her reading. She rose to meet me as I entered, and said, “ I am reading that beautiful, and to me most * The queen was very particular in her selection of colours. She preferred lilac, agreeing with the definition of a blind man, who, on touching it, compared it to the soft and melodious notes of a flute. C 82 ) 210 LOUISA, QUEEN OE PRUSSIA, precious psalm, the 126th; and the more I study it the more I am impressed by its beauty and sublimity. I know nothing more calculated to console and elevate the mind than its expression of deep feeling. The grief it exhibits is profound : yet though the psalmist is almost forsaken, inexhaustible hope is to be seen through, the deep sorrows of the soul, and shines like the first rays of the morning. One hears already amid the tempest of affliction the song of triumph. It is an elegy and a hymn, a halleluiah accompanied by tears. I have read and re-read it, until every word is deeply impressed upon my memory.’ She added, after a pause, while her face beamed with devout feeling, ‘ When the Lord turneth again our captivity, we shall be like them that dream; our mouth shall be filled with praise, and it shall be said, ‘ The Lord hath done great things for them. Yea, the Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy; they that have gone forth weeping shall return with rejoicing, bearing their sheaves with them.’ She appeared to me at this moment more beautiful and far more interesting than in her earliest youth.” The venerable man concludes by expressing his con- viction that the devout resignation of the queen would be rewarded by that heavenly peace which confidence in Clod can alone inspire. He knew well that she had suffered intensely, that anxious days had been often suc- ceeded by sleepless nights, and that at times her heart had been ready to break; but the greater her struggle to attain submission to the Divine will, the greater was the lriumj>h of her fiiith. I'he tran(|uil retirement of Iliifen was very beneficial LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. 21 1 to her spirit. She said once, I find I must devote some hours each day to the disciplining of my mind. This is best done in solitude, but not in the confinement of my chamber. I must be in the fresh air, beneath the spread- ing shadows of the green trees, and breathing the influ- ence of tranquil nature : then am I best fitted to reflect profitably, so as to gain strength to endure trials. There is no hurry and turmoil to perturb one’s spirit in the country. What a blessing is solitude to the full and aching heart; and what comfort is felt in the conscious- ness of integrity and in the voice of a conscience free from guile 1 ” In the spring of the year 1809 Austria and France again commenced hostilities ; and this war, which so deeply agitated the north of Germany, effectually pre- vented the return of the court to Berlin. The royal family, therefore, continued at Hufen ; but the queen was greatly indisposed, and was attacked by ague, which prostrated her strength. At this time she wrote : I feel daily more and more that my kingdom is not of this world.” To her father she addressed a deeply touching letter. After expressing her conviction that all hope was now, for the present at least, extinct, she says : ‘‘ If I have not temporal happiness, yet I may say I have more,- I have peace of mind. It becomes daily clearer to me that all which has occurred has been precisely adapted to the accomplishment of a great purpose. Providence evidently intended to bring about a new order of things, destined to supersede the obsolete system of worldly policy. What has been done will not be lost upon us. We may learn much from Napoleon, who is, apparently, an instrument in the hand of the Almighty to lop off the 212 LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. dead and useless branches which were marring the beauty of the stem and gradually affecting its vitality. Surely better times will come. Our faith in an all-wise and gracious God warrants this belief. Whatever he ordains is right. I find consolation, courage, and serenity in this thought, and in the hopes which are deeply graven on my heart. ... You will be glad to know, dearest father, that the misfortunes which have befallen us have not affected our private life; on the contrary, they have only served to enhance our mutual affection and domestic happiness. The king is kinder and more affectionate to me than ever. I often fancy I see in him the lover and the bridegroom. By actions rather than words (as is his wont) he manifests his constant solicitude on my ac- count. Only yesterday, gazing fondly upon me, he said, ‘ Dearest Louisa, thou art more precious to me than ever in this season of adversity. Let the storm rage around us, it cannot mar our mutual happiness. Because I love thee so tenderly, I have called our little newly- born daughter Louisa. May she resemble thee!’ His emotion affected me to tears. It is my pride, joy, and bliss, to possess the love and confidence of this best of men, and I am never so happy as when by his side, forgive, dear father, this outbreak of my heart ; it is only to you I can utter my inmost feelings.” Afterwards this proud wife and fond motlier draws a ])iclure of licr young family, speaking of them as lier real treasures, her joy and hope. . . . '‘ 'J'he Crown Prince is full of life and .si)irit, and has excellent abilities: he is truthful in all his conduct, and reads history with avidity, lie cannot be more j)ure-minded than he is. lie is ilevoted lo his mother, and I love him dearly, and often LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. 213 talk of what he will do when he shall be king. Our son William (allow me, dear father, to place your grand- children in a row before you) will, I am persuaded, resemble his father: he is simple in his habits, straight forward and intelligent j and he is much like him per- sonally, only he will not be, I think, so handsome. You see I am still in love with my husband. Our daughter Charlotte grows daily more dear to me : she is reserved and retiring, but, like her father, possesses, beneath a cold exterior, great warmth of heart. If God spare her life, I anticipate a brilliant destiny for her. Charles is good-natured, merry, straightforward, and full of talent. He often makes us laugh heartily, and is cheerful and witty. His incessant questions perplex me no little, be- cause I cannot, or must not, answer some of them. He will go through life easily and with a cheerful heart. Our little Alexandrine is like a girl of her age and disposition, childishly affectionate, and has a sweet temper. She already gives evidence of quick perception and much sensibility. Of the baby Louisa there is not yet much to tell : her features are those of her dear noble-hearted father, and she has his eyes, only somewhat brighter. ‘‘ Now, my dear father, you have my gallery of family portraits, which you will say is painted by a partial mother who can see no fault in her darlings. In good truth, they have, like other mortal children, their little whims; but these will be corrected by time and educa- tion. My sole anxiety is on their account, and I daily breathe fervent prayers to God that he will bless them and not withdraw his good Spirit from them. On the 14th of October 1809 the queen gave birth to another son, named Albert. She remained indisposed 214 LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. for a considerable time after her confinement, but was sufficiently recovered to accompany the Court upon its return to Berlin, which was fixed for the middle of December. When^ the time approached she wrote the following letter: “So then, I shall soon again be in Berlin, amongst so many true hearts who love and re- spect me. It seems as if the very idea oppressed me with its overwhelming joy; for I shed so many tears when I think of it, that I can scarcely realize what I shall feel when I arrive there, and find every place the same, yet every thing so altered. Gloomy forebodings agitate me. I would willingly be alone, behind my lamp screen, and giving myself up wholly to my own reflections. I hope it will be otherwise.” These affecting expressions suggest the idea that the heart of the royal sufferer was oppressed by an undefined presentiment of approaching dissolution. By a singular coincidence, she entered Berlin on the 23rd of December, on the anniversary of that day, and precisely at the same hour, on which she had made her public entry sixteen years before as a bride. The meeting between the dif- ferent members of the royal family who had been sep- arated by the adversities of tlie time, was very affecting. They had endured much since they parted, and knew not, even now, what further calamities might await them. 'I'hc (jueen was much deliglited by the ])roofs of attach- ment which slic received on this occasion. The pco])le were full of entiuisiasm and rejoicing, and universal de- monstrations of tlie i)opular feeling testified the loyalty ol the faithlul Berliners. 'J'hc more thoughtful citizens, however, rejoiced with trembling, and a deep undertone of an.xious feeling pervailed many hearts. LOUISAj queen OE PRUSSIA, 215 The spring of the year i8io was peculiarly mild, and produced a beneficial effect on the health of Ae queen. She gladly embraced the opportunity of revisiting her favourite haunts,— Paretz, the Peacock Island, and the shady glens which had been the scenes of her early happiness. She busied herself also in the delightful oc- cupation of reading with her children, especially the two elder, and seemed for a time to forget the melancholy forebodings which had overcast her spirit, and her cheer- ful looks bespoke returning health and vivacity. It was a bright gleam, too quickly extinguished by the dark shadows of sorrow and death. The position of public affairs was such as to occasion the most painful anxiety. Continual demands were made from Paris, for the arrears of an enormous contribution which had been levied on Prussia; and it is known that France went so far as to threaten to send an army to occupy the whole country , and thus enforce payment. The queen participated in the general alarm occasioned by these trying circum- stances; and her maternal anxieties were at the same time awakened by the dangerous illness of her youngest daughter Louisa, who already bore an infantine resem- blance to her mother. So soon as the child became convalescent, she herself fell sick, and was confined for many days to her bed with a feyerish attack. She also suffered from those spasms of the chest, which shortly after terminated her life. As soon as she was sufficiently recovered she expressed an earnest desire to visit her father in Strelitz. For some years this project had been much in her thoughts. Since her marriage she had slept but once under her paternal roof, and that was on a very mournful occasion, when she 2i6 LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. went to visit one of the Russian princesses then at the point of death. The time seemed now propitious for the accomplishment of her cherished purpose, and in the month of June she commenced her journey, passing through Oranienburg to Furstenburg, the first town within the territory of Strelitz, where the duke her father and two of her brothers awaited her. It was arranged that the visit should be a strictly private one, and that the time should be spent in the retirement of her domestic circle. One day alone was devoted to a public reception, when a court was held. One who was present on that occasion describes her appearance as follows : “ I had not seen her for seven years, and though to many she would have perhaps appeared more lovely in her youthful charms, yet to my eyes she possessed now superior at- traction. Her fine features wore the impress of deep melancholy; and when she raised her eyes upward the countenance was suggestive of a longing to depart for a more congenial sphere. She greeted me as an old ac- quaintance, and repeatedly expressed her joy at finding herself once more in her father’s house, encircled by her family. After dinner I was standing with some ladies of her intimate acquaintance, and as she advanced towards us we admired her pearls. ‘ Yes,’ she replied, ‘ I prize them much, and have retained them alone of all my jewels, when it became requisite I should give up my brilliants. I’earls are most suitable forme; for they are emblematic of tears, and I have shed so many.’ She then showed us the king’s miniature, saying, with emotion, ‘It is the one that most resembles him, therefore I always wear it.’” Two days later symptoms of illness manifested them- selves, and fever accompanied with cough ensued. On LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. 217 the 30th instant it was judged necessary to bleed her; but, although for a short time she appeared relieved, the malady returned with greater force, and it was evident that a crisis was approaching. Although much disttessed with incessant cough her spirit remained tranquil, and she passed her sleepless nights with calm patience, fre- quently repeating hymns which she had learned m her childhood, and thus solacing the weary hours. On the ninth day it was hoped a favourable change would take place, and there was a partial abatement of the fever; but the great exhaustion consequent upon her illness was such as to awaken anxiety, and her attendants observed that her spirits seemed more depressed and her coun- tenance more serious than during any former attack. In the intervals of occasional relief from suffering, the gentle patient conversed with her relatives, and to her aged grandmother spoke often of the days of her girlhood, and dwelt much upon her recollections of her mother, whose image had never faded from her mind, and to whose memory she clung with fondest love. As the days wore slowly away she seemed not to be losing ground, and hopes were cherished that she would recover. None imagined that her end was near, nor was it till within a few hours of her death that the first apprehension of danger seemed to occur to herself. Thoughtfully, and with her finger uplifted, she said to Privy Councillor Heim, who was sitting near her bed, “ Oh, if I were to be taken away from the king and our children ! Early in the morning of the 19th July it was evident that her end approached. The duke, her father, was summoned to her bedside, and the king with his two elder sons arrived about four a.m. There is something ^IS LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. most pathetic in the exclamation of the unhappy monarch when the bystanders, endeavouring to console him ob- served that so long as life continued there was hope “Oh !’■• said he, “ were she not mine there might be hope- but as she is my wife she will assuredly die ! ” A few hours only elapsed when he sat, broken-hearted, beside the lifeless form of her who had been his sweetest joy in life, and whose loss he ceased not to deplore till he was summoned to rejoin her in a better world. On the 25th instant the funeral was solemnized in the presence of the king and all the royal family. “And now, in conclusion, says Madame von Berg, “we return to busy life again ; but the deep impression left in our souls no lapse of time or change of circumstances can efface. All earthly power and grandeur fades and be- comes dust ; but faith, hope, and heavenly love abide for ever: they proceed from God and return again to IX. MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. 0 T has been truly said by Mr. Southey, in his “Life of Wesley,” that the history of men who have been prime agents in those great moral and intellectual revolutions which from time to time have taken place among mankind, is not less important than that of statesmen and warriors. He adds, that if such history has not to treat of actions wherewith the world has rung from side to side, it appeals to the higher part of our nature, and may perhaps excite more salutary feelings, a worthier interest, and wiser meditations. It is scarcely possible to read the memoirs of the Wes- ley family without being impressed with the idea that Mrs. Wesley exerted no inconsiderable influence in the training and education of her sons 3 and this is alone sufficient to excite our interest in her, and to awaken curi- osity as to her disposition and qualifications, since we feel sure that the woman who assisted in moulding the character and forming the principles of such men could have been no common person. The poet-biographer of the Wesleys speaks of her in high terms of eulogy. “No man,” he says, “was ever more suitably mated than the elder Wesley. The wife whom he chose was, like him- self, the child of a man eminent among the Nonconform- 220 MJ^S. SUSANNAH WESLEY. ists: and, like himself, in early youth she had chosen het own path : she had examined the controversy between the Dissenters and the Church of England with con- scientious diligence, and satisfied herself that the former were in the wrong. The dispute, it must be remembered, related wholly to discipline ; but her inquiries had not stopped there, and she had reasoned herself into Soci- nianism, from which she was reclaimed by her husband. She was an admirable woman, of highly improved mind, and of a strong and masculine understanding; an obedient wife, an exemplary mother, a fervent Christian. The marriage was blessed in all its circumstances : it was con- tracted in the prime of their youth; it was fruitful; and death did not divide theni till they were both full of days.” Few particulars of the unmarried life of Mrs. Wesley have been recorded ; but the little that is known proves her to have possessed a vigorous understanding, a resolute will, and great energy of purpose. She appears to have set out in life with a determination to think and judge for herself, and as far as possible to see what evidence there was for the truth of those things which she was required to believe. Her father. Dr. Annestey, was one of the ejected ministers ; a man of great integrity and worth, who suffered much for conscience’ sake, and \^'as highly esteemed by the Dissenters for piety, charity, and /cal. 1 1 is cliildren were carefully educated in the princi- jilcs of their father, and Susannah, who was the youngest (laughter, always mentioned it as one of the most signal mercies of her life, that .she had been early taught by the counsels and good example of her jiious jiarents. It might not unnaturally Iuinc been su])posed that the 221 MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. circumstances of her father’s sufferings and life would have influenced her opinions in favour of Nonconformist principles. Possibly, the conviction that her prepos- sessions were in favour of Dissent made her the moie desirous to preserve her mind perfectly unbiased. Be that as it may, she has herself stated that, before she was thirteen years of age she had examined the whole con- troversy between the Dissenters and the Establishment, and had determined her judgment to the preference ” of the latter. She adds (with reason), that this proceeding on her part was something remarkable. It will perhaps appear the less unaccountable if it be borne in mind that the practice of giving young girls a learned education, which began in England with the Reformation, had not been laid aside in Mrs. Wesley’s youth, and that her early studies had been directed to theology. She appears, from some incidental references in her diary, to have understood Greek and Latin. It is evident she was a strict disciplinarian, and very earnest and diligent in her religious duties. When in after life urging these things upon her children, she says: “ I will tell you what I used to observe when I was in my father s house, and had as little, if not less liberty than you have now. I used to allow myself as much time for recreation as I spent in private devotion \ not that I always spent so much, but I gave myself leave to go so far, but no further : in the same way in all things else I appointed so much time for sleep, eating, and company.” The conscientiousness thus early evinced continued to be her ruling principle through life. Happily, her affections were early fixed upon her future husband, whom she calls a religious and orthodox man;” and by his judicious counsels her 222 MJ^S. SUSAN'JVAf/ IVESLEV. mind was emancipated from the erroneous views in which It had become entangled. The duties of the married estate quickly multiplied upon her. She had no fewer than nineteen children, of whom three sons and three daughters only attained to u age. Shortly after her marriage she made a resolution to spend one hour, morning and evening, in private de- votion, m prayer and meditation ; and she persevered m It ever after, unless sickness or necessary business undered. Occasionally, like the psalmist, she repaired on t le same errand at noon-tide to her chamber, where she meditated, and recorded the result of her holy mus- ings. No housewife was ever more diligent in business or attentive to family affairs than she was. By method and good arrangement she not only saved much time, but preserved her mind free from needless perplexity. In the training and education of her children she adopted a peculiar system of her own. Everything in their daily was conducted by rule, and the strictest punctu- ality enforced. Her method of teaching them to read was remarkable. She thus describes it in a letter written to her son John: “None of them were taught to read till five years old, except Kezzy, in whose case I was overruled ; and she was more years in learning than any of the rest had been months. The way of teaching was this: 'J'he day before a child began to learn, the house was set in order; every one’s work appointed them, ami a charge given that none should come into the room from nine till twelve, or from two till five, which wore our school hours. One day was allowed the child wherein to learn its letters, and each of them did in that time know all its letters, except Molly and Nancy, who were 223 MI?S. SUSA NIVA 1/ WESLEY. a clay and a half before they knew them perfectly ; for which I then thought them very dull : but the reason why I thought them so was because the rest learned them so readily; and your brother Samuel, who was the first child I ever taught, learned the alphabet in a few hours. He was five years old on the loth February ; the next day he began to learn, and as soon as he knew the letters began at the first chapter of Genesis. He was taught to spell the first verse, then to read it over and over, till he could read it off-hand without any hesitation ; so on to the second, &c., till he took ten verses for a lesson, which he quickly did. Easter fell low that year, and by Whit- sunday he could read a chapter very well ; for he read continually, and had such a prodigious memory that I cannot remember ever to have told him the same word twice. What was yet stranger, any word he had learned in his lesson, he knew whenever he saw it, either in his Bible or any other book ; by which means he learned very soon to read any English author well. “ The same method was observed with them all. As soon as they knew the letters they were first put to spell, and read one line, then a verse, never leaving till perfect in their lesson, were it shorter or longer. So one or other continued reading at school time without any remission; and before we left school each child read what he had learned that morning, and ere we parted in the afternoon, what they had learned that day. Samuel, the eldest son, was born about 1692, and m the following year his father was presented to the living of Epworth in Lincolnshire, which he held upwards of ^ forty years. Mr. Wesley was through life a zealous Churchman, having, (as has been said,) left the Dissenters 224 MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. wlien very young. He soon attracted notice by his ability and his erudition. “ Talents,” says Mr. Southey, “ found their way into public less readily in that age than m the present; and, therefore, when they appeared, they obtained attention the sooner. Wesley was thought capable of forwarding the plans of James II. with regard to religion, and preferment was promised him if he would preach in behalf of the king’s measures. But, instead of reading the king’s Declaration, as he was required, and although surrounded with courtiers, soldiers, and informers, he preached boldly against the designs of the court, taking for his text the pointed language of the prophet Daniel, If it be so, our God, whom we serve, is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace ; and he will deliver us out of thy hand, O king! But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.’ When the Revolution was effected, Mr. Wesley was the first who wrote in its defence f he dedicated the work to Queen Mary, and was rewarded for it with the living of Epworth in Lincolnshire. It is said that if the queen had lived longer he would have obtained more preferment. Mrs. Wesley differed from the political opinions of her husband, being a Jacobite at heart, but, like a prudent woman, she kept her opinions to herself, and said nothing upon the matter. Singularly enough, her zealous spouse did not discover how matters stood till shortly before King William died, when, accidentally, he noticed that she did not .say amen to the jirayers for hi'm. Instead of imitating her forbearance, he (piestioned her on the subject, and learned, to his indignant suqiri.se, that she did not believe the I’rince of Orange was king; where- MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. 225 upon he vowed in his wrath that he would not live with her again as his wife until she did ! In pursuance of this absurd vow, he immediately took horse and rode away, nor did she hear of him again till about twelve months afterwards, when the death of the king released him from his rash engagement, and sent him back to the embraces of his sensible wife, who forgave him, and made him a happy man. He never left her again ! John, the second son of Mr. and Mrs. Wesley, and the founder of Methodism, was born at Epworth on the 17th June 1703. When the child was nearly six years old a calamity happened which threatened the whole family with destruction, and him in particular. Epworth is a market- town in Lincolnshire, irregularly built, and containing at that time in its parish about two thousand persons. Mr. Wesley found the people in a demoralized, profligate state, and the zeal with which he discharged his duty in admonishing them of their guilt and danger excited a spirit of diabolical hatred in those whom his exhortations failed to reclaim. Some of these miserable beings at- tempted to set his house on fire twice without success, but at length they effected their horrid purpose. At midnight some pieces of burning wood fell from the roof upon the bed in which one of the children lay, and burned her feet. Before she could give the alarm her father was roused by a cry of fire from the street. Little imagining that it was in his own house, he opened the door, and found it full of smoke, and that the roof was already burned through. His wife, who had been recently con- fined, and was very ill at the time, slept in a separate room. Bidding her and the two eldest girls rise and shift for their lives, he burst open the nursery door, where ( 82 ) 15 226 MJiS. SVSAJVJVAff WESLEY. the maid was sleeping with five children. She snatched up the youngest, and called to the others to follow her- the three elder did so, but John, who was not awakened by all the clamour, was forgotten in the confusion and alarm. By the time they reached the hall the flames had spread eveiywhere around them, and Mr. Wesley then discovered that the key of the house door was up stairs. He ran and recovered it, and a few moments later the staircase took fire. When the door was opened a strong north-east wind drove in the flames with such violence from the side of the house that it was impossible to stand against them. Some of the children got through the windows, and others through a little door into the garden. Mrs. Wesley could not gain the garden door, and was not in a condition to climb to the windows: a ter three times attempting to face the flames, and shrinking as often from their force, she besought Christ to preserve her, if it were His will, from that dreadful eat , she then, to use her owm expression, waded through the fire and escaped into the street, naked as she was, with some slight scorching of the hands and face. At this time John, who had not been missed till that moment, was heard crying in the nursery. The father ran to the stairs, but they were so nearly con- .sumed that they could not bear his weight; and beino- utterly in despair, he fell upon his knees in the hall, and >n agony commended the .soul of the child to God. John had been awakened by the light, and thinking it was day called to the maid to take him up; but as no one answered he opened the curtains, and saw streaks of fire ujion the top of the room. ] le ran to the door, and finding it impossible to escape that way, climbed ujion a MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. 227 chest which stood near the window, and he was then seen from the yard. There was no time to procure a ladder, but happily the house was low; one man was hoisted upon the back of another, and could then reach the window, so as to take him out. A moment later and it would have been too late ; the whole roof fell in, and had it not fallen inward they must all have been crushed together. When the child was carried out to the house where his parents were, the father cried out, — Come, neighbours, let us kneel down; let us give thanks to God! He has given me all my eight children; let the house go, we are rich enough !” John Wesley remembered this providential deliverance through life with the deepest gratitude. In reference to it, he had a house in flames engraved under one of his portraits, with these words for the motto, — Is not this a brand plucked from the burning r’ The peculiar danger and wonderful escape of the child excited at the time a great deal of attention and inquiry, especially among the friends and relations of the family, and his mother was profoundly impressed by the event. Among the private meditations contained in her papers was one, written out long after it occurred, in which she expressed in prayer her intention to be more particularly careful of the soul of this child, which God had so mercifully preserved, that she might instill into him the principles of true religion and virtue. “ Lord,” she said, give me grace to do it sin- cerely and prudently, and bless my attempts with good success.” Her pious endeavours were not without fruit : so early did he give evidence of genuine piety, that when but eight years old he began to receive the sacrament. In 228 MJ^S. SUSANNAH WESLEY. the month of April 1712 he had the small-pox. His father was then in London, to whom his mother wrote thus: “Jack has bore his disease bravely like a man, and indeed like a Christian, without any complaint j though he seemed angry at the small-pox when they were sore, as we guessed by his looking sourly at them, for he never said anything.” In another letter written at this time to her husband. Mis. Wesley tells him she had formed a little meeting at her house on a Sunday evening, when she read a ser- mon and prayed and conversed with the people, who came for this purpose. This irregular proceeding was occasioned by the frequent absences of Mr. Wesley, who usually attended the sittings of Convocation. Such at- tendance was, in his opinion, a part of his dutyj and he performed it at an expense of money which he could ill spare from the necessities of his numerous family, and at a cost of time which was injurious to his parish. During these absences, as there was no afternoon service at the church, Mrs. Wesley assembled her family on Sunday evenings, and read a sermon and engaged in religious conversation. Some of the parishioners, who came in accidentally, were present on these occasions; and by their report others were made desirous of attend- ing also, and in this manner from thirty to forty persons assembled. After this had continued some time she happened to find in her lursband s study a volume giving an account ol the Danish missionaries, and was greatly impressed by its perusal. 'J'he book strengthened her desire of doing good: she chose “the best and most awakening sermons, and .sjioke with greater earnestness and affec- MRS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. 229 tion to the neighbours who attended her evening meet- ings. Their numbers increased in consequence, for she did not feel it right to deny any who sought for admit- tance. More persons at length came than the room could hold, and the thing was represented to her hus- band in such a manner that he wrote to her objecting to her proceeding, because it looked particular” on ac- count of her sex, and because, in consequence of his public station and character, it was most undesirable that she, as his wife, should do anything to attract censure. He therefore recommended her procuring some person to officiate for her. In her reply she began by heartily thanking him for dealing so plainly and faithfully with her in a matter which she felt to be of no small concern. “As to its looking particular,” she said, “ I grant it does; but so does almost everything that is serious, or that may any way advance the glory of God or the salvation of souls, if it be performed out of a pulpit or in the way of common conversation; because, in our corrupt age, the utmost care and diligence has been used to banish all discourse of God or spiritual concerns out of society, as if religion were never to appear out of the closet, and we were to be ashamed of nothing so much as of confessing ourselves to be Christians.” To the objection on account of her being a woman, she said she was also the mistress of a large family, and though the superior charge lay upon her husband as their head and minister, yet, in his absence, she could not but look upon every soul which he had left under her care as a talent committed to her under a trust by the great Lord of all the families of heaven and earth. The objections which arose from his own station and character she left 230 SUSANNAH WESLEY. entirely to his own judgment. “ For my own part,” she said, “ I value no censure on this account. I have long since shook hands with the world, and I heartily wish I had never given them more reason to speak against me.” As to the proposal of letting some other person read for her, she thought her husband had not considered what people they were : not a man among them could read a sermon without spelling a good part of it, and how would that edify the rest ? And none of her own family had voices loud enough to be heard by so many. In the meantime the curate of Epworth bestirred him- self in the matter, and thought proper to write to Mr. Wesley, complaining that a conventicle was held in his house. This charge was well fitted to alarm so zealous a Churchman, and he accordingly declared in his second letter to his wife a more decided disapprobation of these meetings than he had before expressed. The prudent woman paused a while before answering, thinking it wise and fitting that they should both act with deliberation in com.ng to a final determination on this important matter. When she did write, it was to urge clearly and judiciously the consideration of the good which had already resulted and the evil which must inevitably ensue should the prejudices of the people be excited by dis- continuing meetings which they had shown so much in- terest in. She concluded thus in reference to her own duty as a wife : “ If you do after all think fft to dissolve tills as.sembly, do not tell me that you me to do it, for that will not satisfy my conscience, but send me your positive command in such full and express terms as may absolve me Irom guilt and punishment for neglecting the opportunity ol doing good when you and 1 shall stand MJiS. SUSANNAH WESLEY. 231 before the great and awful tribunal of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Mr. Wesley made no further objections, and thoroughly respecting the principles and understanding of his wife, he judged proper to leave her to pursue her own course. At this time John and Charles were under their mother’s care, and with what wisdom and earnestness she discharged her important duties, and especially in the all-important matter of their religious training, we learn from her own statement. “ I resolved,” she says, “ to do more for the salvation of souls, and I resoh ed to begin with my own children; and I observed the fol- lowing method I took such a proportion of time as I could best spare every night to discourse with each child by itself on something relating to its principal concerns. On Monday I talked with Molly; on Tuesday with Hetty ; Wednesday, with Nancy; Thursday, with Jacky ; Friday, with Patty; Saturday, with Charles; and with Emily and Suky together on Sunday.” Talents of no ordinary kind were hereditary in this re- markable family. Samuel, the elder brother, who was eleven years older than John, could not speak at all till he was more than four years old, and consequently was thought to be deficient in his faculties ; but it seemed afterwards as though the child had been laying up stores in secret till that time, for one day, when some question was proposed to another person concerning him, he answered it him- self in a manner which astonished all who heard him, and from that hour he continued to speak without difficulty. He distinguished himself, first at West- minster, and afterwards at Christ Church, Oxford, by his classical attainments. From Christ Church he 232 M/iS. S^JSAN’JVAJI IVESLEY. returned to Westminster as orders. an usher, and then took His mother, well knowing the dangers that awaited him at Westminster, was deeply anxious for the preserva- tion of his morals. With womanly ingenuity, as well as maternal authority, she urged upon him the claims of virtue and religion. « I hope,” she writes to him, “ that you retain the impressions of your education, nor have forgot that the vows of God are upon 3mu. You know t at the first-fruits are Heaven’s by an inalienable right, and that as your parents devoted you to the service of the altar, so you yourself made it your choice. But have you duly considered what such a choice and such a dedi- cation import? Consider well what separation from the wor , what purity, what devotion, what exemplar}' virtue are required in those who are to guide others to glory > “ ^ you as much as possible, in your present circumstances, to throw your business into a certain method, by which means you will learn to im- prove every precious moment, and find facility in the performance of your varied duties. Begin and end the day with Him who is the Alpha and the Omega; and if you really experience what it is to love God, you will redeem all the time you can for his immediate service. In all things endeavour to act upon principle, and do not live like the rest of mankind, who pass through the world like straws upon a river, which are carried as the •stream or the wind drives them. Often ask yourself, Why do I this, or that? Why do I pray, read, study’ I've.; by which means you will come to such a steadiness and consistency in your words and .actions as becomes a rational being and a good Christian.” 233 MJiS, SUSANNAH WESLEY, These admirable counsels had the desired effect, and the youth was preserved uncontaminated by the evil examples and unallured by the fascinating snares which his mother had dreaded on his account. Charles, the second son, was sent to Westminster and placed under the care of his eldest brother. John was educated at the Charter House, from whence he was removed at the age of seventeen, to Christ Church, Oxford. When the time of life arrived for him to decide on his future calling, he began to reflect seriously on the importance of the priestly office, and shrank from taking upon himself so awful a charge. His mother was of opinion that he should enter into deacon’s orders with- out delay, because it might be an inducement to greater application in the study of practical divinity. “ Resolve,” said she, “ to make religion the business of your life ; for, after all, this is the one thing necessary ; all things else are comparatively little to the purposes of life. I heartily wish you would now enter upon a strict examination of yourself, that you may know whether you have a reason- able hope of salvation by Jesus Christ. If you have the satisfaction of knowing, it will infinitely reward your pains j if you have not, you will find a more reasonable occasion for tears than can be met with in a tragedy.” In conformity to this advice he applied himself closely to theological studies : his devotional feelings were thus fostered and developed, and he became desirous of entering upon his ministerial career. In the pursuit of his studies he was greatly impressed w'ith the famous treatise, “Z)romising protection to those who had fled, she, to- gether with a multitude of fellow-sufferers, returned to Wittenberg where she lived during the remain- der of her days in obscurity and indigence, eking out her scanty funds by taking lodgers to board in her house. KATHARINE VON BORA. 273 The circumstances of her death were tragical. After the treaty of Passau, in August 1552, tranquillity was for a time restored, but to the terrors of war succeeded the ravages of disease. The plague prevailed to such an extent in Wittenberg that the members of the University were removed to Torgau, and Katharine determined to go there with her two younger sons, Paul and Martin, Ld her daughter Margaret; her anxiety on their account being greatly increased by the fact, that the infection had attacked one of the inmates of her house. On e journey the horses took fright and ran away; Kathanne umped from the vehicle, fell heavily on the ground, and was much injured. The effects of this accident proved fatal; fever came on, and after languishing for three months she expired on the 25th December, 1552, m t e fifty-fourth year of her age. A few words uttered by her dying lips have been preserved in remembrance, am they sufficiently prove that the counsel conveyed m her husband’s last letter was treasured and practised y e in the time of her greatest need,-“ I will keep on cleav- ing to my Saviour Christ as the bur to the garment, she whispered, and then, with a prayer for the prosperity of the church, she committed her children to the Divine care, and peacefully expired. She was buried on the following day, according to the custom then prevalent and all the students remaining m Torgau were present at the funeral, to which they had been P^^hcly mvi e by Melancthon. A gravestone m St. Marys Chu c , marks the spot where her remains are laid. A stone statue of her, the size of life, is placed upon 1 , P senting her holding an open Bible pressed closely to 18 ( 82 ) KATHARINE TON BORA. 274 breast. On the right, near her head, is her husband’s coat of arms, namely a red heart, under a black cross, upon a white rose. The inscription runs thus : — KATHARINE VON BORA, THE WIDOW OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER, FELL ASLEEP IN GOD, AT TORGAU, DECEMBER 2 0 , I552. The Christian's heart on roses lies, Although upon the cross it dies.” XL MRS. LLXY HUTCHINSON. “ Strong in her native dignity of mind. IMONG the contemporary narratives of our * English history, one of the most deservedly admired is the Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson s Life written by his widow. This curious and interesting work while it deserves attention as containing an accurate r„d tlnous acc„.„. of m.litar, and political aifa.ra a, an all-impottant period of our domestic annals, is peculiarly attracti.e by the uiews which « character of the writer, and the manners of the age. Not onMoes .. exhibit the most liberal and enlightened sentiments in the person of a puritan, but ,t also sustains a high tone of aristocratieal dignity and pretension, though the work of a decided republican. It has with justice been remarked that not the leas valuable part of Mrs. Hutchinson’s work is, the which it affords us concerning the manner condition of women in the period with which she is occupied This is a point of no small importance, as bearing upon the stat and character of any people; but almost of necessity al histories of public events are very deficient with referei to it It is true that she enters into no formal disquisi- tion upon the subject, and what we learn from her m 27(5 M/;!S. LUCY HUTCHINSON. relation thereto is learnt incidentally, and principally from what she is led, in the course of her narrative, to mention respecting her own education, conduct, or opinions. “ If it were allowable,” says one of her eulogists, “ to take the portrait which she has thus in- directly furnished of herself as a just representation of her fair contemporaries, we should form a most exalted notion of the republican matrons of England. Making a slight deduction for a few traits of austerity, borrowed from the bigotry of the age, we do not know where to look for a more noble and engaging character than that under which this lady presents herself to her readers. With a high minded feeling of patriotism and public honour, she seems to have been possessed by the most dutiful and devoted attachment to her husband, and to have combined a taste for learning and the arts with the most active kindness and munificent hospitality to all who came within the sphere of her bounty. To a quick perception of character, she united a masculine force of * understanding, and a singular capacity for affairs, and possessed and exercised all those talents, without affect- ing any superiority over the rest of her sex, or abandon- ing for a single instant the delicacy and reserve which were then its most indispensable ornaments.” 'I'hcre is undoubtedly in the domestic virtues and the calm and commanding mind of our English matron something that sur|)asses the boasted excellence of the V'alerias and Portias of anticpiity, and far excels the p.atriotic heroines of more modern times. Her dis- tinguishing merit consi.sts in the fact that she never slepi)e(l beyond the province of a private woman, nor transgressed the limits im|)osed by feminine prudence 277 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSOM. and modesty, but inviolably preserved a certain simplicity and purity of character which, like a lovely halo, shed its lustre around the Christian wife and_ gentlewoman. The fragment of her own history, with which the memoir opens is not the least interesting and charactenstic part of the work. Having premised that her object m writing of herself was to excite thankfulness, and to reca le more impressively to mind the divine goodness and mercy, she gives the following brief account of her birth; It was on the 29th day of January in the year of our Lord 1619-20 that, in the Tower of London, the prmcipall citie of the English Isle, I was, about four o’clock m the morning, brought forth to behold the ensuing light. My father was Sir Allen Apsley, lieftenant of the Tower of London; my mother, his third wife, was Lucy, the youngest daughter of Sir John St. John oj Lidiard Tregoz in Wiltshire, by his second wife. My father ha then living a sonne and a daughter by his former wives, and by my mother three sons, I being her eldest daughter. The land was then at peace-if that quietnesse may be called a peace, which was rather like the ca me an smooth surface of the sea, whose darke womb is already impregnated of a horrid tempest. ^ She then gives a short epitome of English history, and proceeds to draw, in a very pleasant and engaging manner, the character of both her parents. Her fat er, who died in 1630 when she was but ten years of age, was, as she says, “ bewailed, not only by all his depen - ants and relations, but by all who were acquainted witr him, for he never converst with any to whom he was not at some time or in some way beneficiall. is gentleman, who had been early left his own master by ^ ^ L UC Y HUTCHINSO N. the death of his parents, appears to have been at first addicted to the follies of an idle court life j but growing weary of this vain and unsatisfactory career, procured an engagement under the Earl of Essex, whom he accom- panied in his voyage to Calais, and conducted himself so well as to be rewarded with a profitable employment in Ireland, and was subsequently knighted by King James. Early in life he married an opulent widow, who did not long survive their union; and subsequently he again contracted an alliance with a widow lady, the daughter of Sir Peter Carew, by whom he had a numerous family^ only two of whom survived their mother. At her death he quitted Ireland, and procured the office of Victualler of the Navy, “a place then both of credit and great revenue.” After remaining for some time a widower, and having attained the mature age of forty-eight years, he suddenly became enamoured of Miss St. John, a young lady who numbered but sixteen summers. This was the mother of Mrs. Hutchinson ; and she very prettily pleads the cause of her father by painting the charms of the fair girl, whose attractions so much bewitched him. Young as she was, the damsel had already been disappointed in an attachment she had formed, and was the better dis posed to listen to the ardent protestations of Sir Allen A|)sley, while “ her melancholy made her conform cheer- fully to the gravity of habit and conversation which was becoming the wife of such a person.” 1 his marriage was not an unhaj)j)y one, and was crowned with a numerous olfsjuing, of whom Lucy and another daughter, willi three sons, survived their father. It is imjiossible to read the character of Sir Allen, drawn MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. 279 b, his daughter's hand without admiration and esteem^ sL l. “Hewasamost induigen. husband, and no Lse kind to his chiidren ; a most nobie master, w o tvn Vit n not enough to maintain his servants honour- rwh.rre;:ert wi.h h,m. but - it nrovided offices or settlements as for chilld • was a father to aii his prisoners, and vice of that age many of the wives an c i Queene Eiisabeth's giotious capitaines were re poverty, his purse was their common treasury, and y knew L th" inconvenience of decay'd fortunes tiii he irdead i many of these vaiiiant -men he mmn^.t in prison, many he “^^^seTe" with an extraordinary bounty. H , , . „„ri,,re regulating of his family; especially would not endure thetast immodest behaviour or dresse in any wornan flpr his roofe There was nothing he hated more an Z insignifieani gallant, that could only prune hmse a:d court a lady, \ut had not brains to e-plo^— in things more suitable to man’s nobler sex. ty his trust, love and loyalty to his prince least of his virtues, but. those wherem he was not excell ihv nnv of his owne or succeeding times. \n his fait young wife this worthy man had “ ab e h pmeel whom he treated with perfect confidence ----i-:/:r.;:\.reoTrrar:s:- r.?p:rr:"d.:ronrwha. manner she thought LUCY HUTCHINSON. fit. This nest egg she prudently left in the hands of hei friends to accumulate, and the allowance made her by her husband she spent “ not in vanities, although she had what was rich and requisite upon occasions, but she laid most of it out in pious and charitable uses.” It appears, from an interesting little episode in the early history of Lady Apsley, that her mind had been early imbued with religious principles, and that her im- pressions on the subject of divine truth had been pro- duced under somewhat singular circumstances. She was beautiful and attractive ; and when very youthful received the adoresses of more than one eligible suitor. Among them was a young gentleman of good family and estate, who urged his cause with so much success that she yielded to his importunities, and returned his affec- tion. By a series of adverse and afflictive events the current of this true love was troubled, and the conse- quences were fatal to the hopes of the young couple. In the meantime, by the kindness of one of her relatives. Miss St. John had found a temporary home in Jersey, of which island her uncle was then governor. During her stay there she took up her residence in the house of a I'rench minister, her object being to learn the French language. This good man and his wife were among those sufferers for righteousness’ sake, who had been driven from tlieir native land by persecution, and had sought refuge under I'^nglish protection. Their influence upon the young lady committed to their care was a most liappy one \ slie .saw in them the beauty of true piety, and soon became warmly attached to them, listening with interest to tlieir instructions, and imbibing a predi- lection in favour of their “ (leneva discipline,” which MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. 281 appeared to her of a pure and evangelical character. So dSp was the impression produced both ^pon her understanding and her heart that she cherish the memory of their instructions; and after she had left Jersey formed the resolution to return and seek a permanent home under their roof, devoting herself to the service of God, in works of devotion and chari y This project she was revolving in her own mind when she was introduced to Sir Allen Apsley, who chanced accidentally to pay a visit to her uncle, and by whose persuasion she was induced to become his wife. And well did she discharge the onerous duties which her marriage imposed upon her. Her daughter, wuh filial affection, dwells upon her virtues, and describes Im manner in which she-young, and lovely, and gooc was a joy to all who surrounded her, and rendered even the shades of sorrow and the dark gloom of the prison- house light by her radiance. As the heutenan s wi residing in the Tower, she had many occasions for exercise of humanity and compassion. What scenes o anguish were witnessed within the walls of that stern old fortress ! How many illustrious captives languished and pined in despondency there, to be released only by the grim hand of death ! One of the most remarkable characters of an age celebrated for its eminent inen was there confined for thirteen years Sir Walter Ra eig , during his long imprisonment, turned to mtellectua pur- suits for solace, and sought relief and distraction ui the researches of science and literature. Allusion is ^ thus made to him in Mrs. Hutchinson’s narrative. My » The second year after their marriage Sir Allan was made lieutenant of the Tower. 282 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. mother, she says, ‘‘ Sir Walter Rawleigh and Mr. Ruthin being prisoners in the Tower, and addicting themselves to chimistrie, suffer’d them to make their rare experiments at her cost, partly to comfort and divert the poore prisoners, and partly to gaine the knowledge of their experiments and the medicines to helpe such jroore people as were not able to seeke to phisitians. By these means she acquir’d a greate deale of skill, which was very profitable to many all her life.” Nor did her sympathy stop short there ; to all other inmates of that melancholy abode she showed the same kindly consideration; and during the whole time of her residence there, if any were sick, she made them restoratives with her own hands, and took care that their necessities were supplied. In all their affliction she was afflicted, and ministered to them not only through the medium of others, but by her own personal attendance and consideration. From all that is related of her, it is evident she was a woman of sterling piety and ingenuous spirit. Religion, pure and undefiled, regulated her actions and shone in all her life. Thus, her daughter says, — “ The worship and service of God, both in her soule and in her house, and the education of her children, was her principall care. She was a constant frequenter of weeke-day lectures, and a greate lover and encourager of goode ministers, and most diligent in her private reading and devotions.” Being the first daughter of the family, the little Lucy was hailed with iieculiar satisfaction ; and it was re- inemliered that before her birth an ausjiicious 'omen had announced her advent. Lady Apsley, whose temjiera- rnent was evidently tinged with romance, related that, during the jicriod of her jiregnancy, she one night dreamt MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. 283 that while walking with her husband in the garden a shot down from the firmament and dropt mto her hand. Mar.el.ing what this viston of the n.gh rn.gh prognosticate, she consulted her husband, who rnter preKd the dream to signify she would gr.e b ith to a Lghte. of some eminence. Desirous to do dre.r p. lards the accomplishment of this prophecy, the parents Jthe child bestowed great care and pares rn re.nng Lr. She most be permitted to tell, in her own words, the story of her childhood: “ My father and mother fancying me beautifull, an t more than ordinarily apprehensive, applied all and spar’d no cost to emprove me m ’ which procured me the admiration of those my parents. By that time I was foure years I mad Enolish perfectly, and having a greate memory was canid to sermL, and while I was very young could remember and repeate them exactly, and the love of praise tickled me, and made me attend more heedfully. When I was about seven years o ag mmember I had att one time eight tutors of several qualities, languages, musick, dancing, writing, and needk^ work' but my genius was quite averse from all but my rfke and Lft I was so eager of, that my mother, thinking it prejudic’d my health, would moderate me m r Affer dLL and supper I had an hower allow’d me to play, and then I would steale into some hole or otl e to Ld. My father would have me learne Latine, and I L so apt that I outstript my brothers who were at schoole, Although my father’s chaplame that was my tutor, was a pitiful dulle fellowe. As ^ “ dancing I profitted very little in them, and would 2S4 J/J^S. LUCY HUTCHINSON. practise my lute or harpsichords but when my masters were with me; and for my needle I absolutely hated it; play among other children I despis’d, and when I was forc’d to entertaine such as came to visit me, I tir’d them with more grave instructions than their mothers, and pluckt all their babies to pieces, and kept the children in such awe that they were glad when I entertain’d myself with elder company, to whom I was very acceptable, and living in the house with many persons that had a great deal of witte, and very profitable serious discourses being fiequent at my father’s table and in my mother’s drawing-roome, I was very attentive to all, and gather’d up things that I would utter againe to great admiration of many, that tooke my memory and imitation for witte.” There is something very innocent and natural in the account she gives of her early attention to religion ■‘It pleas d God that thro’ the good instructions of my mother and the sermons she carried me to, I was con- vinc d that the knowledge of God was the most excellent study, and accordingly applied myselfe to it and to practise as I was taught. I us’d to exhort my mother’s maides much, and to turn their idle discourses to good subjects ; but I thought, when I had done this on the 1 .ord’s day, and every day perform’d my due taskes of reading and praying that then I was free to aniething that was not sin, and thought it no harme to learne or lieare wittie songs and amorous sonnetts or poems, and twenty things of that kind, wherein I was so apt that I became the confident in all the loves that were manag’d among my mother's young women, and there was none of them but had many lovers, and some particular friends iielov'd above the rest.” MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. 285 Mrs Hutchinson was evidently endowed by nature with an exraordinary sensibility to all powerful emotions A Viile her strict religious principles caused her n'lvervthing like unsanctified love, and withheld her tm r„Si»7in her pages whatever was alhed .0 such r there is a singular warmth and animation in her ttriptions of romantic and conjugal affection. In u t Sn of this we may refer to the account she gives her husband’s relations. His mother, it appears, w - jnost lovely and excellent young creature of noble fariy 1 of an incomparable shape and beauty, em- teTlS; with the best education those dayes afforded and above all had such attractive sweetnesse that she captivated the hearts of all that knew her; and notwit - Ending she had had her education att court, was delightfd in her own country habitation, and managed Jer tmely affaires better than any of the homespun huswifes that had been brought up to nothing e se. ^ n who was present at her death, which happen’d m dm twenty-sixth year of her age, said she had an admirable voyce and skill to manage it and that she wen awa> sinHng a psalme, which this maid apprehended she sun with so much more than usuall sweetnesse, as if her soule had been already ascended gra?dMher"ir grandmother-Mrs. tveral particulars, and closes her narrative by describing wTlch feeling .We ve„ affec.ing and ea.rao.d.n.,, circumstances of their death. “But while * incomparable mother was in the enjoyment of all outwa felicity to the full, God, in one moment took n away, an alienated her most excellent understanding m a diftic sS6 LUCY HUTCHINSON. childbirtli, nor could all the art of the best phisitians in England ever restore her. Yet she was not frantick, but had such a pretty deliration, that her ravings were more dehghtfull than other women’s most rationall conversa- tions. Upon this occasion her husband gave himself up to live retired with her, as became her condition, and retained the same fondnesse and respect for her, after she was distemper d, as when she was in the glory of her age. She had two beds in one chamber, and she being sick, two woemen watch’d by her, sometime before she died. It was his custome, as soon as ever he unclos’d his eies, to aske how she did ; but one night, he being as they thought in a deepe sleepe, she quietly departed towards the morning. He was that day to have gone a hunting, his usual exercise for his health ; and it was his custome to have his chaplaine pray with him before he went out; the woemen fearfull to surprize him with the ill newes, knowing his deare affection to her, had stollen out and acquainted the chaplaine, desiring him to informe him of it. Sir John, waking, did not that day, as was his custome, ask for her, but call’d the chaplaine to prayers, and joyning with him, in the middst of the prayer expir d, and both of them were buried together in the .same grave. Whether he perceiv’d her death and would not take notice, or whether some strange sympathy in love or nature tied uji their lives in one, or whether God was pleas’d to exercise an unusuall jirovidence towaids them, jirevcnting tliem both from that bitter sorrow whicli such separations cause, it can be but conjeclur'd.” The same vein of suppressed sensibility as is discernible in the preceding jiassages of her family records, is very MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON. 2S7 .s.™c«a .„a of v 3 -in. End. w y i v. loft- r^niTiV)rid20» evil example. In his twentieth year he left Cambridge, 1 p La been studying at the university, and pro- bein y« ..aecided as .o his f.iure coat There he was exposed to new and dangerou Tadoo other effect than to draw upon then, h.^ but in a handsome way of raillery, foi 1 nnitv” Lodging in the house with him was a very Ingerous ^charmer-“ a young gentlewoman of sue admirable beauty and ^ would have thawd f ^ Wealth and beauty never get an acquaintance mt thus in vain tempted him, for U v^as nor y Kilt- it was not farre off 1 ^ The sweet, credulous simplicity evinced in th.s pas- sage is rieJs apparent in the seguel of the narrat.ve . .J oi- the very time when this "Rv a sinsular coincidence, at the y ^ u tng Lgo" »t ‘“’t he Il ould travel on the Continent, or seek aon.e o.h r method of improving himself, it spend a few summer months a. Richmond, where he vLng princes then held their court, and where he would find very good company and recreation. In comp lan SfxS LUCY HUTCHINSON. with this suggestion Mr. Hutchinson went to Richmond, where he boarded with his music-master, in whose house a younger sister of his future wife happened to be then placed,— she herself having gone into Wiltshire, with some expectation of being married before her return. And now we have the story of her one romance in life : — “ This gentlewoman that was left in the house with Mr. Hutchinson was a very child, her elder sister being at that time scarcely past it, but a child of such pleasant- nesse and vivacity of spiritt and ingenuity in the quallity she practis’d, that Mr. Hutchinson tooke pleasure in hearing her practise (the lute), and would fall in discourse with her. She having the keyes of her mother’s house, some halfe a mile distant, would sometimes aske him, when she went over, to walk along with her. One day, when he was there, looking upon an odde byshelf in her sister’s closett, he found a few Latine bookes. Asking whose they were, he was told they were her elder sister’s, whereupon, inquiring more after her, he began first to be sorrie she was gone before he had seene her, and gone upon such an account that he was not likely to see her ; then he grew to love to heare mention of her ; and the other gentlewomen, who had been her comj)anions, used to talke much to him of her, telling him how reserv’d and studious she was, and other things which they esteemed no advantage ; but it so much inflam’d Mr. Hutchinson’s desire of seeing her, that he began to wonder at himselfe, that his heart, which had ever had such an indiffcrency for the mo.st excellent of wocmen- kind, should have so strong impulses towards a stranger he never .saw.” U hdc he was thus strangely yielding to the fascination MI^S. LUCY JIUTCJIINSON. 289 of an unknown charmer, she somewhat suddenly appeared on the scene. It chanced that one day, having been invited by one of the ladies of that neighbourhood to an entertainment, Mr. Hutchinson and young Mrs. Apsle}', with several more, were of the party; and having spent the day in various pleasant diversions, they were in the evening seated at the supper-table, when a messenger came to tell the young girl that her mother had returned. “ Slie would liave immediately left, but Mr. Hutchin- son, pretending civillity to conduct her home, made her stay ’till the supper was ended, of which he eate no more, now only longing for that sight which he had with such perplexity expected. This at length he obteined ; but his heart, being prepossesst with his onme fancy, was not free to discerne liow little there was in her to answer so greate an expectation. “ She was not ugly in a carelesse riding-habitt, she had a melancholly negligence, both of herselfe and others, as if she neither affected to please others nor tooke notice of anie thing before her ; 3'et, spite of all her indifferency, she was surpriz’d with some unusuall liking in her soule when she saw this gentleman, who had haire, eies, shape, and countenance enough to begett love in any one at the first, and these sett of with a gracefull and generous meme, which promis’d an extraordinary person. Although he had but an evening sight of her he had So long desir d, and that at disadvantage enough for her, yett the pi e\ ail- ing sympathie of his soule made him think all his paynes well payd ; and this first did whett his desire to a second sight, which he had by accident the next day, and to his joy found she was wholly disengag’d from that treaty which he so much fear'd had been accomplisht. He Vi-i) 1 9 290 /W.v. LUCY nuTCUJXSOX, found, wnhall, that, thougli she was modest, she was accostable, and wdling to entertaine his acquaintance and though she innocently thought nothing of love yet uas sne glad to have acquir'd such a friend who ’had cells M "r '’T-" c Is. Mr. Mntchmson, on the other side, having bene cu lly she entertain'd him, believ'd that a secret power had wrought a mutual inclination betweene them, and } ly frequented her mother's house, and had the opjior- uni tie of conversing with her in those pleasant walkes ne 'ohbr oh the spring, invited all the ei^hbouiing inhabitants to seeke their ioyes • where „,r= „ver alone. ,e. .hey ,.ai ek! d ,; ar d not in, while every one minded their own delights." ere 1 Irs. Hutchinson abruptly cuts short the thread of her romantic love tale, in a style that e.xcites our curiosity most provokingly, and makes us regret that she will not permit us to be the confidantes of those scenes o tenderness and sentiment to which she alludes. “ I s a passe by, she says, “ all the little amorous relations AMich, if I would take the paynes to relate, would make’ a true history of a more handsome management of love than the best romances describe; for these are to be for- Jtotten, as the vanities of youth, not worthy mention among the greater transactions of his life.” J he comsent of the j.arents having been obtained on both side.s, she was married at the age of eighteen. “at 'lay tl,e friends met to conclude the marriage she ell sick of the small ], ox, whic h w.is many waves a grvate 291 ^/A’5. LUCY HUTCHINSON. triall upon him. First, her life was allmost in desperate hazard, and then the disease for the present made her the most deform'd person that could be scene for a great while after she recovered ; yett he was nothing troubled at it, but married her as soone as she was able to quit the chamber, when all that saw her were affrighted to looke on her : but God recompenc’d his justice and con- stancy by restoring her, though she was longer than ordi- nary before she recover’d, as well as befoie. The young couple, for the first two or three years after their marriage, took a house in the neigliourhood of London,— the colonel spending his time in the enjoy- ment of his new-found happiness, and in the pursuits of literature; especially devoting his attention to the study of divinity, to which his father had been much given, and had a most choice library of books upon the subject. During this time his young wife presented him with twin sons, both of whom survived their father; and in September 1641 she w’as again confined, but the child did not long survive. Shortly afterwards they determined to take up their residence at their family mansion of Owthorpe, m the county of Nottingham, where they were joined by the colonel’s brother, Mr. George Hutchinson, and spent some happy months in the enjoyment of domestic hap- piness, till the fearful sounds of civil war began to resound through every part of the kingdom. The dreadful mas- sacres of Ireland aroused the attention of the young patriot from the quiet pursuits of a country gentleman ; and he set himself diligently to read and considej all the disputes w’hich were then agitated between the King and the Parliament; the result of which was steady conviction of the justice of the interests maintained by the latter, *' 5 - f-ccr jruTcnrxsox. and a strong anxiety for the preservation, if possible, of peace. The first active step which he took in relation to public affairs was to resist Lord Newark in an illc^dertake its defence ; and, knowing at what hazard he must act “casting by all considerations, cheerefully I his life and all other particular interests Gods dis- pose,” proceeded to arm himself for the struggle Hav n» LshLl uhh 0 , 1 , cr» .1,0 sharod l.is v,e,vs and adhe od to the same cause, they determined to try and defend the castle of Nottingham against the assaults of the enemy , and the colonel was first elected governor by his asso- ciates, and afterwards had his commission confirmed by Fairfax, and by the Parliament. _ A great part of Mrs. Hutchinson’s narrative is taken up with a detail of the enterprises in which the little gar- rison was engaged, and the many contrivances, sa^fices and exertions by which her husband was enabled to maintain his post until the final discomfiture of the roya party. The account resembles a miniature history of what was passing elsewhere on a grand scale ; but its interest was temporary merely ; nor does it concern us any further than as some of Us episodes serve to illus- trate the character and exhibit the virtues of our heroine. Intent only on recording the virtues and honourable actions of her husband, she hardly seems to bestow a thought or a word upon her own share in the troubles she incurred by his activity in the war. U ithout a complaint she shut herself up witli him in the garrison witlyvhich he was intrusted, and shared his counsels as well as his 204 LUCY nuTcmxsox. Iiazarcls. ^ She encouraged the troops by her checrAilne-« and heroism, ministered to the sick md rlr^c: i -"i ;;ero.n eir\ictois. I or the skill requisite in this senice she '' as pro a Ay indebted to the. instructions of her mother V O, It will be remembered, had acquired a litti: kl ’ Je'l.e of medicine from the illustrious prisoners whom she assisted and patronized in the Tower. The foZvt Passa^ gives us a lively picture of her zeal and devoted^ the'JastellT' "'’''o’’ "as the chapell in the a, el , this they had filled full of jirisoners, besides mir f "-as no better than a dungeon cald the Lion's Den. m the encounter, one of t lie ^'■^yoaptaines was slaine and five of our men hurt who fo, of a„o.,.er sorgeon. .,re bro„.|« plaisters in her closett, with the assistance of a .^entle -an that had some skille, drest all their wounds wCeoi some were dangerous, being all shottes, with such c^ood u^cesse that they were all cured in convenient time. ber-doore, seeing three of the prisoners sorely cutt and carried doune bleeding into the Lion's DeiVshe desir’d tbe marshall to bring them in to her, and bound up and Captamc 1 aimer came in and told her his soule abhorr'd sec this favour to the enemies of (lod. She replied «be thought she had done nothing but what wa.! Iht