-
MARY
Pub* f>v R. Oalf Hclborn Lcndan 4? June 180-,
MEMOIRS
OF
EMINENTLY PIOUS WOMEN,
WHO
WERE ORNAMENTS OF THEIR SEX, BLESSINGS TO
THEIR COUNTRY, AND EDIFYING EXAMPLES
TO THE
CHURCH AND WORLD.
BY THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D.
To which is now added, a
SECOND VOLUME,
CONTAINING
THE LIVES OF MANY OTHERS EQUALLY EXEMPLARY IN
EVERY GRACE WHICH CAN ADORN THE FEMALE
CHARACTER.
BY THE REV. GEORGE JERMENT.
IN TWO VOLUMES,
EMBELLISHED WITH FIFTEEN PORTRAITS
" Chief women not a few." ACTS xvii. 4.
Be followers of them who, through faith and patience, inherit the pro-
mises." HEB. vi. 12.
VOL. 1.
LONDON I
Printed by W. Nicholson, Warner Street,
FOR R. OGLE, GREAT TURNSTILE, HOLBORN ;
OGLE AND AIRMAN, EDINBURGH; M. OGLE, GLASGOW;
M. M CALLEY, AND T. JOHNSTON, DUBLIN.
1804.
3U0H
im
v.l
o/
CONTENTS
TO
THE FIRST VOLUME.
Page.
LADY Jane Grey - 1
Catharine Parr - 41
Jane, Queen of Navarre - 61
Queen Mary 86
Countess of Suffolk - 143
Lady Mary Armyne - - 154
Lady Elizabeth Langham - 160
Countess of Warwick - - 178
Lady Elizabeth Brooke - 201
Mrs. Margaret Andrews - 223
Lady Alice Lucy - - 235
Lady Margaret Houghton - - 241
Mrs. Ann Baynard - - 247
CONTENTS.
Page.
Lady Frances Hobart - - .. . . 253
The Right Hon. the Lady Cutts - . 266
The Right Hon. the Lady Elizabeth Hastings - 278
Mrs. Jane Ratcliffe - - 296
Mrs. Catharine Breterg - - - - 317
Lady Rachel Russell - - - . . 324
Mrs. Elizabeth Burnet K l j "* < w - 347
Mrs. Elizabeth Bury - 35$
Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe - . 422
OtU -
PREFACE.
THE Female sex, at all times, and especially
in a frivolous and giddy age, are objects
deeply interesting to every man of sense, sen
sibility, morality, and piety. In domestic
life they occupy a conspicuous and important
station. The character of the mother, more
than that of the father, frequently stamps
the character of a whole family : and it is a
curious fact, that while children usually de
rive their bodily constitution and cast of
countenance from their father, the under
standing and temper commonly resemble
those of the mother. Of insinuating address,
necessarily intrusted with the earliest part of
education, almost constantly with children
during the period of soft impression, presid
ing at table, mingling in the best amusements
of life, and ministering to the sick ; women
possess vast influence over society in all its
great branches and various ramifications.
Females have been celebrated for their per
sonal or mental accomplishments: some for
beauty and gentleness, some for learning and
taste, and seme even for political skill and
b
VI PREFACE.
martial prowess. Qualities of the first class
alone draw and fix the heart; those of the se
cond command our esteem ; while those of
the third may procure respect, and excite
admiration, but can never attract our love.
What constitutes however, the principal
value of a woman ? What chiefly makes her
an HELP MEET for man? None of the qua
lities which we have specified ; and far less
the desire and power of glittering at a ball,
of directing the ceremonial of a route, or of
leading the fashion. There is a thin shade
between excessive gaiety and gross dissipa
tion ; and even the virtue of a fashionable
lady is often suspected by both sexes. Chas
tity, or real purity of mind, language, and
behaviour, ranks high in the scale of worth;
and when united to a good understanding, a
mild temper, and a feeling heart, irradiates
the female character. Yet, pure and unde-
filed religion confers the brightest lustre, and
is more honourable than any title, more orna
mental than all the jewels of the East, and
more odoriferous than the perfumes of Arabia.
" Many daughters have done virtuously;"
but she who fears the Lord excelleth them
all. " Favour is deceitful, and beauty is
" vain: but a woman who feareth the Lord^
" she shall be praised."
The Bible is the only standard of moral ex
cellence, and gives particular instructions to
females how to attain both the estimable and
the amiable qualities. It rises to principles
PREFACE. Vll
and dispositions ; and descends to the dress,
the walk, the look, the demeanor, the air.
A great portion of the sacred scriptures
contains miniature-portraits of distinguished
women. The name Eve, prophetically given
after the fall to the mother of the human race,
seems to have referred principally to her
character as the ancestor of the quicken
ing Saviour, and the spiritual mother of
those who should be made alive by the Se
cond Man. Sarah is exhibited as a pattern
of conjugal respect. Hannah poured out
her soul before the Lord, and her counte
nance was no more sad. Ruth, the Moabitess,.
whose history is calculated to touch every
spring of sensibility, clave to her mother-in-
law, and to the God of Israel. The church
of Christ, the everlasting husband, is de
scribed under the emblem of a chaste and
lovely bride ; and by the allegorical figure of
a woman clothed with the sun, Mary, the
mother of our Saviour was blessed among wo-
men; her soul magnified the Lord, and her
spirit rejoiced in God her Saviour. Elizabeth
walked with her husband Zacharias, in all the
ordinances and commandments of the Lord
blameless. Anna, the prophetess, departed not
.from the temple ; but served God with fasting
and prayers night and day : she gave thanks
unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them
who looked for redemption in Jerusalem. The
first person whom Jesus raised from the dead
was a female, the daughter of Jairus. The
Samaritan woman knew the gift of God, and
high was the eulogium which the dlscerner of
the heart addressed to the woman of Canaan
b 2
Vill PREFACE.
Jesus loved Martha and Mary. One woman
poured on his feet precious ointment ; another
washed his feet with her tears, and wiped them
with the hairs of her head. When the disciples
forsook their master and fled, some of the
tender sex were faithful, affectionate, un
daunted ; being the last at his cross, and the
first at his grave.
Mary Magdalene was honoured to announce
the resurrection of Christ to the disciples ;
and women composed a part of the first
praying society after that event. Dorcas was
full of good works. The heart of Lydia was
opened, that she attended to the things which
were spoken of Paul. At Thessalonica, some
of the inhabitants believed and consorted
with Paul and Silas; and of the chief wo
men not a few. Aquila and Priscilla ex
pounded to Apollos the way of God more
perfectly. Women laboured with the apostle
of the Gentiles, by domestic and serious mi
nistrations ; by their advice, example, and
prayers. Eunice and Lois instructed young
Timothy in the knowledge of the scriptures.
We read of the " elect lady, and her children/
Such names will be held in admiring and
pleasant remembrance ; while those of a Ze~
nobia, a Cleopatra, a Christina, and of the
northern Semiramis, shall sink into oblivion,
or be recollected with pity and contempt.
Contrasted with the truly illustrious wo
men, whose characters are enrolled in the
annals of deathless fame, who would have
PREFACE. IX
added dignity and splendour to a crown, and
who possessed the highest nobility, there
are, in the sacred volume, sketches of wicked
females. How just, and how horrid, the pic
ture of queen Jezebel ! The degenerate daugh
ters of Israel are faithfully delineated by the
hand of a master, and pass before our eyes
in the following manner ; " They are haughty,
66 and walk with out-stretched necks, and
ic wanton eyes; walking and mincing as they
" go, and making a tinkling with their feet."
Alas ! they have many successors and imita
tors in Britain. The whole modern system
of female education is radically wrong, and
extremely pernicious. Light and trivial ac
complishments are preferred to the substan
tial, the useful, the necessary; manners are
cultivated rather than morals ; and to sing a
pleasant song, or play on the piano forte, is
deemed a greater acquisition, than to read
the word of God, or any book, with pro
priety and grace. The very attire of a fine
lady is a striking image of her mind ; more
than half-naked, gawdy, obtrusive, and re
pulsive. Some of them have outraged de
corum, and prostituted their pens, in the cause
of infidelity ; a cause which tends to degrade
and pollute the fair sex, to disannull "their
rights, and to poison their happiness. From
these abandoned or thoughtless females, we
turn away to women professing and possessing
godliness.
Several uninspired pens have been wisely
V
X PREFACE.
employed in depicting the character of such
women ; and, among the British writers on
this subject, the late Dr. Gibbons holds the
most eminent place. His two volumes are
here compressed into one; the less important
or extraneous matter in his collection being
omitted. Some, though very few, of the lives
in his volumes are, for the same reason, en
tirely left out.
The SECOND VOLUME, now presented to
the Pubiic, was compiled from various sources ;
from old and scarce books or pamphlets,
from modern and recent publications, from
original manuscripts obligingly communicated
to the Editor by ministers and others,
and several lives towards the end of this col
lection were written by himself. The Me
moirs of a few distinguished names here
inserted, are familiar to the religious world :
but various particulars are here added on un
questionable authority, and the account is
fuller than in any other book. The countess
of Huntingdon, and lady Glenorchy, are in
stances of the truth of this remark.
The Proprietors have spared no pains and
expence to render this work worthy of pa
tronage; while the Editor, who has no pecu
niary interest in it, cheerfully lent his aid
in selecting, arranging, and amending the
whole.
Dr. Gibbons, in his elaborate work, con
fined himself to English ladies, and to those
PREFACE. XI
in high life. The second volume contains
Memoirs of NINE Scots women, of various
ranks, who were remarkably pious.
As the doctor, in his volumes, did not ob
serve chronological order in the arrangement
of names, the Editor has followed the same
mode in the FIRST volume of the present
work. In the SECOND, however, the order
of time is generally observed. Thus, variety
is introduced, as in a well-planned garden ;
which exhibits both apparent confusion and
marked regularity,
Dr. Gibbons was the only writer in Britain,
who published the lives of pious women on
an extensive scale. Detached Memoirs, and
outlines, particularly of the experience or ex
ercise of female Christians when dying, are not
rare. But, that we may die the death of the
righteous, it is necessary for us to know how
they lived. This proper scale, extensive as it
is in the work of Dr. Gibbons, in respect both of
nature and numbers, is now greatly enlarged.
These volumes embrace no less a period than
TWO HUNDRED YEARS, and no fewer than
FORTY-EIGHT godly women ; the first volume
containing 22 lives, and the second 26. We are
compassed about withagreatcloud of witnesses,
who by their faith and its fruits obtained a good
report. The materials for the second volume
were so abundant, that it was difficult for the
Editor to select. Many names of equal worth,
he is convinced, remain in obscurity : but, it
will console him to the last moment of his life,
XU PREFACE.
if he has been the means of rescuing from
oblivion the memory of even one valuable
woman ; especially if others, and particularly
young ladies, be excited to imitate mothers
in Israel.
This Work furnishes important lessons of
instruction to both sexes, in particular to the
fair and tender sex. These lessons will readily
occur to intelligent and serious readers ; but
even their enlightened and pure minds may
be stirred up by way of remembrance ; and
others are earnestly entreated to ponder the
few remarks which follow, and which the
tenor of this Work fully justifies.
The reality of religion is the first sentiment
suggested by such a work. It contains de
monstration, though of a different kind, equal
to any in Euclid. Here we see piety, not in
systems, not in books, not in discourses, not
in profession alone ; but in the formation of
the temper, the conversation, and conduct,
living, breathing, acting. Can a calm and
impartial observer attend to the vast collec
tion of facts in these volumes, and not ac
knowledge the truth and power of godliness?
The mode of ascertaining principles and facts
by experiment is rational and wise. Philoso
phy, in some of its leading branches, adopts
this mode: religion urges to be tried in the
same way, and uniformly abides the trial.
ISeholdforty-eight experiments, and a thousand
more might have been adduced. If persons
would make the experiment themselves, this
PREFACE. Xlll
will furnish the most satisfying evidence.
She who believeth, hath the witness in her-
self.
How is vital and experimental religion
produced ? By the power of divine grace,
and by means of the word of grace. How
consentaneous the latter to the former! All
the women whose lives are here presented to
the Public, expressly and repeatedly ascribe
their goodness to sovereign mercy, and avow
their firm belief and experience of the truths
usually denominated Calvinistic. These are
the only doctrines which become the power
of God to salvation; and make a king s
daughter, or a beggar s, all-glorious within.
For, genuine godliness is not confined to
any rank. As all are by nature alike in a
moral and spiritual sense, equally guilty and
vile, weak and worthless ; so, divine grace is a
kind leveller of distinctions, and is no respecter
of persons or classes. Though not many wise
women after the flesh, not many mighty, not
many noble are called ; yet, to shew the so
vereignty, and power, and riches of grace,
some of every class are saved. The godly
women pourtrayed in this Work, occupied
various stations, from the rank of a British
queen, down to the low degree of a menial
servant ; and now they cordially unite in the
new song, " Thou hast redeemed us from
" every kindred." But scripture, history, and
daily observation, prove, that there is a
greater proportion of religious females in the
XIV PREFACE.
middling and lower classes, than among the
royal, the high, the gay, and the rich. The
lives in the second volume were selected agree
ably to this scale; and may be, therefore,
expected to be more generally useful than the
Jirst.
1 " #
In what period of life does genuine religion
usually commence? Let the reader consult
these volumes with care, and he will find that
almost the whole of the godly women were
converted in early youth. Scarcely any of
them became serious after twenty years of
age, and not one above thirty. Nor was the
selection made on purpose to ascertain this-
fact, or to render it probable. The Editor
perused a great variety of pieces, contain
ing detached lives of pious women ; and
found the fact to be universal. He rejoices,
indeed, to believe that some of both sexes
are called in every period of life, from earliest
youth to extreme old age. But where is the
aged man, or woman, who did not seek and
find the Saviour at an early period? Let
young females consider this, and be both
afraid and encouraged. Did any of the godly
women, or gentlewomen, or ladies, here as
sociated as sisters in the most endearing sense,
repent that they knew Jesus Christ too early ?
No, no ; divine grace taught them to lament
the vanity of youth, though in that early pe
riod they were made to inherit substance, and
to choose the good part ; and those of them
who saw many days reflected on the "choice
with approbation and complacence.
PREFACE. XV
While these volumes exhibit a similarity of
age with respect to the time of conversion,
they contain great variety in other respects;
not merely as to rank, but in point of religi
ous advantages, of connections, of education,
of hab;ts, of modes and fashions. Yet, be
hold ! a blessed uniformity of spiritual views,
experience, and exercise. All of them deeply
felt and lamented that they were sinners,
though their conduct had been regular; to
all of them Christ was precious, in his person,
righteousness, grace, and laws; all of them
experienced the necessity and utility of
prayer, of public ordinances, and Christian
fellowship ; none of them were conformed to
the world in its false opinions, and sinful
amusements; none were insensible to the
pressure of remaining depravity in their own
heart; none imagined themselves to be per
fect; and none were without occasional dark
ness and distress of soul. The reader will
observe among them a strong family-like
ness, and a family-language; indicating that
they were the children of God, and taught by
his Spirit. There are different degrees of ac
curacy in the modes of expression; but the
sentiments are precisely the same, and thevery
style is uniform. On what principle of reason
will the enemies to religion account for this
fact ?
" Religion," may some say, " is very well
66 in its own place." Religion, strictly so
called, has a place of its own, its own exer
cises and expressions ; Christian prudence dis-
XVI PREFACE.
cerns the proper sphere, and moves in it :
but true religion is a principle universally
useful, and indispensably requisite ; affecting
all the relations and duties of life. These
volumes shew its happy influence on the vari
ous characters of daughter, wife, mistress,
mother, and companion ; making the daugh
ter dutiful, the wife kind and submissive, the
mistress just and gentle, the mother compas
sionate, and the companion faithful. In no
thing, perhaps, is the corruption of the heart
more apparent, than in the neglect or care
less performance of relative duties. Relations
are the joints of society; and, as in the hu
man body, corrupt and predominant humours
usually break out there, so unsubdued depra-v
vity often discovers itself towards connec
tions. But, the grace of God, which finally
expels peccant humours, immediately cor
rects them, and knits the joints together in
love. None of the ladies, whose memoirs
are here given, were scolds, flirts, gossips,
tale-bearers, spendthrifts of time, gadders
abroad, gamblers, or lovers of pleasures more
than lovers of God ; nor is it possible that
a serious woman should habitually act in
any of these detestable characters. The
volumes now presented to the public incul
cate, by example, one special branch of rela
tive duty ; concern about the spiritual wel
fare of children and servants. Without this,
religion is vain. The reader will observe, in
the several diaries, the godly women, of every
rank, adding prayer to instruction and re
proof; and travailing as in birth, that Christ
PREFACE. XVII
might be formed in the hearts of their off
spring and domestics. " Tremble ye women,
" who are at ease; be troubled, ye careless
" ones!"
But, are godly women exempted from af
fliction ? Have not /Aty peculiar trials? These
volumes paint many a dark and distressing
scene. We see the female heart over
whelmed, and in perplexity; we hear deep
calling unto deep; we behold solitary wi
dows, and Rachel weeping for her children :
but not refusing to be comforted. On the
contrary, let readers mark the happy in
fluence of religion on the day of sorrow. It
furnishes a high rock and secure haven to
those who are tossed with tempests, heals the
wounded heart, sweetens solitude, and ten
derly wipes away the falling tear. Can any
thing besides ; can balls, assemblies, routes, and
card-parties, and play-houses, produce these
effects? They are all miserable comforters;
and even in the day of prosperity leave a
painful and aching void: while godliness
brightens the darkest scenes, fills the heart
with peace and joy in the midst of tribula
tion, and prepares for the last solemn hour.
The influence of religion on the hour of
death is evident from every memoir in these
volumes. Mark the perfect woman, and be
hold the upright ; for the end of that wo
man is peace, always safety, and sometimes
triumph. See Christian heroines exulting
over the last enemy, and hear them shout-
XVJ11 - PREFACE.
ing : " O death ! Where is thy sting ? O grave,
" Where is thy victory ? Thanks be to God,
" who giveth us the victory through our
"Lord Jesus Christ !"
Did a few women only die thus ? Behold !
an host, and a succession of such heroines, from
age to age. The account is brought down to
the last year ; and even at this time there is
a goodly remnant, according to the election
of grace. Amidst the vast "multitude of vo
latile and irreligious ladies, many might be
mentioned, in high life, who would do honour
to any country. Other biographers will rise up,
to record some of their names, and detail their
history. Indeed, it is not unlikely, that the
number of females who are saved, exceeds the
number of the male sex who share in salva
tion. More- tied to home, the nursery of
every virtue;- less exposed to temptation ; of
sensibility peculiarly acute; employed in
teaching their children to pray, and reply to
little questions ; in all these points of view
their minds are especially fitted for the recep
tion of religious principles, and for the exercise
of pious feelings. The first merciful promise
had a special respeet to the first woman,
though she had been first in transgression;
and there is an express promise to her believ
ing daughters of temporal salvation in child-
bearing; an emblem of higher and better de
liverance, through the travail of the Re
deemer s soul, and after the pangs of con
viction.
PREFACE. XIX
These volumes claim the particular atten
tion of mothers, exhibiting at once a pattern
to themselves and to their daughters. Shall
the latter be allowed to peruse, or shall they
see the former perusing, memoirs of a flippant
actress, of a dashing lady, or a philosophical
wanton? The baneful consequences are plain
and inevitable. A false taste is produced,
the most dangerous opinions are imbibed.
rank poison is swallowed, the very sources of
true pleasure are dried up. But let a parent
recommend and exemplify this WORK, and
the voice from heaven to a daughter will not
sound in vain, " GO THOU, AND DO LIKEWISE."
The Editor, some years ago, and at differ
ent times, published Three Volumes, entitled,
Parental Duty, Ear/y Piety, and Religion a
Monitor to the middle-aged and the glory of- old
men, besides two Sermons, called The Trumpet
of the Harp] to all which the religious Public
have given kind acceptance; and he consi
ders the present volumes as a multiplied ex
emplification and occular evidence of the
truths taught in the former; truths most as
suredly from God, and clearly revealed in the
Bible. He has nothing further to add, by
way of Preface, but his cordial desire and
fervent prayers, that the divine blessing may
accompany every perusal of this Work ; parti
cularly in the experience of the fair sex, for
whose benefit it is principally intended.
} GEORGE JERMENT.
R . 9 l e Hcllc
MEMOIRS
OF
EMINENTLY PIOUS WOMEN.
LADY JANE GREY,
Otherwise Lady Jane Dudley, or Queen Jane; she having
been proclaimed Queen of England upon the demise, and
in pursuance of the appointment, of her cousin King
Edward the sixth.
LADY Jane Grey was of a very noble stock.
Her father, Henry Grey marquis of Dorset,
descended in a direct line from sir Thomas Grey,
knight of the garter, lord Harrington, in right
of his wife, and created marquis of Dorset by
Edward the fourth, who married his mother.
Her mother was lady Frances Brandon, the eldest
of the two surviving daughters of Charles Bran
don, duke of Suffolk, by Mary, queen dowager
of France, youngest daughter of king Henry the
seventh, and sister to king Henry the eighth.
Lady Jane very early in life gave astonishing
proofs of the pregnancy of her parts, and, though
there was very little difference in age between her
and king Edward the sixth*, who was thought
* We cannot exactly ascertain the time of her birth. Mr.
Fuller represents her as eighteen when she suffered, and sir Thomas
CAaloner, as but very little beyond that age. If so, it is but
counting back eighteen years from February 12, 1553-4, when
she was beheaded, and we shall fix her birth in the latter end of
the year 1535, or the beginning of the year 1536. Mr Foxe ex
pressly says that there was little difference in age between her-
and Edward the sixth, who was born October 12, 1537.
VOL, I. B
2 MEMOIRS OF
almost a miracle, yet in learning she was not only
equal to him, but his superior. Her person was
extremely pleasing, but the beauties of her mind
were still more engaging. She had great abilities,
and greater virtues, and as bishop Bit-mat says of
her, " She was the wonder and delight of all that
" knew her*."
Female accomplishments were not improbably
the first part of her education. Her genius ap
peared in the performances of her needle, and in
the beautiful character in which she wrote. She
played admirably on various instruments of music,
and accompanied them with a voice exquisitely
sweet in itself, and assisted by all the graces which
art could bestow.
Her father, the marquis of Dorset, had him
self a tincture of letters, and was a patron of
learned men. He had two chaplains, Harding
and Aylmer, both eminent for their literature,
whom he employed as tutors to his daughter.
Under their instructions she made a most extra
ordinary proficiency. She spoke and wrote her
own language with peculiar accuracy, and it is
said that the French, Italian, Latin, and espe
cially the Greek tongues, were as natural to her
as her own, for she not only understood them
perfectly, but wrote them with the utmost free
dom ; and this not in the opinion of superficial
judges, but of Mr. Ascham, and Dr. Aylmer, men
who in point of veracity, were as much above
suspicion, as in respect of abilities they were in
capable of being deceived; men, who were for
their learning the wonder of their own times,
and of ours, the former famous for Roman accu
racy, the latter one of the ablest critics in those
learned days. She was also versed in Hebrew,
Chaldee, and Arabic, and all this when she was in
a manner a child in age. She was remarkable for
* History of the Reformation, Vol. III. p. 225, Folio Edition.
LADY JANF, GREY. 3
a sedatcncss of temper, a quickness of appre
hension, and a solidity of judgment, which en
abled her not only to become the mistress of lan
guages, but of sciences; so that she thought, rea
soned, and spoke upon subjects of great impor
tance in a manner which greatly surprized even
persons of the best judgment and abilities. And
yet she was in no respect elated by these extraor
dinary endowments; but was remarkably gentle,
humble, and modest in her demeanor.
Her parents, as appears from her own account,
were both of them strangely severe in their be
haviour towards her, and as she was naturally very
fond of literature, that fondness was much height
ened as well by the severity of her parents, as by
the gentleness of her tutor Aylmer, and, when
mortified and confounded by the unmerited chid-
ings of her parents, she returned with double
pleasure to the lessons of her learned preceptor,
and sought in Demosthenes and Plato, her
favourite authors, that delight which was denied
her in all the other scenes of life, in which she
very little mingled, and seldom with any satisfac
tion.
Her alliance with the crown, as well as the
great favour in which the marquis of Dorset
stood with Edward the sirth, necessarily brought
her sometimes to court, where she received parti
cular marks of the young king s esteem, who was
nearly, as observed before, of the same age with
herself, and A\ 7 ho took great pleasure in her con
versation. But for the most part of her time she
seems to have continued at her father s seat at
Broad-gate in Leicestershire, where she was with
her beloved books in the summer season of 15oO,
when the famous Roger Ascham* paid her a visit,
as we are informed from himself. " Before I
* Roger slscham, esq; two years tutor to the princess, after
wards queen Elizabeth.
B 2
4 MEMOIRS OF
" went into Germany," says he, " I came to Broad-
" gate in Leicestershire to take my leave of that
" noble lady Jane Grey, to whom I was exceed-
" ing much beholden. Her parents, the duke and
" duchess, with all the houshold, gentlemen and
" gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I
" found her in her chamber reading Phcedo Pla-
" tonis in Greek, and that with as much delight,
" as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in
" Boccace. After salutation, and duty done, with
" some other talk, I asked her, why she should lose
" such pastime in the park? Smiling she answered
" me, I wist all their sport in the park is but a
" shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato.
" Alas ! good folk, they never felt what true
" pleasure meant. And how came you, madam,
" quoth I, to this deep knowledge of pleasure?
" And what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing
" not many women, but very few men have at-
" tained thereunto?" " I will tell you," quoth she,
" and tell you a truth which perchance ye will
" marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that
" ever God gave me is that he sent me so sharp
" and severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmas-
" ter, for when I am in the presence either of fa-
" ther or mother, whether I speak, keep silence,
" sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad,
" be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any
" thing else, I must do it, as it were, in such
" weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly
" as God made the world, or else I am so sharply
" taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea, presently
" sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs, and
" other ways, which I will not name for the ho-
" nour I bear them, so without measure misorcler-
" ed, that I think myself in hell till time come
" that I must go to Mr. sJylmer*, who teacheth
" me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair al-
* Dr. John Aylmcr, afterwards bishop of Lindon.
LADY JAXE GREY. 5
" lurements to learning, that I think all the time
" nothing, while I am with him. And when I am
44 called from him, I fall on weeping, because
" whatsoever I do else but learning is full of grief,
44 trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me.
" And thus my book hath been so much my plea-
" sure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure,
44 and more, that in respect of it all other pleasures
44 in very deed be but trifles and troubles unto me."
" I remember," adds Mr. Ascham, " this talk
44 gladly, both because it is so worthy of memory,
" and because also it was the last talk I ever had,
44 and the last time that ever I saw that noble and
tc worthy lady*."
What a speech was here from so young a lady !
what reader is not melted with it ! what a fine
taste, and what a noble and enriched mind are
here discovered! Mr. Ascham appears (and where
is the wonder?) to have been deeply affected with
this interview, and to have retained a most plea
sant and honourable remembrance of it. In a let
ter written the December following, to his friend
Sturmius, having informed him that he had had
the honour and happiness of being admitted to
converse familiarly with this young lady, and that
she had written a very elegant Latin letter to him,
he proceeds to mention this visit at Broadgate,
and his consequent surprize at what occurred there,
not without some degree of rapture. Thence he
takes occasion to observe, that she both spoke and
wrote Greek to admiration, and that she had pro
mised to write him a letter in that language upon
.condition that he would send her one first from
the emperor s courtf- But this rapture rose much
higher, while he was composing a letter addressed
* Ascham s Schoolmaster, B. I. P. 37.
t Ascham s Epist. lib. I. epist. 4. It is to be observed, that
Mr. Ascham, at the time of his making his visit to lady Jane,
-was going to London to attend sir Richard Morrison on his em
bassy to the emperor Charles the fifth in Germany.
O MEMOIRS OF
to herself in the month following. There speaking
of his interview, he assures her, " That among
" all the agreeable varieties he had met with in his
" travels abroad, nothing had occurred to raise his
" admiration like that incident in the preceding
" summer, when he found her, a young maiden,
" by birth so noble, in the absence Of her tutor,
" and in the sumptuous house of her most noble
"father, at a time too when all the rest of the
" family, both male and female, were regaling
tf themselves abroad with the pleasures of the
" chace, I found," continues he, " I found the
" divine virgin diligently studying the divine
" Phcedo of the divine Plato in the original
" Greek. Happier certainly in this respect than
" in being descended, both on the father s and
" mother s side, from kings and queens." He
then puts her in mind " of the Greek epistle she
"had promised him, and prompted her also to
" write another to his friend Sturmius, that what
" he had said of her, wherever he came, might
" be rendered credible by such authentic evi
dence*."
If lady Jane received this letter in the coun
try, yet it is probable that she did not stay there
long after, since some changes happened in the
family which it is not unlikely brought her to
town, for her maternal uncles Henry and Charles
Brandon both dying at Bugden, the bishop of
Lincoln s palace, of the sweating sickness, her fa
ther was created duke of Suffolk in October 1551,
Dudley earl of Warwick being also created duke
of Northumberland at the same time.
These dukes of Suffolk and Northumberland,.
upon the fall of the duke of Somerset, having
reached to the pinnacle of power, upon the de
cline of the king s (Edward the sixth s) health,
1553, began to contrive how to prevent that rc-
* Biographical Dictionary, Vol. VI. p, 136.
LADY JAKE GREY.
verse of fortune they foresaw must happen upon
his demise. To accomplish this end no other
method was judged effectual but a change in the
succession to the crown, and the transferring it
into their own families. The lady Jane was
destined to the principal part in this intended
revolution, nay, in reality the whole of it cen
tered in her. Those most excellent and amiahle
qualities, which had rendered her dear to all who
had the happiness of knowing her, joined to her
near affinity to the king, subjected her to become
the chief tool of an ambition so notoriously not
her own. On this very account she was married
to the lord Guilford Dudley, fourth son of the
duke of Northumberland, without any discovery
to her of the real design of the match, which was
celebrated with great pomp in the latter end of
May (1553) so much to the king s satisfaction
that he largely contributed to the expences of it
from the royal wardrobe.
But the magnificence and splendour attending
their nuptials was the last gleam of joy that
shone in the palace of king Edward, who grew
so weak in a few days after, that the duke of
Northumberland thought it high time to carry
his project into execution. Accordingly, in the
beginning of June he communicated the matter
to the young monarch, and having fust made all
such colourable objections as the affair would
admit against his majesty s two sisters, Mary and
Elizabeth, he observed that the \*&y Jane, who
was of the royal line, was a person of extraordi
nary qualities, that her zeal for the reformation
was unquestioned; that nothing could be more
acceptable to the nation than the prospect of such
a princess ; and that in this case he was bound to
set aside all partialities of blood and nearness of
relation, which were inferior considerations, and
ought to be over- ruled by the public good. To
corroborate, and secure the success of this dis-
8 .MEMOIRS OF
course, care was taken to place about the king
those who should make it their business to touch
frequently upon this subject, enlarge upon the
accomplishments of lady Jane, and describe her
with all imaginable advantages. In the result the
king s affections standing for this disposition of
the crown, he yielded to overlook his sisters, and
set aside his father s will. Agreeable to which a
deed of settlement being drawn up in form by the
judges, was signed by his majesty, and all the lords
of the council.
This difficult affair being accomplished, and the
letters patent having passed the seals before the
close of the month, the next step was to concert
the properest method for carrying this settlement
into execution, and till this was done to keep it
as secret as possible. To this end the duke of
Northumberland formed a project, which, if it
had succeeded, might have made all things easy
and secure. He directed letters to the lady Mary
in her brother s name, requiring her attendance at
Greenwich, where the court then was, and she
had got within half a day s journey of the place
when king Edward expired, July 6, 1553, but
having timely notice of his decease, she escaped
the snare which had been so artfully laid for
her.
The two flukes, Suffolk and Northumberland,
found it necessary to conceal the king s death,
that they might have some time to gain the city
of London, and get the consent of lady Jane,
who was so far from having any concern in the
business, that as yet she was unacquainted with
the steps which had been taken to procure her the
crown. At this juncture the princess Mary sent
a letter to the privy council, in which, though
she did not take the title of queen, yet she clearly
asserted her right to the throne, and took notice
of the concealment of her brother s death, and of
the practices into which they had since entered,
LADY JAKE GREY. 9
intimating* that there was still room for reconci
liation, and that, if they complied with their duty
in proclaiming her queen, she would forgive, and
even forget what was past. But in answer to her
letter they insisted upon the indubitable right of
lady Jane, and their own unalterable fidelity to
her as their queen, to whom they persuaded her
to submit.
These previous steps being taken, and the
tower and city of London secured, the council
quitted Greenwich, and came to London, and on
Monday, July the 10th, in the forenoon, the two
last-mentioned dukes repaired to Durham-house,
where the lady Jane resided with her husband, as
part of Northumberland s family. There the duke
of Suffolk with much solemnity opened to his
daughter the disposition the late king had made
of his crown by letters patent, the clear sense the
privy council had of her right, the consent of the
magistrates and citizens of London, and in con
clusion himself and Northumberland fell on their
knees, and paid their homage to her as queen of
England. The poor lady, somewhat astonished
at their discourse, but not at all affected with
their reasons, or in the least elevated by such un
expected honours, returned them an answer to
this effect : " That the laws of the kingdom, and
" natural right standing for the king s sisters, she
" would beware of burdening her weak con-
" science with a yoke which did belong to them ;
" that she understood the infamy of those who
" had permitted the violation of right to gain a
" sceptre; that it were to mock God, and deride,
"justice to scruple at the stealing of a shilling,
" and not at the usurpation of a crown." " Be-
" sides," said she, " I am not so young, nor so
" little read in the guiles of fortune, to suffer my-
" self to be taken by them. If she enrich any, it
" is but to make them the subject of her spoil; if
" she raise others, it is but to pleasure herself with
10 MEMOIRS OP
" their ruin : what she adored yesterday, is to-
" day her pastime ; and if I now permit her to
" adorn and crown me, I must to-morrow suffer
" her to crush and tear me to pieces. Nay, with
" what crown doth she present me ? A crown
" which hath heen violently and shamefully
" wrested from Catharine of Arragon, made
" more unfortunate by the punishment of Anne
" Boleyne, and others that wore it after her, and
" why then would you have me add my blood to
" theirs, and be the third victim from whom this
" fatal crown may be ravished with the head that
" wears it ? But in case it should not prove fatal
" to me, and that all its venom were consumed, if
" fortune should give me warranties of her con-
" stancy, should I be well advise.d to take upon me
" those thorns, which would dilacerate, though
" not kill me outright ? To burden myself with a
" yoke which would not fail to torment me,
" though I were assured not to be strangled with
" it ? My liberty is better than the chain you
" proffer me, with what precious stones soever it
" be adorned, or of what gold soever framed. I
<J will not exchange my peace for honourable and
" precious jealousies, for magnificent and glorious
" fetters. And if you love me sincerely, and in
" good earnest, you will rather wish me a secure
"and quiet fortune, though mean, than an ex-
" alted situation exposed to the wind, and fol-
" lowed by some dismal fall."
But notwithstanding the prudence, goodness,
and eloquence of this speech, she was at length
prevailed upon by the exhortations of her father,
the intercession of her mother, the artful persua
sions of the duke of Northumberland, and above
all the earnest desires of her husband, whom she
terulerly loved, to yield her assent to what had been
already, and what was still to be done*. And
* Tbe mention of the crown, says bishop Rurnct, when her
father, with her father-in-law, saluted her queen, did rather
LADY JANE GREY. II
thus with an heavy disinclined heart she suffered
herself to be conveyed to the Tower, where she
entered with all the state of a queen, attended by
the principal nobility, and what was very extraor
dinary with her train supported by the duchess
of Suffolk her mother, in whom, if in any of this
line, the right of succession lay. About six
o clock in the afternoon she was proclaimed queen
with all due solemnities in the city. The same
day also she assumed the royal title, and after
wards proceeded to exercise some acts of sove
reignty. But the royalty of this worthy lady was
but of very short duration, a sun-beam of glory,
which was soon utterly extinguished in clouds
and darkness, for on the 19th of the same month
the princess Mary was proclaimed queen in Lon
don, so that the reign of this lady was only a va
pour of about nine days continuance.
As soon as the duke of Suffolk, who now re
sided with his daughter in the Tower, was in
formed of the princess Mary s proclamation, he
went to his daughter s apartments, and in the
heighten her disorder upon the king s death. She said she knew
by the laws of the kingdom, and by natural right, the crown
was to go to the king s sisters, so that she was afraid of burden
ing her conscience, by assuming that which belonged to them
and that she was unwilling to enrich herself by the spoils of
others. But they told her, that all that had been done was ac
cording to the law, to which all the judges and counsellors had
set their hands. This, joined with their persuasions, and the
importunity of her husband, at length prevailed with her to
submit, of which her father-in-law afterwards said in council,
that she was rather by inticemcnt of the counsellors and force
made to accept of the crown, than came to it by her own seek
ing and request. Burners History of the Reformation, Vol. II.
p. <235.
Lady Ja/iCj says the writer of the British Biography, was al
together uninfluenced by any ambitious views, and the settle
ment of the succession was by no means agreeable to her. In
deed it does not appear that she was at all consulted about it ei
ther by her father, or by the duke of Xorthumbcrhtnd, nor does
she seem even to have been acquainted with it till after kingEi/-
vartl s decease. Vol. II. p. 4^0.
12 MEMOIRS OF
softest terms lie could, acquainted her that matters
had taken such a different turn, that laying aside
the state and dignity of a queen, she must fall
back into the condition of a private person. To
which intelligence she with a composed and se
rene countenance made the following answer.
" Sir, I hetter brook this message than that of
" my advancement to royalty. Out of obedience
" to you, and to iny mother, I have grievously
" sinned, and offered violence to myself I now
ki willingly, and as obeying the motions of my
" soul, relinquish the crown, and endeavour to
" salve those faults committed by others, if at
" kast so great a fault can be salved, by a wil-
" ling relinquishment, and ingenuous acknow-
" ledgment of them."
Thus ended her reign, but with the end of her
reign commenced the severest afflictions. She
who had been lately a queen in the Tower, soon
found her palace turned into a prison. She also
saw the father of her husband with all his family,
and many of the nobility and gentry in the same
circumstances for supporting her claim to the
crown, and this grief must have been consider
ably increased by his being so soon after brought
to the block. Before the end of the month she
had also the sad mortification of finding her own
father, the duke of Suffolk, in the same circum
stances of imprisonment with herself. On the
third of November, in the same year, 1553, she
and her husband were carried from the Tower to
Guildhall, with archbishop Cranmer and others,
and was there arraigned and convicted of high
treason by judge Morgan, who pronounced sen
tence of death upon them. However the strict
ness of her own and her husband s confinement
was mitigated in December by a permission to
take the air in the queen s garden, and other
little indulgencies. These circumstances might
give some gleam of hope; but queen Mary at
LADY JANP: GREY. 13
length determined to take off both lady Jane,
and her husband. The fatal news made no great
impression upon her, the bitterness of death was
passed, she had long expected it, and was so well
prepared for the worst, that she was very little
discomposed.
What has been already related concerning the
subject of our Memoirs affords us strong proofs
of this lady s fine understanding, her most un
common proficiency in learning, and her most
noble and excellent spirit, that ascended to the
highest elevation of human life with sincere re-
luctance, and descended from it with as sincere
pleasure. But the brighter part of her character,
her piety and goodness, are still behind, of which
that we may have a clear and full view let us par
ticularly attend her in the sunset of life, and col
lect, if I may so speak, every ray which adorned
her in her preparation for death, and even in her
last moments.
Lady Jane was early instructed" in the princi
ples of the Reformed Religion, which she seri
ously and attentively studied, and for which she
was extremely zealous, and this, together with
her other excellent and amiable accomplishments,
greatly endeared her to king Etkcard. Her dis
like of popery, particularly in one of its worst
abominations, that of idolatry, was shewn, as it
is credibly reported of her, when she was very
young. Upon a visit to the princess Mary at
New- Hall, mEsse.v, she took a "walk with the lady
Anne IV hart on. Happening to pass by the chapel
lady Anne made a low courtesy to the host, at
which lady Jane testified some surprize, and ask
ed whether the princess Mary was there? Lady
Anne answered, " No, but 1 made my courtesy,"
said she, " to him who made us all." " Why,"
replied lady Jane, " how can that which hath
" been made by the baker be He who hath made
" us all ?" This speech of hers, it is said, being
14 MEMOIRS OF
carried to the princess Mary, gave her a dislike
to the lady Jane, which she retained ever after.
But her attachment to the Reformed Religion,
her knowledge of it, and her capacity to defend
it, are more especially evinced in a conversation
between herself and him Avho was afterwards Dr.
Feckenham, otherwise Howman*, who was sent by
the queen but two days before her death to dis
course with lady Jane, and to use his best endea
vours to reconcile her to the church of Rome.
The conversation was to the following effect.
Feckenham. Madam, I lament your heavy case,
and yet I doubt not but you bear out this sorrow
of yours with a constant and patient mind.
Lady Jane. You are welcome to me, Sir, if
your coming be to give Christian exhortation.
And as for my heavy case, I thank God, I do so
little lament it that rather I account the same for
a more manifest declaration of God s favour to
wards me than ever he shewed me at any time
before. And therefore there is no cause why you
or other which bear me good will should lament
or be grieved with this my case, being a thing so
profitable for my soul s health.
Feckenham. I am here come to you at this pre
sent sent from the queen and her council to in
struct you in the true doctrine of the right faith,
although I have so great confidence in you that I
shall have, I trust, little need to travail with you
much therein.
* John de Feckenham was so called because he was born in a
cottage near the forest of Feckenham in Worcestershire, his right
name being Howman. He was first admitted into El esham mo
nastery, and at eighteen years of age he was sent to Gloucester
college in Oxford. After studying there some years, and taking
his degree of Batchelor of Divinity, he became chaplain to
Bonner Bishop of London, and on Queen Mary s accession was
made her chaplain. In May 1556 he was made Doctor of Di
vinity by the University of Oxford; and in September following
appointed Abbot of Westminster Abbey. He is said to have
"been a generous and benevolent man.
LADY JANE GREY. 15
Lady Jane. Forsooth, I heartily thank the
Queen s Highness, who is not unmindful of her
humble subject, and I hope likewise that you no
less will do your duty therein both truly and
faithfully according to that you were sent for.
Feckenham. What is then required of a Chris
tian man ?
Lady Jane. That he should believe in God the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; three per
sons, and one God.
Feckenham. What is there nothing else to be
required, or looked for in a Christian but to be
lieve in him ?
Lady Jane. Yes, we must love him with all
our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind,
and our neighbour as ourself.
Feckenham. Why then faith justifieth not, nor
saveth not?
Lady Jane. Yes, verily, faith, as Paul saith,
only justifieth.
Feckenham. Why St. Paul saith, If I have ail
faith, without love it is nothing.
Lady Jane. True it is ; for how can I love him
whom I trust not? or how can I trust him whom
I love not ? Faith and love go together, and yet
love is comprehended in faith.
Feckenham. How shall we love our neighbour?
Lady Jane. To love our neighbour is to feed
the hungry, to cloath the naked, and give drink
to the thirsty, and to do to him as we would do
to ourselves.
Feckenham. Why? then it is necessary unto
salvation to do good M orks also, and it is not suf
ficient only to believe ?
Lady Jane. I deny that, and I affirm that faith
only saveth, but it is meet for a Christian, in to
ken that he followeth his master Christ, to do
good works, yet may we not say that they profit
to our salvation, for when we have done all, yet
16 MEMOIRS OF
we be unprofitable servants, and faith only in
Christ s blood saveth us.
Feckenham. How many sacraments are there?
Lady Jane. Two; the one the sacrament of
Baptism, and the other the sacrament of the
Lord t s Supper.
Feckenham. No, there are seven.
Lady Jane. By what scripture find you that?
Feckenham. Well, we will talk of that here
after. But what is signified by your two sacra
ments ?
Lady Jane. By the sacrament of Baptism I am
washed with water, and regenerated by the Spirit,
and that washing is a token to me that I am the
child of God. The sacrament of the Lord s sup
per offered unto me is a sure seal and testimony
that I am, by the blood of Christ which he shed
for me on the cross, made partaker of the ever
lasting kingdom.
Feckenham. Why ? what do you receive in that
sacrament ? Do you not receive the very body and
blood of Christ ?
Lady Jane. No surely I do not so believe. I
think that at the supper I neither receive flesh nor
blood, but bread and wine ; which bread, when
it is broken, and which wine, when it is drunken,
putteth me in remembrance how that for my sins
the body of Christ was broken, and his blood
shed on the cross, and with that bread and wine
I receive the benefits that came by the breaking
of his body, and shedding his blood for our sins
on the cross.
Feckenham. Why ? Doth not Christ speak these
words, Take, eat, this is my body ? Require you
any plainer words ? Doth he not say, it is his
body !
Lady Jane. I grant he saith so, and so he
saith I am the vine, I am the door; but he is
never the more the door nor the vine. Doth not
St. Paul say, He calleth things that are not as
LADY JANE GREY. 17
though they were? God forbid that I should say
that I eat the very natural body and blood of
Christ; for then either I should pluck away my
redemption, or else there were two bodies, or two
Christs. One body was tormented on the cross,
and if they did eat another body, then had he two
bodies; or if his body were eaten, then was it not
broken on the cross, or if it were broken on the
cross, it was not eaten of his disciples.
Feckenham. Why? Is it not as possible that
Christ by his power could make his body both to
be eaten and broken, and to be born of a woman
without man, as to walk upon the sea having a
body, and other such like miracles as he wrought
by his power only?
Lady Jane. Yes verily; if God would have
done at his supper any miracle, he might have
done so, but I say that then he minded no work
nor miracle, but only to break his body, and to
shed his blood on the cross for our sins. But I
pray you to answer me to this one question,
Where was Christ when he said, Take, eat, this is
my body? Was he not at the table when he said
so? He was at that time alive, and suffered not
till the next day. What took he but bread? What
brake he but bread? Look what he took he brake,
and look what he brake he gave, and look what
he gave they did eat; and yet all this time he him
self was alive, and at supper before his disciples,
or else they were deceived.
Feckenliam. You ground your faith upon such
authors as both say and unsay with a breath, and
not upon the church, to whom ye ought to give
credit.
Latly Jane. No, I ground my faith on God s
word, and not upon the church, for if the church
be a good church, the faith of the church must
be tried by God s word, and not God s word by
the church, neither my faith. Shall I believe
the church because of antiquity? or shall I give
VOi. I. c
1$ MEMOIRS OF
credit to the church because it taketh away from
me the half part of the Lord s supper, and will not
let any man receive it in both kinds? which thing
if they deny to us, then deny they to us part of
our salvation. And I say it is an evil church, and
not the spouse of Christ, but the spouse of the de
vil, that altereth the Lord s supper, and both tak
eth from it and addeth to it. To that church, say
I, God will add plagues to it, and from that church
will he take their part out of the book of life.
Do they learn that of St. Paul, when he minis
tered to the Corinthians in both kinds? Shall I
believe this church? God forbid.
Feckenham. That was done for a good intent
of the church to avoid an heresy that sprung in
it.
Lady Jane. Why? shall the church alter God s
will and ordnance for a good intent? How did
king Saul?
The Lord God defend.
With these and such like persuasions, says
Mr. Foxe, from whom this conference is trans
cribed*, he would have had her lean to the church,
but it would not be. There Avere many more things
whereof they reasoned, but these were the chief.
After this Mr. Feckenham took his leave, saying,
" That he was sorry for her; for I am sure," saitli
he, " we two shall never meet." " True it is,"
said lady Jane, " that we shall never meet, except
" God turn your heart; for I am assured unless
" you repent," and turn to God, you are in an evil
" case; and I pray God, in the bowels of his mer-
" cy, to send you his Holy Spirit, for he hath
" given you his great gift of utterance, if it
" pleased him also to open the eyes of your
" heart f."
*-Foxe s Acts and Monuments, Vol. III. p. 31, 32.
f We must conceive that this was understood as it was spoken,
as flowing from a religious /eul, and not from any distaste of con
tradiction, or any dislike to his person, since we find that Mr.
LADT JANE GRLY. 19
It has been mentioned before, that lady Jane s
father had two chaplains, Messrs. Harding and
Ay liner, who were also her preceptors. Mr. Hard
ing it seems was, in king Edward s days, a zeal
ous protestant, and was not only a preacher of the
Reformed Religion, but was very fervent in ani
mating its professors to abide by it in the face of
all persecution and danger. But, upon the return
of popery in queen Marys reign he renounced
his protestantism, and became a papist*. Upon
his apostacy lady Jane wrote him a letter, which
will abundantly shew, that however he was quali
fied to instruct her in the matters of learning, she
was no less capable to instruct him in the greater
concerns of religion. Should the letter appear to
be rather too severe and poignant, let it be re
membered that lady Jane, must have known Mr.
Harding well, and was warranted by her inti
mate acquaintance to deal more freely with
him; that she might probably have heard him
often represent the Romish errors, and guard
others against their infection; and that the^good
lady might well have a keen edge set upon her
mind against popery, as it is in its self such a
dreadful corruption, and indeed subversion of the
Christian faith, and in her days made such cruel
slaughter of the saints of God for their testimony
to the truth as it is in Jesus. Lady Jane s letter
is as follows:
" So often as I call to mind the dreadful and
fearful saying of God, that he which layeth
; hold on the plough and turneth back, is not
FeckcHJiam, far from deserting attended her to the very last, and
that the lady Jane shewed a very proper sense of his attention
and respect for her in the sight and hearing of all who were upon
or near the scaffold. Biographia Britannica, Vol. IV. p. 24-21.
* It does not appear but that Mr. Harding, after his embracing
Popery, persisted in its profession to the end of his days, and
accordingly we find him afterwards engaged on the Popish side
as a writer against bishop /cur/.
c
2 MEMOIRS OF
" meet for the kingdom of heaven, and on the
" other side the comfortable words of our Saviour
" Christ to all those that, forsaking themselves r
" do follow him, I cannot but marvel at thee, and
61 lament thy case, which seemed sometime to be
" the lively member of Christ, but now the de-
" formed imp of the devil, sometime the beauti-
" ful temple of God, but now the stinking and
" filthy kennel of satan, sometime the unspotted
" spouse of Christ, but now the unshamefas-t pa-
" ramour of antichrist, sometime my faithful bro-
" ther, but now a stranger and apostate, sometime
" a stout Christian soldier, but now a cowardly
" runaway. Yea, when I consider these things,
" I cannot but speak unto thee, and cry out upon
" thee, thou seed of satan, and not of Judah, whom
" the devil hath deceived, the world hath beguiled,
" and the desire of life subverted, and made thee
" of a Christian an infidel Wherefore hast thou
" taken the testament of the Lord in thy mouth?
" wherefore hast thou preached the law and the
" will of God to others? wherefore hast thou in-
" structed others to be strong in Christ, when
" thou thyself dost now so shamefully shrink,
" and so horribly abuse the testament and law of
" the Lord? when thou thyself preachest not to
" steal, yet most abominably stealest not from
" men but from God, and, committing most hei-
" nous sacrilege, robbest Christ thy Lord of his
" right members, thy body and soul, and choosest
" rather to live miserably with shame to the world,
" than to die, and gloriously with honour reign
" with Christ, in whom even in death is life. Why
" doest thou now shew thyself most weak, when
" indeed thou oughtest to be most strong? The
" strength of a fort is unknown before the assault,
but thou yieldest thy hold before any battery
" be made.
" Oh wretched and unhappy man, what art thou
" but dust and ashes? And wilt thou resist thy
LADY JAXE GREY. 21
* Maker that fashioned and framed thee? Wilt
^ thou now forsake him that called thee from the
" custom- gathering- among the Romish antichris-
" tians to be an ambassador and messenger of his
"eternal word? He that first framed thee, and
<c since thy first creation and birth preserved thee,
tl nourished, and kept thee, yea, and inspired thee
" with the spirit of knowledge, (I cannot say of
" grace) shall he not now possess thee? Barest
" thou deliver up thyself to another, being not
" thine own, but his? How canst thou, having
" knowledge, or how darest thou neglect the law
tl of the Lord, and follow the vain traditions of
fi men, and whereas thou hast been a public pro-
4i fessor of his name, become now a defacer of his
" glory? Wilt thou refuse the true God, and wor-
" ship the invention of man, the golden calf, the
" whore of Babylon, the Romish religion, the
" abominable idol, the most wicked mass? Wilt
" thou torment again, rent, and tear-the most pre-
" cious body of our Saviour Christ with thy bodily
" and fleshly teeth? Wilt thou take upon thee to
" offer up any sacrifice unto God for our sins,
" considering that Christ offered up himself, as
" Pdw/saith, upon the cross a lively sacrifice once
" for all? Can neither the punishment of the
" Israelites, which for their idolatry they so oft
" received, nor the terrible threatnings of the
" Prophets, nor the curses of God s own mouth
" fear thee to honour any other God than him?
" Dost thou so regard him that spared not his dear
" and only Son for thee, so diminishing, yea,
" utterly extinguishing his glory, that thou wilt
" attribute the praise and honour due unto him
" to the idols, which have mouths and speak not,
" eyes and see not, ears and hear not, which shall
" perish with them that made them?
" What saith the prophet Baruch, where he re-
" cited the Epistle of Jeremy, written to the cap-
(i tive Jeus? Did he not forewarn them that in
22 MEMOIRS OF
" Babylon they should see gods of gold, silver,
61 wood, and stone, borne upon mens shoulders to
" cast a fear before the heathen? But be not ye
* afraid of them, saith Jeremy, nor do as others
" do. But when you see others worship them,
(t S W y ou i n your heart, It is thou, O Lord, that
" oughtest only to be worshipped, for as for those
" gods the carpenter framed them, and polished
" them, yea, gilded be they, and laid over with
* silver, and vain things, and cannot speak. He
" sheweth moreover the abuse of their dealings,
<c how the priests took off their ornaments, and
" apparelled their women withal; how one holdeth
" a sceptre, another a sword in his hand, and yet
" can they judge in no matter, nor defend them-
" selves, much less any other, from either battle
" or murder, nor yet from gnawing of worms, nor
* any other evil thing. These and such like words
" speaketh Jeremy unto them, whereby he proveth
" them to be but vain things, and no gods. And
" at last he concludeth thus. Confounded be all
" they that worship them. They were warned
" by Jeremy, and thou as Jeremy hast warned
" others, and art warned thyself by many scrip-
" tures in many places. God saith, he is a jealous
" God, which will have all honour, glory, and
" worship given to him only. And Christ saith,
^ in the fourth of Luke, to satan which tempted
" him, even to the same satan, the same Behebub,
" the same devil, which hath prevailed against
* thee: It is written, said he, Thou shalt honour
" the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou
" serve.
" These and such like do prohibit thee and all
Christians to worship any other god than that
" which was before all worlds, and laid the foun-
" dations both of heaven and earth; and wilt thou
^ honour a detestable idol, invented by Romish
" popes, and the abominable college of crafty
" cardinals? Christ offered himself up once for all;
LADY JANE GttEY. 23
"and wilt thou offer him up again daily at thy
" pleasure? But thou wilt say, thou dost it for a
" good intent. Oh sink of sin ! Oh child of per-
" dition ! Dost thou dream therein of a good in-
" tent, where thy conscience beareth thee witness
" of God s threatning wrath against thee? How
" did Saul? who, for that he disobeyed the word
" of the Lord for a good intent, was thrown from
" his worldly and temporal kingdom. Shalt thou
" then, that dost deface God s honour, and rob
" him of his riglit, inherit tbe eternal and hea-
" venly kingdom? Wilt thou for a good intent
" dishonour God, offend thy brother, and endanger
" thy soul? Wilt thou for a good intent pluek
"Christ out of heaven, and make his death
" void, and deface the triumph of his crass, by
" offering him up daily ? Wilt thou either for fear
" of death or hope of life deny and refuse thy God,
" who enriched thy poverty, healed thy infirmity,
" and yielded to thee his victory, if thou couldest
" have kept it? Dost thou consider that the thread
" of thy life hangeth upon him that made thee,
" who can, as his will is, either twine it harder to
" last the longer, or untwine it again to break
" the sooner? Dost thou not then remember the
" saying of David, a notable king, to teach
"thee a miserable wretch in his 104-th psalm,
" where he saith thus, When thou takest away
" thy spirit, O Lord, from men, they die, and
" are turned again to their dust, but when thou
" lettest thy breath go forth, they shall be made,
" and thou shalt renew the face of the earth?
" Remember the saying of Christ in the gospel,
" Whosoever seeketh to save his life shall lose it,
" but whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall
" find it. And in the same place, whosoever
" loveth father or mother above me, is not meet
" for me. Me that will follow me, let him forsake
u himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
24 MEMOIRS OF
" What cross? The cross of infamy and shame, of
" misery and poverty, of affliction and persecution
" for his name s sake. Let the oft-falling of these
" heavenly showers pierce thy stony heart ! Let the
" two-edged sword of God s holy Avord tear asun-
" der the sinews of worldly respects, even to the
" very marrow of thy carnal heart, that thou
" mayest once again forsake thyself, and embrace
" Christ; and like as good subjects will not refuse
" to hazard all in the defence of their earthly and
" temporal governor, so fly not like a white-livered
" milksop from the standing wherein thy chief
" captain Christ hath set thee in array of this life.
" Viriliter age, confortetur cor tuum, sustine
" Dominum*. Fight manfully, come life, come
" death: the quarrel is God s, and undoubtedly
" the victory is ours.
" But thou wilt say, I will not break unity.
" What? not the unity of satan and his members?
" not the unity of darkness? the agreement of
" antichrist and his adherents? nay, thou deceivest
" thyself with the fond imagination of such an
" unity as is among the enemies of Christ. Were
" not the false prophets in an unity? Were not
" Joseph s brethren, and Jacob s sons in an unity?
" Were not the heathen, as the Amalekites, the
Perizzites, and iheJebusites in an unity? Doth
not king David testify, Convenerunt in unum
adversus Dominum ? Yea, thieves, murderers,
conspirators have their unity. But what unity?
Tully saith of amity; Amicltia non est nisi
inter bonos. But mark, my friend, yea, friend,
if thou be not God s enemy, there is no unity
but where Christ knitteth the knot among such
as He is. Yea, be well assured, that where his
truth is resident, there it is verified that he liim-
self saith, Non veni mittere pacem in terrain,
* This is printed exactly from Mr. Foxc, but I suppose it should
ve been sustinct Dominvs.
"
LADY JAXE GREY 25
" scd gladium, $c. but to set one against another,
* <& aon against the 1 ather, and the daughter
" against the mother-in-law. Deceive not thy-
" self therefore with the glittering and glorious
* name of unity, for antichrist hath his unity,
" not yet in deed, but in name. The agreement
" of ill men is not an unity, but a conspiracy.
" Thou hast heard some threatenings, some curs-
" ings, and some admonitions out of the scrip-
" tiire to those that love themselves above Christ.
" Thou hast heard also the sharp and biting
" words to those that deny him for love of life.
" Saith he not, He that denies me before men, I
"will deny him before my Father in heaven?
" And to the same effect writeth Paul, Heb. vi.
" It is impossible," saith he, " that they which
" were once enlightened, and have tasted of the
" heavenly gift, and were partakers of the Holy
" Ghost, and have tasted of the good word of
" God, if they fall and slide away, crucifying to
" themselves the Son of God afresh, and making
" of him a mocking-stock, should be renewed
" again by repentance. And again saith he, If
" we shall willingly sin, after we have received
" the knowledge of his truth, there is no obla-
" tion left for sin, but the terrible expectation of
"judgment, and fire, which shall devour the
" adversaries. Thus St. Paul writeth, and this
" thou readcst, and dost thou not quake, and
" tremble?
" Well, if these terrible and thundering threat-
" enings cannot stir thee to cleave unto Christ,
" and forsake the world, yet let the sweet con-
" solations and promises of the scriptures, let the
" example of Christ and his apostles, holy mar-
" tyrs and confessors, encourage thee to take
" faster hold by Christ. Hearken what he saith,
" Blessed are you when men revile you, and per-
" secute you for my sake : rejoice, and be glad,
" for great is your reward in heaven, for so per-
MEMOIRS OF
" secuted they the prophets that were before you.
" Hear what *Esay the prophet saith, Fear not the
" curse of men, be not afraid of their blasphe-
"mies; for worms and moths shall eat them up
" like cloth and wool, but my righteousness shall
" endure for ever, and my saving health fromge-
:t neration to generation. What art thou then,
" saith he, that fearest a mortal man, the child of
" man, which facleth away like the flower, and
" forgetteth the Lord that madethee, that spread
" out the heavens, and laid the foundation of the
" earth ? I am the Lord thy God that make the
" sea to rage, and be still, whose name is the Lord
" of hosts. I shall put my word in thy mouth,
" and defend thee with the turning of an hand.
" And our Saviour Christ saith to his disciples,
" They shall accuse you, and bring you before
" princes and rulers for my name s sake, and
" some of you they shall persecute and kill, but
:< fear you not, saith he, nor care you what you
* f shall say, for it is the Spirit of your Father that
" speaketh within you. Even the very hairs of
" your head are all numbered. Lay up treasure
" for yourselves, saith he, where no thief cometh,
" nor moth corrupteth. Fear not them that kill
" the body, but are not able to kill the soul; but
" fear him that hath power to destroy both soul
" and body. If ye were of the world, the world
" would love his own, but because ye are not of
" the world, but I have chosen you out of the
" world, therefore the world hateth you.
" Let these and such like consolations taken
" out of the Scriptures, strengthen you to God-
61 ward. Let not the examples of holy men and
:t women go out of your mind, as Daniel and the
" rest of the prophets, of the three children, of
c: Eleazarus, that constant father, of the seven of
11 the Macchabees children, of Peter, Paul, Ste-
" phen, and other apostles and holy martyrs in
" the beginning of the church. As of good & -
LADY JANE GIU-.Y. 27
" meon, archbishop of Helowa, and Zelrophone^
" with infinite others under Saphorts the king of
" the Persians and Indians, who contemned all
"torments devised by the tyrants for their Sa-
" viour ssake. Return, return again into Christ s
" war; and as becometh a faithful warrior put
" on that armour that St. Paid teacheth to be
" most necessary for a Christian man. And
" above all take to you the shield of faith, and
" be you provoked by Christ s own example to
" withstand the devil, to forsake the world, and
" to become a true and faithful member of his
" mystical body, who spared not his own body for
" our sins.
" Throw down yourself with the fear of his
" threatened vengeance for this so great and
" heinous an offence of apostacy, and comfort
" yourself on the other part with the mercy,
" blood, and promise of him that is ready to
" turn unto you whensoever you turn unto him.
" Disdain not to come again with the lost son,
" seeing you have so wandered with him. Be
" not ashamed to turn again with him from the
" swill of strangers to the delicates of your most
" benign and loving Father, acknowledging that
"you "have sinned against heaven and earth;
" against heaven, by staining the glorious name
" of God, and causing his most sincere and pure
" word to be evil spoken of through you. Against
" earth, by offending so many of your weak
" brethren, to whom you have been a stumbling-
" block through your sudden sliding. Be not
* ( abashed to come home again with Mary, and
" weep bitterly with Peter, not only with shed-
" ding the tears of your bodily eyes, but also
" pouring out the streams of your heart, to wash
" away out of the sight of God the filth and mire
" of your offensive fall. Be not ashamed to say
" with the publican, Lord, be merciful unto me
" a sinner ! Remember the horrible history of
28 MEMOIRS OF
" Julian of old, and the lamentable case of Spy*
" ra of late, whose case, methinks, should be yet
" so green in your remembrance, that being a
" thing of our time, you should fear the like in-
* convenience, seeing you are fallen into the like
" offence.
" Last of all, let the lively remembrance of the
" last day be always afore your eyes, remember-
tl ing the terror that such shall be in at that time
" with the runnagates and fugitives from Christ,
" which, setting more by the world than by hea-
" ven, more by their life, than by him that gave
" them life, did shrink, yea did clean fall away
" from him that forsook not them; and contrari-
" wise the inestimable joys prepared for them,
" that, fearing no peril, nor dreading death, have
" manfully fought, and victoriously triumphed
" over all power of darkness, over hell, death,
" and damnation, through their most redoubted
" captain Christ, who now stretcheth out his
" arms to receive you, ready to fall upon your
" neck, and kiss you, and last of all to feast you
" with the dainties and delicacies of his own pre-
" cious blood, which undoubtedly, if it might
" stand with his determinate purpose, he would
" not let to shed again rather than you should be
" lost. To whom, with the Father, and the Holy
" Ghost, be all honour, praise, and glory everlast-
" ing. Amen.
" Be constant, be constant, fear not for any pain ;
" Christ hath redeemed thee, and heaven is thy
" gain."
We shall next present our readers with a letter
from this pious lady written to her father during
the time of her imprisonment ; her father who,
by his solicitations to her to take the crown, be
came the unhappy instrument of her untimely
death.
tADY JANE GREY. 29
*< FATHER,
" Although it hath pleased God to
" hasten my death by you, by whom my life
" should rather have been lengthened, yet can I
" so patiently take it, as I yield God more hearty^
" thanks for shortening my woful days, than if
" all the world had been given unto my posses-
" sions with life lengthened at my own will.
" And albeit I am well assured of your impatient
" dolors, redoubled manifold ways, both in be-
" wailing your own woes, and especially as I hear
" my unfortunate state, yet, my dear father, if I
" may without offence rejoice in my own mis-
" haps, meseems in this I may account myself
" blessed, that washing my hands with the inno-
" cency of my fact, my guiltless blood may cry
" before the Lord mercy to the innocent. And
" yet though I must needs acknowledge, that
" being constrained, and as you wot well enough,
4 1 and continually assayed, in taking upon me, I
" seemed to consent, and therein grievously of-
" fended the queen and her laws, yet do i as-
" suiedly trust, that this my offence towards God
" is so much the less, in that, being in so royal
" estate as I was, mine inforced honour never
" blended with mine innocent heart. And thus
" good father, I have opened to you the state in
" which I presently stand, whose death at hand,
" although to you perhaps it may seem right wo-
" ful, to me there is nothing that can be more
" welcome, than from this vale of misery to as-
" pire to that heavenly throne of all joy and plea*
" sure with Christ our Saviour: in whose stedfast
" faith, if it may be lawful for the daughter tq
f write to the father, the Lord that hitherto hath
" strengthened you so continue you, that at the
last we may meet in heaven with the Father,
" the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
Another letter of this lady s is preserved, which
30 MEMOIRS OF
was written at the end of a Greek Testament
and was sent by her to her sister Catharine*, the
night before lady Jane was beheaded.
44 I have here sent you, good si&te^.Catharine,
" a book, which although" it be not outwardly
" trimmed with gold, yet inwardly it is more
u worth than precious stones. It is the book,
" dear sister, of the Law of the Lord. It is his
11 testament and last will, which he bequeathed
" unto us wretches, which shall lead you to the
" path of eternal joy, and, if you with a good
1 mind read it, and with an earnest mind do pur-
" pose to follow it, it shall bring you to an im-
u mortal and everlasting life. It shall teach you
" to live, and learn yon to die. It shall win you
ic more than you should have gained by your wo-
" ful father s lands; for, as if God had prospered
"him, you should have inherited his lands, so,
" if you apply diligently this book, seeking to
" direct your life after it, you shall be an inheri-
" tor of such riches, as neither the covetous shall
" withdraw from you, neither thief shall steal, nei-
6i ther yet the moths corrupt. Desire with David,
" good sister, to understand the law of the Lord
" God. Live still to die, that you by death may
" purchase eternal life, and trust not that the
l tenderness of your age shall lengthen your life,
" for as soon, if God call, goeth the young as
c< the old, and labour always to learn to die, defy
" the world, deny the devil, and despise the flesh,
" and delight yourself only in the Lord. Be pe-
" nitent for your sins, and yet despair not; be
" strong in faith, and yet presume not; and de-
" sire with St. Paul to be with Christ,- with whom
" even in death there is life. Be like the good
" servant, and even at midnight be waking, lest
" when death cometh, and stealeth upon you as a
* The lady Jane had two sisters younger than herself; this
lady Catharine the oldest, and lady Mary the younger
LADY JANE GREY
" thief in the night, you be with the evil servant
" found sleeping, and lest for lack of oil you be
41 found like the five foolish women, and like him
" that had not on the wedding-garment, and then
" ye be cast out from the marriage. Rejoice in
" Christ, as I do. Follow the steps of yourmas-
" ter Christ, and take up your cross. Lay your
" sins on his back, arid always embrace him. And
" as touching my death, rejoice as I do, good
sister, that I shall be delivered of this corrup-
" tion, and put on incorrupt ion, for 1 am assured
" that I shall, for losing of a mortal life, win an
" immortal life, the which I pray God grant you,
" and send you of his grace to live in his tear,
" and to die in the true Christian faith, from the
" which, in God s name, I exhort you, that you
" never swerve, neither for hope of life, nor for
fear of death; for if you will deny his truth
" for to lengthen your life, God will deny you,
" and yet shorten your days ; and if you will
" cleave unto him, he will prolong your days, to
" your comfort, and his glory; to the which glo-
" ry God bring me now, and you hereafter, when
" it pleaseth him to call you ! Fare you well,
" good sister, and put your only trust in God,
" who only must help you."
We shall hi a manner conclude the excellent
composures of this worthy lady with a prayer
drawn up by her in the time of her trouble, winch
will open to our readers the state* of her mind in
the near views of death and eternity.
"O Lord, thou God and Father of my life,
" hear me poor and desolate woman, which fly eth
" unto thee only in all troubles and miseries.
" Thou, O Lord* art the only defender and deli-
" verer of those that put their trust in thee, and
" therefore I, bt^ng defiled with sin, encumbered
" with afflictions, unquieted with troubles, wrap-
" ped in cares, overwhelmed with miseries, and
" grievously tormented with the long imprison*
" ment of this vile mass of clay, my sinful body,
" do come unto thee, O merciful Saviour, craving
" thy mercy and help, without the which so little
" hope of deliverance is left, that I may utterly
" despair of any liberty. Albeit it is expedient,
" that seeing our life standeth upon trying, we
" should be visited sometime with some adversity,
" whereby we might both be tried whether we be
" of thy flock or no, and also know thee and
" ourselves the better; yet thou that saidest thou
" wouldest not suffer us to be tempted above our
" power, be merciful unto me, a miserable wretch,
" I beseech thee, that I may neither be too much
" puffed up with prosperity, neither too much
" pressed down with adversity, lest I being too
" full, should deny thee, my God, or being too
" low brought, should despair, and blaspheme
" thee, my Lord and Saviour. O merciful God,
" consider my misery best known unto thee, and
* e be thou now unto me a strong tower of defence,
l I humbly require thee. Suffer me not to be
" tempted above my power, but either be thou a
Cf deliverer to me out of this great misery, either
" else give me grace patiently to bear thy heavy
" hand, and sharp correction. It was thy right-
" hand that delivered the people of Israel out of
" the hands of Pharaoh, which for the space of
" four hundred years did oppress them, and keep
" them in bondage. Let it therefore seem good
" to thy fatherly goodness to deliver me sorrow-
" ful wretch, for whom thy Son Christ shed his
" precious blood on the cross, out of this miser-
" able captivity and bondage, wherein I am now.
" How long wilt thou be absent ? Forever? Oh
* f Lord, hast thou forgotten to be gracious, and
" hast thou shut up thy loving-kindness in dis-
"pleasure? Wilt thou no more be intreated?
" Is thy mercy clean gone for ever, and thy pro-
" inise come utterly to an end for evermore ? Why
" dost thou make so long tarrying? Shall I de-,
1ADY JANE GREY. 33
1 spair of thy mercy, O God ? Far be that from
" me. I am thy workmanship, created in Christ
" Jesus; give me grace therefore to tarry thy lei-
" sure, and patiently to hear thy works, assuredly
" knoAving, that as thou canst, so thou wilt de-
" liver me, when it shall please thee, nothing
" doubting or mistrusting thy goodness towards
" me, for thou knowest better what is good for
" me than I do, therefore do Math me in all things
" what thou wilt, and plague me what way thou
" wilt. Only in the mean time arm me, I beseech
" thee, with thy armour, that I may stand fast,
" my loins being girt about with verity, having
" on the breast-plate of righteousness, and shod
" with the shoes prepared by the gospel of peace,
" above all things taking to me the shield of faith,
" wherewith I may be able to quench all the fiery
" darts of the wicked, and taking the helmet of
" salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which
" is thy most holy word, praying always with all
" manner of prayer and supplication, that I may
" refer myself wholly to thy will, abiding thy
" pleasure, and comforting myself in those trou-
" bles which it shall please thee to send me, see-
" ing such troubles be profitable for me, and see-
" ing I am assuredly persuaded that it cannot but
" be well all that thou dost. Hear me, O merci-
" ful Father, for his sake, whom thou wouldest
"should be a sacrifice for my sins; to whom,
" with thee, and the Holy Ghost, be all honour
" and glory. Amen."
These are the principal remains of this most
excellent lady. It may not be displeasing to our
readers to hear what judgment bishop Biirnet has
passed upon them. " One effect," says he, " of
;t this, that is, of the frustrated rising of sir
Thomas Wiat^ was the proceeding severely
u against the lady Jane, and her husband, the lord
" Guildford, who both suffered on the 12th of
" February, 1554, The lady Jane was not much
VOL. I. D
34 MEMOIRS OF
" disordered at it, for she knew upon the first jea~
" lousy that she must be the sacrifice, and there-
" fore had now lived six months in the constant
" expectations of death. Feckenham, afterwards
" abbot of Westminster , was sent to her by the
<k queen three days before to prepare her to die.
" He had a long conversation with her, but she
" answered him with that calmness of mind, and
" clearness of reason, that it was astonishing to
" hear so young a person of her sex and quality
" look on death so near her with so little disorder,
" and talk so sensibly both of faith and holiness, of
" the sacraments, the scriptures, and the authority
" ofthechurch. Fecken ham left her, seeinghe could
" work nothing on her, but procured her, as it is
" said, the continuance of her life three days
" longer, and waited on her on the scaffold. She
" wrote to her father to moderate his grief for
" her death, which must needs have been great,
" since his folly had occasioned it She expressed
" her sense of her sin in assuming the royal dig-
* nity, though he knew how unwillingly she was
" drawn into it, and that in her royal estate her
" enforced honour had never defiled her innocent
" heart. She rejoiced at her approaching end,
" since nothing could be to her more welcome to
" be delivered from that valley of misery into that
" heavenly throne to which she was to be ad-
" vanced, where she prayed they might meet at
" last. There was one Harding, who had been
" her father s chaplain, and that was a zealous
u preacher in king Edward s days, before whose
44 death he had animated the people much to pre-
" pare for persecution, and never depart from the
" truth of the gospel, but he had now fallen away
" himself. To him she wrote a letter full of se-
" vere expostulations and threatenings for his a-
" postacy ; but it had no effect upon him. It is
"of an extraordinary strain, full of life in the
" thoughts, and of zeal, if there is not too much.
LADY JANE GREY. 35
u in the expressions. The night before her exe-
" cution she sent her Greek Testament, which
" she had always used, to her sister, with a letter,
" in which, in most pathetic expressions, she
" sets out the value she had of it, and recom-
" mended the study and practice of it earnestly
" to her. She had also composed a devout prayer
" for her retirements, and thus had she spent the
" last moments of her life*."
I cannot restrain myself from adding what the
same bishop, in another place, says concerning
her, which, if it is a digression in the order of our
account of this lady, it will be more than excused
for the excellency of the character this celebrated
historian draws of her. " She read," says he, u the
" scriptures much, and had attained great know-
" ledge in divinity. But with all these advan-
" tages of birth and parts she was so humble, so
" gentle, and pious, that all people both admired
" and loved her. She had a mind wonderfully
" raised above the world, and at the age, when
" others are but imbibing the notions of philo-
" sophy, she had attained to the practice of the
" highest precepts of it. She was neither lifted
" up with the hope of a cro\v r n, nor cast down,
" when she saw her palace made afterwards her
" prison, but carried herself with an equal temper
" of mind in those great inequalities of fortune,
" that so suddenly exalted and depressed her.
" All the passion she expressed in it was that
" which is of the noblest sort, and is the indica-
" tion of tender and generous natures, being much
" affected with the troubles into which her hus-
" band and father fell on her account*}"/
\Ve are now to attend this excellent lady to her
closing scene, and view in what a manner she met
* Burnet s History of the Reformation, Vol. II. p. 271, 272.
flbid, Vol. II. p. 234, 335. Folio Edit.
D 2
36 MEMOIRS OF
her violent, though unmerited death. The day
finally appointed for her execution, as well as that
of her husband lord Dudley, was the 12th of Feb
ruary, 1554. The fatal morning being come, her
husband earnestly desired the officers that he
might take his last farewell of her, which, though
they willingly permitted, yet upon notice, she ad
vised the contrary, assuring him, " that such a
" meeting would rather add to his afflictions, than
" increase that quiet wherewith they had possessed
u their souls for the stroke of death, that he de-
" manded a lenitive which would put fire into the
" wound, and that it was to be feared her presence
" would rather weaken than strengthen him ; that
" if his soul were not firm and settled, she could
61 not settle it by her eyes, nor confirm it by her
" words; that he would do well to remit this in-
" terview to the other world; that there indeed,
" friendships were happy, and unions indissolva-
" ble, and that theirs would be eternal, if they
" carried nothing with them of terrestrial, which
" might hinder them from rejoicing." She ex
pressed great tenderness when she saw her husband
led out to execution, but soon overcame it, when
she considered how closely she was to follow him.
All she could do was to give him a farewell out of
a window as he passed toward the place of his ex
ecution, which he suffered on a scaffold on Tow
er-hill, with much Christian meekness. His dead
body being laid in a car, and his head wrapped
up in a linen cloth; were carried to the chapel
within the Tower, in the way to which they were
to pass under the window of the lady Jane, which
sad spectacle she beheld with a settled counte
nance. After this affecting sight, she wrote three
short sentences in her table-book in Greek, Latin,
and English, which book, upon sir John J3rid-
gen s* entreaty, that she would bestow upon him
* This sir John Bridges, the ancestor of the present noble fa
mily of that name, dukes of Chandms, was lieutenant of the
LADY JAXE GREY. 37
some memorial, she presented to him as an ac
knowledgment for civility she had received from
him. The sense of the Greek sentence was, " If
" his slain body shall give testimony against me
" before men, his most blessed soul shall render
" an eternal proof of my innocence in the pre-
" sence of God." The Latin sentence was to
this effect, " The justice of men took away his
" body, but the divine mercy has preserved his
" soul." And the English sentence ran thus, " If
" my fault deserved punishment, my youth at
" least, and my imprudence, were worthy of ex-
" cuse. God and posterity will shew me favour."
She was led out by the lieutenant of the Tower
to the scaffold that was prepared upon the green,
over-against the White. Tower. It is said, that
the court had once taken a resolution to have had
her beheaded upon the same scaffold with her hus-
bane, but, considering how much they were both
pitied, and how generally lady Jane was beloved,
it was determined, to prevent any commotions,
that her execution should be performed within the
Tower. She was attended to and upon the scaf
fold by Mr. Feckenham, but she was observed not
to give much heed to his discourses, keeping her
eyes steadily fixed on a book of prayers she had in
her hand. After some short recollection she sa
luted those who were present with a countenance
perfectly composed; then taking her leave of Mr.
Feckenham, she said, " God will abundantly re-
" quite you, good Sir, for your humanity to me,
" though your discourses gave me more uneasi-
" ness than all the terrors of my approaching
" death." She next addressed herself to the spec
tators in the following speech. " My lords, and
" you good Christian people which come to see
Tower at this time, and was present with lady Jane in her apart
ment, from the windows of which she had the last sight of her
husband living and dead.
38 MEMOIRS OF
" me die. I am under a law, and by that law, as
" a never-erring judge, I am condemned to die,
" not for any thing I have offended the queen s
" majesty, for I will wash my hands guiltless
" thereof, and deliver to my God a soul as pure
" from such trespass, as innocence from injustice,
" but only for that I consented to the thing I was
" forced unto, constraint making the law believe
" I did that which I never understood. Notwith-
" standing I have offended Almighty God in that
" I have followed over-much the lust of my own
" flesh, and the pleasures of this wretched world ;
" neither have I lived according to the knowledge
" that God hath given me, for which cause God
" hath appointed to me this kind of death, and
" that most worthily according to my deserts ;
" howbeit I thank him heartily that he hath given
" me time to repent of my sins here in this world,
" and to reconcile myself to my Redeemer, whom
" my former vanities had in a great measure dis-
" pleased. Wherefore, my lords, and all you
" good Christian people, I most earnestly desire
" you all to pray with me, and for me, while I
" am yet alive, that God of his infinite goodness
" and mercy will forgive my sins, how numberless
" and grievous soever, against him; and I beseech
" you all to bear me witness that I here die a true
" Christian woman, professing and avouching
" from my soul that I trust to be saved by the
" blood, passion, and merits of Jesus Christ, my
" Saviour, only, and by no other means, casting
" far behind me all the works and merits of mine
" own actions, as things so short of the true duty
" I owe, that I quake to think how much they
" may stand up against me." Having delivered
this speech she kneeled down, and repeated the
fifty-first psalm in a most devout manner from
beginning to end; after which she stood up, and
gave her gloves and her handkerchief to her wo
men, Mrs. Elix. Tilney, and Mrs. Helen, and her
LADY JAXE GREY.
praver-book to sir John Bridge*. On her unty-
ino : her gown the executioner offered to assist her,
but she desired him to let her alone, and turning
herself to her women they helped her off with it,
and gave her an handkerchief to bind about her
eyes The executioner kneeling down requested
her forgiveness, which she most willingly gave
him. Upon this he desired her to stand upon the
straw, which bringing her within sight of the
block, she said, " I pray dispatch me quickly.
Then kneeling down, she asked, " Will you take
" it off before I lay me down?" To which the
executioner replied, " No, madam." She then
tied her handkerchief about her eyes, and feeling
for the block said, " What shall I do? where is
" it?" Upon which, one of the standers-by
guiding her to it, she laid her head down upon
the block, and then stretched herself forward,
and said, " Lord, into thine hands I commend
" my spirit," and immediately the executioner at
one stroke severed her head from her body.
Thus fell this most accomplished lady, resign
ing her life in a manner worthy of her employ
ing and improving it ; " and a true Christian
" faith," as one observes, " having uniformly pro-
" duced a Christian life, with what triumph did
" it trample on the sting of death, and spread a
" glory round the lady Jane, that eclipsed the
" faint lustre of the superstitious and cruel queen
" Mary on her throne* ?"
The smallest remains of this incomparable per
son are too precious to be lost; and we shall
therefore insert the following verses, written by
her in the place of her confinement, and it is
said with a pin.
Non aliena putes homini qua obtingere postunt :
Sors hodierna rnihi eras erat ilia tibi.
* Gloccster Ridley s Life of bishop Ridley, p. 497.
40 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
Ill English.
Think not, O mortal, vainly gay,
Thatthou from human woes art free:
The bitter cup I drink to-dav
To-morrow may be drunk by thee.
Deojuvante nil nocetlivor malm,
Et nonjwcante, niljuvat labor gratis.
Post tenebras spero lucem,
In English.
Endless all malice, if our God is nigh ;
Fruitless all pains, if he his help deny.
Patient I pass these gloomy hours away,
And wait the morning of eternal day.
v~_R OakHcUwrn Lend^n /? June /Sot
( 41 )
CATHARINE PARR.
Catharine, wife of King Henry the Eighth, commonly
called Catharine Parr.
CHE was born about the beginning of the
reign of king* Henri/ the eighth, who suc
ceeded to the throne of England April 22, 1509,
She was the eldest of the two daughters of sir
Thomas Parr of Kendal by dame Maud his
wife, who bestowed on her a learned education,
as the most-valuable addition he could make to
her other accomplishments. Her progress in li
terature fully answered her father s culture and
expectations, so that she soon became celebrated
not only for her good sense, but her learning,
and made a most excellent use of her abilities in
the employment of them for the best purposes in
every stage of future life.
She was first married to John Nevill lord La-
tymer, and after his decease her perfections both
in body and mind so powerfully attracted the af
fections of king Henry that she was married to
him at Hampton-court^ July 12, 1543.
She always took great delight in conversing
with the sacred writings, and the investigation of
divine truths, which soon dissipated the clouds of
ignorance, and set before her in a true light the
nature of the gospel. She seems indeed to have
had a religious tincture from her infancy,, but the
religious duties she so carefully practised in early
life were according to the blind devotion of that
age. These errors she not only afterwards re
tracted, but forwarded the Reformation, and ad
vanced and encouraged the Protestant cause.
She pursued these good designs as far as the mu
table and perverse disposition of an arbitrary
prince, and the iniquity of the times would ad-
42 MEMOIRS OF
mit, and even further than she could go without
exposing herself to the utmost danger, for though
her laudable attempts were carried on with all
proper prudence, and as much secrecy as the na
ture of the thing would allow, yet they were
maliciously observed by Stephen Gardiner, bi
shop of Winchester, who with the chancellor
IVriothesley and others conspired against her so
artfully, that at length having drawn up articles,
they procured a warrant subscribed by the king s
own hand to remove her to the Tower, which,
being accidentally dropped, was happily found by
a person who conveyed it to her majesty. The
sight of it, and the reflections upon the hard fate
of other queens threw her into a violent disorder,
which confined her to her bed. The king hear
ing of her illness made her a very kind and sea
sonable visit, spoke all the comfortable things
imaginable to her, and sent her one of his physi
cians, Dr. Wendy, as is believed, to take care of
her health. The doctor it seems was apprized of
the design, and guessed from outward symptoms
the cause of the queen s indisposition, upon
which, -well knowing her singular prudence, and
relying upon her fidelity, he ventured to open the
matter to her. The king himself being at the
same time a little indisposed, the doctor advised
the queen to make his majesty a visit, not doubt
ing but that by her good sense and prudent ma
nagement she might avert the impending danger.
The queen took the doctor s advice, and soon
after made his majesty a visit, attended only by
her sister, the lady Herbert, and the lady Lane.
She found the king sitting and talking with some
gentlemen of his "chamber. He seemed pleased
with her visit, and addressed her in a very oblig
ing manner, and, breaking off his discourse with
his attendants, he began of his own accord, con
trary to his usual custom, to confer with her about
matters of religion, seeming as it were desirous to
CATHARINE PARR. 43
be resolved by the queen of certain doubts, which
he then proposed to her. The queen instantly
perceiving the tendency of his discourse, answered
with great humility and submission.
" Your majesty doth know right well, neither
" am I myself ignorant what great imperfection
" and weakness by our first creation are allotted
to us women, so as to be ordained and appointed
" as inferior and subject to man as our head, from
" which head all our direction ought to proceed,
" and that as God made man to his own shape and
" likeness, whereby he being endowed with more
" special gifts of perfection, might rather be
" stirred to the contemplation of heavenly things,
" and to the earnest endeavour to obey his com-
" mandments, even so also made he woman of
" man, of whom and by whom she is to be govern-
" ed, commanded and directed : whose womanly
" weakness and natural imperfections ought to be
" tolerated, aided, and borne withal, so that by
" his wisdom such things as be wanting in her
" ought to be supplied.
" Since therefore that God hath appointed such
" a natural difference between man and woman,
" and your majesty being so excellent in gifts
" and ornaments of wisdom, and I a simple poor
" woman so much inferior in all respects of nature
" unto you, how then comes it now to pass that
" your majesty in such diffuse causes of religion
" will seem to require my judgment? which when
" I have uttered, and said what I can, yet must
" I, and will I refer my judgment in this and all
" other cases to your majesty s wisdom, as my
" only anchor, supreme head, and governor here
" in earth next under God to lean unto/
" Not so by St. Mary," replied the king,
" you are become a doctor, Kate, to instruct us,
" as we take it, and not to be instructed or di-
" rectcd by us."
" If your majesty take it so/ answered the
44 MEMOIRS OF
queen, " then hath your majesty very much mis-
il taken me, who have ever been of the opinion
" to think it very unseemly and preposterous for
" the woman to take upon her the office of an in-
" structor or teacher to her lord and husband, but
" rather to learn of her husband, and be taught
" by him : and where I have with your majesty s
" leave presumed heretofore to discourse with your
" majesty, in which I have sometimes seemed to
" dissent from you, I did it riot so much to main-
" tain my opinion, as to minister discourse, not
" only to the end that your majesty might with
" the less grief pass over this painful time of your
^ infirmity by this kind of engagement, which
" I fancied might afford you some relief, but also
" that I, hearing your majesty s learned argu-
" ments might from thence gain to myself great
" advantage : and I assure your majesty, I have
" not missed any part of my desired end in that
" behalf, always referring myself in all suchmat-
" ters unto your majesty, as by ordinance of na-
" ture it is convenient for me to do."
" And is it even so, sweet heart," said the
king ? " and tended your arguments to no worse
" an end ? then are we now perfect friends again,
" as ever we were before." And as he sat in his
chair embracing her in his arms, and saluting her,
he declared, "That it did him more good at that
" time to hear these words from her own mouth,
" than if he had heard present news of an huri-
" dred thousand pounds in money having fallen
" to him." Afterwards, having entertained the
queen and attendants with some diverting conver
sation, he gave her leave to depart, and in her
absence gave her the highest commendation.
The day and almost the hour appointed being
come in which the queen was to be conveyed to
the Tower, the king went into his garden with only
two gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and sent for
the queen, who immediately came to wait upon
CATHARINE ?AUK. 45
hig majesty, attended by lady Herbert, lady
Lane, and lady Tyrwhyt, who were all to have
been apprehended with the queen. The king
seemed in high spirits, and entertained them with
all imaginable gaiety. In the midst of their
mirth the lord chancellor approached his majesty s
presence with forty of the king s guards at his
heels. The king looked upon him with a very
stern countenance, and, walking a small distance
from the queen called the chancellor to him, who
upon his knees spoke softly to his majesty. The
king in great anger called him knave, arrant
knave, beast, andjbol, and commanded him in
stantly to begone out of his presence. Being
gone, the king immediately returned to the queen,
who, perceiving him to be much chagrined, em
ployed alt the powers of her eloquence to soften
his displeasure, humbly intreating his majesty, if
the chancellor s fault were not too heinous, to
pardon him for her sake.
" Ah poor soul," says the king, " thou little
" k no west how evil he hath deserved this grace at
" thy hands. Of my word, sweet heart, he hath
" been to thee an arrant knave, and so let him
" go." To which the queen returned an answer
expressive of her charitable disposition.
Thus remarkably did Divine Providence defend
her from the snares and malice of her enemies,
and rescue her from this most imminent clanger,
which being over, she passed safely through the
remainder of this tempestuous reign.
This dreadful alarm seems to have awakened all
the faculties of her soul, and to have put her upon
the employment of her thoughts in pious medita
tions and prayer, and upon making due prepara
tion for eternity.
She saw very plainly that the principles of reli
gion she had first imbibed did not correspond with
the inspired writings. But though she had a con
siderable share of learning joined to an excellent
46 MEMOIRS OF
understanding, yet her great modesty would not
permit them to be her only guide in matters of
such great importance, for she kept several emi
nent divines constantly with her to solve her
doubts, and instruct her in the true religion.
With these learned men, who were her chaplains,
she used to have private conferences, as often as
opportunity would permit, about the doctrine of
the Reformation, and the abuses which were then
crept into the church, but particularly in Lent*
She had a sermon preached to her every day in
the afternoon in her chamber, which generally
lasted about an hour, at which time the ladies
and gentlemen of her privy-chamber, and others
who were disposed to hear were present. To all
this she added great application and industry in
the study of books of divinity, particularly of
the Holy Scriptures. Being thus qualified she be
gan to commit some of her own thoughts to writ
ing. Her first composition seems to have been
that intitlcd, Queen Katharine Parr s Lamen
tation of a sinner bewailing the ignorance of her
blind life. This discourse was found among her
papers after her death, and was published by se
cretary Cecil, who prefixed to it a preface of his
own writing. In it she acknowledges the sinful
course of her life for many years, in which she
relying on external performances, such as Fasts
and Pilgrimages, was all the time a stranger to
the true internal power of religion, which she
came afterwards to experience by the study of the
scriptures, and prayer to God for the assistance
of that Holy Spirit/ by whose direction they were
indited. She explains clearly the ideas she had
of justification by faith, so that holiness was its
necessary consequence, and lamented the great
scandals given by many Gospellers, a name by
which they were distinguished who gave them
selves to the reading of the Scriptures.
She also drew up psalms, prayers, and pious
CATHARINE PARR. 47
discourses, which she herself published. The
psalms were in number fifteen, each of consider
able length, and composed in imitation of the
Psalms of David, being digested into versicles,
of which many were borrowed from the book of
Psalms, and other portions of Scripture. Each
Psalm had its proper subject. The first was for
the remission of sins, beginning, O Lord of
4 lords, God Almighty, great and dreadful,
" which by thy word hast made heaven, earth,
" the sea, and all things contained in them ! 110-
" thing is able to resist thy power : thy mercy
" is over all thy works : all things be under thy
" dominion and rule, both man and beast, and
< all living creatures : thou art merciful to whom
thou wilt, and hast compassion on whom it pleas-
eth thee r <T.
The second Psalm also wasjfbr remission of sins,
beginning,
44 O most mighty Cod of angels and men,
" whose judgments be unsearchable, and
" whose wisdom is profound and deep ;
" Hear the prayers of thy servant, and cast not
" away the humble suit of thy poor creature,
" and handy- work, $c."
The third Psalm wasjfor remission of sins also.
The fourth, A complaint of a penitent sinner
which is sore troubled, and overcome with sins.
The fifth, For ob taming of godly wisdom. The
sixth, A Christian man prayeth that he may be
healed of God. The seventh, For an order and
direction of good living. The eighth, A Chris
tian prayeth that he may be delivered from his
enemies. The ninth, Against enemies. The
tenth, When enemies be so cruel that a Christian
cannot suffer them. The eleventh, Of confidence
and trust in God. The twelfth, // God defer
to help long time. The thirteenth, In which a
Christian gives thanks to God that his enemies
have not gotten the over-hand of him. The four-
48 MEMOIRS OF
teerith, In which the goodness of God is praised,
The fifteenth, Of the benejits of God, with thanks
for the same. To which were subjoined the twen
ty-second Psalm, intitled, The complaint of Christ
on the cross, and a Psalm of Thanksgiving.
Then followed the book of prayer, intitled,
Prayers or Meditations, wherein the mind is
stirred up patiently to suffer all afflictions here,
and to set at nought the vain prosperity of this
world, and alway to long for everlasting felicity,
collected out of holy works, &c. These prayers
were all digested, as were the psalms aforesaid,
into verses and sentences, and contain a great
spirit of true piety and devotion, sense of God,
and dependence upon him, and many of them
were excellently suited to her condition. Then
follow two prayers for the king, and for men to
say entering battle, the latter of which the queen
very probably composed upon the king s expedi
tion into France with a great army, when she was
left regent at home. In this prayer she has this
truly pious petition, " Our cause being now just,
" and being enforced into war and battle, we most
" humbly beseech thee, O Lord God of Hosts, so
" to turn the hearts of our enemies to the desire of
" peace, that no Christian blood be spilt ; or else
" grant, O Lord, that with small effusion of blood,
" and to the little hurt and damage of innocents,
"we may to thy glory obtain victory, and that
" the wars being soon ended, AVC may all with one
" heart and mind knit together in concord and
" unity laud and praise thee." The next is a de
vout prayer to be daily said, together with one or
two besides.
There was also printed another piece of the de
vout studies of this good queen, intitled, A goodly
Exposition of the fifty -first Psalm, which Hie-
rom of Ferrary made at the latter end of his
days. This work begins, " Wretch that I am,
" comfortless and forsaken of all men, which have
CATHARINE PARR. 49
<l offended both heaven and earth, CT." Then
follow in conclusion other things, as Of Faith
The Power of FaithThe Work of Faith Good
Works The Prayer of the Prophet Daniel.
Before we proceed any further in the Memoirs
of this truly excellent person we shall present our
readers with a pious prayer of hers composed in
short ejaculations, suited to her condition, which
may serve as a specimen of the devout exercises
of her soul.
" Most henign Lord Jesu, grant me thy grace
" that it may alway work in me, and persevere
" with me unto the end !
" Grant me that I may ever desire and will that
" which is most pleasant and acceptable unto
" thee !
" Thy will be my will, and my will to follow
" always thy will !
" Let there be alway in me one will, and one
" desire with thee, and that I have no desire to
" will or not to will, but as thou wilt !
" Lord, Thou knowest what thing is most pro-
" fitable, and most expedient for me :
" Give me therefore what thou wilt, as much
" as thou wilt, and when thou wilt !
" Do with me what thou wilt, as it shall
" please thee, and as slrall be most to thine
" honour !
" Put me where thou wilt, and freely do with
" me in all things after thy will !
" Thy creature I am, and in thy hands. Lead
" me, and turn me where thou wilt !
Lo ! I am thy servant, ready to all things
that thou commandest ; for I desire not to live
" to myself, but to thee.
" Lord Jesu ! I pray thee grant me thy grace,
" that I never set my heart on the things of this
" world, but that all carnal and worldly affec-
" tions may utterly die, and be mortified in
" me !
VOL. I.
"
"
50 MEMOIRS OF
" Grant me above all things that I may rest
^ in dice, and fully pacify and quiet my heart in
" thee !
" For thon, Lord, art the very true peace of
" heart, and the perfect rest of the soul, and
" without thee all things be grievous and un-
" quiet.
" My Lord Jesu, I beseech thee be with me in
" every place, and at all times ; and let it be to
" me a special solace gladly for to love to lack all
" worldly solace !
" And if thou withdraw thy comfort from me
" at any time, keep me, O Lord, from separation
" (desperation) and make me patiently to bear thy
" will and ordinance !
" O Lord Jesu, thy judgments be righteous,
" and thy providence is much better for me than
" all that I can imagine or devise !
" Wherefore do with me in all things as it shall
" please thee !
" For it may not be but well, all that thou dost.
" If thou wilt that I be in light, be thou blessed ;
" if thou wilt that I be in darknes, be thou also
" blessed !
" If thou vouchsafe to comfort me, be thou
" highly blessed; and if thou wilt I lie in trouble,
" and without comfort, be thou likewise ever
" blessed !
" Lord, give me grace gladly to suffer what-
" soever thou wilt shall fall upon me, and pa-
" tiently to take at thy hand good and evil, bit-
:c ter and sweet, joy and sorrow; and for all
" things that shall befal unto me heartily to thank
" thee!
" Keep me, Lord, from sin, and I shall then
" dread neither death nor hell !
" Oh ! what thanks shall I give unto thee,
" which hast suffered the grievous death of the
li cross to deliver me from my sins, and to obtain
t( evarlasting life for me ?
CATHARIXE PARR. 51
" Thou gavest us most perfect example of pa-
" tience, fulfilling and obeying the will of thy
" Father, even unto death.
" Make me wretched sinner obediently to
" use myself after thy will in all things, and pa-
" tiently to bear the burden of this corrupt
" life !
" For though this life be tedious, and as an
"heavy burthen to my soul, yet nevertheless
" through thy grace and by example of thee it is
" now made much more easy and comfortable
" than it was before thy incarnation and pas-
" sion.
" Thy holy life is our way to thee, and by fol-
" lowing that we walk to thee that art our head
" and Saviour: and except thou hadst gone be-
" fore, and shewed us the way to everlasting life,
" who would endeavour himself to follow thee,
" seeing \ve be yet so slow and dull, having the
" light of thy blessed example and holy doctrine
" to lead and direct us ?
" O Lord Jesu, make that possible by grace
" that is to me impossible by nature !
" Thou knowest well that I may little suffer, and
" that I am soon cast down, and overthrown with
" a little adversity: wherefore I beseech thee, O
" Lord, to strengthen me with thy Spirit that I
" may willingly suffer for thy sake all manner of
" troubles and afflictions !
" Lord, I will knowledge unto thee all mine un-
" righteousness, and I will confess to thee all the
" unstableness of my heart.
" Oftentimes a very little thing troubleth me
" sore, and maketh me dull and slow to serve
" thee :
" And sometimes I purpose to stand strongly,
" but when a little trouble cometh it is to me great
" anguish and grief, and of a right little thing
" riseth a grievous temptation to me ;
" Yea, when I think mvself to be sure and
52 MEMOIRS OF
" strong, as it seemeth I have the upper hand,
" suddenly I feel myself ready to fall with a little
" blast of temptation.
" Behold therefore, good Lord, my weakness,
" and consider my frailness best known to thee 1
" Have mercy on me and deliver me from all
(i iniquity and sin that I be not intangled there-
" with !
" Oftentimes it grieveth me sore, and in a
" manner confoundeth me that I am so unsta-
** ble, so weak and so frail in resisting sinful mo-
" tions ;
" Which, although they draw me not away to
" consent, yet nevertheless their assaults be very
" grievous unto me ;
" And it is tedious to me to live in such bat-
c * tie, albeit I perceive that such battle is not
" unprofitable unto me, for thereby I know my-
" self, and mine own infirmities, and that I must
" seek help only at thine hands.
"It is to me an unpleasant burthen, what
" pleasure soever the world offereth me here.
" I desire to have inward fruition in thee, but
" I cannot attain thereto."
The number as well as piety of these composi
tions sufficiently shew how much of her time and
thoughts, amidst all the business and ceremonies
of her exalted station, was employed in order to
secure her everlasting happiness, and sow the
seeds of piety and virtue in the minds of her
people. AncTas she very well knew how far good
learning was subservient to these great ends, so
she used her utmost endeavours for its establish
ment and increase. A remarkable proof of which
we have in the following authentic piece of his
tory. When the act was made that all colleges,
chantries, and free chapels should be in the king s
disposal, .the university of (Cambridge were filled
with terrible apprehensions, but well knowing the
queen s great regard to learning, they addressed
CATHARINE PARR.
letters to her by Dr. Smith, afterwards sir Thomas
Stnith y the learned secretary of state to king Ed
ward, in which they entreated her majesty to in
tercede with the king for their colleges, which
accordingly she effectually did, and wrote to
them in answer, " That she had attempted
" king s majesty for the stay of their possessions,
" and that, notwithstanding his majesty s pro-
" perty and interest to them by virtue of that act
" of parliament, he was, she said, such a patron
" to good learning, that he would rather advance
" and erect new occasion thereof than confound
" those their colleges ; so that learning might
" hereafter ascribe her very original, whole con-
" servation, and sure stay to him, adding, that
" the prosperous estate of whom long to preserve
" she doubted not but every one would with daily
" invocation call upon him, who alone and only
" can dispose all to every creature." In the same
letter she tells them, " That forasmuch as she
" well understood that all kind of learning flou-
" rished among them as it did among the Greeks
" at Athens long ago, she desired and required
" them all not so to hunger for the exquisite
" knowledge of profane learning, that it might be
" thought that the Greek university was but
" transposed, or now in England again revived,
" forgetting our Christianity, since the excel-
" lency of the Greeks only attained to moral and
" natural things, but that she rather gently ex-
" horted them to study and apply those doctrines
" (the variety of human learning) as means and
" apt degrees to the attaining and setting forth
" the better Christ s reverend and most sacred
" doctrine, that it might not be laid against them
" in evidence at tlie tribunal seat of Gcd how
u they were ashamed of Christ s doctrine, for this
" Lathi lesson, she goes on, I am taught to say
u of St. Paul, Non me pudet evangelii, and
* then adds, to the sincere setting foi;tli whereof
54- MEMOIRS OF
" I trust universally in all your vocations and mi-
" nistries you will apply and conform your sun-
" dry gift 8 ? arts 5 an d studies to such end and
" sort, that Cambridge may be accounted rather
" an university of divine philosophy than of na*
" tural or moral, as Athens was."
This so satisfactory an answer to the petition of
the university of Cambridge shews as well the
great influence she had over the king as the good
use she made of it ; nor can the reader fail of ob
serving from her letter how well she deserved his
majesty s favour. Indeed she merited every in
stance of it she could desire, for, next to the
studies of the Holy Scriptures, and the perform
ance of the duties enjoined by them, she seems to
have made it her principal care to be obsequious to
his will. And as that part of his life which it fell
to her lot to share with him was attended with al
most continual indispositions, so his ill health
joined such a fierceness of manners to his former
intractable disposition as rendered it a task ex
tremely difficult even for his prime favourites to
make themselves agreeable to him, and preserve
his esteem ; yet, such were the amiable qualities
of the queen, that by a most obliging tenderness,
and charming turn of conversation, she not only
secured his affection under all his pain and sick
ness, but greatly contributed to the alleviation of
them, which so cemented the king s affections,
and grounded her so firmly in his good graces,
that after the bishop of Winchester was known
to have been disappointed in his scheme for her
ruin none of her adversaries durst make any at
tempts against her.
As a confirmation of what we have said con
cerning this lady s extraordinary virtues, and the
true sense which the king had of them, we shall
here exhibit the last testimony of his affection to
her from his will which bears date December the
CATHARINE PARR. 5$
30th, 1546, but one month before his decease,
which is as follows :
" And for the great love, obedience, chast-
" ness of life, and wisdom being in our foresaid
" wife and queen, we bequeath unto her for her
" proper use, and as it shall please her to order it,
" three thousand pounds in plate, jewels, and
" stuff of household, besides such apparel as it
" shall please her to take, as she hath already ;
" and further we give unto her one thousand
" pounds in money, with the enjoying her dowry
" and joynture, according to our grant by act of
" parliament."
Her great zeal for the Reformation, and earnest
desire to have the Scriptures understood by the
common people put her upon the procuring several
learned persons to translate Erasmus s Paraphrase
on the New Testament into the English language
for the service of the public. And this she did
at her own great expence. She engaged lady
Mary, afterwards queen Mary, in translating the
paraphrase on the gospel of St. John, upon which
occasion she sent the following epistle in Latin
to that princess.
" Cum multa sint, nobilissima ac amantissima
" Domina, quee me facile invitant hoc tempore ad
" scribendum, nihil tamen perinde me movit
" atque cura yaletuclinis tuae, quern, ut spero,
" esse optimam, ita de eadem certiorem fieri, mag-
" noper cupio. Quare mitto hunc nuntium
" quern judico fere tibi gratissimum, turn propter
" artem illam musics, quae te simul ac me oppido
" oblectari non ignoro ; turn quod a me profcctus
" tibi certissimfe referre possit de omni statu ac
" valetudine mea. Atque sank in animo fuit ante
" hunc diem iter ad te fecisse, atque coram salu-
" tasse, verum voluntati meae lion omnia respon-
" derunt. Nunc spero hac hyeme, idque prope-
" diem propius nos esse congressuras. Quo sane
56 MEMOIRS OF
" mihi nihil erit jucundum magis, aut mais vo*
" lupte.
u Cum autem, ut accepi, summa jam manus
;t imposita sit per Maletum operi Erasmico in
" Johanriem, quod ad tralationem spectat, neque
"quicquamnunc restet, nisi ut justa quaedam di-
; ligentia ac curaaclhibeatur in eodem corrigendo
:( te pbsecro, ut opus hoc pulcherrimum atque
: utilissimum jam emendatum per Maletum aut
" aliquem tuorum, ad me transmitti cures, quo
* suo tempore prelo dari possit; atque porro sig-
: nifices an tuo nomine in lucem felicissime ex ire
( velis, an potius incerto autore. Cui opera mea
" sanfe opinione injuriam facere videberis si tui no-
t( minis autoritate etiam posteris commendatum
iri recusaveres in quo accuratissime transferenclo
>>( tanto labores summo reipublicsebonosuscepisti,
f pluresque, ut satis notum est, susceptura, si
c valetudo corporis permisisset. Cum ergo in
;< hac re abs te laboriose admodum sudatum f iiisse
r< nemo non intelligat cur quam omnes tibi merito
* deferant laudem rejicias, non video. Attainen
" ego hanc rem omnem ita relinquo prudentite
:t tujs, ut quamcunque veils rationem inire earn
" ego maxim& approbandam censuero.
" Pro crumena quam ad me dono misisti in-
" gentes. tibi gratias ago. Deum Opt. Max.
" precor ut vera ac intaminata felicitate perpetu6
te beare dignetur: in quo etiam diutissime va-
* leas. " Ex Hanworthia 20 Septembris.
Tui studiosissima ac amantissima,
Katherina Regina K. P.
In English.
" Though there are several considerations, my
:< most noble and beloved Lady, which readily
:( invite meat this juncture to write to you, yet
" there is none that equally induces me with that
CATHARINE PARR, 57
" of my solicitude for your health, which, as I
:c hope it is perfectly enjoyed by you, so I feel
" myself most earnestly desirous to receive as-
" surance concerning it. It is for this reason that
" I have dispatched this messenger to you who I
" doubt not will be most welcome, both on ac-
* count of his eminent skill in music, which I
" know is a most delightful entertainment to both
" of us, and as he will be able, coming immedi-
" ately from me, to give you certain information
" of my health, and all that relates to me. I had
" it indeed in my intention to have made you a
" visit, and to have paid my respects to you in
person, but things have not fallen out ~to my
" mind. I now promise myself that in the winter
" before long that we shall have an interview,
" than which nothing can be more acceptable
" and pleasant to me.
"As I have been informed that the finishing
hand has been put by Dr. Mullet to Erasmuses
Paraphrase on the New Testament, so far as it
"regards its translation into English, rnd that
" nothing now remains but an accurate review,
" and care in its correction, I earnestly request you
" to transmit me this most elegant and useful
" work now revised by Dr. Mallet, or some other
: able person whom you have employed, in order
E that it may be printed in due time, and that
" you would also signify tome whether it is your
" pleasure, which would indeed be most auspici-
" ous to the work, to have it published with your
name, or have it suppressed. Indeed, "if I
might give my opinion, you will considerably
" obstruct the work, if it does not go down into
: posterity under the sanction of your name, by
" which in the most accurate translation you have
: undertaken a most lasting service for the great
" benefit of the people, and are ready, as it is^well
known, to make further additions in the same
kind, if your health will permit. For my part,
it
58 MEMOIRS OF
" I see no reason, as mankind will undoubtedly
" ascribe tbe work to yourself, why you should
" endeavour, by suppressing your name, to de-
" cline the honour which they will so deservedly
" confer upon you. But I leave the whole affair
" so entirely to your prudence, that I shall readily
" fall in with whatever method may seem most
" eligible to you.
" I give you abundant thanks for the present
" of the purse you was so kind as to send me. I
" beseech the all-gracious and almighty God to
" crown your days with true undisturbed felicity,
" and to give you a long life for its enjoyment !"
From Hanworth the 20th of Sept.
Yours in the most attached and affectionate
friendship,
Catharine Queen K. P.
King Henry dying upon the 28th of January,
1546-7, when she had been his wife three years,
six months, and five days, she was not long after
married to sir Thomas Seymour, lord admiral of
England, and uncle to king Edward tlie sixth,
This unhappy marriage put a stop to all her tem
poral enjoyments, for, between the matchless
pride and imperibusness of her sister-in-law the
duchess of Somerset, and the boundless ambition,
and other bad qualities of the admiral, such fu
rious animosities ensued as proved the destruction
of both families, and must have interrupted the
studies and contemplations of our excellent lady,
now embarked with them, so that after this mar
riage we find no more of the pious productions of
her pen, or any thing considerable besides her pro
curing the publication of the above-mentioned
work, the Translation of Erasmus s Paraphrase
on the New Testament into English.
She lived but a short time with this gentleman,
for after being delivered of a daughter she died in
child-bed in the month of September, 1548, not
CATHARINE PARR. 59
without suspicion of poison, as several of our
writers observe. And indeed she herself was ap
prehensive of unfair dealings, and roundly re
proached the admiral on her death-bed for his
great unkindness to her.
Where she died, or in what place she lies buried
we know not, nor can we meet with any informa
tion on tlie head among* our historians, though
many of them mention her death, and speak of
her with such regard as makes the omission of
such a circumstance appear somewhat extraordi
nary, but we have a Latin epitaph composed in
memory of her by Dr. P&rkhur&t one of her do
mestic chaplains, and afterwards bishop of Nor
wich. It bears the following title, and is as fol
lows :
Incomparabilis foeminse Catharine, nuper Angli& 9
Francia, et Hibernia Reginae, dominae meae cleinen-
tissimae, epitaphiurn. Anno 1548.
Hoc Regina novo dormit Catharina sepulchre,
Sexus foeminei flos, honor, atque decus.
Ha^c fmtHcnrico conjux fidissima Regi,
Quern postquam e vivis Parca tulisset atrox
Thoma Scymtro, (cui tu, Neptune, tridentum
Porrigis) eximio nupseratilla viro.
Iluic perpcrit natam : a partu cum septimus orbein
Sol illustrasset mors truculenta necat :
Defunctam inadidis famuli deflemus ocellis ;
Humect at tristes terra Britanna genas.
Nos infeliccs inceror consumit accrbus :
Inter coelestes gaudet at ilia chores.
In English.
J\n epitaph on the incomparable Lady Catharine, late
Queen of England, France, and Ireland, my most
amiable mistress.
This new-erected tomb contains
The mortal, but rever d remains
Of her, who shone through all her days
Her sexes ornament and praise.
60 MEMOIRS OF, SCC.
To Henri/, Albion s mighty King,
With whose renown all nations ring,
She prov d a most accomplish d wife,
The crown and comfort of his life.
Her Lord no more, in Hymens bands
With Seymour next she joins her hands;
Seymour, who o er the wat ry plains
Wielding th imperial trident reigns :
To him a female babe she bore,
But, when the sun had travell d o er
For sev n successive days the skies,
A breathless corpse the mother lies.
Her family her loss bemoans,
.Britannia echoes to their groans :
In nfgbt and griefs we pine away ;
She triumphs in the blaze of day,
And, with th angelic choirs above.,
Attunes the harp* to joy and love.
JANE, QUEEN OF NAVARRE*.
JANE of Albert, the subject of our Memoirs,
was daughter to Henry the second, king of
Navarre, and Margaret of Orleans}, sister to
* Navarre was a small kingdom south of France, near the
Pyrencan mountains. It is now a part of France, itself.
f The mother of the subject of our Memoirs bore a very emi
nent character, being distinguished for her piety, virtue, and
line understanding. Perhaps it may not be unacceptable to our
readers, as it will not be entirely foreign to our work, to recite
the following account of a very edifying and pleasing event ia
which she had her share in a translation from the elegant II it-
sius, Vid. .Miscel. Sacr. Vol. II. p. 18,3.
". As an instance, says our excellent author, of a placid and
" pleasant death, James Faber Stapulcnsis, a name famous in
" France among the revivers of evangelical truth, and sound
" learning, deserves to be recorded. lie in a verv advanced
" age flying from the violence of the persecution with which the
" professors of the Reformed Religion were oppressed in France,
" withdrew himself to the country of the queen of Navarre, the
" magnanimous and wise protectress of the Protestant cause.
" On a certain day the queen sent and invited him to dine with
" her, gathering a number of learned and pious men, with
" whose conversation she was wonderfully delighted, to be guests
" with him. While the rest of the company with a great deal of
" chearfulness enjoyed their meal, Faber discovered many signs-
" of a deep sorrow. The queen asked the reason, to whichhe
" replied, JIow can I, Queen, be chearful tny.sctf, or contribute
* to the chearfulness of others, who am the most wicked creature
" upon the face of the earth ?" " But what," said she, " my
** friend, can that wickedness be which you have committed,
" who from your youth up have appeared to lead a most holy
" life ?" He answered, " I have lived to an hundred and one
" years pure from every stain of lewdness, and do not rccollrct
" any thing particularly on the account of which I should fear
" leaving life with a troubled conscience, except one, which
" however I hope may be forgiven." For awhile he could not
proceed on account of the tears that gushed from his eyes, but
at length recovering himself, he said, 4i How shall I appear be-
" fore the high tribunal of God, who have sincerely instructed
" others in his holy gospel, and rendered them more brave und
" constant in its profession than myself, so that not a few amon"
" them have courageously endured a thousand tortures, and eveu
&2 MEMOIRS OF
Francis the first of that name, king of France,
and was carefully educated in the Protestant Re
ligion from her childhood, to which she stedfastly
adhered all her days. She married Anthony of
Bourbon, son to Charles duke of Vendosme, by
whom she had Henry the fourth of that name,
king of France by his father s right, and king of
Navarre by his mother s.
This Anthony, king of Navarre, in the mi
nority of Charles the ninth, being the first prince
of the blood, was to be his protector, but the
queen-mother, and the Guises, aiming to get the
" death itself, and yet I, their poor dastardly minister, contrary
" to the will of the Lord, have by a shameful flight sought to
" lengthen out that life which will very soon of itself forsake a
" decrepit old man, to whom nothing more glorious could have
" happened than that I should have willingly sealed those divine
" truths, whose power I have so often experienced, with that
" little residue of blood that is now creeping in my veins." To
which the queen, as she was remarkable for her eloquence, and
richly furnished with the knowledge of the Scriptures, sug
gested several considerations which were quite adapted to miti
gate his grief, and which were strengthened and confirmed by
the concurrence of the rest of the guests that were sitting at the
table; upon which the venerable man, resuming his spirit, thus
spoke; " Well, then I see nothing remains but that I should go
" home to God, having first, if it is agreeable to you, made my
" will; and I do not choose to defer it, for I perceive the suin-
" mons from my God is come/ Presently fixing his eyes upon
the queen, " I appoint you," says he, " my heir. I bequeath
" all my books to Mr. Gerard the minister, and as to my clothes,
" and all else I have in the world, I give them to the poor. The
" rest I commit to God/ Upon which the queen smiling said,
" But in this disposal what shall I get, my friend, by my ap-
" pointment of being your heir?" " The care/ he replied, " of
" distributing my effects among the poor/ " I accept it," says
she, " and protest that this heirship is more acceptable to me
" than if my brother had left me the whole kingdom of France."
The good man by this time becoming quite pleasant signified that
he should be glad to take a little sleep, and, bidding the guests
be chearful, and taking leave of them he lay down upon a couch
that was near at hand. The company apprehended him to be
only asleep, but it proved that he slept in the Lord without one
struggle, sigh, or groan. The queen often mentioned the re-
markabie death of this holy man.
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 63
power and management of affairs into their own
hands, endeavoured by all means to detach the
king of Navarre from the Protestant interest,
that so by weakening it, they might carry every
thing according to their pleasure. For which
purpose they employed the ambassador of Spain,
the cardinal of Tournon, Escars, and some other
of his flatterers, who persuaded him, that by his
observing a neutrality, and causing the prince his
son to go once to the mass, the king of Spain
would give him the kingdom of Sardinia in re-
compence for that of Navarre, which had lately
been taken from him. The Pope also confirmed
him in this hope, though he was only depriving
him of all means for the recovery of the kingdom
of Navarre, whenever he should attempt it. The
king overcome by these artifices estranged him
self by degrees from the Protestants, and soli
cited the queen his wife to return into the bosom
of the Romish church, and induce her children
to follow her steps. But she, being better
grounded in the truth, than so easily to renounce
it, refused ; upon which a breach took place be
tween her and her husband.
The above-mentioned persons seeing this, seized
the advantage, and persuaded him that heresy
was a suflicient cause of dissolving marriage, and
that therefore he might be divorced from his
queen, as she had imbibed its poison. They also
suggested, that notwithstanding his divorce he
Avould retain to himself the possession of all the
dominions and territories belonging to his abdi
cated queen, of which she upon the account of
her heresy would be deprived as unworthy of
them, and they added that he should marry
Man/, queen of Scots, whose dowry they said
was the kingdom of England, and of which the
Pope, upon the consummation of the marriage,
would strip Elizabeth, as undeserving of it for
64 MEMOIRS OF
the same reason of heresy, and settle it upon
them.
But the king of Navarre abhorring a divorce,
it remained that he should accept the conditions
for being made king of Sardinia, for the effecting
which the above counsellors left no methods unat-
tempted, and at length succeeded so far that they
gulled the king of Navarre, and set him at va
riance with the prince of Conde, Coligni the ad
miral, and the other Protestants. The queen his
wife, disliking his change of religion, and his
connection with the Popish party, retired to Po-
dium, in the country of Berne, and there kept
her court,
But it pleased Providence, that soon after at
the siege of Orleans, the king of Navarre was
wounded in the shoulder, of which he languished
about three weeks, and then died.
The next desiim of the above-mentioned fac-
c5
tion was to seize upon the queen together with her
son Henry y and her daughter Catharine, and
bring them before the tribunal of the Spanish in
quisition. The conspirators entertained no doubt
but that Philip king of Spain would the more
readily fall in with this measure as it would be so
favourable to the Popish religion, of which he
boasted himself to be the supporter, and as all
the dispute about the kingdom of Navarre,
which he unjustly detained, would be ended by
the extinction of its lawful heirs. They flattered
themselves also that the project might be easily
accomplished by the king of Spain s soldiers, who
lay at Barcelona ready to be transported into
Africa, and who by the way of the mountains,
might come upon and surprize the queen of Na
varre and her children at Podium, without any
warning. One Dominick, a captain, born in the
territories of Berne, was pitched upon to go to
the court of Spain to communicate these designs
to the king, and to receive his instructions. But
JAXE, OF XAVARUE. 65
Providence so ordered it that Dominlck falling
sick by the way, one Annas Hospius, an honest
man, who attended him, learnt the cause of his
journey, and by giving timely notice prevented
the success of the plot, and saved the queen of
Acrcarrc and her children from the ruin intended
them.
Not long after, in the time of the third civil
war on account of religion, the good queen having
raised a considerable force led them to Rochcl to
gether with her son Henry, and her daughter
Catharine. From this place she wrote letters to
the king, the queen-mother, the duke of Anjou,
and the cardinal of Bourbon. To the king she
represented^ that in the common- cause of reli
gion, in regard of the duty she owed him, and
her alliance by blood to the prince of Cotide, she
could not be wanting to him upon such an occa
sion as the present, as she had always rejected the
bloody counsels of the Guisian faction, and espe
cially the ambition of the cardinal of Lorrain,
from whose friendship she earnestly dehorted the
duke of Anjou, entreating him not to give up
himself as a minister of his wicked will, in extir
pating the royal family. In her letter to the car
dinal of Bourbon she sharply reproves him for not
being warned by his former danger. " How long,"
says she, ^ will yon be the suffragan of the car-
" clinal of Lorrain ? Have you forgotten the
" mischievous plots that were laid by him for
" your life ? And are you so credulous as to rely
upon his oaths, when he swears that he intemfs
no treachery, &-c." But these monitions taking
no effect upon him the war went on, and in the
battle of liasaac the Protestants were defeated,
and the prince of Comic was slain. Upon the
melancholy news arriving at Rochcl, the queen of
Navarre hasted away to the Proteslant army,
where, before a great assembly of nobles and sol
diers, she made a speech to confirm their minds,
VOL i. F
66
MEMOIRS OF
applauding the virtue and constancy of the prince
of Conde, who had faithfully exerted himself even
to death in the defence of so good a cause, and
exhorting the rest to imitate his example, and to
persevere in maintaining the truth of Christ, and
the liberty of their country; " For," added she,
" the good cause is not dead with the prince of
" Conde, neither ought worthy men to yield to
" despondency in such cases, God having so pro-
" vided for his cause that he gave Conde compa-
" nions while he lived who may succeed him now
" he is no more. I have brought with me r " said
she, "my only son Henry, who, as he is the
" heir of Conde <? name, so he is also of his vir-
" tties. These with other nobles, I trust, will
u never be wanting in so good a cause." After
this address to the nobles and army, and many
things said in private to her son to put an edge
upon his spirit, she returned to Rochet to raise
new succours.
In the mean time a commission was granted to
Terridc, governor of Quercie, to summon the
queen of Navarre, and the prince her son to quit
the Protestants, and, in case of refusal, to in
vade the countries of Berne, Foi#, and Navarre,
in which he so far succeeded that he reduced all
to the king s obedience, except only Navarre,
which he besieged, it being the only strong place
which remained to the queen.
Upon this the queen and the princes sent the
earl of Montgomery to engage him, who with a
small armv of five hundred horse, and four thou
sand foot obliged Terridc, to raise the siege, and
retire himself to Ortheze. His men were dis
persed, and to prevent him from collecting them
again the earl besieged him, and forced the town,
and that he. might beat Terride with his own wea
pons, he turned the cannon which he found in the
town against the castle, upon which it was sur
rendered to him. After which all other places
JANK, OF NAVARRE. 67
were soon reduced to the queen s obediehce, and
the catl, having- garrisoned the towns of his new
conquest, speedily returned to the princes.
Not long after peace being concluded between
the king and the Protestants, the king published
an edict, in which among other things there is
this passage.
" Let it be lawful for the queen of Navarre-,
" the king s aunt, besides the benefit which is
" common to all those who have the highest juris-
" diction, to enjoy the free exercise of her reli-
" gion in the earldoms of Armiguiac, Foh\ and
" Jligorre in one place of all those dominions
" which she holds in her own possession, or whk-h
11 may be consigned to her by the king, so that
" all who come to that place, though she herself
" be absent, may enjoy it without danger. More-
" over, lest any doubt should arise about his right
:c intention respecting the queen of Navarre the
" king s aunt, as also of the princes of Conde,
" both father and son, the king doth declare, that
" he acknowledges them all for his faithful cousins
" and subjects, and that they and all who have
" managed the wars under them shall be free, and
" not bound to render an account for monies re-
" ceived or taken, <*c."
But though the peace was concluded, the ma
lice of the Popish party was not in the least
abated ; but they sought by policy to effect that
which they could not accomplish by power, and
for this purpose Biron was sent to Rochel in the
king s name to treat with the queen of Navarre
about the marriage between her son Henry and
the king s sister, the lady Margaret, for which
end he invited them to come to court, where
matters might be fully discussed and concluded.
lie added also, that hereby a fair occasion was of
fered from God to settle their affairs in peace,
The queen of Navarre having returned her
F 2
()8 MEMOIRS OF
thanks in a set oration, answered, " That the
" matter was or that importance that she should
" take time to herself to deliberate concerning it,
" and that, though she professed and acknow-
" ledged that the alliance would be an honour and
" advantage to her, yet that she was for the pre-
" sent doubtful how to act on account of the near
" relation between her son and the lady, and the
" difference as to their religions. Wherefore,"
said she, " I will consult with my divines, and
" what I find may contribute to the glory of God,
"and the good of the kingdom, and "that may
" consist with a good conscience, that I will
" readily and willingly embrace, being desirous
" in all that I can to fall in with the pleasure of
" the king and queen, to whom I owe all due cle-
" ference."
There were two matters to be settled between
the king and queen of Navarre, in respect of the
place and the manner of the celebration of the
marriage. The queen was averse from its being
clone at Paris, fearing that the city being ex
tremely addicted to the Romish religion, was
long since an enemy to the family of Navarre,
and therefore she judged it not safe to have the
marriage celebrated there. The king on the con
trary said, " That it would be a certain sign of
" sure peace to have the marriage celebrated in
" the metropolis of the kingdom, which would
" be, as it were, on a public theatre." The other
difficulty was about the manner of the celebra
tion, as the queen of Navarre, being attached
to the Reformed Religion, disliked that the mar
riage should be contracted after the Popisli man
ner, and the queen-mother as much disliked that
of the Protestants. But the king entreated the
queen of Navarre to pardon him in that matter,
for that it would tend to his great dishonour if he
should suffer the marriage of his sister to be so
lemnized in any other form than according to that
JAM", OF NAVARRE. 6*9
ancient religion which he had received from his
forefathers. To remove this difficulty time was
taken on hoth sides.
In the mean time the queen of Navarre con
sulted with the ministers of the Reformed Reli
gion what was to be done in this matter. Some
of them, insisting upon the simplicity of the word
of God, said that it was utterly unlawful for
marriages to be contracted in the Popish manner,
especially by illustrious personages, in whom a
compliance \vould be more hurtful, because of
more public concern. Others, apprehending that
this marriage would be a firm, and, as it were, an
everlasting foundation of an happy peace, assented
to it.
The queen of Navarre and the Protestant
nobles striving to find out remedies both for the
kingdom, \vhich was grievously distressed, and
for their own impoverished estates, approved the
judgment of the last-mentioned divines, and so
the affair proceeded, and the conditions of mar
riage were agreed upon by the parties. The king
was to give his sister for her dowry three hundred
thousand crowns, each crown being valued at four
and fifty shillings.
About this time the queen of Ntrcarre, being
zealous to propagate the Protestant Religion in
Cantabfia, a province of the jurisdiction of Na-
I urre, sent thither pastors who had learned the
country language, which is understood by almost
none of the neighbours, and was before believed
incapable of being written. She took care also
that the AVrr Textawent, the Catechism, and the
Prayers used in the Church of Genera, should be
translated into tliefrdscohi vvCaritabrian tongue,
which she caused to be printed at Rachel in a most
line letter, and sent to the Cantabrians.
Upon the earnest solicitation of the king, the
queen of Navarre went out lie March following,
Anno Chrisli 1.57-, from Rochel to the court,
70 MEMOIRS OF
which was then at Blois, with a great retinue,
where it is incredible to think what a welcome she
had on all sides, and especially from the king and
hjs brothers, who yet, when all was done, could
most treacherously and inhumanely boast to rm
mother, " Now, madam, have I not acquitted
" myself well? Let me alone, and I will bring
" them all into the net."
In the April following the articles of marriage
between the prince of Navarre and the king s
sister were concluded. In the beginning of Mai}
the king solicited her to come to Paris that she
might make suitable preparations for the marriage,
to which she at length consented, and accordingly
on May the sixth she took her journey from Blois,
and arrived on the fifteenth at Paris. After
which she went from place to place in the city into
several houses and shops in order to furnish her
self with such things as were suitable to adorn the
approaching nuptials.
The queen-mother in the mean time, who could
not endure this good queen, but was at a loss for
a colourable pretext to dispatch her with the rest
she had devoted to destruction, and who feared
also the greatness of her spirit in case she should
survive them, and judged it impossible to work
upon the flexibility of the young prince her son,
so long as his mother lived, the queen-mother in
the mean time used the most base and wicked
stratagem to take away the queen of Navarre s
life. She consulted with one Rene, an Italian,
who had the art of empoisoning, by whose dia
bolical assistance she accomplished the horrid
purpose of murdering the queen, who had not
the least suspicion of any danger, and so could
not be upon her guard against it. This Rene sold
the queen of Navarre certain empoisoned per
fumes, and was afterwards heard to make his
boast of what he had done, and to add also that
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 71
lie had the like in store for two or three besides,
who suspected nothing of the matter.
By this poison thus conveyed to her, on June
the fourth following the good queen fell sick of a
continued fever. Upon finding how strong the
disease (though slighted by others) was upon her,
and apprehending that it would end in her death,
she prepared herself to receive from the hand of
God her merciful Father that stroke which he had
appointed her. Calling her son Henri/ to her she
commanded him above all things else carefully to
serve God according to the confession of faith in
which he had been educated, and not to sutler
himself to be diverted from it by the empty plea
sures and delights of the world. She charged
htm to take care that the constitutions concern
ing it, which she had published in the principa
lity of Berne, and the lower Navarre, should be
inviolably kept. She exhorted him to purge his
family, and banish all evil counsellors thence, who
thought ill of God, as also all flatterers, the
abusers of princes, and all other vicious persons,
but that he should retain with him all good men,
as Bellovar uis, Francutius, and But u lux, who
m re men of unspotted reputation. She recom
mended to him a special regard to his sister Ca
tharine by treating her gently and tenderly with
out bitterness, and causing her to be brought up
in the town of Berne in the same school of piety
i:i which he himself had been educated, and bid
ding him when she was at proper years to marry
her to a prince of equal dignity, processing the
Protestant Religion. She also signified to him
that he should love JJcttri/ Bourbon his cousin
german, as his brother, and also Francis marquis
of Cuntinm, endeavouring to his uimost power
that as great harmony as possible should he main
tained between them and the admiral Ccligni for
the advancement and promotion of God s glory.
She then made her sou her heir, entreating the
king, the queen-mother, the duke of +IHJOU, and
72 MEMOIRS OF
the duke of Alensen, the king s brothers, to take
upon them the protection of the prince her son,
and of Catharine her daughter, and to allow
them the free exercise of their religion.
She next requested that she might have such
persons about her who might comfort her in her
sickness from the word of God, and might also
pray with her and for her, according to the direc
tion of the apostle James : Is any sick among
you ? Let him call for the ciders of the church,
and let them pray over him, knowing that the
prayers of a righteous man avail muck with
God*. Accordingly a minister came to her, and
shewed her from the Scripture, " That Christians
" ought in all things to submit to the will of God
" as to the Father of their spirits, that they might
" live, and that, though by reason of the sharpness
" of his chastisements, they may seem to our flesh
" as if they were inflicted for no other end but
" for our destruction, yet that we ought to con-
" sider that the just God can do nothing but what
" is just, and that being withal a merciful Father
" he cannot in his corrections but intend the good
" of his afflicted children."
To this discourse of the minister the queen re
plied, " I take all this as sent from the hand of
" God my most merciful Father. Nor have I dur-
" ing this extremity been afraid to die, much less
u have I murmured against God for inflicting this
" chastisement upon me, knowing that whatsoever
" he does, he does so order it as that in the end
" it shall turn to my everlasting good/
The minister then observed, " That the causes
(t of sicknesses and diseases must be sought beyond
" the course of physic, which always looks to the
<w corruption of the humours, or the distemper in
" the more noble parts of the body, and that
" though it is not amiss to have respect to these
f - things as second causes, yet that we ought to
* James v, 14j 16.
JAXE, OF X AVAR UK. ?3
" ascend higher, even to the first cause God him-
" self, wlio disposes of all creatures as it seems
" good in his sight. He wounds, and he heals,
" he kills, and he makes alive, Dent, xxxii. sy.
" .And therefore that we ought to direct our prav-
" ers to him for comfort in all our sorrows and
" sufferings, and in the end to expect from him
" full deliverance, since it is easv with him to
" restore our health, if it is agreeable to his will/
To this speech the queen answered, " That she
" depended wholly on the providence of God,
" knowing that all things arc wisely disposed of
" hy him, and that therefore she besought him to
" vouchsafe her all such graces as he saw neces-
* sary for her salvation. As for this life/ said
she, " I am in a good measure weaned from it
" through the afflictions which have followed me
" from my youth to the present hour, but espcci-
" ally because I cannot live without offending my
" God, with whom I desire to be with all my
"heart."
Hereupon the minister remarked, " That long
" life, how full soever it may be of troubles, is
;t to be esteemed among the blessings of God,
" seeing his promise implies as much, and not
only so but because our lives may in many ways
: promote his glory, and that long life is not only
" an honour, but a pledge of the" favour of God,
" even as it is an honour and token of special re-
" gard to a person whom a prince long employs
in his service, having had experience of liis
" fidelity for many years/ Hereupon the minis
ter earnestly requested the queen to prav, u That
if it was the will of God, he would employ her
; yet longer in his service for the further spread
" of his gospel, and that he would grant her such
:t a recovery of health, and such a good state of
body that witii rene\\cd strength she might be
u enabled to pursue her course better than she had
" done before/
74 MEMOIRS OF
To this she answered, " That, as to what con-
" cerned herself, her life was not dear unto her,
" since, so long as she lived in this frail flesh, she
" was still prune and apt to sin against God, only
" she said she had a concern for the children whom
" God had given her, as they would, if she was
" now to die, he deprived of her in their early
"years; yet/ 1 said she, " I doubt not, though
" he should see fit to take me from them, but
u that he himself will be a father to them, and a
" protector over them, as I have ever experienced
" him to be to me in my greatest afflictions, and
" therefore I commit them wholly to his govern-
" ment, and fatherly care."
The minister then blessed God for working in
her mind, this assurance of faith, and this ability
to cast her care upon the divine Providence, " en-
" treating her still to persevere therein, which
" would seal to her the truth of her faith. And
" thus," said she, " did the patriarchs in times
" past commit the care of their posterity into the
" hands of God, as appears by the several bless-
" ings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." Upon
this the minister observed. " That yet it was very
" requisite that she should make choice of such
" who, from the purity of their doctrine, and the
" holiness of their lives, might continue to water
" in the young princes the seeds of piety that had
4 been sown in them by her so great pains and la-
4C hour, seeing it was to be hoped that the example
11 of her faith and constancy in the service of
" God, in which she had gone before them, would
" serve as a perpetual inducement to them to fol-
" low her noble virtues." She then declared to
the minister, " that death was not terrible to her,
" because it was the way to pass to her eternal
" rest." The minister hereupon observed, " That
" Christians had little cause to fear death, since
" they should not die, according to what our Su-
" viour says, that he that lives, and believes in me,
JANE, OF NAVARRE. J5
"shall never die, John viii. 51. for," added the
minister, " to speak properly, death is no death
" to true believers, but a sweet sleep, being often
" so called in the scriptures, and therefore Christ
" for their sakes hath overcome and triumphed
" over death in his own person, so that now we
" may cry out with St. Paul, O death, where is
"thy sting ? O grave, where is thy victory?"
After this the minister admonsihed her to make
confession of her sins before God, shewing*,
" That bodily diseases tend to the dissolution of
" nature, and that death is the wages of sin ; fur-
^ ther saying, that by this her chastisement sbe
" might learn what she had deserved, if God
" should enter into judgment with her, not only
" in regard of the fall of our first parents, in which
" guilt she was involved as well as others, but also
" by her own personal sins, seeing that the best
" in the world are in themselves, but poor, miser-
" able, and wretched sinners, and that, if the
" Lord should punish us according to our deme-
" rits, we could expect nothing at his hand but
" eternal death and damnation."
At these words the queen, with her hands and
eyes lifted up to heaven, began to acknowledge,
c; That the sins she had committed against the
" Lord were innumerable, and there-fore more
" than she could reckon up, but yet that she hoped
" that God for Christ s sake, in whom she put
" her whole trust, would be merciful to her."
Hence the minister took occasion to open at
large upon what ground she was to expect the
mercy of God in Christ, adding, " That the
" whole have no need of a physician, but such
" as are sick, and that Christ said that he came
" not to call the righteous, but sinners to rcpent-
",ance, and that he is ready to fill the hungry
<c with good things, while he sends the rich empty
" away. Of these things," said lie, " you ought
" so much the rather to be persuaded in your con-
76 MEMOIRS OF
" science by how much the more the Spirit of
" God witnesses to your spirit that you are the
" child of God, and enables you to cry, Abba,
" Father, for what is faith but a firm trust and as-
" surance of the good will of God manifested to-
" wards us in his blessed Son/
The minister, fearing lest by his long discourse
he might be troublesome to her, or too much ex
haust her spirits, would have given over, which
she taking notice of, earnestly requested him not
to forbear speaking to her about these matters of
life and eternal salvation, adding, " That now
" she frit the want of such discourses, for that
" since her coming to Paris she had been some-
" what remiss in hearing such exhortations from
" the word of God, and therefore," said she, " I
" am the more glad to receive comfort thence in
" this my great extremity."
Upon v/hich the minister endeavoured " to set
" before her the happiness of heaven, and what
"^ those joys were which the saints possess in the
" beatific presence of God, which the Scriptures
" intending to discover assure us, that eye hath
" not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into
" the heart of man to conceive, what God hath
" prepared for them who love him. For/ saith
lie, " it is as if a king intending greatly to ho-
fi nour some noble personage should bring him to
" his court, and there shew his state and attend-
" ance, his treasures, and his most precious jewels.
" In like manner the Lord will one day reveal to
t( all his people his magnificence and glory with
" all the riches of his kingdom after he has ga-
" thcrcd them home to himself, arraying and
" adorning them with light, incorruption, and
" immortality. Therefore, 1 added he, "since this
" happiness is so great, your highness ought to be
" the less solicitous about leaving this transitory
" life, and know that you are to exchange an
" earthly kingdom for an heavenly inheritance,
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 7/
" these temporal good tilings which consume and
<c perish in the using, to enjoy those things which
" are incorruptible, and everlasting, for your faith
being firmly fixed upon the Lord Jesus Christ
<c you may be certain of obtaining eternal salva-
" tion by him." lie then proceeded to propose
to her these questions, " Do you verily believe
" that Jesus Christ came into the world to save
" you? And do you expect the full forgiveness of
" your sins by the shedding of his blood for you ?"
" Yes/ replied she, " I do; believing that he is
ic my only Saviour and Mediator, and I look for
" salvation from none other, knowing that lie
" hath abundantly satisfied for the sins of his
" people, and therefore I am assured that God for
u his sake, according to his gracious promise in
" him, will have mercy upon me."
During all the time of her sickness she ceased
not such edifying and comfortable discourses ;
sometimes intermixing them with most affection
ate aspirations to God, as a testimony of the hope
and desire she had of enjoying him, often utter
ing these words, " O my God, in thy due time
" deliver me from this body of death, and from
61 the miseries of the present life, that I may no
u more offend thee, and that I may attain to that
" felicity which tliou in thy word hast promised
" to bestow upon me." Neither did she manifest
her pious affection by words only, but by her se
rene and chearful countenance, so far as the
strength of her disease would allow, thereby giv
ing a full evidence to all who beheld her that no
apprehensions of death could unhinge the steel -
fastness of her faith. The minister also often
prayed with her.
During the time of prayer she ceased not with
hands and eyes lifted up to heaven to fetch many
sighs, especially when mention was made of the
mercy of God in Christ, which he extends to
poor sinners, so that all who were present might
78 &EMOIRS OF
evidently see that her heart and affections were*
united in the prayer which was offered for her.
And while she thus lay, she continued in her holv
desires to depart hence that she might he with
Christ, taking great delight in the holy and Chris
tian exhortations which were given her hy many
godly and learned men who came to visit her, to
whom also she manifested no small testimonies of
her faith and hope in God, as to the salvation of
her soul, hy her holy and savoury speeches.
It was observable that though the Lord exer
cised her much with the feeling of her inward dis
ease, yet that there was no word that at any time
fell from her bordering upon discontent or impa
tience, nay scarcely did she ever utter so much
as a groan.
It may be also added that, if at any time she
found any intermissions of the violence of her
distemper, she declared her willingness to obtain
the recovery of her former health, and for that
purpose she refused no proper means prescribed
for her by her learned physicians ; and that on the
other hand, when she perceived her disease to in
crease upon her, and that she grew worse, she
shewed that she was armed with an invincible con
stancy to undergo the utmost that death could do
against her, willingly preparing herself for that
last conflict.
When she saw the ladies and gentlemen with
her weeping about her bed she blamed them for
it, saying, u I pray you do not weep for me, since
" God cloth by. this sickness call me hence to the
" enjoyment of a better life, and I am now enter-
" ing the desired haven towards which this frail
u vessel of mine has been so long steering." She
also expressed her grief that she wanted the oppor
tunity she could have wished to reward them, and
many more of her family and train, who had done
her faithful service, apologizing for herself to
them, and professing that the not rewarding them
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 79
according to her mind did not arise from a defect
of her good will, but from the prevention of her
illness/ " But," said she, " I will not fail to
" give orders about the matter to the utmost of
" my ability."
In the end, perceiving her strength more and
more decaying, she gave orders for making her
last will and testament, and thus settled her out
ward estate. On the eigth of June, the day be
fore she left the world, she called for a minister,
and, finding that she was drawing near her end,
she desired him to discourse to her something
largely of the temptations with which Satan is
wont to assault the people of God in their last
conflict
The minister answered her. " Indeed this is
" the hour in which the sworn enemy of all the
" faithful is wont most zealously to bestir himself
" that, if possible, he may deprive them of the
" comfort of their salvation, not sparing especi-
" ally at that time to set upon them with might
" and cunning, but yet even then the Lord is not,
" and will not be wanting to his people, filling
" their hearts with such joy and comfort of the
" Holy Ghost, as shall make them in the end
" more than conquerors. Satan s first engine by
" which he Would drive them to despair is the
" presentation before their eyes of their innumer-
" able sins and pollutions, with which they have
" been any way defiled in their whole lives. Next
" he presents before them the justice of God, be-
" fore which none is able to stand, unless he were
" pure and spotless ; upon which -he infers, that
" such miserable sinners can look for nothing but
" utter death and condemnation. But against
" these assaults we are as Dai-id, Psalm li. to set
" the infinite multitudes of God s compassions,
" which surpass the multitudes of our sins. And
" as for the justice of God we confess that no
" creature that is polluted with sin can bear to be
80 MEMOIRS OF
" strictty examined by it, but we are to encourage
u ourselves that God will never enter into judg-
* e ment with those who believe in his Son,, but
" that he imputes to them that righteousness and
" obedience which were wrought out by him, and
" which are sufficient to oppose to divine justice,
" so that in Christ s righteousness and obedience
" we are to expect to stand before God, and not
<c by our own deserts and worthiness. Indeed if
" we were to appear before the tribunal of justice
" to receive there what we have merited we should
tc have good reason to be overwhelmed in utter
<c despair, but turning our eyes upon the Lord
" Jesus Christ, who, being the eternal Son of
" God, hath clothed himself with the human na-
" turc to bear upon himself the punishment that
" was due to our sins, and who hath thereby ae~
" quitted us, the justice of God does not at all
u terrify us, but rather yields us assured comfort,
" because God being just cannot twice require the
" payment of the same debt. He therefore having
" received full and perfect satisfaction from Christ,
" whom he hath ordained to be our surety, and
" who hath paid our debts for us, we thence ga-
" ther assurance that God will no more demand
" them at our hands. To which purpose these
" passages of Scripture are to be well observed,
" that Christ hath borne our griefs, and carried
" our sorrows, that the chastisement of our peace
" was upon him, and that by his stripes we are
" healed, that all. we like sheep have gone astray,
" but that the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity
" of us all, that Christ is our peace, and the pro-
" pitiation for our sins, and that he is the Lamb
" of (rod, wlio takes away the sins of the world.
" On these considerations the justice of God need
" not terrify such who believe in Christ, of whose
" righteousness and redemption they are made
" partakers, seeing that Jesus Christ, who knew
" no sin, was made sin, that is, an oblation for
JANE, OF XAVARRE. 81
* sin for us that we might be made the righteous-
" ness of God in him. I grant," said he, " that
" this blessedness does not belong to all indiffer-
" iitly, but only to such as believing in the Son
" of God wholly cast themselves upon the merit
" of his death and passion, which, as St. Peter
" declares, is sufficient for their salvation, Acts
" iv. 12. neither is there salvation in any other,
" for there is none other name under heaven given
" among men whereby we can be saved." The
minister asked the queen, " Whether she placed
" her whole trust and confidence upon Christ cru-
" cified, who died for her sins, and rose again for
" her justification?" To which she answered,
" That she expected neither salvation, nor righ-
" teousness, nor life, from any else, but only from
" her Saviour Jesus Christ, being assured that
" his merits alone abundantly sufficed for the full
" satisfaction for all her sins, although they were
" innumerable." " This being your faith," re
plied the minister, " you cannot come into con-
" clemnation, but are passed from death to life,
:i neither need you to be afraid of God s seat
" of justice, since it is turned into a throne of
" grace and mercy to you, and therefore the hour
" of death will be exceeding welcome to you, as
" death will be a sweet passage into a far better life,
" and the time in which all tears shall be wiped
" away from your eyes. I beseech you therefore,
Madam, think often on that delightful text,
" Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, for
: they rest from their labours, and their works
follow them. Now the time approaches when
" you shall enjoy the beatifical vision of God,
" the society of your Head and Saviour, the Lord
" Jesus Christ, the fellowship of the blessed an-
u gels, and celestial spirits, with the holy patri-
" archs, prophets, apostles, and martyrs for Christ
i partaking with them in the same felicity and
u glory." He also added, ik Madam/ if it should
VOL. I. G
82 MEMOIRS OF
" please God by this your sickness to put an end
" to this weary pilgrimage of yours, and call you
" home to himself, as .by some evident signs it
" appears he will, are you willing to go to him ?"
To which she answered with much Christian cou
rage, " With all my heart." Upon which the
minister said, " Then, Madam, open the eyes of
" your faith, and behold Jesus your Redeemer
" sitting at the right hand of his Father reaching
" out his hand to receive you to himself; are you
" willing, Madam, to go to him?" " Yes, I as-
" sure you," said she, " much more willing than
" to linger here below in this world where I see
" nothing but vanity." He then asked her if
they should pray with her, which upon her desire
they performed by her, while the pious lady ma
nifested her ardent affection in calling upon God.
Not long after came in the admiral G&ligni, and
with him a minister, to whom the queen attended
for a considerable time, the minister s speech tend
ing to prepare her for her dissolution. When he
had finished his address, he also prayed with her,
to which she listened with great attention. Upon
this she requested that these two ministers would
continue all night with her in her chamber, and
that they would by no means leave her.
The greatest part of the night was employed in
holy advices, which these ministers gave to the
lady one after another, besides which she desired
them to read to her some chapters of the Holy
Scriptures, pertinent to her condition, and accord
ingly they read to her out of St. John s Gospel
from the fourteenth to the end of the seventeenth
chapter. After which they prayed with her.
Prayer being ended, the queen desired to take-
some rest ; but it was not long before she bade
them read again. Upon which one of the minis
ters made choice of some particular Psalms of
Dtirid, full of ardent and affectionate prayers,
suited to the queen s present circumstances, and
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 83
for a conclusion read the thirty-first Psalm, in
which the Prophet among other things commends
his spirit into the hands of God, because, saith
he, thou hast redeemed me, O God of truth.
The queen then signified her desire that they
would pray with her again, and thus the greater
part of the night was spent in these holy exercises,
during all which time the ministers never discerned
in her the least signs of impatience, notwithstand
ing the violence of her affliction. It was also
worthy of observation, that whereas immediately
before her sickness she had shewn how much she
was concerned to provide most magnificently for
the day of her son s marriage, according as the
nature of so grand an alliance required, yet that
as soon as this sickness had seized upon her, she
seemed to have such a total neglect and forget-
fulness of all such matters, that she never disco
vered so much as one thought about them.
The night being thus spent by this noble queen,
who persevered in the expressions of such like af
fections and ardency of faith, the next morning,
between eight and nine of the clock, she departed
this life to take possession of a far better, sweet
ly yielding up her spirit into the hands of God
June 9, Anno Christ i 1572, and in the 44th
year of her age.
She enjoyed her perfect speech and memory
even to the hour of her death, shewing not only
that staidness and soundness of judgment which
she ever had in times past in the care about the
salvation of her soul, but also in the proper set
tlement of her worldly aifairs.
The king pretended he was greatly afflicted for
her death, and went into mourning, in which also
the whole court followed him, lest, as we may
well suppose, by an apparent indifference about
her death, their counsels and future desperate de-
signs might be discovered and prevented.
The good queen, though taken off by poison,
G 2
84 MEMOIRS OF
yet seemed to be mercifully housed from the storm
which burst upon the Protestants on the 24th of
the August following, the day of the massacre
of Paris, which begun a general slaughter of
them over the kingdom, in which the number
taken off is computed at an 100,000. The hor
rors of that night are not to be conceived, much
less expressed. The fatal signal being given by
the tolling of the bell of St. Germain, the but
chery began. Coligni, the admiral of France,
was murdered in his own house, his body thrown
out of his window, and treated with the vilest in
dignities. The murderers ravaged the whole city
of Paris, and butchered in three days above ten
thousand lords, gentlemen, presidents, counsel
lors, advocates, lawyers, scholars, physicians,
merchants, tradesmen, and others. Mothers,
maidens, and children were all involved in the
destruction, and the gates and entrances of the
king s palace all besmeared with their blood. And
yetf as though this had been the most heroic
transaction, and would shed immortal glory over
the authors of it, medals were struck at Paris in
honour of it, on the face of which was the French
king sitting on a throne with this inscription,
Virtus in rebelles, virtue against rebels ; and
on the reverse, Pietas eveitavit justitiam, piety
hath roused justice ; and when the news of this
horrible massacre reached Rome, a jubilee was
granted, and the people were commanded to go
every where to church, and bless God for the suc
cess of the action; and it was decreed the pope
should march with his cardinals to the church of
St. Mark, and in the most solemn manner give
God thanks for so great a blessing conferred on
the See of Rome, and on the Christian world.
We shall close our account of this excellent
queen with a passage from bishop Burnet*, m
* Essay on the Memory of Queen Mary, p. 29-
JANE, OF NAVARRE. 85
which he says, that, " if Jane of Navarre had
" had a larger sphere, she was indeed a perfect
" pattern. Nothing was ever suggested to lessen
" her, hut that which was her true glory, her re-
" ceiving the Reformation. She both received it,
" and brought her subjects to it. She not only
" reformed her court, but her whole principality
" to such a degree, that the golden age seemed to
" have returned under her, or rather Christianity
" appeared again with the purity and lustre of its
" first beginnings. Nor is there one single abate-
" ment to be made her. Only her principality was
" narrow. Her dominion was so little extended,
" that, though she had the rank and dignity of
" a queen, yet it looked rather liker the shadow
" than the reality of sovereignty ; or rather it
" was sovereignty in miniature; though the co-
" lours were bright, it was of the smallest form."
But still may not Mr. Waller s lines, with a little
alteration, be applied to this great and good queen
in her small domains ?
Circles are prais d not that abound
In largeness, but th exactly round;
Such praise they merit, who excel
ISot in wide spheres, but acting well.
6 MEMOIRS OF
QUEEN MARY.
Mary, Queen of Great Britain, Wife of King William
the Third.
CHE was the daughter of James, duke of York,
afterwards king James the second, and the
lady Ann Hyde, daughter of the earl of Claren
don* They were privately married at Worcester-
house, September 5, 1660, by Dr. Joseph Crow-
cher, the duke s chaplain.
She was born April 30, 1662, and in the six
teenth year of her age was married at St. James >,
November 4, 1677, to William, prince of Orange,
afterv/ards king William the third.
She appeared to be most happily disposed from
her very birth. She was good, and gentle, before
she was capable of knowing that it was her duty
to be so. This temper grew up with her in the
whole progress of her childhood. She might need
instruction, but she wanted no persuasion. And
it is said that she never once in the whole course
of her education gave any occasion to reprove
her. She went into every thing that was good of
ten before she knew it, and always after she once
understood it.
She was but growing out of childhood when
she went among strangers, and removed from her
own country to Holland; but she went under the
guard of so exact a conduct, and so much discre
tion, she expressed such a gentleness, access to
her was so easy, and her deportment was so oblig
ing, her life was such an example, and her charity
was so free, that perhaps no age could furnish a
parallel. Never were there such universal love
and esteem paid to any as she received from per
sons of all ranks and conditions in the United
Provinces. They were like transport and rap-
i^ M-AJior.
Pub f by R . Ogle Hclbcrn Lcndcn / . June I6c
QUEEN MARY. 87
ture. The veneration was so profound, that, how
just soever it might be, it seemed rather exces
sive. Neither her foreign birth, nor regal extrac
tion, neither the diversity of interests or opinions,
nor her want of power and treasure equal to her
bounty, diminished the respects that were offered
her even from a people, whose constitution gave
them naturally a jealousy of too great a merit in
those who are at the head of their government
It may well be considered as a very happy event,
not only to our country, but to Christendom it
self, that the princess did not imbibe the Popish
religion, the religion sooner or later in life both
of her father and her mother. She was a Pro
testant upon principle, and when her father, then
upon the throne of Great Britain, wrote her a
letter in favour of Popery, she returned him an
answer, drawn up by herself, to the following
purport. " She acquainted him, that she had
" taken much pains to be settled in religion, that
" those of the church of England, who had in-
" structed her, had freely laid before her that
" which was good in the Romish religion, that
" so, seeing the good and bad of both, she might
" judge impartially, according to the Apostle s
" rule of proving all things, and holding fast that
" which was good : that though she had come
" young out of England, yet that she had not
" left behind her either the desire of being well
" informed, or the means for it ; that she had fur-
" nished herself with books, and had those about
" her who might clear any doubts to her; that she
" saw clearly in the Scriptures that she must work
" out her own salvation with fear and trembling,
" and that she must not believe by the faith of
" another, but according as things appeared to
" herself; that it ought to be no prejudice against
" the Reformation, if many of them who pro-
" fessed it led ill lives; and if any of them lived
" ill, none of the principles of their religion al-
88 MEMOIRS OF
" lowed them in it ; that many of them led good
^ lives, and that more might do it by the grace of
:< God, but that there were many devotions in the
" church of Rome on which the Reformed could
" set no value. She acknowledged that if there
was an infallibility in the church all other con-
: troversies must fall to the ground, but that she
" could never yet be informed where that infalli-
bility was lodged, whether in the pope alone, or
:c in a general council, or in both ; and she desired
" to know in whom the infallibility rested when
;< there were two or three popes at a time acting
" one against another with the assistance of coun-
" cilsj which they called general, for at least the
" succession was then much disordered. She ob-
" served, that as for the authority that is pre-
" tended to be given to St. Peter over the rest,
" that that place which was chiefly alledged for
" it*, was otherwise interpreted by those of the
" church of England, as importing only the con-
" firmation of an apostle, when in answer to that
" question, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou
"me? he had by a triple confession washed off
" his triple denial; that the words which the king
" had cited were spoken to (concerning) the other
" apostles, as well as to himf; that it was agreed
" by all, that the apostles were infallible, who were
" guided by God s Holy Spirit, but that that
" gift, as well as many others, had ceased long
" ago ; that St. Peter had no authority over the
" rest of the apostles, or otherwise St. Paul un-
" derstood our Lord s words ill, who withstood
" St. Peter to his face, because he was to be
" blamed; and she further took notice, that if St.
" Peter himself could not maintain that autho-
" rity, she could not see how it could be given to
" his successors, whose bad lives had ill agreed
" with his doctrine. She also alledged, that she
* Matt. xvi. 18. t Actsw. 28.
QUEEN MARY.
ct did not see why the ill use that some made of
" the scriptures ought to deprive others of them ;
" that it was true that all sects made use of them,
" and found something- in them which they drew
" out to support their opinions, and yet that for
" all this our Saviour bade the Jews, search the
" scriptures; and that St. Paul ordered his epis-
" ties to be read to all the saints in the churches,
u and that in one place he says, I write as to wise
" men, judge what I say ; and if they might judge
" an apostle, much more any other teacher. She
" likewise observed, that under the law of Moses
" the Old Testament was to be read not only in
" the hearing of the scribes and the doctors of the
" law, but likewise in the hearing of the women
" and children, and that, since God had made us
" reasonable creatures, it seemed necessary to em-
" ploy our reason chiefly in the matters of the
" greatest concern ; that, though faith was above
" our reason, yet that it proposed nothing to us
" that was contradictory to it ; that every one
" ought to satisfy himself in these things, as our
" Saviour convinced Thomas by making him
" thrust his own hand into the print of the nails,
" not leaving him to the testimony of the other
" apostles, who were already convinced. She
" added, that she was confident that, if the king
" would hear many of his own subjects, they
" would fully satisfy him as to all those prejudices
:< that he had against the Reformation, in which
" nothing was acted tumultuously, but all was
11 done according to law; that the design of it
" was only to separate from the Romish church,
" so far as it had separated from the primitive
" church, in which the Reformers had brought
things to as great a perfection as those corrupt
" ages were capable of.
Thus, she concluded, she gave him the trou-
i ble of a long account of the grounds upon
which she was persuaded of the truth of her
90 MEMOIRS OF
" religion, in which she was so fully satisfied,
" that she trusted, by the grace of God, that she
" should spend the rest of her days in it, and that
" she was so well assured of the truth of our Sa-
" viour s words that she was confident the gates of
" hell should not prevail against it, but that he
" would be with it to the end of the world. All
" ended thus, that the religion she professed
" taught her her duty to him, so that she should
" ever be his most obedient daughter and ser-
" vant." Bishop Burnet tells us that he set down
very minutely every particular that was in those
letters, that of the king, and this of the princess,
and very nearly in the same words, and adds,
" That "he had an high opinion of the princess s
" good understanding, and of her knowledge in
" these matters before he saw this letter, but that
" the letter surprised him, and gave him an asto-
" nishing joy to see so young a person all on the
" sudden, without consulting any one person, to
" be able to write so solid and learned a letter in
" which she mixed with the respect which she had
" paid her father so great a firmness that by it she
" cut off all further treaty, so that her repulsing
" the attack that the king had made upon her
" with so much resolution and force let thepopis/i
" party see that she understood her religion as
" well as loved it*."
After the princess had lived several years in
Holland, the ornament of her sex and station,
upon the wonderful success of her husband the
prince of Orange in his great enterprize to rescue
our country from popery and slavery, both which
were endeavoured with his utmost power by James
the second her father, she ascended the throne of
these realms in conj unction with her husband, at
the joint invitation of both Houses of Parlia-
* Burner s History of his own Time, Vol. II. p. 433 441.
Octavo Edit.
QUEEN MARY. 91
ment ; and they were accordingly proclaimed
king and queen, February 13, lo u 8, to the great
joy of the nation.
In this step of hers, that might carry a face
which at first appearance seemed liable to censure,
as her father was now king no more, and herself
and husband reigned in his room, she weighed
the reasons on which she went with a caution and
exactness that well became the importance of
them, the bias lying still against that which to
vulgar minds seemed to be her interest. She was
convinced that the public good of mankind, the
preservation of that religion which she was as
sured was the only true one, and those real extre
mities to which matters were driven, ought to su
persede all other considerations. She had gener
ous ideas of the liberty of human nature, and of
the true ends of government; she thought it was
designed to make mankind safe and happy, and
not to raise the power of those into whose hands
it was committed upon the ruins of property and
liberty ; nor could she think that religion was to
be delivered up to the humours of misguided
princes, whose persuasion made them as cruel in
imposing on their subjects the dictates of others,
as they themselves were implicit in submitting to
them, but yet after all her inclinations lay so strong
to the duty, that of honouring her father, which
nature had put upon her, that she made a sacri
fice of herself in accepting that high elevation of
being queen of these realms that perhaps was har
der to her to bear than if she had been to be made
a sacrifice in the severest sense. She saw that
not only her own reputation might be eclipsed by
her taking the throne, but that religion too might
suffer in those reproaches which slie must expect.
These considerations were much more with her
than crowns with all the lustres that adorn them,
but yet the saving whole nations determined her
in the matter, as her acceptance of the royal dig-
92 MEMOIRS OF
nity was the only visible means left to preserve
the Protestant Religion not only in Great- Bri
tain, but every where beside.
Though her mind discovered no tincture of en
thusiasm, yet she could not avoid thinking that
her preservation during her childhood in that
flexibility of age and understanding without so
much as one single attempt made upon her, was
to be ascribed to a special Providence watching
over her. To this she added her early deliverance
from the danger of all temptations, and the ad
vantages she enjoyed afterwards to employ much
privacy in so large a course of study, which had
not been possible for her to have attained, if she
had lived in the constant dissipation of a public
court. These things concurring convinced her
that God had conducted her by an immediate
hand, and that she was raised up to preserve that
religion which was then every where in its last
agonies; but yet when these and many other con
siderations, to which she had carefully attended,
determined her to take the throne, nature still
felt itself loaded. She bore her elevation with
the outward appearances of satisfaction, because
she thought it became her not to discourage others,
or give them an occasion to believe that her un
easiness was of another nature than it really was,
but in the whole matter she put a constraint upon
herself, that is, upon her temper, (for no consi
deration whatsoever could have induced her to
have forced her conscience) that was more sensi
ble and violent to her than any thing that could
have been wished her by her most virulent ene
mies.
Her sense of religion and duty not only ope
rated in this great step of life, of such moment to
herself, and benefit to the world, but the whole of
her character and behaviour abundantly evinced
what an extraordinary piety and virtue possessed
her soul. Her punctual exactness not only to
QUEEN MARY. 93
public offices, but to her secret retirements, was
so regular, that it was never put off in the great
est croud of business, or little journies; for then,
though the hour was anticipated, the duty was
never neglected. She took care to be so early on
these occasions that she might never either quite
forget, or very much shorten that devotion upon
which she reckoned that the blessings of the
whole day turned. She observed the Lord s-day
so religiously, that, besides her hours of retire
ment, she was constantly thrice a day in the pub
lic worship of God, and for a great part of the
year four times a day, while she lived beyond sea.
She was constant to her monthly attendances at
the Sacrament of the Lord s Supper, and withdrew
herself more than ordinary in preparation for some
days before them. In them, as well as in all the
other parts of the worship of God, an uncommon
seriousness ever appeared in her, without one
glance allowed for- observation. She spread a
spirit of devotion among all who were about her,
who could not see so much in her without being
affected in something of the same manner them
selves, though few attained to such a steady ap
plication as they beheld in her. In her demeanour
in the house of God there was nothing theatrical,
nothing given to show. Every thing was sincere
as well as solemn, and genuine as well as ma
jestic.
Her attentions to sermons was so entire that,
as her eye never wandered from a good preacher,
so she discovered no weariness at an indifferent
one. When she was asked how she could be so
attentive to some sermons that fell remarkably be
low perfection, she would answer, " that she
" thought it did not become her by any part of
u her behaviour to discourage, or so much as seem
;< to dislike one, who was doing his best." The
hardest censure that she passed upon the poorest
preachers was to say nothing to their advantage,
JH MEMOIRS OF
for she never with-held her commendations from
any who deserved them. She was not content to
be devout herself, but she strove to infuse the
same temper into all who came near her, and chief
ly into those whom she took into her more imme
diate care, whom she studied to form to religion
with all the love and watchfulness of a mother.
She charmed them with her instructions, and won
them with her kindness. Never was mistress both
feared and loved so entirely as she was. She dis
persed good books of instruction to all who were
around her, arid gave frequent orders that they
should be laid in places of attendance, that such
as waited might not be condemned to idleness,
but might profitably entertain themselves, while
they were in their turns of service.
The raising the reputation and authority of the
Clergy as the chief mean for advancing religion
was that to which she intended to apply herself
with the utmost diligence. She knew that the
only true way to secure this point was to engage
them to be exemplary in their lives, and abundant
in their labours, to watch over their flocks, and
to edify them by good preaching, and diligent
catechising. She was resolved to have the whole
nation understand that by these methods only Di
vines were to be recommended to favour and pre
ferment. She made it visible that the steps were
to be made by merit, and not by friendship and
importunity. She charged those whom she trusted
most in such matters to look out for the best men,
and the best preachers, that they might be made
known to her. She was under a real anxiety when
church preferments, especially such as were most
eminent, were to be disposed of. She reckoned
that the disposition of them was one of the main
branches of her care. When she apprehended that
friendship might give a bias to those whom she
allowed to speak to her on those heads, she told
them of it with the authority that became her,
QUE1S T MARY. 95
and which they well deserved. She could deny
the most earnest solicitations with a true firmness,
when she thought the person for whom they were
made did not merit them, for desert was superior
with her to all other considerations. But when
she denied applications of this sort, she did it with
so much softness, and upon such good reason,
that they who might be mortified hy the repulse
were yet obliged to confess that she was in the
right, even at the time, for the sake of a friend,
they wished for once she had been in the wrong.
It grieved her to hear in what a condition many
of the churches of England were, who were sunk
into such extreme poverty that it was scarce possi
ble, even by the help of a plurality, to find a sub
sistence in them. She had formed a design to bring
them all to a just state of plenty, and to afford a
due encouragement to ministers among them. But
pluralities and non-residence, when not enforced
by real necessity, were so odious to her, that she
determined to throw such perpetual disgraces up
on them as should oblige all persons to let go the
hold they had gotten of these cures of souls, over
whom they did not watch, and among whom they
did not labour. In a full discourse upon this very
subject, the day before she was seized with her
fatal disease, she said, " She had no great hopes
" of rectifying matters, but that she was resolved
" to go on, and never suffer herself to be dis-
" couraged, or lose heart. She would still try
" what could be done, and pursue her design,
" how slow, or insensible soever the progress
" might be."
No intimation was ever let fall before her in any
discourse that offered a probable mean of Reform
ation which was lost by her, and she would call
upon persons to turn the motion over and over
again, till she had formed her own thoughts con
cerning it. It was amazing to see how well she
96 MEMOIRS OF
understood sucli matters, and how zealous she
was in promoting them.
She rightly judged, that the true end of power,
and the best exercise of it were to do good, and
to make the world the better for it. She often
said that she found nothing in it to make it sup
portable, not to say pleasant, besides that consi
deration ; and she wondered that the true plea
sure which accompanied it did not engage princes
to pursue it more effectually. Without this she
thought that a private life with moderate circum
stances was , the happier as well as safer state.
When reflections were once made before her of
the sharpness of some historians who had left very
dishonourable imputations on the memory of some
princes, she answered, " That if those princes
" were truly such as their historians represented
" them they had well deserved that treatment,
" and that others who tread in their steps might
" look for the same, for that truth would be told
" at last, and that with the more severity of style
" for being so long restrained. She observed that
" it was a gentle suffering for such princes to be
" exposed to the world in their true colours, much
" below what others had suffered at their hands.
She thought that all such sovereigns ought to read
" Procopius* ; for how much soever he may have
" aggravated matters, and how unbecomingly so-
" ever he may have written, yet by such books
" they might see what would be probably said of
" themselves when all terrors and restraints should
" fall off with their lives. 1 She encouraged those
whom she admitted to frequent access to lay be
fore her all the occasions of doing good that might
occur to their thoughts, and was always well-
pleased when new opportunities were offered to
her in which she might exercise that which was
* An Historian who flourished. Anno Dom. 530.
QUEEN MARY. 97
the most esteemed by her of all her prerogatives.
So desirous was she to know both how to correct
what might be amiss, and to promote every good
design, that she not only allowed of great freedom
in bringing propositions of that kind to her, but
she charged the consciences of some with a com
mand to keep nothing of that nature from her,
which they thought she ought to be acquainted
with. Nor were such motions ever unacceptable
to her, even when circumstances made it impos
sible for her to put them in execution.
She was the delight of all who knew her by the
obliging tenderness with which she treated all
those who came near her. She made the afflic
tions of the unhappy easier to them by the share
she took in them, and the necessities of the mi
serable the more supportable by the relief she
gave them. She was tender of those who deserved
her favour, and compassionate to those who
wanted her pity. It was easy for her to reward,
for all sorts of bounty came readily from her
hands, but it was hard for her to punish except
when the nature of the crime made mercy become
a cruelty, and then she was inflexible not only to
importunity, but to the tenderness of her own
disposition.
Her bounty and her compassion had great mat
ter given them upon which to exert themselves.
And how wide soever her sphere may have been
she rather went beyond than confined herself
within it. Those worthy confessors and exiles,
whom the persecution of France sent over hither,
as well as to the United Provinces, felt the ten
derness as well as the munificence of the welcome
she gave them. The confusions of Ireland drove
over multitudes of all ranks who fled hither for
shelter, and were soon reduced to great straits
from a state of -as great plenty. Most of these
by her means were both supported during their
stay, and enabled to return home after the storm
VOL. i. a
)8 MEMOIRS OF
was over. The largeness of the supplies that were
given, and the tender manner of giving them
made their exile both the shorter, and the more
tolerable. The miserable among ourselves, parti
cularly such who suffered by the accidents of
war, found a relief in her that was easily obtain
ed, and was copiously furnished. She would
never limit any from laying proper objects for her
charity in her way, nor confine that care to the
ministers who were her almoners. She encouraged
all about her, or who had free access to her to ac
quaint her with the necessities under which per
sons of true merit might languish. And she
never was uneasy at applications of that kind, nor
was her hand ever scanty, when the person was
worthy, or the extremity great. She was regular
and exact in this her bounty. She found that
even a royal treasure, though dispensed by an
hand that was yet more royal, could not answer
all demands ; for which reason she took care to
have a just account both of the worthiness, and
the necessities of those who were candidates for
her liberality, and in the conducting of her cha
rity shewed as great an exactness, and as atten
tive a regard, as much memory, and as much di
ligence, as if she had no cares of an higher na
ture lying upon her. But what crowned all was
her exact conformity to the rule of the gospel in
her munificence, so that none knew to whom, or
what she gave, but those whom she was forced to
employ in the communication of her bounty.
"When it was to fall on persons who had access to
her, her own hand was the conveyance. What
went through other hands was charged on them
with an injunction of secrecy; and she herself
was so far from speaking of her charities, that,
when some persons were mentioned as objects,
who had been already named by others, and re
lieved by herself, she would not let those who
spake to her understand any thing that had been
QUEEN MAftY. 99
done, but either she let the matter pass over in si
lence, or, if the necessity was represented as
heavier than she had apprehended it, a new supply
was given without so much as an hint of what had
gone before.
The piety of this excellent person, as it was a
noble support to her under some kinds of trou
ble, so it gave the sharper edge to others. The
deep sense she had of the judgments that seemed
to be hanging over the nation often broke out in
many sad strains to those to whom she gave a
freer vent to her thoughts. The impieties and
blasphemies, the open contempt of religion, and
the scorn of virtue, which she heard of from so
many hands, and in so many different parts of the
nation, gave her a secret horror, and presented
her with such a black prospect as filled her with
melancholy reflections. She was the more sen
sibly touched, when at any time she heard that
some, who pretended to much zeal for the crown
and the Revolution, seemed thence to think they
had some sort of right to be indulged in their li
centiousness, and irregularities. She often said,
:< Can a blessing be expected from such hands, or
^ on any thing that must pass through them?"
She longed to see a set of men of uprightness and
probity, of generous tempers, and public spirits,
in whose hands the concerns of the crown and
people might be lodged with reasonable hopes of
success, and a blessing from heaven on their ser
vices. She had a just esteem of all persons whom
she found truly religious and virtuous ; nor could
any other considerations weigh much with hep
when these excellencies were not to be found.
Next to open impiety, the want of heat arid life
in those who pretended to religion, and the dead-
ness and disunion of the Protestants in general,
very sensibly affected her, and she often said with
feeling and cutting regret, " Can such dry bones
"/*w" When she heard what cry ing sins
H 2
100 MEMOIRS OF
abounded in our fleets and armies she gave such
directions as seemed practicable to those who she
thought might in some measure correct them, and
she gave some in very eminent stations to under
stand that nothing could both gratify, and even
oblige her more, than that care should be taken
to stop those growing disorders, and to reduce
things to the seriousness and sobriety of former
times. The last great project that her thoughts
were working upon with relation to a noble and
royal provision for maimed and decayed seamen
was particularly designed to be so constituted as
to put them in a probable way of concluding
their days in the fear of God. It gave her a sen
sible concern to hear that Ireland was scarce
emerged from its abyss of miseries before it was
returning to the levities, and even to the abomi
nations of former times. She took particular me
thods to be w r ell informed of the state of our
plantations, and of those colonies that we have
among infidels. But it w r as no small grief to her
to hear that those colonies were but too generally
a reproach to the religion by which they were
named. She gave a willing ear to a proposition
that was made for erecting schools, and the found
ing of a college among them. She considered
the whole scheme of it, and the endowment
which was desired for it. It was a noble one,
and was to rise out of some branches of the re
venue, which made it liable to objections; but
she took care to consider the whole matter so
well, that she herself answered all objections, and
espoused it with such an affectionate concern that
she digested and prepared it for the king ; and as
she knew how large a share of zeal his majesty had
for good projects, she took care also to give him
the largest share of the honour of them, nor in
deed could any thing inflame her more than the
prospect of advancing religion, especially where
there were hopes of working upon infidels.
QUEEN MARY. 101
Her concern and charity were not limited to
that which might seem to be her peculiar pro
vince, and was more especially put under her care.
The foreign churches had also a liberal share of
her regard and munificence. She was not insen
sible of the kindness of the Dutch. She remem
bered it always with a tender gratitude, and was
heartily touched with their interests. The refu
gees of France were considered by her as those
whom God had sent to sit safe under her shadow,
and to be made easy through her favour. Those
scattered remains of our Protestant brethren,
that had been hunted out of their rallies in Pied
mont, were again brought together by their ma
jesties means. It was the king s powerful inter
cession that restored them to their seats as well as
to their edicts, and it was the queen s charity that
formed them into bodies, and opened the way for
their enjoying those advantages, and transmitting
them clown to succeeding ages. She took care
also for preserving the little that was left of the
Bohemian churches. She formed nurseries of re
ligion in some of those parts of Germany, which
were exhausted by war, and were disabled from
carrying on the education of their youth, that
they might secure to the next age the faith which
they themselves professed.
If we consider the subject of our memoirs more
particularly as a queen, and sometimes at the
head of government, we shall be struck with ad
miration, and shall behold her on a summit of
greatness, in which she appeared with the highest
glory to herself, and the greatest benefit to her
people. She was punctual to her hours, patient
in her audiences, gentle in commanding, prudent
in speaking, cautious in promising, soft in repre
hending, ready in rewarding, and diligent in or
dering, and she had an ear open to all that was
suggested to her. That there might be a fulness
of leisure for every thing the day was early be-
102 MEMOIRS OF
gun. Nothing was done in haste. There were
no appearances of hurry or impatience. Her de
votions both private and public were not shorten
ed, and yet she found time enough for keeping up
the chearfulness of a court, and the admission of
all persons to her, whom it was proper for her to
receive. She was not so entirely possessed by the
greatest cares that she forgot the smallest,
If any thing was ever found in her that might
seem to fall too low it was that her humility and
modesty really depressed her too much in her own
eyes, and that she might too soon be made to
think that the reasons which were offered to her by
others were better than her own. But this diffi
dence only took place in such matters in which
the want of practice might make a modest distrust
seem more reasonable, and when she saw nothing
in what was before in which conscience had any
share, for whensoever that appeared, she was firm
and immoveable.
Her administration of public affairs had a pe
culiar felicity attending it. There was somewhat
in her that disarmed many of her enemies. When
they came near her, they were soon conquered by
her ; while the wisdom and secrecy of her conduct
defeated the designs of such of her adversaries
who were restless and implacable. The nation
seemed once while she was at the helm to be much
exposed. Unprosperous events at sea afforded
the French the appearance of a triumph. They
lay along t\\e British coasts, and were some time
masters of the British seas. But a secret guard
seemed to environ our country. All the harm that
our enemies did us in one instance of barbarity*,
* The French fleet, (says bishop Bit met. History of Ms own
Time, Vol. III. p. 74. 8vo. edit, after he had related the unsuc
cessful engagement our fleet had with it near Beachy in Sussex in
the year 1690,) lay for some days in Torbay ; but before they
sailed they made a descent on a miserable village called Tinmouth,
that happened to belong to & papist. They burnt it, and a few
QUEEX MAH\.
which might shew what our general treatment
might probably have been if we had become their
prey, was but small, arid seemed rather permitted
by heaven to unite the nation against them. The
people lost no courage by it. Their zeal was the
more inflamed. This was the queen s first essay of
government ; in which she, who upon ordinary
occasions was not out of countenance to own a
fear that did not misbecome her, now, when a vi
sible danger threatened her, shewed a firmness of
mind, arid composure of behaviour that made
even men of the greatest courage ashamed of
themselves. She covered the inward apprehensions
she had with such an equality of conduct that she
seemed afraid of nothing, when she had reason to
fear the worst that could happen. She was re
solved, if things should have proceeded to extre
mities, to have ventured herself with her people,
and either to have saved them, or to have pe
rished with them.
This was such a beginning of the exercise of
royal power as might for ever have given her a
disgust of it; but she appeared all the time to
possess her soul in patience, and to live in a con
stant resignation of herself to the will of God,
without any anxiety concerning events. The
happy news of the signal victory at the Boyne,
where king James s army was routed by king
Williams,, antl the preservation of his majesty s
person from the surest instruments of death,
which seemed to be sent with that direction that
it might shew the immediate watchfulness of pro-
fibhcr-boats that belonged to it, but the inhabitants got away ; and
as a body of militia was marching thither the French made great
haste back to their ships. The French published this in their ga
zettes with much pomp, as it it had been a great trading town,
that had many ships with some men of war in port. Tins both
rendered them ridiculous, and served to raise the hatred of the
nation against them, for every town on the coast saw what they
must expect if the french should prevail.
104 MEMOIRS OF
vidence about him, soon reversed the scene, and
put another face on public affairs. The queen
only seemed the least changed. She looked more
chearful, but with the same tranquillity. The
appearances of it had never left her. Nor was it
a small addition to her joy, that her father, for
whom she still retained profound regards, was pre
served*. Though she was no part of the cause of
the war, yet she would willingly have sacrificed
her own life to have preserved either of those
lives, (her husband s or father s) who were in clan
ger. She spoke of that matter two days after the
intelligence came with so tender a sense of the
goodness of God to her that it drew tears from
her eyes, and then she freely confessed, " that
" her heart had trembled, not so much from the
" apprehension of the danger that she herself was
<c in, as from the scene that was then in action at
" the Boyne, that God had heard her prayers,
" and she blessed him for it with as sensible a joy
" as for any thing that had ever happened to
her."
The next season of her administration con
cluded the reduction of Ireland. The expecta
tions of success there were once so much sunk
that it seemed that that island was to be yet for
another year the field of blood, and an heap of
ashes. The good queen laid the blame of this in
a great measure on the licentiousness and other
disorders that she heard had rather increased than
abated among them. A sudden turn came from a
bold, but necessary resolution, which was exe
cuted as gallantly as it was generously undertaken,
* The earl of Nottingham told me that when he carried the
news to the queen, and acquainted her in a few words that the
king was well, that he had gained an entire victory, and that the
late king had escaped, he observed her looks, and found that the
last article made her joy complete, which seemed in some sus
pense, till she understood that. Burners History of his own Time,
Vol. III. p. 75.
QUEEX MARY. 105
and in the face of a great army an handful of men
passed the river Shannon, forced Athlone, and
made the enemy to retire in haste. A great vic
tory followed a few days after, that of general
G inkle over St. R-uth at Agrtm. From which
time success was less doubtful. All was con
cluded with the happy reduction of the whole
Island. The reflections the queen made on this
happy event were of the same tincture with that
of all her thoughts, namely, " that our forces
" elsewhere both at sea aud land were thought to
" be considerable, and so promising that we were
" in great hopes of somewhat that might be de-
" cisive, only Ireland t as apprehended to be too
" weakly furnished for a concluding campaign,
" yet so different," said she, u are the methods
" of Providence from human expectations that
" nothing memorable happened any where except
" in Ireland, where little or nothing was ex-
" pected."
She was again in the administration of affairs
when the nation was threatened with a descent
and an invasion, that was conducted with that
secresy that the kingdom was in danger of being
surprized by it, when the preparations at sea were
not finished, and the force at land was not consi
derable. The struggle was like to have been for
midable, and there was a particular violence to be
done to herself by reason of him (her jut her)
who was to have conducted it. A long uninter
rupted continuance of boisterous weather, that
came from the point that was most contrary to the
designs of our enemies, made the project imprac
ticable. A succession of changes of weather fol
lowed after as happily to ourselves, and as fatal to
our foes. The same wind that stopped their fleets
joined ours. The wind went not out of that di
rection till it ended in one of the most glorious
actions that England ever saw ; that of the vic
tory over the French fleet by admiral Russel at
106 MEMOIRS OF
La Hogue, in the year 1692, when those, who
were brought together to invade our kingdom,
were forced to be the melancholy spectators of
the destruction of the best part of their fleet, on
which all their hope was placed.
The queen bore success with the same decency
in which she appeared when affairs were perplexed
and clouded. So firm a situation of mind as she
had seemed to be in a good measure above the
power of any events of any sort whatsoever.
So far was she from entertaining an high opi
nion of herself that she had a tender sense of any
thing that looked like a miscarriage under her con
duct, and was afraid lest some mistake of hers
might have occasioned it. When difficulties grew
too great to be surmounted, and she felt an unea
siness in them she made God her refuge, and she
often owned that she found a full calm upon her
thoughts after she had given them a free vent be
fore him in prayer.
When melancholy events came from the imme
diate hand of heaven, particularly a great loss at
sea, she said, " That though there was no occa-
" sion for complaint, or anger upon these cross
" events, yet there was a juster cause of grief,
" since God s hand was to be seen so particularly
" in them." Sometimes she feared there might
be some secret sins at the root, and blast all, but
she soon went off from that, and said, " That
" where so much was visible there was no need of
" divination concerning that which might be
" hidden."
When the sky grew clearer, and in her more
prosperous days, as we have before observed, she
was never lifted up. A great resolution was taken,
which not only asserted a dominion over those
seas which Great-Britain claimed as her own,
but assumed a more extensive empire by our be
coming masters both of the Ocean, and Medi
terranean^ having our enemies coasts as well as
QUEEN MARY. 107
the seas open to us. The queen had too tender
an heart to take any real satisfaction in the destruc
tion of any of her enemies towns, or in the ruin
of their poor and innocent inhabitants. She spake
of such proceedings with true indignation against
those who had begun such practices, even in full
peace, or after protections had been given. She
was sorry that the state of war made it necessary
to restrain another prince from such barbarities
by making himself feel the effects of them, and
therefore she said, "She hoped that such practices
" should become so odious in all that should be-
" gin them, and by their doing so force others to
" retaliate, that for the future they should be for
" ever laid aside."
In her brightest seasons she grew not secure,
nor did she withdraw her dependence upon God.
In all the pleasures of life she maintained a true
indifference as to the continuation of them, and
she seemed to think of parting with them in so
easy a manner that it plainly appeared how little
possession they had got of her bent. She had no
occasion for these thoughts from any other prin
ciple but a mere disgust of this life, and the aspi
ration of her soul to a better. She apprehended
she felt once or twice such indispositions upon her
that she concluded nature was working toward
some great sickness, and accordingly she set her
self to take full and broad views of death, that
hence she might judge how she should be able to
encounter her enemy. But she found so quiet an
indifference upon the prospect, leaning rather to
ward the desire of a dissolution, that she said,
That though she did not pray for death, yet she
" could neither wish nor pray against it. She
" left that before God, and referred herself to the
" disposal of Providence. If she did not wish for
" death, yet she did not fear it."
As this was her temper, when she viewed death
at some distance, so she maintained the same calm
108 MEMOIRS OF
when in the closest straggle with it. In her sick
ness, that of the Small pox, she only was serene,
when all was in a storm about her. The dismal
sighs of all who came near her could not discom
pose her. She was rising so fast above mortality,
that even her husband, who was more to her than
all the world besides, and to all whose thoughts
she had been upon every other occasion entirely
resigned, could not now inspire her with any de
sires of returning back to life. Her mind seemed
to be disentangling itself from her body, and so
she rose above that tenderness that had a greater
influence upon her than all other earthly things
whatsoever. It seemed indeed that all that was
mortal was falling off, when even that could give
her no uneasiness. She received the intimations
of approaching death with a firmness that neither
bent nor softened under that which has made the
strongest minds tremble. Then, when even the
most artificial grow sincere, when the mask of
hypocrisy drops and opens the full soul to view,
it appeared what a perfect calm, and how sublime
a piety possessed her. A ready willingness to be
dissolved, and an entire resignation to the will of
God did not seem to forsake her so much as one
minute, nor had any thing been left to be dis
patched by her in her last hours. Her mind was
in no hurry, but soft as the small voice that seem
ed to be calling her soul away to the regions above.
So that she made her last steps with a stability and
seriousness that, how little ordinary soever they
be, were indeed the correspondent harmonious
conclusions of such a life as she had led. In her
heavy disease she felt no inward depression, nor
sinking of nature. She then declared, " that
" she experienced the joys of a good conscience,
" and the powers of religion giving her supports,
* which even the last agonies could not shake,"
Her constant gentleness to all about her never left
lien That was indeed natural to her, but by its
QUEEN MAItY. 109
Continuance with her in her sickness all visibly
perceived that nothing could put her mind out of
its natural situation and usual state. A few hours
before she breathed her last, when lie who mi
nistered to her in the best things had continued
in a long attendance about her, she was so free
in her thoughts, that apprehending he might be
weary, she commanded him to sit down, and re
peated her orders till he obeyed them. A tiling
too trifling in itself to be mentioned, but that it
discovered her presence of mind, as well as the
sweetness of her disposition. Prayer was then her
constant exercise, as often as she was awake, and
so sensible was the refreshment that her mind found
in it that she said she thought it did her more
good, and gave her more case than any thing that
was done to her. Nature sunk apace. She re
ceived the blessed Sacrament with a devotion that
inflamed as well as melted all who saw it. That
being over, she gave up herself so entirely to me
ditation that she seemed scarce to regard any thino-
beside. She was then upon the wing. Such was
her peace in her latter end that though the symp
toms shewed that nature was much oppressed yet
she scarce felt any uneasiness. It was only from
what she perceived was done to her, and from
those intimations that were given her that she
judged her life to be in danger; but she scarce
knew herself to be sick by any thing that she felt
at heart. Her bearing so much sickness with so
little emotion was fora while imputed to that un
disturbed quiet and patience in which she possessed
her soul. But when she repeated it so often that
she felt herself well inwardly it then appeared that
there was a particular blessing in so easy a conclu
sion of a life that had been led through a great
variety of events with a constant equality of "tem
per. And thus this most excellent princess put
off mortality, and passed from an earthly to an
110 MEMOIRS OF
heavenly crown, a crown of glory that shall never
fade away.
The above account of this most amiable woman
Is for substance extracted from bishop Burnet s
Essay on her Memory, who had more than com
mon advantages of knowing her first in Holland,
and afterwards in England, who has not been
reckoned an historian by any means redundant in
his praises, and who declares that he said nothing
but what he knew to be strictly true, without the
enlargement of figure or rhetoric*. That we
might do full justice to the character of the queen,
or at least make our best attempts for the purpose,
we shall collect from the same writer, from Dr.
Edward Fowler, bishop of Gloucester, and from
Dr. William Bates, an eminent non-conformist
minister, who preached a sermon on her death,
some further memorials and descriptions of this
very extraordinary person.
In most people even those of the truest merit a
studied management will sometimes appear with
a little too much varnish, like a nocturnal piece
that has a light cast through even the most shaded
parts ; some disposition to set one s self off, and
some satisfaction in being commended will at
some time or another shew itself more or less. All
persons who had the honour to approach the queen,
and particularly such who were admitted to the
greatest nearness, and the most constant attend
ance, never discovered any thing of this nature
in her. When due acknowledgments were made,
or decent things were said upon occasions that
well deserved them, they seemed scarce to be
heard. They were so little desired, that they were
presently passed over, without so much as an an
swer that might seem to entertain the discourse,
even when it checked it. She went oif from it
to other subjects, as one who could not bear it.
* Bur net s History of his own time, Vol. III. p. 1)0.
QUEEN MARY. Ill
In- her were seen the most active zeal for the pub
lic, and a constant delight in doing good joined
with such unaffected humility, and indifference to
applause, that the most critical observers could
never see reason to think that the secret flatteries
of vanity or self-love wrought inwardly, or had
any power over her.
An open and native sincerity, which appeared
in genuine characters in a manner quite free and
unconstrained, easily persuaded all who were about
her that all was uniform and consistent, and was
at the same time united with a charming beha
viour, a most amiable sweetness, and the spright-
liness as well as the freedom of a true good hu
mour. A fresh and graceful air more turned to
seriousness, but always serene, that dwelt upon her
looks, discovered both the perfect calm within,
and shewed the force as well as the loveliness of
those principles, which were the springs of so
chearful a temper, and so lively a deportment.
The freedom of chearf illness is not always un
der an exact command. It will make escapes
from rules, and be apt to go too far, and to forget
all measures and bounds. It is seldom kept under
a perpetual guard. The openness of the queen s
behaviour was subject to universal observation,
but yet it was under that regularity of conduct,
that they who knew her best, and saw her of-
tenest, could never discover her thoughts or in
tentions further than as she herself bad- a mind to
let them be known. No half word, or change of
look, no forgetfulness, or career of discourse ever
drew any thing from her further or sooner than
she designed it. This caution was managed bj
her in so peculiar a way that no distrust was shewn
hi it, nor distaste given by it. It appeared to be
no other than that due reserve which became her
elevation, and suited those affairs- which were to
pass through her hands. When she saw reason
for it, she had the truest methods to oblige others
11 MEMOIRS Oi
to use all becoming freedom with herself, while at
the same time she kept them at a proper distance
from her own thoughts.
She would never borrow any assistance from
those arts, which are so common to great stations
that some perhaps may imagine them necessary.
She did not cover her purposes by doubtful ex
pressions, or such general words, as taken strictly
signify little, but in common use are understood
to import a great deal more. As she would not
deceive others, so she avoided the saying of that
which might give them an occasion to deceive
themselves, and when she did not intend to pro
mise, she took care to explain her meaning so cri
tically that it might be understood that no con
struction of a promise was to be made from ge
neral words of favour. In a course of several
years, and of many turns, when great temptation
was given for more artificial methods, and when,
according to the maxims of the world, great ad
vantage might have been made of them, yet she
maintained her sincerity so entirely that she never
once needed . explanations to justify either her
words or actions.
What was good and what was great in human
nature were so equally mixed, and both shone
with such a full brightness in her that it was hard
to tell in whether of the two she was the more
eminent.
She maintained that respect that belonged to
her sex without any of those mixtures which,
though generally speaking they do not much mis
become it, yet seem a little to lessen it. She
would never affect to be above it in common and
meaner things. She had a courage that was reso
lute and firm, mingled with a mildness that was
soft and attracting. She had in her all the graces
of her own sex with all the greatness of the other.
If she did not affect to be a Zenobla or a Boa-
dicia, it was not because she was destitute of their
QUEEN MARY. 113
courage, but because she understood the decen
cies of .her sex better than they did. A desire of
power, or an eagerness of empire were things so
far below her, though they generally pass for
heroicai qualities, that perhaps the world never yet
beheld so great a capacity for government joined
v/ith so little affection to it; so unwillingly as
sumed, so modestly managed, and so chcarfully
laid down.
She was distinguished for a clearness of appre
hension, a presence of mind, an exactness of me
mory, a solidity of judgment, and a correctness
of expression. No one took things sooner, or re
tained them longer. No one judged more truly,
or spoke more exactly. She wrote clear and
short with a true beauty and force of stile. She
discovered a superiority of genius even in the most
trifling matters, which were considered by her
only as amusements, and so gave no occasion for
deep, reflections. An happiness of imagination,
and a liveliness of expression appeared upon the
commonest subjects on a sudden, and in the
greatest variety of accidents. She was quick but
not hasty, and even without the ad vantages which
her rank gave her. She had an exaltation of mind,
which subdued as well as charmed all who came
near her.
A quickness of thought is often superficial. It
easily catches, and sparkles with some lustre, but
it lasts not long, nor does it strike deep. In the
queen a bright vivacity was joined with an ex
ploring diligence. Her age and her rank had de
nied her opportunities for much study, yet she had
made no inconsiderable advances in knowledge,
having read the best books in the three languages
(English, Dutch, and French) that were almost
equally familiar to her. She gave the most of
her hours to the study of the scriptures, and of
books relating to them. She had an uncommon
understanding in matters of divinity, and parti-
VOL. i. i
114 MEMOIRS OF
cularly she had so well considered our disputes
with the church of Rome that she was capable of
managing debates in them with equal degrees of
address and judgment.
Next to the best subjects she bestowed much of
her time on books of history, principally of the
later ages, particularly those of her own king
doms, as being the most proper to afford her use
ful instruction. She was a good judge as well as
a great lover of poetry. She liked it best when
it was employed on the best subjects. So tender
she was of poetry, though much more of virtue,
that the prostitution of the Muses among us gave
her a more than ordinary concern. She made
some steps to the understanding philosophy and
mathematics, but she stopped soon, only she went
far in natural history and perspective, as she was
also very exact in geography. Upon the whole,
she studied and read more than could be imagined
by any who had not known how many of her hours
were spent in her closet. She would have made a
much greater progress if the frequent returns of
ill humours on her eyes had not compelled her to
spare them. Her very diversions gave indica
tions of a mind that was truly great. She had no
relish for those lazy entertainments, if they may
deserve the name, that are the too common con
sumers of most peoples time, and that make as
great wastes on their minds, as they do on their
fortunes. If she sometimes used them, she made
it visible it was only in compliance with forms,
because she was unwilling to offend others with
too harsh a severity. She gave her minutes of
leisure with the greatest willingness to architec
ture and gardening. She had a fruitfulness of in
vention with a felicity of contrivance that had
airs in them which were nobler than what was
more stiff, though it might be more regular. She
knew that these things drew an expence after
them, but she had no inclinations beyond these
QUEEN MARY. 115
to any diversions that were costly, and, since
these employed many hands, she was pleased to
say, " That she hoped it would be forgiven
her."
When her eyes were endangered by reading too
much she betook herself to the amusement of
work, and in all those hours that were not given
to better employment she wrought with her own
hands, and that sometimes with as constant a di
ligence as if she had been to earn her bread by her
labour. It was a new thing, and looked like a
sight to see a queen work so many hours a day.
But she considered idleness as the great corrupter
of human nature, and believed that if the mind
had no employment given it it would create some
of the worst sort to itself, and she thought that
any thing that might amuse and divert without
leaving any ill effects behind ought to fill up those
vacant hours that were not claimed by devotion
or business. Her example soon wrought not only
on those who belonged to her, but upon the
whole town to follow it, so that it became in her
time as much the fashion to work as it had been to
sit idle. In this particular, which seemed to be
nothing, and was made by some a subject of rail-
ery, a greater step was taken than perhaps every
one was aware of to the bettering the age. While
the queen thus diverted herself with work, she
took care to give an entertainment to her own
mind, as well as to those who were admitted to
the honour of working with her. One was ap
pointed to read to the rest ; the choice was suited
to the time of the day, and the employment:
some book or poem that was lively as well as in
structive. Few of her sex, not to say of her rank,
gave ever less time to dressing, or seemed less cu
rious about it. Those parts of it which required
more patience were not given up entirely to it. She
read often all the time herself, and generally
aloud, that those who served about her might be
116 MEMOIRS OF
the better for it. When she was indisposed,
ther was called to do it. The whole was mixed
with such pleasant reflections of her own that the
gloss was often better than the text. An agree
able vivacity diffused that innocent chearfulness
among all about her, that whereas in most courts
the hours of strict attendance are the heaviest
part of the day, they were in hers of all others the
most delightful.
Her chearfulness might well be termed inno
cent, for none was ever hurt by it. No natural
defects, nor real faults were ever the subjects of
her mirth, nor could she bear it in others if their
wit happened to glance that way. She thought
it a cruel and barbarous thing to be merry at other
peoples cost, or to make the misfortunes or follies
of others the matter of diversion. She scarce
ever expressed a more entire satisfaction in any
sermon that she had heard than in that of arch
bishop Tillotson against Evil-speaking. When
she thought some were guilty of it she would ask
them if they had read that sermon. This was
understood to be a reprimand though in the soft
est manner, She had indeed one of the blessings
of virtue, but which does not always accompany
it, for she was as free from censures, as she was
from deserving them. When reflections were made
on this her felicity, she said, " That she ascribed
" it wholly to the goodness of God to her, for
" she did not doubt but that many fell under hard
" censures that deserved them as little." She also
gave the matter this further turn, "That God knew
her weakness, and that she was not able to bear
" some imputations, and therefore he did not try
" her beyond her strength." In one respect she
intended never to provoke censure. She was con
scientiously tender of wounding others, and said,
" she hoped God would still bless her in her good
" name, as long as she was careful not to hurt
" others." But as she was exact in not wronging
QUEEN MARY. 117
any other while she diverted herself, so upon in*
different subjects she had a spring of chearfulness
in her that was never to be exhausted. It never
sunk by repetition, nor degenerated into a forced
mirth.
Dr. Bates s character of the queen may be con
sidered as an abriclg ment, not without some very
acceptable additions, of what has been already
more diffusively said concerning her. There are
an elegance and beauty in his thoughts and lan
guage that cannot fail of giving pleasure to our
readers.
" The descent of our queen was royal, but this
" is only an external circumstance, and derives
" no moral virtue to a person. The splendour of
" extraction, like varnish in a picture, that gives
" more life and lustre to the colours, makes the
" virtues or the vices of a person more conspi-
" cuous.
" Her body was the beautiful temple of a fairer
" soul*. Her graceful presence inspired reverence
" and love in those who saw her, and appeared
" worthy of empire. But we have much greater
" things to speak concerning her.
" I shall begin with her piety towards God.
n This is the first duty of man in order and dig-
" nity, and the most considerable in its conse-
" quences. It is the foundation of all royal vir-
" tues. In the public worship of God she was a
" bright example of solemn, and unaffected devo-
" tion. She prayed with humble reverence, heard
* Mr. Boyer gives this more particular description of her.
" Her person was tall, and well-proportioned. Her shape,
" while princess of Orange, easy and genteel ; her complexion
" light brown; her visage oval; her eyes quick and lively; and
" the rest of her features regular. Her stately port and native
" air of greatness commanded respect from the most confident,
" but her sweet and graceful countenance tempered the a\vful-
" ness of Majesty, and her affable temper encouraged the most
* timorous to approach her."
118 MEMOIRS OF
" the word with respectful silence, and with se-
" rious application of spirit, as duly considering
" the infinite interval between the supremacy of
" heaven and princes on earth; that their great-
(( ness in its lustre is but a faint and vanishing re-
" flection of the divine Majesty. One instance I
" shall specify in this kind. When her residence
" was at the Hague, a lady of noble quality
<c coming to the court to wait on her on a Sa-
<c turday in the afternoon, was told she was re-
" tired from all company, and kept a fast in pre-
" paration for the receiving the Sacrament the next
" day. The lady staying till five o clock, the
"princess came out, and contented herself with
" a very slender supper, it being incongruous to
" conclude a fast with a feast. Thus solemnly
" she prepared herself for spiritual communion
" with her Saviour. When Moses was surprized
" by the sight of the burning-bush, and intended
" to come near to it, he was warned by a voice
" from heaven, Draw not nigh hither: put off thy
" shoes from thy feet, for the place wherein thou
" standest is holy ground. By the familiar figure
" of putting off the shoes is signified the purify -
" ing ourselves from all defilements. And cer~
" tainly the presence of the Son of God is more
" peculiar in that sacred mysterious ordinance
" than it was in the burning-bush : accordingly
" we should sanctify ourselves, and approach with
" holy fear.
" Her religion was not confined to the chapel,
" but every day she had chosen hours for com-
" munion with God ; of which He is the only
c discerner and rewarder. Some who are high in
" the world think it sufficient to pay a compli-
" mental visit to God once a week, and content
" themselves with the external service, though
" destitute of holy affections, which are the life
" of religion, or at best are satisfied with a few
" expiring acts of devotion, but the good queen s
QUEEN MARY. 119
" conversation was in heaven. She was constant
" in those duties in which the soul ascends to God
" in solemn thoughts and ardent desires, and God
" descends into the soul by the excitations and
" influences or his Spirit.
" Her religion was not only exercised in divine
"worship, but was influential into practice. The
" law of God was written in her heart, and tran-
" scribed in her life in the fairest characters.
She had a sincere zeal for the healing our un-
" happy divisions in religious things, and declared
" her resolution upon the first address of some
" ministers that she would use all means for that
" blessed end. She was so wise as to understand
" the difference between matters doctrinal and ri-
" tuals, and so good as to allow a just liberty for
" dissenters in things of small moment. She was
" not fettered with superstitious scruples, but her
" clear and free spirit was for the union of Chris-
" tians in things essential to Christianity. The
" holiness of her life was universal. She was born
X and lived in a court that shines in pomp, and
" flows in pleasures, and presents charming temp-
" tations to all the distempered appetites. Pride,
" that destroyed both worlds, and cleaves so close
" to human nature, reigns there. The love of
" pleasure is a soft seducer that easily insinuates
" itself through the senses, and captivates the soul.
" It is an observation of St. Chrysostom, that the
" preserving the three Hebrew martyrs unpolluted
" in the court of Babylon was a greater miracle
" than the preserving them unsinged in the fiery
" furnace. In the absence of temptations the
" corrupt nature is sometimes so concealed that
" it is hardly known to itself, but when tempting
" objects, armed with allurements, offer them-
" selves, the corrupt nature is presently discover-
|{ ed, especially if a person comes to the licence
" of a sceptre, that swells pride, and authorizes
11 the exorbitant desires. To be humble in such
120 MEMOIRS OF
" an high elevation, to be temperate in the midst
: of the freest fruitions, is the effect of powerful
" grace. But whoever saw in the queen an ap-
pearance of pride and disdain? How grateful
< was the condescendence of her greatness ? Who-
" ever saw any disorder in her countenance, the
" crystal wherein the affections are visible ? Her
: * breast was like the pacific sea that seldom suffers,
" and is disturbed by a storm. She was so exempt
from the tyranny of the angry passions, that
c we may have some conjecture of the felicity of
" the state of unstained innocence, of which one
ray is so amiable. She had such an abhorrence
"of%the sensual passions that nothing impure
" durst approach her presence.
She had an excellent understanding that qua-
: lified her for government. Of this her presid-
ing in council in times of clanger, and preserv-
:c ing the tranquillity of the kingdom were real
: proofs.
Her charity, that celestial grace, was like the
" sun : nothing within her circuit was hid from
:c its refreshing heat. Love is the clearest notion
1 we have of the Deity. God is Love. A prince
:i in no perfection resembles God more than in his
" communicative goodness. I will mention one
" act of her pious charity, and the noble manner
-* of her doing it. A lord of great honour and
:< P iet y proposed to her a very good work that
< was chargeable. She ordered an hundred pounds
" should be paid to him for it. Some time inter-
: < posing before the receipt of the money, he
( waited upon the queen, and pleasantly told her
: that interest was due for the delay of payment.
She presently ordered that fifty pounds more
" should be given, which was done accordingly.
If it were known what this good queen did,
l and what she designed to do, among all her
c resplendent virtues, Charity would be illus-
:i trious.
QUEEN MARY. 121
Her wise redemption of time from unconcern-
u ing vanities for domestic affairs was the effect
" and indication of her tender and vigilant con-
" science. She considered her glass was con-
:( tinually running, and all the sands were to he
" accounted for. How should this great example
" correct those who are lavish of nothing so much
" as of time, which being lost is irrecoverable ?
The sun returns every day, but time never returns.
1 In her sickness patience had its perfect work.
c Her disease was uncomfortable, yet with resigned
" submission she bore it. When the danger "of it
was signified to her, she had no fearful thoughts
" about her future state. It is a cruel respect to
" sick persons, especially to princes, to conceal
from them their danger till death steals inscnsi-
: bly upon them. Indeed considering their past
lives, and their present anxieties, "the advice
" of approaching death is an anticipation of it.
But the spirit of this excellent saint was not
" afraid of evil tidings, but was fixed trusting in
the Lord. Her care had been to secure the
1 love of God in the best time of her life, and
this mixed cordial drops in the bitterness of
" death.
In short, all the blessed virtues were eminently
" seen in her that might render her government an
" entire happiness to the kingdom. This erected
1 her a throne in the hearts of her subjects, and
; the honour the wise Poet attributes to the em-
" peror Augustus,
Victor que volentes
Per populos da f jura.
Victorious wheresoe er he comes,
Crpwn d with immense applause,
He sees the willing nations bow
Obedient to his laws, VIRGIL.
!c that he ruled a willing people, may more truly
u be. said of this excellent princess. She was
MEMOIRS OF
" queen of the affections of the people, and go-
" verned them without constraint. Her praise-
" worthy actions will eternize her memory, when
" other princes, divested of their secular pomp,
" shall either be buried in dark oblivion, or con-
" demned in history.
There is a point of light in which we have not
as yet considered this most excellent princess, her
affection and conduct as a wife to that great man,
the prince of Orange, afterwards king William
the third, to whom she was married about seven
teen years. Such as have given an account of her
character have bestowed, and we doubt not with
sufficient reason, the highest praises upon her in
this relation. "She was," says bishop Burnet, "so
" tender and so respectful a wife, that she seemed
" to go beyond the most perfect idea to which wit
" or invention has been able to rise. The lowest
" condition of life, or the greatest inequality of
" fortune has not afforded so compleat a pattern.
" Tenderness and complacency seemed to strive
" which of them should be the more eminent.
" She had no higher satisfaction in the prospect
" of the greatness that was descending on her
" than that it gave her an occasion of making her
" husband a present worthy of himself; nor had
" crowns or thrones any charm in them that was
" so pleasant to her as that they raised him to a
" greatness which he so well deserved, and could
" so well maintain. She was all zeal and rapture
" when any thing was to be done that could either
" express affection, or shew respect to him. She
" obeyed with more pleasure than the most ambi-
" tious could have when they command*." That
the bishop s account of her in this view, and
other such like representations of her in the same
exalted strain by other writers that might be men
tioned do not surpass the truth, but are only a
Essay on the Memory of Queen Mary, p. 125, 12().
QUEEN MARY, 123
justice to her memory, we may well conclude from
what hoth the king said, and did during her sick
ness, and after her decease. When Dr. Tennison
upon her death went to comfort the king, his ma
jesty answered, " That he could not but grieve
" since he had lost a wife who in seventeen years
" had never been guilty of an indiscretion." " On
i( the third day of her illness," says bishop Bur-
net, " the king called me into his closet, and gave
" a free vent to a most tender passion, lie burst
" out into tears, and cried out, that there was no
11 hope of the queen, and that from being thehap-
" piest he was now going to be the miserablest
" creature on earth." He said, " that during the
" whole course of their marriage he had never
" known one single fault in her ; that there was
" a worth in her that nobody knew beside himself,
" though," he added, " I might know as much of
" her as any other person did*." Presently after
the same historian adds, " that the king s affliction
"for her death was as great as it was just. It
" was greater than those who knew him best
" thought his temper capable of. He went be-
" yond all bounds in it. During her sickness he
" was in an agony that amazed us all, fainting
" often, and breaking out into most violent la-
" mentations. When she died his spirits sunk so
" low that there was great reason to apprehend
" that he was following her. For some weeks
" after he was so little master of himself that he
" was not capable of minding business, or of see-
" ing company)"."
But besides the testimony to her uncommon me
rit as a wife in the above declarations and behavi
our of the king her husband, the letters written
by her to him while he was in Ireland in the year
* Burnet s History of his own Time, Vol. 111. p. ISP.
| Ibid. p. 191.
124 MEMOIRS OF
1690 bear the most convincing proofs of the ten-
clerest affection for him, and the high esteem and
honour in which she held him *.
The king set out for Ireland on the 4th of
June, the administration of affairs having first by
an act of parliament been vested in the hands of
the queen, and landed at Carrickfergus on the
14th: and he arrived at Windsor in his return
from Ireland, September the 9th, 1690. During
this interval the queen sent him no less than
thirty-seven letters; out of which, passing by
those of national business, we shall select several,
or at least several passages in them, in which there
are the brightest traces of her solicitude and de
light to please and approve herself to him. If in
the recital of them we should mention some things
not immediately to our purpose, let it be considered
that they may be so interwoven with the parts
of the letters we are desirous to communicate
that they could not well be separated.
The Queen s affliction on the King s leaving her,
and her pleasure on hearing of his welfare.
Whitehall, June -|~i-,
You will be weary of seeing every day a
letter from me, it may be; yet being apt to flat^
ter myself, I hope you will be as willing to read
as I to write. And indeed it is the only comfort
I have in this world, besides that of trust in God.
I have nothing to say to you at present that is
worth writing, and I think it unreasonable to
trouble you with my grief, which I must conti
nue while you are absent, though I trust every
post to hear some good news or other from you
I cannot enough thank God for your being so
well past the dangers of the sea. I beseech him
* Sec these letters in sir John Daln/mple s Memoirs of Great-
Britain and Ireland, Vol. II. part II. p. 114 l6#.
QUEEN MARY. ] J
in his mercy still to preserve you, and send us
once more an happy meeting on earth. I long to
hear again from you how the air of Ireland agrees
with you, for I must own I am not without my
fears for that, loving you so entirely as I do and
shall till death.
The Queen s thankful sense of the deliverance of
the King when his shoulder was grazed by a
cannon-ball, and her tender anxiety for his
safety,
Whitehall, July y, 1690.
I can never give God thanks enough as
long as I live for your preservation. I hope in
his mercy that this is a sign he preserves you to
finish the work he has begun by you, but I hope
it may be a warning to you to let you see you
are exposed to as many accidents as others; and
though it has pleased God to keep you once in
so visible a manner, yet you must forgive me if I
tell you that I should think it a tempting God to
venture again without a great necessity. I know
what I say of this kind will be attributed to fear.
I own I have a great deal for your dear person,
yet I hope I am not unreasonable upon the sub
ject, for I trust in God, and he is pleased every
day to confirm me more and more in the confi
dence I have in him, yet my fears are not less
since I cannot tell if it should be his will to suf
fer you to come to harm for our sins, and when
that might happen, for though God is able yet
many times he punishes the sins of a nation as it
seems good in his sight. Your writing me word
how soon you hoped to send me good news shews
me how soon you thought there may be some
action, and that thought put me in perpetual
pain. This morning, when I heard the express
was come, before lord Nottingham came up I was
taken with a trembling for fear, which has hardly
MEMOIRS OF
left me yet, and I really do not know what I da
Your letter came just before I went to chapel,
and, though the first thing lord Nottingham told
me was that you was very well, yet the thoughts
that you expose yourself thus to clanger fright
me out of my wits, and make me not able to
keep my trouble to myself; but for God s sake
let me beg you to take more care for the time to
come. Consider what depends upon your safety.
There are so many more important things than
myself, that I think I am not worthy naming
among them. But it may be the worst will be
over before this time, so that I will say no more.
I did not answer your letter by the post last
night, because the express could not be dispatch
ed, and I believe more hindrances are come, for
lord Steward and lord Pembroke write word
they will be here to-night, but I can say very
little upon the subject at present, for I really had
my head and heart so full of you, I could mind
nothing else. I hope you will forgive me if I
forget half what I have to say, for really my con
cern for you has got the mastery, and I am not
able to think of any thing else, but that I love you
in more abundance than my own life.
The Queen s tender congratulations on his vtc^
tory at the Boyne* Her joy on the occasion
Her desires of the King s return Her
strong affection to him.
Whitehall, July y, 1690.
How to begin this letter I know not, or
however to render God thanks enough for his
mercies. Indeed they are too great, if we look
* " The victory of the Eoyne, July 1, lt)90," says bishop
Eimiet in his History of his own Time, Vol. III. p. 69, 8vo.
edit. " was a compleat victory ; and those who were the least
" disposed to flattery said it was almost wholly due to the king s
* l courage and conduct. And though he was a little stiff by rea-
QUEEN MARY. 127
on our deserts, but, as you say, it is his own
cause, and since it is for the glory of his great
name we have no reason to fear hut he will per
fect what he has begun, For myself in particu
lar my heart is so full of joy and acknowledg
ment to that great God who has preserved you,
and given you such a victory, that I am unable
to explain it. I beseech him to give me grace to
be ever sensible, as I ought, and that I and all
may live suitable to such a mercy as this is. I
am sorry the fleet has done no better, but it is
God s providence, and we must not murmur, but
wait with patience to see the event. I was yes
terday out of my senses with trouble, I am now
almost so with joy, so that I cannot really as yet
tell what I have to say to you by this bearer who
is impatient to return. I hope in God by the
afternoon to be in a condition of sense enough to
say much more, but for the present I am not.
When I wrote the foregoing part of this it was in
the morning soon after I had received yours,
and now it is four in the afternoon, but I am not
yet come to myself, and fear I shall lose this op
portunity of writing all my mind, for I am still in
such a confusion of thoughts that I scarce know
what to say, but I hope in God you will now rea
dily consent to what the lord president wrote last
night, for methinks there is nothing more for you
to do. I will hasten Kensington as much as it is
possible, and I will also get ready for you here,
tor I will hope you may come before that is done.
" son of his wound, yet he was forced to quit his horse in the mo-
" rass, and to go through it on foot. But he came up in time
" to ride almost into every body of his army. He charged in
" many different places, and nothing stood before him." The
bishop adds, p. 77, ibid. u that in this battle a musket-ball
" struck the heel of his boot, and recoiling killed an horse near
" him; and one of his own men, mistaking him for an enemy,
" came up to shoot him, but the king gently put by his pistol,
4< and only said, do you not know your friends ? f
MEMOIRS OF
I must put you in mind of one thing, believing it
no\v r the season, which is that you would take
care of the church in Ireland. Every body agrees
that it is the worst in Christendom. There are
now bishoprics vacant, and other things. I beg
you would take time to consider who you will fill
them with. You will forgive me that I trouble
you with this now, but I hope you will take care
of those things which are of so great consequence
to religion, which I am sure will be more your
care every day, now that it has pleased God to
bless you with success. I think I have told you
before how impatient I am to hear how you ap
prove what has been done here. I have but little
part in it myself* but I long to hear how others
have pleased you. I am very uneasy in one thing,
which is the want of somebody to speak my
mind freely to, for it is a great restraint to think,
and be silent, and there is so much matter that I
am ready to burst. Lord Nottingham brought
me your letter yesterday, and I could not hold,
so he saw me cry, which I have hindered myself
from before every body till then that it was im
possible ; and this morning, when I heard the
joyful news from Mr. Butler, I was in pain to
know what was become of the late king*, but
* It is very observable that queen Mary amidst her unbound
ed affection for the king her husband, still retained and shewed
her duty to her father, and how united the royal pair were in
their regards to him appears from the following instance. A
proposition was made to king William that a third rate ship, well
manned by a faithful crew, and commanded by one who had been
well with king James, but in whom he might trust, should sail to
Dublin, and declare for king James. The person who told bi
shop Burnet this offered to be the person who should carry the
message to king James, for he was well known to him, and invite
him to come on board, which he seemed to be sure he would
accept of, and that when he was aboard, they should sail away
with him, and land him either in Spain- or Italy, as the king
should desire, and should have twenty thousand pounds to give
him, when he should be set ashore. King William thought this
QUEEN* MARY. 129
durst not ask him, but when lord Nottingham
came, I ventured to do it, and I had the satisfac
tion to know he was safe. I know I need not
beg you to let him be taken care of, for I am
confident you will for your own sake, yet add
that to all your kindness, and for my sake let
people know you would have no hurt come to his
person. Forgive me this. The lords of the trea
sury have desired me that if there is any thing to
be done, I would hear them all. You gave me
no directions in this, but to the contrary, so that
I have declined it hitherto, but if I must sign any
warrant, it must come to it.
I have written this at so many times that I fear
you will hardly make sense of it. i long to hear
what you will say to the proposition* that will
be sent to you this night by the lords, and flatter
myself mightily with the hopes to sec you, for
which I am wore impatient than can be expressed,
loving you with a passion which cannot end but
with my life,
The Queens high esteem of the King** kindness
to her, and her great love Jo?- /rim.
Whitehall,
You will have an account from lord
Nottingham what has been done this day and
was a Weil-formed design, and likely enough to succeed, but
\vould not hearken to it, declaring that he would have no hand
in treachery, nnd alleging that king James would certainly carry
some of his guards and of his court aboard with him, who proba
bly would make some opposition, nd in the struggle some ac
cident might, happen to him, in which he would have no hand.
Bishop Burnct acquainted the queen with this, who shewed
great tenderness for h?.r father s person, and was much touched
with the answer the king had made. Bunut s History, Vol. II.
p. <K), 6 4.
* The proposition from the lords to the king was that he
should return.
VOL. I. K
130 MEMOIRS OF
yesterday. I know you will pity me, and I hope
you will believe, if your letter had been less kind,
I do not know what would become of me. It is
that only makes me bear all that now so torments
me and I give God thanks every day for your
kindness. It is such a satisfaction to me to find
that you are satisfied with me, that I cannot ex
press it, and I do so flatter myself with the hopes
of being once more happy with you in this world,
that that thought alone makes me bear all with
patience. 1 pray God preserve you from the dan
gers I hear yoir expose yourself daily to, which
pius me in continual pain. A battle I fancy is
soon over, but the perpetual shooting you are now
in is an intolerable thing to think on. For God s
sake take care of yourself. You owe it to your
self and this country, and to all in general. I
must riot name myself where church and state are
equally concerned, yet I must needs say you owe
a little care for my sake, who I am sure love you
more tha:> you can do me; and the little care you
take of your dear person I take to be a sign of it;
but I must still love you more than life.
The Queen s joy on the prospect of the King s
Return.
Whitehall, Sept. ^ t ] 1? ^o.
Lord Winchester is desirous to go to
meet you, which you may believe I will never
hinder any one. Whether I ought to send him
out of form sake I cannot tell, but it may pass
for what it ought to the world, and to your dear
self at least I suppose it is indifferent. Nothing
can express the impatience I have to see you,
nor rny joy to think it is so near. I have not
slept all this night for it, though I had but five
hours sleep the night before for a reason I shall
tell you. I am now going to Kensington to put
things in order there, and intend to dine there to.-
QUEEN MARY. 131
morroAv, and expect to hear when I shall set out
to meet you God send you a good journey home,
and make me as thankful as I ought for all his
mercies!
We have thus endeavoured to delineate, and
present to the public view the true and full cha
racter of this most amiable woman, this, we had
almost said, angel clothed in clay, and have been
the more desirous to do justice to her, as the Me
moirs of her eminent virtues piay not hitherto
have been so particular as the subject of them
might deserve.
We shall conclude with one excellent Poem
which was written in honour of }ier.
On the sight of Queen Mary in the year 1694.
By the Rev. ISAAC WATTS, D. D.
I saw tli illustrious form; I saw
Beauty that gave the nations law;
Her eyes, like mercy on a throne,
In condescending grandeur shone.
That blooming face! how lovely fair
Hath nature mix d her wonders there!
The rosy morn such lustre shows,
Glancing along the Scythian snows.
Her shape, her motion, and her mien
All heav nly: such are angels seen,
When the bright vision grows intense,
And fancy aids our feebler sense.
Earth s proudest idols dare not vie
With such superior majesty :
A kindling vapour might as soon
Rise from the bogs, and meet the
I ll call no Raphael from his rest :
Such charms can never be exprest:
Pencil and paint were never made
To draw pure light without a shade.
MEMOIRS OF, &C.
Britain beholds her queen with pride,
And mighty William at her side
Gracing the throne, while at their feet
With humble joy three nations meet.
Secure of empire she might lay
Her crown, her robes, her state away,
And midst ten thousand nymphs be seen :
Her beauty would proclaim the queen.
EPANORTHOSIS.
Her guardian angel heard my song.
" Fond man, he cry d, forbear to wrong
" My lovely charge. So vulgar eyes
" Gaze at the stars, and praise the skies.
<( Rudely they praise who dwell below,
" And heavVs true glories never know ;
" Where stars and planets are no more
s< Than pebbles scattered on the floor.
<l So where celestial virtues join d,
<: Form an incomparable mind ;
f Crowns, sceptres, beauties, charms, and air
(f Stand but as shining servants there."
( 133 )
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE
LADY MARY VERE.
lady derived her birth from respectable
families on both sides. On her father s side
she descended from the ancient family of the
Tracys of Todington, in Gloucestershire, and on
her mother s side she sprung from the best line of
the Throgmor ton s.
She was the youngest of fifteen children, and
was born on the 18th of May, 1581. Her mother
died three days after her birth, and her father
when she was only eight years of age.
Thus was she soon left an orphan in the world;
but when her father and mother forsook her the
Lord took her up, and the experiences she had all
her life long of God s most tender care over her
made her choose this for her motto, which was
found written by her in the front of most of her
books in her closet, God will provide.
Sh^ took much delight in speaking of one of
her ancestors as one of the greatest honours of her
family, namely, William Tracy ofTodington, esq;
who in the reign of king Henry the eighth, for
the sound profession of his faith, contained in his
last will and testament, was two years after his
decease condemned to have his body taken up,
and burned, which sentence was accordingly exe
cuted.
The subject of our Memoirs was twice married.
Her first marriage was to Mr. William Hobby,
when she was nineteen years of age. By him she
had two sons, whom she religiously educated, and
at whose pious deaths she reaped the blessed har
vest of her labours, there being good reason to
conclude that they were ripe for heaven, having
lived long in a little time. The younger died in
134 MEMOIRS
the fourteenth year of his age, and the elder in
his three and twentieth, who was much admired
for his parts, and as much beloved for his piety.
Her second husband was sir Horace Fere, after
wards baron of Tilbury, a person not to be men
tioned without some honourable character, and
whose personal atchievements in the field, espe
cially at the battle of Newport in Flanders, en
nobled him more than the high blood derived
from his ancestors. But his unstained piety was
his crowning glory. This noble lord was one
who could wrestle with God, as well as fight with
men. His good lady used to say that she ho
noured him for his valour, but more so for the
grace of God that shone in him.
But passing by the civil and secular distinctions
of this lady, we will present her in her spiritual ex
cellencies, which indeed are the only things that
give an intrinsic value to a person. We may
apply to her what Nehemiah said of an eminent
person in his time, chap. vii. 2. " She was a faith-
" fill woman, and feared God above many."
In the survey of her character it may be truly
said, that the fear of God was very great i her:
She was very tender of offending him by any
known sin. She hath often been heard to say,
and that very solemnly, " O! I would not sin
against my God." She professed that, she dread
ed hell most a place in which God was blasphemed.
Her zeal for the public worship of God was
very eminent, which she evidenced,
First, By her great care and diligence to pro
vide able and faithful ministers for those livings
of which she had the disposal, and also by im
proving her utmost interest to procure the like
for the parish in which she lived in its several va
cancies.
Secondly, By her constant attendance on pub
lic worship, so long as Providence granted her
health to do it; and she not only attended herself,
L X ADY MAIIV VERE. 135
but took care that her family attended also, and
they were no servants for her who would not join
in the service of God with her.
Thirdly, She was no less devout than constant
at the public worship. She durst, not trifle with
holv things, nor in holy duties, which gave occa
sion to one to say of her, " that the lady Vtr$, by
" her solemn and reverent deportment in divine
" worship, would make one believe that there is
" a God indeed/ As for the Sacrament of the
Lord s Supper her desires were eager and ardent to
partake frequently of it, declaring, that she durst
not neglect, no not any one opportunity that was
offered for the enjoying this sacred ordinance.
She was also very serious and intent in her pre
paration for it. The whole preceding week was
taken up by her for that work, in which she
would also always have a private fast kept for
her family, or a secret one in her closet.
As her zeal was thus eminent for the worship
of God in public, so it was eminent for the wor
ship of God in private. Follow her but from the
church to her own house, and you would find that
she brought her devotion home with her. if ever
any private dwelling might be called a chapel, or
little sanctuary, that of lady Fere s much more.
Twice every day she and her family were upon
their knees offering their solemn worship to Al
mighty God. there you might see them hum
bly sitting at his feet to hear his holy word read
to them, constantly concluding their evening ser
vice with one of David s Psalms. Whatsoever*
strangers were present at her house, there was no
putting by, or adjourning the service of God to a
more convenient time on their account
On the Lord s day the sermons preached in pub
lic were repeated "to the houshold; the servants
were called to give an account before her of what
each of them remembered, and the high praises of
136 MEMOIRS OF
God were sung by the associated family. Also,
after supper the servants in their room would ex
ercise themselves in the like heavenly duty of
singing Psalms, and no sooner did the pious lady
hear them begin their divine harmony, but she
would go, and bear her part with them.
Twice every day she shut up herself for some
hours in her closet, which was excellently fur
nished with pious books of practical divinity.
Here she spent her precious time in reading the
sacred Scriptures, and other good books that
might give her further light into the oracles of
God, and edify her in her most holy faith. Here
she poured out her devout soul with such fervour
in prayer, as could not be hid, at least sometimes,
from her attendants, and maid-servants, when at
any time their business drew them near their lady s,
closet-door. But we are not yet at an end of her
devotions ; for every night her practice was to
Eray with her maid-servants before she went to
cd. Is it any wonder that she grew so rich in
grace, who maintained so great and constant a
traffic in the means of it, and had so many ports
opened to receive her spiritual gains?
As her zeal for both the public and private wor
ship of her God was thus eminent, so her love to
God manifested itself, beside what hath been al
ready mentioned, in several respects, and those
in very high degrees. As,
First, the mournful complaint which she fre
quently made that she loved God no better. The
reason indeed of which complaint was because she
loved him so much, and she thought she loved
him so little, because she knew that she could
never Ijve him enough.
The truth was, she had such elevated apprehen
sions of the glorious excellency of the divine
Majesty as caused her to think her highest affec
tions unworthy of him. And none indeed, wha
LADY MARY VERE. 137
have such exalted ideas of the greatness and good
ness of God, can love him little, or think their
love when at the highest to he great.
Secondly, Her love to God manifested itself in
her vehement desires and longings to he gone
hence, and to be with Christ, which she account
ed best of all. She was one of those very few
Christians who stood in need of the excellent Mr.
John Dad s use of exhortation, which he would
make to the saints in his preaching, " that they
would be content and patient, though they were
:( not taken up to heaven so soon as they desired."
This most heavenly man having lived to a great
age, and finding that to stay longer on earth,
without any thing like a discontent or impatience,
was something difficult to himself, thought that
it was the common experience with others, whereas
it is too true that most Christians are of a lower
class in the school of Christ, prone rather to lin
ger here, and to hide themselves, like Saul, in
the stuff, when they are sought for to be crowned*
than to be too mudi in haste for going hence, so
that they rather need a goad than a rein, and mi
nisters have reason to !ry to take hold of them
with the strongest arguments they can find to
draw them off from the love of life and the world,
as the angels urged Lot out of Sodom, than to
persuade them to be willing to continue here. But
this very pious lady had by faith such a sight of
heaven as made her stay below tedious and weari
some to her. The earnest choice of her soul was,
" Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly/ 1 for she found
to her great grief that her imperfect state on earth
made it impossible for her to obey and honour God
as she would, and devoutly desired, and therefore
jhe often complained that she was unprofitable;
and this deep sense of this her unprofitableness,
even while others admired her eminent usefulness,
still increased her desires to arrive at that world
138 MEMOIRS OF
where all these infirmities and defects would be
no more, and where she knew her abilities would
perfectly correspond with her utmost wishes to
serve and glorify her God and Saviour.
Thirdly, Her love to God was also clearly dis
covered in her love to the saints who were born
of God, and had his lively image stamped upon
them. This love to the saints is in Scripture made
one of the fairest evidences of our love to God,
1 John v. 1. And every one that loves him that
begat, loves him also who is begotten of him. A
man may love the child, and yet not love his fa
ther, but he cannot love his child, because he
is his child, and because he is like his father, but
he must of necessity love his father, and indeed
love him first and most, because his love to the
child springs from his love to his father. This
lady was doubtless then a great lover of God, be
cause she had so dear an affection for his children.
She was not one who praised the dead saints, and
persecuted the living. She did not pretend love to
those who lived far from her, but shewed no kind
ness to such who were near her. She did not fac-
tiously love some of one party, and reproach those
of another. In a word, she did not love the saints
in an equality with others from a natural tender
ness which disposes some persons to all good and
bad ; but her love was a cordial, spiritual, special,
and uniform love to the people of God. In
whomsoever she saw any thing of God, her love
was drawn out towards them, and she had the
most love for those who discovered most of God
in them. She loved them so as to delight in
their converse and communion, and the largest
measures of her charity were extended to them.
As for the faithful ministers of Christ, whose
office and function raise them above private Chris
tians, few ever exceeded her in loving and ho
nouring them. She loved first the ministry, and
then the ministers, seriously professing that the
\
LADY MARY VERE.
great affection, and high esteem she bore them
was for their Master s sake, whose ambassadors
they were.
Fourthly, Her love to God was strongly evinced
by her works of charity ; as, (1.) by the large
ness of her charity. Her charity was so great
that it might well be matter of admiration that it
was not exhausted by so liberal a diffusion. She
was like a tree \v\th this strange property, that it
yielded its fruit not once in the year, but at all
times. Many were the channels in which her
charity communicated itself. This excellent lady
had money for the empty purse; meat and drink
for the hungry and thirsty ; physic for the sick
and diseased ; and salves for the sore and wound-
ed. Abundance of good she did in these ways.
She was not only liberal, but devised liberal things.
If her servants knew of any persons in great ne
cessity, and they did not acquaint her with their
cases, and she afterwards heard by other hands of
these distressed objects, she would express her an
ger to her servants for their neglect, It fell out
that an honest poor neighbour died before she
knew of his illness, for which the good lady be
ing concerned, she enquired of her servant who
attended her whether the person wanted anything
in his sickness, adding, " I tell you that I had
:i rather part with the gown from off my back,
" than that the poor should want." (2,) She was
wonderfully secret in what she gave. When she
would do a work of chanty, she had no trumpet
sounded before her, but her benevolence descended
like a golden stream of oil into a vessel without
any noise or notice. And (3.) In the exercise of
her charity there was an humble and self-denying
spirit. She communicated her charity like a good
Steward, acknowledging that what she gave was
not her own, but her Lord s money. Notwith
standing all her alms-giving, she had her entire
jjependance upon Christ, desiring to be found
140 MEMOIRS OF
alone in him, and in his righteousness, as if she
had not done any one good work in all her life.
Though we have taken notice of many excellent
qualities of this worthy lady, we shall not do her
character the justice it deserves, if we do not add
some further particulars. As,
First, The uniformity of her holy walk. Her
religion was not like the driven snovy, which lies
very thick and heavy in one place, and very thin
and scanty in another, but it was one universal
piety and goodness. In her conversation one part
admirably corresponded and agreed with one ano
ther. An happy symmetry appeared in her whole
course, both towards God, and towards man,
both abroad and at home, and few persons have
had a more honourable testimony from those who
lived near, or long with them, than what this emi
nent woman had from all who lived under her
roof.
Secondly, Her faith was very remarkable. This
grace seemed to be strongest when death seemed
to be nearest. Somewhat more than a twelve
month before she died she fell into a swoon, which
continued about half an hour, without any sensi
ble hopes of recovery. As soon as she came to
herself, she broke out, " I know that my Re-
" deemer lives;" and upon her being conveyed to
her chamber, she said, " I know whom I have
" trusted."
Thirdly, We will add, that the humility of this
lady was very eminent and singular. This grace,
in conjunction with her sincerity, appeared in the
great freedom which she gave to her friends in
speaking to her of what they saw amiss in her.
She much applauded the privilege and benefit of
having a faithful friend, saying, " that others
" might see more by us than we could by our-
" selves." She used also to say, " that it was 3
" great mercy to be convinced of any sin." She
thought meanlv of herself. She saw not
LADY MARY VERE,
bright her face shone, though others beheld and
admired its lustre. Her frequent complaint was
that she was useless, and did no good. She often
spoke of her imperfections, wants, weakness, and
iinworthiness. Yea, she M ould often say, " I ab-
"hor myself. Indeed I do." She was easy of
aeeess even to the meanest who came into her pre
sence. Her deportment was full of courtesy, and
lowliness to the poorest person. Many a time,
when her servants had well performed any business
she had set them about she would thank them for
it. The law of kindness was upon her tongue to
whomsoever she spoke,
We now come to the close of her bright and
long day. And it may be truly said, that at
evening-time it was light, In her last sickness her
pains were very strong, but her patience was
stronger. Never was she heard to murmur, or
utter one repining word, but she justified God in
all his dispensations towards her. Even more
than this she was much in admiring and blessing
God for his mercies in her acufest pains and
greatest agonies. In what a lofty and ravishing
strain does her blessed soul now sing forth the
praises of God in heaven, who could tune them
so sweetly in the darkest hours of nature, and
with the sharpest thorns of affliction at her breast?
She was not entirely free from the assaults of
Satan, but he came only to be repulsed with
shame, and to add more trophies to all her former
victories over him. The last words which were
observed to be spoken by her before that fatal le
thargy seized upon her weak, worn-out body,
which in two days brought on her dissolution
were, < How shall I do to be thankful r How
" shall I do to praise my God ?" Thus she closed
her life in the exercise of that duty which was to
be her constant and endless employment and plea
sure m that better life into which she was then en
tering, and died in the Lord December the 25th.
MEMOIRS OF, &C.
1671, in the ninetieth year of her age, if not, as
some of her near relations afterwards said, in the
ninety-first. Thus did God give her a remarkable
long life, and crown her at last with his salva
tion.
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SUSANNA, Countess of SUFFOLK.
lady was born in or about the year
1()27. She was the second daughter of the
earl of Holland, and was married very young to
Tkeopkilu#) earl of Suffolk.
Particular notice is taken in the narrative con
cerning her of her powers of imagination, judg
ment, and memory, and that the last faculty was
so eminent in her that she hath sometimes on the
Monday shut herself up in privacy, and from her
remembrance committed to writing the sermon
which she had heard the Lord s day before, and
this with such exactness as that but little has
been wanting of the very words in which the dis
course was delivered.
As to morality she had a perfect government
over her passions. She was seldom angry so far
as to chide, and when it came to that she gene
rally checked herself, and, if she perceived that
any observed her, she would end it with a pleasant
laugh at her own passion, it being often remarked
toher that she knew to do any thing more skil
fully than to chide, especially if it were for any
worldly matter. But if any thing that con
cerned the cause of God av/akened her chiding,
she would be more serious in it, and often turn
her resentment into a warm reprehension and dis
pleasure. An oath, or a scurrilous, or profane
speech v.-ould bring the blood into her face, and
if she had interest in the offenders they were sure
to be reproved, if they were strangers she would
drop some smart check, but yet such as was per
fectly consistent with civility, or shew her dislike
by a withclrawment from their company.
144 MEMOIRS OF
Her behaviour was undissembled towards
friends, familiar towards inferiors, affable and
accessible to all, and in conversation her words
were often gracious, and seasoned with salt. She
was constant in her friendship, and most useful in
it, being willing to take any pains for the persons
for whom she professed an esteem. She was most
unapt to admit ill of any, of whom she had once
conceived well. Nothing was so distressing to her
as to hear an accusation of those of whom she en
tertained a good opinion. Her servants fared not
the worse for the inferiority of their stations. She
was as tender of their errors as she was of those of
her friends, and never considered any servant she
had, and believed to be faithful and virtuous, but
as an humble friend. This disposition, and the
kindness she extended to all she knew in affliction,
much increased the sorrows at her death. None
understood relations better, none could possibly
observe them better than she. Husband, parents,
kindred, friends, servants, neighbours were all
witnesses of this truth.
These may seem to be but moral virtues, but
there was the utmost reason to think that they
were the effects of a gracious disposition in her,
and that, flowing from the laver of regeneration,
they might well be baptized Christian graces, it
being well known that ail her actions, in which
there was time for deliberation, sprang from a
conscience of duty, and were performed as in the
sight of God.
Hence her holy fortitude and valour for the
truth. She would suffer any inconvcniency rather
than she would tell an untruth, or forge an ex
cuse, or permit any of her servants to do it, or
by any equivocation deceive, or elude a question.
The intrusions of company, when business and
especially the exercises of religion called her,
were no small trouble to her, but she never would
be guilty of a lie to get rid of her visitants. Any
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 145
rock would she venture upon rather than venture
upon an untruth.
Her charity was very great. The poor and
distressed, whom her tender heart often relieved,
at her death and long after bewailed their loss,
and thankfully recognized her abundant good
ness to them. She distributed her bounty with
out the least ostentation. Her soul seemed to be
composed of Christian kindness and compassion,
and, though she had a perfect government of her
passions, yet her pity always governed her. If
any in want, when she was from home, entreated
an alms from her she would not excuse herself by
saying, as might sometimes be the case, that she
had no money about her, but would borrow from
her attendants to give something for the help of
the poor object that solicited her benevolence.
But her charity in her walks was not the tithe
of what she gave. The poor she knew needed not
come to her to implore her aid. She sent cloth
ing, food, physic, and other comforts to their
habitations if they had any, and provided habi
tations, for some, who must otherwise have had
no dwellings; and more than all this, she often
condescended to visit them that she might inform
herself of their person, and condition.
But her charity was not confined to the bodies of
the poor. She had a way also of relieving their
souls by the daily prayers she offered up on their
behalf, and by instructing the ignorant, and
counselling the doubtful and scrupulous.
Another kind of charity also shone in her, that
of forgiving injuries, which, whether they arose
from mistake and inadvertency, or from wilful
malice, they were alike pardoned by her. Her
memory in other things was very tenacious, but
as to an ill turn she seemed to have no memory at
all. Benefits, kindnesses, good actions, and g-ood
speeches were engraven in her heart as if written
in adamant, never to be effaced, but as to of-
VOL. i
146 MEMOIRS OF
fences they were only like inscriptions upon wa
ter, which immediately vanished. An unkindness
indeed for the time might make a deep impression
upon her spirit, a great wound upon an heart where
all things were so contrary to it, but it never was
answered from her by the like unkindness.
She gave the lively signs of her faith and hope,
by which her soul ascended beyond all fears and
sorrows into the bosom of Christ. Sometimes
indeed her fears would be awakened through the
tenderness of her nature, but she would soon re
collect herself, and by reason and religious consi
derations get the victory over them.
When she was exercised with sorrows they
yielded to faith, and patience, and the comforts
which she could readily derive from the divine
storehouse. When her first-born son, then her
only child, had the pangs of death upon him, she
after prayers and tears sat very disconsolate. On
the report of his departure, when the floods of
grief burst from her eyes, in order to stop their
current, she took her hi ble, and sang psalms till
she had broken the violence of her passion, and
brought her soul to a cheerful submission to the
will of God.
As to the fine array of her body she valued it
not, but there was a garment in which she de
lighted, and which was seen above, and invested
all the rest, the most lovely garment of humility.
This garment clothed her from head to foot, and
through this and the vail of modesty all the other
ornaments of her mind shone if not with a more
mollified, yet with a more amiable and divine
lustre.
Possessed of these excellent endowments, and
graces these of the mind, her practice was con
formable to them. None of her talents were laid
up in a napkin, but with the utmost diligence and
vigour she improved them for her Master s use
that she might glorify God the giver of them,
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 147
that she might edify and do good to those to
whom she was related, and that she might make
her own calling and election sure.
She began the day with God, and as she opened
the morning, so she shut up the evening with
prayer. Most commonly as soon as she could
disperse sleep from her eyes, or, hecause she
would not take her full measure of sleep, as soon
as others had waked her, she went into her closet,
and perfumed it with prayer, at the same time
reading her daily portion of the Bible, which
were the Psalms of David usually observed for
the day of the month, and six chapters besides,
intending by that course to read the whole Bible
over twice in the year, which she never failed to
do for the last seven years of her life, for if she
was compelled by necessity to omit once or twice,
she proportionably increased the number the next
opportunity.
She attended to her soul first, and then set all
other things in the exactest order, as books, time,
8$c. She methodically ranged her hours for her
affairs, repasts, and reading of books of huma
nity, divinity, and above all devotion. Besides*
reading her portions in the Bible, which she did
for the daily food of her soul, she for pious re
creation and more exact knowledge set time apart
for examining the hard places of scripture by
Diodati s notes, and other interpreters; and be
cause she could not stop the current of reading at
the instant to stay and search into every difficulty,
she set a mark where a difficulty occurred to ex
amine it at her after leisure. She had marks of
several kinds, some for difficulties, and some for
memorials of choice places, or pertinent to some
particular purposes.
There were other books which nourished her de
votion. To name only a few were to injure her.
None came in her way but what she tasted, and,
if she relished, she fed upon.
L g
148 MEMOIRS OF
She had a zeal for the Lord s day, and times set
apart for devotion, but especially before her re
ception of the Sacrament of the Lord s Supper,
which she strove to do very frequently, as expe
riencing much comfort by it, as to which she used
the most exact strictness, and serious prepara
tion.
She would sometimes repeat to some of her fa
mily what she had remembered of the sermons, of
which for a time she took notes while she heard
them, but afterwards omitted it, either rinding it
something of a damp to her devout attention, or
because she had a purpose so to order it that she
might afterwards in privacy and leisure write down
what her memory could retain.
But notwithstanding her holy temper and walk,
she, according to the common lot of the children
of God, was sometimes under great sorrow and
dejection of spirit, and was harassed by great
temptations, under which some few years before
her decease she lay for a time, which however her
merciful Father at length regarded by hearing her
prayers, delivering her out of her distresses, and
setting her as on an high and sure rock by
faith.
We have clone with what belongs to this excel
lent person as to her course of life. We shall
now add something of what might seem to pre
pare her for death, or of what attended her de
parture from our world.
Her whole life was that which sound philoso
phers, or rather sound Christians would denomi
nate a constant meditation on death, or prepara
tion for it. No wonder then that her behaviour
in the views of death was most serene, comfort
able, and worthy of the true Christian.
Upon her apprehension of the fears of her
friends concerning her recovery, she earnestly en
treated them to deal plainly with her as to her
condition, which she could by no means bear to
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 149
have dissembled, or concealed from her. Her
friends confessed that their hopes of her life were
but small, or not any, and desired her to submit
to the will of God in her dissolution.
On receiving* the sentence of death she disco
vered no fears nor sorrows at parting with the
world, and her dear relations in it. She sent for
such who were nearest of kin to her, and for
other friends, and, with a countenance com
posed to the most solemn, and yet serene gravity,
she began to take leave of them, bequeathing to
them spiritual comforts, fervent prayers, divine
benedictions, and her weighty counsels and ad
vices particularly adapted to each of them, and
especially to her lord, her children, and servants,
all of which were such as tended to direct them
in the way of well-doing, that so they might,
through the merits of Christ, meet again in
glory ; and all this with such affection, such
zeal, such courage, and such demonstrative proofs
of her faith and assurance that she was going from
pains and miseries to the celestial rest and felicity,
that the image of that and her aspect would never
be effaced from the memories of the spectators.
The sight of her might well call to mind Moses
on mount Pisgah, Jacob on his death-bed di
viding his blessings, dying Joshua, or David, or
the most composed saints on sacred record.
To behold her dearest pledges and relations, her
friends, and servants standing by, full of tears
and lamentations, and herself unmoved and un
concerned, counselling, comforting, blessing
them, made an appearance as if all they had been
the parties which must die, and she was called to
administer to them Christian exhortation to suf
fer death with patience, or as if she had been in
perfect health, and they in danger tff a dissolu
tion. In a word, such were her assurance and joy
in the Holy Ghost, that it seemed as if she had
150 MEMOIRS OF
begun to taste the happiness of the life to come
in the very tidings of death.
Her legacy left for her two dear children was
her desire to her lord that whatsoever provision
he should make for their outward condition, of
which she was neither distrustful nor solicitous,
they might be brought up in the strictest way of
religion. The strictest way was always accounted
best for her own self in her life, and now at her
death she bore witness to it, and recommended it
for the dearest pledges of her love.
After she had declared her reliance on the me
rits of Christ, and the assurance she had of his
love, she did not conceal how she had wrestled
with doubtings, and mentioned the greatest
scruple that lay upon her conscience as to the sin
cerity of her repentance. She spoke of the com
fort she enjoyed at her last receiving the Sacra
ment, and professed that nothing was a greater
burden to her, that although she was willing to
die, yet she found also in her heart a willingness
to live, which she much blamed in herself.
It seemed good to her heavenly Father to con
tinue her, contrary to her own and others expec
tations, six months longer, being restored almost
by miracle from the brink of the grave.
Providence seemed in great mercy to make this
small accession to her life, for she was an inexpres
sible comfort to her father in his extreme afflic
tion. When all hopes of life as to him were past,
and after she, with the rest of those who M r ere
dear to him, had taken their final leave, that his
few remaining hours might be spent with his spi
ritual comforters, she would not give sleep to her
eyes till she had once more visited and discoursed
with him, but on matters wholly relating to eter
nity. Accordingly coming betimes in the morn
ing first timorously into his chamber, after she
had watched all night in a room hard by for that
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 151
purpose, he with joy beheld and welcomed her.
They presently fell into conversation, in which
she made such questions and answers, so gently
wounded and then so kindly endeavoured to heal,
and in a word so applied hoth law and gospel to
him, that at length her father being refreshed with
the comforts she administered, cried out, u Happy
" I that I should from a child of my own receive
" such consolation !" After that he told a reve
rend divine, who came to administer the like con
solation, " that he thanked God that he had a
" child there, who, though he said it before her
" face, was able to be his counsellor in all his
" doubts/ Another divine also, who was pre
sent, professed that he heard her discourse for
half an hour to admiration.
After her father s death none so nearly related
bore the distressing stroke with such Christian
patience as herself, acknowledging it the wise
method of Almighty God to bestow mercy on a
soul, which without so great a measure of afflic
tion in health, and in the glory of his prosperity
could not or would not ever have so humbly and
sincerely sought it.
She also declared that she could not, if it were
possible and lawful with her mind and judgment,
wish her father alive again, although it were well-
known, that never parent lay deeper in the affec
tions of a child than he did in hers; but she durst
not wish him so bad a change as to leave heaven
for earth.
She told a friend that now, if God would give
her leave, " she would retire into the coimtrv,
" and that she had put her family-business in such
" a way that for herself she would have nothing
" to do but to be ready to die." It was observed
by those who had opportunity to know it, that
there was not a night during the six months from
her recovery from her dangerous illness in which
MEMOIRS OF
she rose from off her knees from her prayers with*
out tears running down her cheeks.
In a discourse with a minister to whom she com
municated the affairs of her soul, she clearly and
plainly opened her spiritual condition, and charged
him to deal severely and impartially with her, and
still would urge him again and again, saying, " O
" but you deal more gently with me than you
" would with another! I beseech you let me know
" the worst!"
It pleased God to suffer the violence of the dis
ease which brought this excellent lady to the
grave to seize upon her intellects for three or four
days before her death. But though her distem
per reached her brain, and created some disturb
ance there, yet she had some clear and bright
moments for the exercises both of reason and re
ligion. Particularly in one of these lucid inter
vals she poured out her soul in a large prayer, the
words of which could not be recollected, but it
consisted of such most fervent, melting, moving
passages, as if she would seize the kingdom of
heaven by an irresistible violence, pleading before
God his name, his attributes, his mercies, his
Christ, and all his comfortable promises, which
she drew with the most admirable skill, choice,
and readiness from every precious vein in the rich
mine of his word. This was her last act of rea*
son for any continuance ; only, when her strength
was even spent, she owned her dear relations when
they came to her, let them understand that she
was* assured of her interest in Christ, and joined
with the deepest attention in prayer with one
whom she desired to perform that office, after
which she gave signs of her approbation, and re
quested that he who had thus prayed on her be
half would not leave the room. Within a little
more than an hour after in a kind of quiet sleep
she yielded up her spirit unto God who gave it,
May 10, 1649, leaving behind her the most loud
THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK. 153
and bitter lamentations of her friends, to whom
she had once been inexpressibly desirable and de
lightful.
All this holiness and virtue, thus full-grown
and eminent, were removed from our world when
the lady was but about twenty-two years of
age.
154 MEMOIRS OF
LADY MARY ARMYNE.
HPHIS lady was a branch of an illustrious family,
that of the Talbots, for a long succession of
time earls of Shrewsbury, whose great atchieve-
ments, both in civil and military affairs, have
raised their names, and crowned them with distin
guished honour*.
As to her natural abilities she was quick and
lively, and had a very comprehensive understand
ing even to the last hours of her life. Though
she was considerably above fourscore years of age,
yet she could discourse as rationally on the very
clay on which she died, as others can in the very
flower of their time.
As to her acquired accomplishments she had at
tained to an eminent skill in all those things which
belonged to her sex, degree, and place. She was
not without some competent knowledge of more
languages than that of her native tongue, parti
cularly the French and Latin, She was consider-
* It is to be regretted that the original .writer of the Memoirs
of this truly worthy lady had not more fully informed us of her
family, and connections, and acquainted us where she was born,
lived, and died. Possibly some ministers in their discourses
printed on the occasion of the deaths of eminent persons, and
same writers of their Memoirs may not advert to these circum
stantials, as they are at the time of their publication generally
and familiarly known ; not considering that these particulars are
lost in a course of years, or when the memorials they send
abroad are dispersed to different places from where the subjects
of them resided. Should any future editors of lives improve
this hint they may render their services more acceptable and sa
tisfactory, and prevent such a disagreeable deficiency as that
which we lament in the account of the lady Armyne. However
it is quite probable from the utter silence of every thing concern
ing her as a wife, that she never was married. And it is not un
likely, from her speedy visit to Mr. Calamy, who was a minister
in London, with ner present for the ejected ministers, that she
then lived in London, or at no great distance from it.
Sculp
]LA:unr MAMIT A KM i :x:
fubf by R. OyU Hclbom London I * June Iff o*
LADY MARY ARMYNE. 155
ably skilled in divinity and history. She was
not only acquainted with practical but polemical
theology. She was well versed not only in the
Jewish and Roman histories, but especially in
the historical part of the scriptures, and in ec
clesiastical affairs. She well understood how to
manage all her concerns to the best advantage.
She was of a very obliging deportment. By her
humble and courteous carriage and address she
won the esteem of all with whom she conversed,
or had any connection.
It may be truly said of her that she was emi
nently holy and exemplary in her life. Though
many other things raised her to an high pitch of
greatness, yet none so much ennobled and beau
tified her as her religion, as appeared in the fol
lowing particulars.
She loved it in others. She loved such who
led an holy life. She could not be easy in bad
company. She valued holiness not only in those
of her own family, choosing her servants by this
qualification, but in strangers. A good evidence
that she loved religion for its own sake.
She endeavoured to promote godliness in ethers
not only by counsel, admonition, and exhorta
tion in her discourses with them, but by many
pious letters she wrote with her own hand. She
used to distribute good books to encourage the
receivers of her charity in their progress towards
heaven, and she gave large sums annually for car
rying on the work begun in New England for
the conversion of the poor Indians. This sacred
benevolence she continued to her dying day.
Wlien that fatal Bartholomew-day came*, in
which so many hundreds of godly, able, and la
borious ministers were ejected from their livings
to the dreadful distress, as to their outward cir
cumstances, of themselves, their wives, and their
* 1662.
156 MEMOIRS OF
children, out of tender compassion to their sad
condition she came a few days after to the Rev.
Mr. Edmund Calamy, and brought him five
hundred pounds to be distributed by him to the
most indigent families among them.
She readily and joyfully embraced every op
portunity of serving God in public or private,
upon ordinary or extraordinary occasions. She
was as eagerly inclined and forward to join in
holy duties and ordinances as others are, or can
be to run after worldly vanities. She behaved
herself with much seriousness and humility in
God s house of prayer. She never mentioned the
names of God or of Christ but with a reverential
awe upon her spirit.
She highly regarded and esteemed godly mi
nisters, and even bore great respect to them who
were of the lower form, and of meaner gifts, if
she observed them to be holy and industrious in
their heavenly calling.
She abounded in Charities. Besides what has
been instanced, she in her life- time erected and
endowed some alms-houses in three several coun
ties. Upon special occasions she made large do-
naiions to charitable uses. She was not weary of
well-doing while she lived, and at her death she
left forty pounds per annum for near an hundred
years for benevolent purposes.
She was always punctual in her retirements for
reading the scriptures, and other good books, and
for closet-prayer at least twice a day : a practice
which she continued till the end of her time.
In the sickness of which she died she gave
some remarkable proofs of the sincerity of her
piety, such as the fervour of her spirit to perse^
vere in well doing to the end her breathing af
ter Christ, and desiring to be dissolved, and to
be with him, which is best of all her deep and
painful sense of the low estate of religion, and
the profession of it in the world her submission
LADY taARY ARMYNE. 157
to the divine will and disposal, freely surrender
ing up herself to her great Lord and owner, to do
with her for life or death as he pleased herpeaee
of conscience. In former sicknesses she had en
joyed much serenity, but she never had a more
placid and resigned frame of soul than at this
season the strength of her faith, which appeared
by her recommending an interest in Christ as the
highest and most suitable cordial in a fainting
hour when all other comforts forsake. These
were some of her last words and finally, as an
other proof of the sincerity of her religion in her
last sickness, we may add the continuance of her
fervent prayers in the midst of which she resigned
up her spirit to God.
A learned and experienced minister, who lived
not far from her, was sometimes with her. The
occasion of his going to her, and his business
with her cannot be better expressed than in his
own words, which are as follow :
" Though," saith he, "I was seldom with her my-
" self, yet these fifteen years I lived so near her
" as that I might have easily heard the rumour,
" if she had lain under any manner of scandal,
14 but such was her pious and unblameable life,
" that slander itself durst not so much as nibble
" at it. The little converse I had with her af-
" forded me opportunity to know her more inti-
" mately than many who did not see her holy
" course, for her business with me was no other
" than to open the state of her soul, to confess
" her infirmities, to produce her evidences for hea-j
4 ven, and to desire my judgment of them, toge-
" ther with my counsel and comfort, and further
" to ask my advice for such works of public be-
: < nefit which she charitably intended, and after-
!< wards liberally performed. Upon trial I found
" that she had a safe, and well-settled state of soul,
" not free from all degree of fears, and smaller
" doubtings of herself, and fur from a presump-
158 MEMOIRS OF
" tuous, unhumbled, and self-justifying spirit.
" Her evidences were sound, and her discern-
" ment of them so clear and sure, as enabled her
" to conclude her right to everlasting life, and so
" with the greater peace to think on death ; the
" which evidences, as she had opened them to me
" not long before, so she did it over again in her
" sickness, not many days before her death. At
" which time, after complaints of such imperfec-
" tions of grace as were her trouble, she professed
" the full dedication of herself to God, her firm
" consent to his covenant, her earnest desires after
" perfect holiness, and her trust in the mediation,
" and merits of her Redeemer/
As this excellent woman lived to God, so he
was pleased to give her a long life, enriched with
many and distinguishing mercies. Though she
had been long troubled with a sore and dangerous
disorder, that of the stone, and had endured pain
ful and perilous paroxysms, and critical fits, yet
it pleased God in her latter years to give her great
ease, and freedom from it, though it is not impro
bable but that this distemper was the root of that
fainting aguishness which put a period to her
days. Yet near the fourscorth year of her age
she served God in competent health, and serenity
of mind.
Though she sprang from an ancient and ho
nourable family inclined to the Romish religion,
yet God was her teacher, and confirmed her not
only in the Protestant faith, but also in the true
love, seriousness, and practice of the pure religion
she professed. She was not like those deluded
formalists who contend most furiously for this re
ligion against that, or for that religion against
this, while in truth they have no religion at all,
but will violently persecute, or at least bitterly
reproach such as are not of their church, or way,
as erroneous, irreligious persons, while nothing
can prevail with them to list themselves on Christ s
JLADY MARY ARMYXE. 15O,
side, and declare war against the flesh, the world,
and the devil.
She was not addicted to sects or novelties upon
pretence of rising to the highest form, but she
truly took the height of her religion to consist in
the height of love to God and man, and in close
and constant obedience to Christ, and reliance on
his mediation.
Though according to her rank she lived in the
decency of a plentiful estate, yet it was accom
panied with humility and lowliness of mind. Her
prudence, sobriety, and gravity were very exem
plary, and her impartiality in loving all who were
true Christians was truly signal. She much dis
liked divisions and contentious wranglings. She
was not of their mind who, one would think, take
it to be a mark of Christ s disciples to be accusers
of the brethren, and to reproach, and vilify, and
evilly entreat his disciples, and in a word, "to de
ny them to be his, that they may do these bad
things with less dishonour and remorse.
She took it to be no countenancing of schism
to relieve such servants of Christ in their distress,
as men may brand and treat as schismatics, though
she was an enemy to a divisive and factious spirit.
To live as this honourable and excellent lady-
did in wisdom, humility, temperance, and in a
charitable, peaceable, impartial religiousness, at
tending to the great realities of godliness, God,
the Redeemer, grace, glory, our own hearts, and
duty, and the preparation for the day of our final
account will prove more safe and comfortable at
the last than the proud, wrathful, turbulent reli
gion, if it may be called so, of such as strive to
set up Christ and the church, more truly them
selves, by persecution, or division, by hurting
and destroying their fellow-christians, or reproach*
ing and avoiding them as unworthy communion.
I6 MEMOIRS OF
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE
LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM.
descent of this eminently pious person
was from a noble family, the house of Hun
tingdon, the earldom of which hath long con
tinued in the name of Hastings, as it does to the
present day; but this truly humble lady was never
known either in word or deportment to discover
any elation of spirit for her high extraction, nor
was she ever observed with any regret to view
herself exceeded by the greater pomp, and more
splendid retinue of others, who were inferior to
her in quality. When her husband, sir James
Langham, sometimes modestly excused the te
nuity of the condition she had espoused (as she
had married into a family where she found an
heir in being to a great part of his estate) in com
parison of that from which she descended, she
would interrupt such discourses of his by profes
sing the high satisfaction she took in finding her
self in such a state of life, in which she enjoyed
both liberty and assistance for the works of true
piety, and at the same time the addition of an
honourable and comfortable worldly competency.
Her education was at a school, or rather academy,
and nursery of virtue, as she was brought up un
der the constant inspection and in the constant
converse of her mother, the countess of Hunting
don, amidst whose eminent parts and graces she
was formed into a more than common woman,
and Christian. Under her principally she enjoyed
an education in a religious retirement, of which
she often took notice, and for which she blessed
God, as that which not only secured her from the
knowledge of vice by domestic examples, nothing
of that nature daring to appear under that noble
LADY LANGHAM.
lady s government, but also removed her from the
very intelligence of that wickedness which was
acted abroad, so that she had the happiness of
being ignorant of the vices of other great person
ages, even so much as only by hearsay.
As for those principles that might qualify her
for a virtuous life, as she had an opportunity of
learning them from the practice of those with
whom she conversed, so more especially from the
grave and frequent instructions of the lady her
mother, who, that the whole compass of duty
might be the more easily imprinted in her daugh
ter s memory, took the pains to digest her instruc
tions into verse, by which method she the more
readily insinuated them into the minds and hearts
botli of this our lady, and her other sisters.
By these means it pleased God that the mother
had much comfort in her daughters, but especially
in this lady, whose soul was so pliant and ductile
to receive the impressions of such an excellent
stamp as that they appeared in the happy improve
ments which she made in every future stage of
life; of which we shall find the striking proofs in
what we have farther to relate concerning her.
As to her childhood it had something of un
common excellency in it, besides the presage of
what was yet to come. The seeds of true piety
and devotion broke forth, and shewed themselves
very early, not only in the bud and blossom, but
in the fruit, so that from her very early days such
an impression of the fear of God possessed her
heart as made her a diligent performer of religious
duties, and a strict observer of the Lord s day,
even to a degree of exactness beyond most per
sons, and yet not beyond the rule laid down in Isa.
Iviii. 13. She would neither discourse herself
nor willingly hear others discoursing on any com
mon concerns upon that holy day. As she grew
up to greater capacity to this negative accuracy
she added a conformity to the rules of the strictest
VOL. I. M
MEMOIRS OF
godliness, not only by hearing the word preached
but by digesting it by meditation and conference,
being noless studious, on that day especially, to
become a proficient in the mysteries of practical
godliness, than in the common days of the week
to furnish herself with other knowledge that tend
ed to accomplish her in the civil life.
This worthy lady was from her infancy con
scientiously dutiful and obedient tocher parents,
even to the very smallest punctilios, in which she
had the least intimation of their pleasure. So
that her mother upon a special occasion perceiving
her, from the misapprehension of some advice she
gave her, to be more affected than what she de
sired, was obliged to explain herself to her, and
lay this down as a general rule for her, That
" several things which she had spoken to her
" were never intended as peremptory commands,
" but only as advices and counsels, which in things
" of indifferency must not be overcharged."
More than this her mother has been heard to say,
" that she was the child that never offended her
" in all her life."
As the young lady advanced in years she was
observed to be quite strict in justice, and in exact
ness in keeping her word, which, that ghe might
the more carefully observe, she was very circum
spect and sparing in making promises, and not
lavish of discourse. She spoke much to herself,
and little to others. Insomuch that a noble per
son of a/ very discerning judgment, and noless strict
a piety, who had the advantage of being a wit
ness to almost all her life, hath been heard to say,
" That she believed this lady had the least account
"to give for words of any that she ever knew."
But she laid not this restraint upon her tongue
for want of abilities for conversation, nor for
want of matter upon which to discourse, for she
had great intellectual accomplishments, and those
improved by much learning, by which she was
LADY LANGHAM. 163
qualified to converse with persons of eminent
literature.
She was exceeding modest, and decently grave
in her whole behaviour, not from any heaviness
of constitution, nor affection for morose and re
served virtue, but from a just apprehension how
contrary to an exact strictness of life, which she
had laid down for herself, and how unsuitable to
the reputation of her sex a too sanguine deport
ment was often found. Yet that she was not
cynically averse from a decent and proper degree
of affability and courtesy, eminently appeared in
that she used to receive the visits of the meanest
of her neighbours with very great kindness, and
would converse with them with great condescen
sion; and as any of them appeared to her to savour
more of godliness, she would, upon occasion, add
a becoming proportion of familiarity, studiously
declining to admit any into her bosom but such
as by exact observation she found to answer that
character of worth by which she first estimated
herself, and then made choice of her intimate
friends, not that of greatness, but goodness.
She shewed her courtesy to all sorts of persons,
even to such whose necessities made them peti
tioners for her bounty. These she entertained
with great affability; so that what was once said
of Titus the Roman emperor, might be truly
said of her, " that no persons departed out of her
"presence discontented/ Even those to whom
she refused her alms, and some persons are not
proper objects for a discreet charity, she would
so handsomely reprove for not using their bodily
strength to procure their livelihood in a more
creditable way, that they have seemed to go away
no less satisfied with her prudent and seasonable
counsel than they would have been with her
bounty.
Her inviting aspect so emboldened the poor to
entreat her help and patronage, her compassionate
164 MEMOIRS OF
heart made her so sensible of their condition, and
her prudence so directed her to manage their
causes, that, as she was employed in many of
their addresses to several of her relations on
whom they depended, so she prosecuted their suits
in such manner that she generally proved success
ful, meeting with such a blessing from God on
her charitable endeavours, as the goodness of the
causes in which she engaged might warrant her
to expect.
Her very servants had a share in the obliging
condescension of her conversation, for, though
she well understood her own quality, and could
keep them at a convenient distance, yet she
mingled so much mildness in her carnage towards
them, that she never was observed to utter an
hasty or passionate expression to any of them,
though she had sometimes great provocation.
She was of so innocent a deportment even from
her childhood that one of ability sufficient to ob
serve, and of integrity sufficient to clear the rela
tion from the least suspicion of flattery, gives her
this character. " That during the space of ten
" years in which she lived in her mother s family,
" she could never observe in this lady any unbe-
" coming word or action, or any thing, with
" which if the whole world had been acquainted,
" would have in the least degree tended to her
" just diminution or disparagement."
She studied much how to gratify the tempers
of those with whom she conversed in all lawful
ways, so that she hath been often observed to
deny herself to please others. This excellent dis
position rendered her even in matters of argument,
which she wanted not abilities to manage to good
purpose, not obstinately tenacious of her own
opinions, but obligingly compliant to the judg
ment of others, where conscience of duty did not
require the contrary.
These qualities furnished her with excellent con-
LADY LANGHAM. 165
stitucnts for a friend, and accordingly she emi
nently shone in that character. She did not
hastily admit any to her bosom-acquaintance, but
having* once received any to that intimacy, she
was candidly free and open in communicating*
what her judgment, which was ever riper than her
years, suggested to be most for the advantage of
their spiritual interests whether in the way of ad
vice, or comfort, or reproof; for which last, the
most painful exercise of friendship, she always re
served a liberty even to her choicest and nearest
friends, and which she constantly managed with
remarkable moderation and tenderness, and yet
she was at the same time so severely conscientious
in the discharge of this truly friendly office that,
Jiaving frequent occasions to receive visits from,
and return visits to persons of her acquaintance,
who made the reverend names of Jesus and Lord
interjections in their ordinary discourse, she made
it a case of conscience whether she did not greatly
neglect her duty in not reproving them for it.
And that she might not appear more rigid to
others in this kind than she was to herself, her
own life was a comment upon those words of the
Apostle, Eph. v. 15. " See that ye walk circum-
" spectly," for, so exact was her own walk, that
her care was not only to avoid what she condemned,
but what she did but suspect was amiss in the
conversation of others, so that her conscience
would not permit her to pardon in herself what
her charity induced her to indulge in others.
And indeed she was always remarkable for a
tender conscience, that took the alarm at the
smallest sin, or but the appearance of it. Among
which take these two instances out of many others
that might be given. In her younger years she
addressed herself to her governess with tears, en
treating her to forgive her, " for that in her
childhood she was conscious that she had been
wanting in affection to her, for that she thought
1(56 MEMOIRS OF
" she did not then love her." A fault of which
surely others are far more guilty, and yet are less
troubled for it. Another time in her more mature
age, when she had mifdly enough threatened a
child over whom she had some inspection com
mitted to her, that if the child did not such a
thing she would not love her, she presently re
called her speech as too hard, saying, <: Alas!
" God deals not so Math us, notwithstanding our
" continual disobedience."
As a friend she observed that the exchange of
kindness is the fuel that feeds the flame of mutual
affections, and keeps it from going out, or burn
ing dimly ; and she accounted it the greatest sole
cism in friendship to be suspicious in receiving as
well as parsimonious in returning kindnesses, and
therefore what of this nature she received, she
would not, though sometimes possibly there were
probable grounds so to do, interpret it amiss, pro
fessing that she abhorred the suspicion of a sinis
ter design in kindness, as the very bane of grati
tude, and in her returns she was nobly obliging,
as studying rather to stand in her friends books a
creditor than a debtor.
We have before taken notice of her devotion as
an early blossom, but it had not the fate that
often happens to the first flowery births of the
spring, to be blasted and fall off before it came to
maturity. As she grew in years she grew also in
grace, and in acquaintance and communion with
God, and kept up a constant correspondence with
the court of heaven, which divine intercourse she
followed so closely that her mother, while she was
under her government, apprehending that she
would hurt her constitution by so intense a piety,
once in a friendly manner told her, " that if she
" intended to hold on that course, she was not
" fit to live in this world." To which our humble
lady, probably taking to herself the expression
of "unfit ness to live in another sense than that
LADY LANGHAM.
which her mother intended, answered with much
meekness, " No indeed, madam, I confess I am
" not."
When she entered into the married state, she
abated not of her devotion. Her constant retire
ments for that purpose were answerable to those of
Daniel, chap. vi. 10, three times in the day.
And after the decease of her excellent sister-in-
law, Dr. Langham s wife, who went to the grave
some weeks before her, as if she had had taken
the alarm to prepare for her own dissolution, which
was so shortly to follow, she more than doubled
that proportion even to David s seven times a day,
Psalm cxix. 164.
In her devotions she employed herself not only
in prayer and meditation, but also in the constant
reading and study of the sacred scriptures, which
always took up a considerable part of her daily
hours of retirement, together with the reading-
more or less of the writings of some learned prac
tical divines, with whose books her closet was
well furnished. She also made it part of her de
vout exercises to read over one sermon every day,
generally out of her note-books, for she con
stantly took down the sermons she heard, by
which practice, and by frequent inculcation she
fixed in her memory all that she heard, and had
it in readiness for the direction of her conversa
tion, whensoever she had occasion to make use
of it.
To this proportion of constant devotion which
she assigned for herself every day, if we add her
great care to fill up all the rest of her time in edi
fying conversation, we cannot but esteem her a
great example of Eph. v. 16 . where the apostle
commands us to redeem the time, for she bought
time out, as the word signifies*, of the hands of
those profligate wasters of our precious minutes,
16S MEMOIRS OF
unprofitable pastimes and recreations, whence it
was, that she never allowed herself to see any
masques, interludes, or plays, or to play at cards,
or the like games, and that because she doubted
whether the expence of so much time, as such
diversions commonly consume, would be allowed
on the great day of her audit.
She had an high esteem of every part of the
holy Bible, yet there was one part of it, the book
of Psalms, with which she seemed to be most
passionately affected, perhaps because she found
such an agreement between her own heart and the
spirit of that book. This her affection she shewed
by reading, or causing to be read one or more of
the Psalms constantly at her hour of repose in
the evening, which by meditation and discourse
she used to improve to her own benefit, and the
benefit of them who were about her.
When she lay down on her bed it was her cus
tom to repeat some Psalm or another which she
had by heart, and in the same manner she opened
her morning ; so that her sleep was a paren
thesis between her morning and her evening* de
votions.
In her course of life she was strictly careful to
avoid all manner of sin, and very solicitous in all
emergencies that were of consequence to under
stand what her duty was, that she might accord
ingly practise it ; for as she made God s testimo
nies her delight, so she made them her counsel-
O
lors, Psalm cxix. 24. so that she never determined
any doubtful matter without great deliberation,
and the best advice she could obtain.
She regularly attended the public ordinances.
And that she might make the best improvement of
the company of good ministers, whose lips God
has appointed to preserve knowledge, she would
in their private conferences, as well as in their
public ministrations, seek the law at their mouth.,
Mai. ii. 7.
LADY LAXGHAM. 16$
Accordingly when she met with any divines of
note at her father-in-law, sir John Langkains
table, she would desire herhushand to set on foot
some profitable discourse which might give the
company the advantage of their conversation,
professing that she judged it quite absurd and in
congruous to reason as well as religion, that phy
sicians and lawyers should be so commonly enter
tained with discourses suitable to their respective
functions, and that divines only should be treated
with things out of the verge of their profession,
nay, indeed with matters quite foreign to their
sacred office.
Such was the devotion of this excellent lady to
wards God 1 And she had as well learned her duty
towards her neighbours, of which she gave the
brightest evidences in every relation and capacity
/"!/" A */
of life.
Her husband had the chief place in her affec
tions. She so entirely loved him that she has
been heard to say, " that she could even die for
"him." She expressed her high regard to him
by her dutiful compliance with whatsoever she
observed to be his pleasure. She never received
the least intimation of what was his mind, though
delivered as a request, but it had with her the
force of a command. So that no instances of
marriage-happiness in others ever led him to re
flect on any deficiency in his own, but rather pro
duced a greater complacency in his own felicity,
as he found himself happy in his own choice, even
beyond the most eminent examples.
And not only her love, and dutiful deportment,
but her uncommon learning also rendered her a
most delightful companion to her husband. She
was capable of conversing with him upon points
both of divinity, and humanity, and that in more
languages than one, for she was able to make use
of learned authors in their own tongues, not need-
170 MEMOIRS OF
ing the aid of translations. She understood the
Latin, French, and Italian languages.
Amidst these extraordinary accomplishments
she was not at all elated, so that her husband was
a perfect stranger to all those inconveniencies
which some have imagined necessarily accompany
a learned wife. She always behaved herself to him
as her lord and head, and made use of her own
knowledge and learning only to capacitate her to
make the best improvement of his, from whom
she was ready to receive instruction.
To her mother she did not in the least forget
her duty, when her marriage dismissed her from
her government, but she still allowed her the next
seat in her affections to that of her husband, and
so behaved herself towards her that her mother
not only always esteemed her as a very dutiful and
deserving daughter, but as her own expression
was, " an excellent friend."
To her father-in-law she paid the same duty
(according to the particular direction given her
by her mother at the time of marriage) which
she shewed to her own mother, as considering
that where the ordinance of God brings persons
into such a near relation as that of husband and
wife it makes also a proportionable union to their
respective natural relations on both sides.
To the memory of her predecessor in that rela
tion in which she stood to sir James Langham,
she testified, a thing perhaps not very usual in
such a case, a very singular respect, eagerly in
quiring after her special virtues, which she de
signed for her own imitation, and giving the
good which she heard concerning her its just
praises.
To the children which sir James had by his
first lady, Providence having denied him any by
this except one in expectation to whom the death
of the mother rendered the womb a grave, she
vvas in her great care and tenderness towards them
LADY IANGIIAM. 171
so much more than a mother-in-law that it was
impossible for any but those who knew others ;.sc
not to have mistaken her for their own mother.
So solicitously did she interest herself in both
the education of them, and provision for them,
and so concerned was she for them on all occasions
of bodily distemper, that she thereby deserved to
have rendered the name of a step-mother a name
of honour and delight, and exhibited an example
from which even mothers themselves might not
disdain to learn a law of kindness towards their
own offspring.
From the daughter, about eleven years of age,
she constantly required a repetition by heart of
the sermons which she heard, and for this task
she had by her instructions so methodized the me
mory of this young child that she was able to
analyze a sermon containing thirty or forty parti
culars, with the most remarkable enlargements
upon them.
This religious care of her children she conti
nued not only during her health, but even in the
time of her sickness also, so far as her weakness
would permit. And to shew that she minded
them so long as she minded any thing in this
world, even upon her dying-bed she requested
her husband, though he needed not any such in
citement to his duty, " to train them up in the
" exercises of strict godliness, and to take care
" that they were taught such evidences of salva-
" tion as might one day support them in their dy-
" ing agonies."
To her servants she carried herself with such
mildness and condescension as if they had not
been properly servants, but a sort of inferior
friends ; a deportment that wrought in them a
kind of awful love, and produced the service of
the heart, and not that of the eye, the too com
mon vice of persons in that station. She extended
her care even to the meanest of her servants, and
172 MEMOIRS OF
that not only for their bodies, but for their souls,
calling her maids, who were more immediately
under her inspection, to an account in writing,
if they could write, of the sermons which they
heard, helping and supplyiing their deficiencies
out of her own exact notes. She would call them
up early to wait upon God in their morning devo
tions before they came to her, and if any one
among them, for she would examine them sever
ally, confessed, or by silence betrayed a neglect
of private devotion, she would immediately dis
miss them from a present attendance upon her to
seek God by prayer, and that not without some
reprehension for giving her service the precedency
to that of their Maker. And this care she took,
as she would frequently say to her husband, " from
" a deep conviction of this truth, that governors
" of families are to be accountable to God for the
" souls of the meanest persons under their roof."
This course, so far as she could bear it, she con
tinued even in her last sickness, for when her own
bodily distemper kept any of them from the church
to attend her on the Lord s day, she would tell
them, " that nothing but an absolute necessity
" should have been a sufficient reason with her for
" detaining them at home. But yet," said she,
c< your minds are at liberty. Let God have as
" much worship as you can give him. Lift up
" your hearts. Remember it is the Lord s day. *
She not only shewed her care of her servants
while they continued with her, but expressed it
to such as went from her. Of which the following
is an excellent example. When a servant of the
lowest class came to take her leave of her, she
gave her, with other proofs of her kindness and
charity, much good counsel, and entreated her
husband to make some additions to her benevo
lence, but especially to dismiss her with a second
donation of good advice.
Her charity to the poor was very eminent. She
1ADY LANGIIAM. 173
stayed not till they made known their necessities,
but even drew out from them those complaints
which their modesty would have suppressed hy her
particular inquiry into their conditions, that so
she might find out in what way she might be be
neficial and helpful to them. When she was in
formed of any of their wants being so great as
exceeded an ordinary work of charity, she was
ever solicitous how she might procure a propor
tionable supply for them. Her charity did not
extend only to the bodies of those whom she re
lieved, but she gave to most of them, especially
to those, whose great exigencies would probably
render them more careful and inclinable to fall in
with her wishes, a double alms, that of her Chris
tian bounty, and that of her Christian counsel.
But a thousand instances of her great and fre
quent charity there was reason to believe escaped
the observation of any but of those who received
it, she being in acts of this nature contented with
the notice of God, and her own conscience, guid
ing herself by our Saviour s rule, " Let not thy
"left-hand know what thy right-hand does,"
Matt, vi. 3. And yet to the glory of God, and
her own commendation and honour, the good
deeds of this kind which she studiously concealed
in her life-time came to light in a great measure
after her death, as appeared in the multitudes of
poor people who came thronging to have a sight
of her hearse, and who shewed that it was not so
much curiosity as affection that brought them,
by the bitter lamentations and tears with which
they bewailed her death, as the widows did that
of Dorcas, Acts ix. 39, as their universal and
irreparable loss.
In the exercise of this her charity out of her
great fear lest she should be too well thought of,
if others knew the proportion of it, and that she
might be assured that it was not diverted from the
.1/4 MEMOIRS OF
right channel, she commonly trusted no hands
with it but her own, making it her care before
she went abroad at any time to furnish her poor -
man s purse with such monies as were proper to
be distributed among such necessitous objects,
which Providence before her return might cast
in her way.
One remarkable passage must not be omitted
under this head of her charity, though it only
shews her judgment in the choice of fit persons
upon whom to bestow it. She was once told of
the prodigious bounty of some of her ancestors
towards religious places, and persons, as also for
the education of young students in the Universi
ties. As soon as this last sort of chanty was
mentioned she particularly applauded it, and thus
expressed her mind upon it. "Indeed," said she,
" it is the best charity to promote the good of
" souls, and it is a much nobler bounty to be the
" means of thus consecrating the life of one
" than to relieve the age and infirmities of
" twenty."
She always declared a great detestation of
tale-bearing, the bane of love and friendship.
She always suspected a passionate accuser as be
ing commonly more faulty than the party ac
cused. In differences of this nature which came
under her cognizance she constantly used this
healing method, first to allay the acrimony of
the contending spirits, and then to accommodate
the difference itself.
Indeed her charity in all points answered the
description which the great apostle St. Paul
gives of that heavenly grace, which to read is to
comprize the whole history of her life in a short
epitome, 1 Cor. xiii. 4. " Charity suffers long,
" and is kind, envies not, vaunts not itself, is
" not puffed up, does not behave itself unseemly,
"seeks not her own, is not easily provoked,
LADY LANGHAM. 175
" thinks no evil, rejoices not in iniquity, but re-
* * joices in the truth, bears all things, believes all
" things, hopes all things, endures all things/
The sickness which proved mortal to her sud
denly seized her, being the small-pox, disguised
under the relics of a fever, from which as to ap
pearance she was almost recovered. The arrest of
death on the very borders of expected health
might well have discomposed any mind but such
an one as hers, but she was always so well secured
by the Christian armour that no event could be
fall her for which she was not prepared.
During the twilight of hopes and fears, which
for a time held both her physicians and relations
in suspense concerning her, she always seemed
with St. Paul, Phil. i. 23. " to have a desire
" to depart, and be with Christ," entreating her
dear husband, who was humbly importunate for
a longer enjoyment of her, " that he would not
" pray for her life, but for her soul, that God
" would make her fit to die, or, if he pleased to
" gratify the desires of those who so affection-
" ately wished her recovery, that he would so
" sanctify his hand to her that she might obtain.
" grace from him to pay her vows;" for indeed
her great aim and design were to be perfecting
holiness in the fear of God, and the request she
made for herself in the midst of her feverish pa
roxysm was " that by the burning heat, as she
"said, she might be purified and refined," con
formable to which was that petition of hers in a
former sickness a little before her marriage, which
she expressed with most emphatical vehemency,
" O that I could do the whole will of God !"
In other moments of her last sickness, when
her husband had offered up his earnest requests
for her recovery to health, and a longer life, she
would, after prayer was over, kindly chide the
exuberancy of his affections, and desire him to
rest content in the promise of God, " that all
176 MEMOIRS OF
" tilings should work together for his good, Horn.
" viii. 28, and to resign himself, as she wholly
" did, to the divine will, withal telling him that
" he had no reason to let loose the reins to sor-
" row, if he saw her die with good evidences
" of her going to heaven;" and to allay his pas
sions in his greatest fears of that separation which
he so much deprecated, she observed to him,
" we came not into the world together, nor can
" we expect to go out of it together, yet it is a
" great satisfaction to me that I am going there
" where after a while you will follow me."
During the whole time of her sickness she was
much concerned about a right deportment under
the afflicting hand of God, and afraid lest the
restlessness occasioned by her disease might be
the fruit of impatience, for which reason she would
oftentimes with an holy jealousy of herself ask
those who were about her, " whether she did not
" seem to them to be deficient in patience?" and
she appeared to be troubled at the remembrance
of the carriage of some Christian friends, with
whom she had been present on their sick beds, as
conscious to herself how short she came of them.
She had some conflicts with temptations, if ra
ther they were not the tenderness of her own
conscience, which was apt to smite her for the
smallest omissions, of which they who knew the
strictness of her walking with God thought she
had little reason to complain, and the very com
plaint in the nature of it discovered an eminent
proficiency in holiness.
But it pleased God that these thin and light
clouds were soon dispelled, the smiles of the di
vine countenance breaking through them, and
filling her soul with comfort, so that she told a
friend who visited her, " that she blessed God,
14 that, instead of a longer stay in a workl full of
u troubles and miseries, He had given her the
" sight of a better country, and had cleared her
LADY LANGIIAM. 177
" title to it, and interest in it so that she was
" willing* to resign her soul into the hands of her
" heavenly Father, as knowing whom she had
" trusted, and to quit her earthly tabernacle in
" exchange for that house not made with hands
" eternal in the heavens."
And thus fell what was mortal of this excellent
woman to her own infinite gain, but to the inex
pressible loss of all her surviving friends and ac
quaintance, but especially of her near relations.
Though indeed it was her advice to her tenderly
loving and affectionate husband in the time of
her health, " to take heed of over- loving her,
" wishing him to beware of it, as he desired not
" to part with her; for," said ^he, " God will en-
" dure no rival."
VOL. I.
MEMOIRS OF
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
MARY, Countess of WARWICK.
HIS lady was the daughter of Richard Boyle,
the first earl of Cork, who was horn a private
gentleman, and the younger brother of a younger
brother, and to no other heritage than wliat is ex
pressed in the words,
God s Providence is my Inheritance,
which as a motto he inscribed on the magnificent
buildings he erected, and indeed ordered to be*
placed on his tomb.
By that Providence succeeding his unremit
ting and wise industry he raised himself to such-
honour and estate, and left behind him such a
dignified family, as has very rarely if ever before
been known, and all this with such an unspotted
reputation for integrity as that the most envious-
scrutiny could discover no blemish in it, and thafc
only shone the brighter by the malignant attempts
made to obscure and debase it.
The mother of our lady was Catherine only
daughter of sir Geoff ry Pent on, principal secre
tary of state in Ireland. She was married to- Mr.
oi/le, July 2,5, 16()3, and obtained this most ho
nourable testimony from her husband, " I never,"
says he, " demanded any marriage portion, neither
" promise of any, it not being in my consider-
" ation; yet her father, after her marriage, gave
" me one thousand pounds in gold with her. But
<: that gift of his daughter unto me I must ever
" thankfully acknowledge as the crown of all
" my blessings, for she was a most religious, vir*
" tuous, loving, and obedient wife unto me all the
days of her" life, and the happy mother of all
Sail?-
S <D)F
*by Xt.Oylt
tHE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 179
" my hopeful children, whom with their posterity
" I beseech God to bless*."
By that excellent lady, the earl of Cork had
Jifteen children. The Hon. Robert Boyle, fa
mous as a philosopher, more famous as a Christian,
was one of them. Mary the seventh daughter,
and who was married to Charles Rich, earl of
IVarwick, is the subject of our Memoirs. lit
opening her character to the public view we shall
begin with that which had the first place in her
regard, piety towards God. We shall make some
observations on her entrance upon it on her
progress in it on the various exercises of it
and her holy zeal and industry to promote and
encourage religion in others.
As to her entrance upon religion, or making it
her business in good earnest, though she had re*
ceived a good education, and had been instructed
in the grounds of religion in her youth, yet she
would confess that she understood nothing of the
life and power of godliness upon her heart, and
indeed had no spiritual sense of it till some years
after she was married. Nay, she declared that
she came into the family in which she lived and
died with so much honour, with prejudices and
strange apprehensions as to matters of religion, and
was almost affrighted with the disadvantageous
accounts she had received concerning it, but
when she came to see the regular performance of
divine worship, and hear "the useful edifying
preaching of the most necessary, practical, and
substantial truths, and observe the order and
good government maintained in it, and met with
the favour of her right honourable father-in-law,
wlw had always an extraordinary esteem and af
fection for her, her groundless prepossessions
dispersed like mists before the sun, and were suc
ceeded by the most cordial approbation.
* Birctfs Life of the Hon. Uobert Boyle, p. 10.
N 2
i<80 MEMOIRS OF
, The providence of God made use of two more
remote means of her conversion, afflictions and re
tirement. Divine wisdom and grace may be very
adorable in adapting suitable means to accomplish
the good purposes of God towards men, and
afflictions and retirement in this lady s circum
stances appeared to be admirably chosen out by
Providence for her. Her great impediment and
difficulty lay in her love of the pleasures and vani
ties of the world, which she neither knew how to
reconcile with the strictness of religion, nor yet
could be content to part with for that, whose
nobler delights she at that time had never expe
rienced. The Lord therefore gradually drew off
her mind from the pleasures and vanities of the
world by rendering insipid by her afflictions
what had too much attached her regards, and by
granting her an happy retirement to acquaint her
self more thoroughly with the things of God ; by
which she was enabled to set her seal to that tes
timony which God gives to spiritual wisdom, that
" her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all
her paths are peace." Prov. Hi. 17, which indeed
she would frequently and freely do to her friends
by assuring them that she had no cause to repent
the exchange of the shadowy and unsubstantial
pleasures of this world for the solid and satisfac
tory joys she found in religion, thereby inciting
and encouraging them to make the experiment,
not doubting but that upon the trial they would
be of the same sentiments with herself.
Two more immediate helps which God blessed
to the good of her soul were the preaching of the
word, and Christian conference. The pressing
the necessity of speedy and true repentance, and
shewing the danger of procrastination, the put
ting off, and stifling convictions seemed to turn
the wavering trembling balance, and to fix the
scale of her resolution.
This .happy change took place about thirty
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 181
years before her death, and from this time, (for
though her conversation before was by no means
vicious, but sweet and inoffensive, yet she would
confess that her mind was vain) she walked most
closely, circumspectly, and accurately with God;
and very few, if any, from what was seen in her;
ever chose the better part with more resolution,
or more unreservedly devoted themselves to the
love, fear, and service of God, learning to be re
ligious in good earnest, and to increase and grow
in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and
Saviour Jesus Christ.
To promote, and strengthen religion in her
soul, she, like the wise man. Matt. vii. 24, dug-
deep to lay her foundations upon a rock. She
made a strick scrutiny into the state of her soul,
and weighed the reasons of her choice in the
balance of the sanctuary, and with the otner
builder in the gospel, Luke xiv. 28. sat do\vn and
considered with herself what it might cost to
finish her spiritual edifice, and whether she were
furnished to bear the charge. She examined
whether the grounds of her hope were firm, and
such as would not illude and shame her, and
whether her evidences for heaven were such as
would abide the test, and be approved by scrip
ture. On this most important and interesting
concern she drew up a paper with her own hand
which a good judge, to whom she privately com*
municated it, declared to be judiciously, modestly,
and humbly written. Having put her hand to
the plough she looked not back, but minded reli
gion as her business indeed, and never gave so
much as the suspicion of her trifling in so solemu
and momentous a work.
As to the various exercises of religion, or the
practice of it, it appeared to be her great design
to walk worthy of God in all well-pleasing, to
adorn her professed subjection to the gospel by
a conversation becoming it, and to shew forth his
182 MEMOIRS OF
virtues and praises who had called her into his
marvellous light
Accordingly she was very careful and circum
spect in abstaining from all appearance of evil.
In all doubtful cases her rule was to take the safest
side, for she would say that she was sure it would
do her no hurt to let what was any way dubious
as to its lawfulness alone. While therefore none
were further from censuring others, ur usurping
judgment over their liberties, yet for herself she
would never allow herself the addition of an ar-r
tificial beauty, using neither paint nor patches ;
neither would she plav at any games, because, be
sides many other inconvcniencies, she thought
them great wasters of precious time, of which she
was nobly avaricious, There were three things
she said that were too hard for her, and which
she confessed she could not comprehend.
" How those who professed to believe an eter*
" nal state, and its dependance upon this inch of
< time, could complain of time s lying as a dead
" commodity on their hands which they were at a,
" difficulty to dispose of.
" How professing Christians, who would seem
" devout at church, could laugh at others for be-
" ing serious out of it, and burlesque the Bible,
<{ and turn religion into ridicule,
And finally, " How intelligent men could take
" care of souls, and seldom come among them,
*< and never look after them ?"
Many years before her death she began to keep
a diary, consulting two persons whom she used to
call her soul friencls concerning the best manner
of performing it, She at first wrote her diary
every evening, but finding the evening inconve
nient from her lord s long illness, which occasi^
oned her many inevitable interruptions at that
season, she changed it into the quiet, silent morn
ing, always rising early. In this diary among
ether things, she recorded the daily frame of
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 183
own heart towards God, his signal providences to
herself, and sometimes to others, the gracious ma
nifestations of God to her soul, answers of pray
er, temptations resisted, or prevailing, or what
ever might be useful for caution or encourage
ment, or afford her matter of thankfulness or hu
miliation.
She used to stile prayer hearts-ease, as she of
ten experienced it ; and, though her modesty was
such, and she was so far from a vain ostentation
of her gifts, that a minister* who was long ac
quainted with her, says, " that he could not name
" one person with whom she prayed; yet," adds
he, " I can say that she was not only constant
<c and abundant in prayer, but mighty and fer-
" vent in it, for, as she sometimes used her voice,
" she hath been overheard in her devotions, and
" her own lord, knowing her hours of prayer,
" once conveyed a grave and judicious minister
into a secret place within hearing, who much
" admired her humble fervency." In praying she
prayed, and, when she used not an audible voice,
her sighs and groans would be heard from her
closet. On the very day before she died she shut
up herself above an hour, which she spent in fer
vent private prayer, notwithstanding her indispo
sition. Indeed prayer was the very element in
which she lived, and actually died ; or the vital
breath of her soul that wafted it immediately to
heaven.
But if she exceeded herself in any thing, as
much as she excelled others in most things, it
: Dr. Anthony Walker, rector of Fv field in ftwr.r. lie
preached ti Sermon at Felsted at the countess s funeral, mid
iiftenvaids printed it under the title of, The. virtuous Wowait
found, her J^oss bewailed, and her Character exemplified : to \vljicli
are annexed, Some of her fadyahip j pious and iiseful JJediftifiojix.
To this publication we have been principally obliged for the
Memoirs of this excellent lady, us well us her pious compo
sures.
184 MEMOIRS OF
was in Meditation. She usually walked two
hours every morning to meditate alone, in which
divine art she was a most accomplished proficient
both as to set and occasional contemplations ; in
set contemplations choosing some particular sub
ject, which she would press upon her heart with
the most intense thoughts, till she had drawn
out its juice and nourishment; and in occasional
meditations like a hee extracting honey from all
occurrences; whole volumes, of which she hath
left behind her.
After she had consecrated the day with reading
the Scriptures, prayer, and meditation, a short
dressing- time, and ordering her domestic affairs,
or reading some good book, employed the remain
der of the morning, till the season came for cha
pel-prayers, from which she never absented her-
selfj and in which she was ever reverent, and a
devout example to her whole family.
She was a strict observer of the Lord s day,
which may be truly considered as the best exter
nal preservative of religion ; for it is very evident
that the streams of godliness are deep or shallow,
according as this bank is kept up, or neglected.
This lady was a very serious and diligent hearer
of the word, and constantly after sermon recol
lected what she had heard, sometimes by writing,
always by thinking, and calling it to mind that
she might make it her own, and turn it into prac
tice, not content to be a forgetful fruitless hearer,
but being a doer that she might be blessed in her
deed, James i. 25.
Nor was she less solicitous to make others good
than to be good herself. She well remembered
our Saviour s charge to Peter, when thou art
converted strengthen thy brethren, Luke xxii. 32.
She set herself to build God s spiritual temple,
and applied herself to it with all her might. She
had a seraphic zeal for the glory of God, and a
great love for immortal souls, and hence she was
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 185
engaged to promote religion, with the utmost in
dustry, which that she might accomplish with
the greater advantage,
She would in company introduce good discourse
to prevent idle, or worse communication. She
would drop a wise sentence, or moral or holy apo
thegm, with which she was richly furnished from
her own making, or her collection, that suited
with, or was not very remote from what was talked
of, and by commending, or improving that she
would turn the conversation into a useful channel
without offence, and even with pleasure. She in
deed kept a hook of such wise, weighty sayings;
much valuing sentences which contained much
use and worth in a little compass. The following
were a few out of the many.
The almost Christian is the unhappiest of men;
having religion enough to make the world hate
him, and yet not enough to make God love him.
The servants of God should he as bold for
their master, as the servants of the devil are for
theirs.
O Lord, what I give thee doth not please thee,
unless I give thee myself. So what thou givest
me shall not satisfy me, unless thou give me thy
self.
O Lord, who givest grace to the humble, give
me grace to be humble.
lie loves God too little, who loves any tiling
with him which he loves not for him.
So speak to God as though men heard thee;
so speak to men, as knowing God hears thee.
We should meditate on Christ s cross till we
are fastened as close to him as he was to the cross.
By how much the more vile Christ made him
self for us, by so much the more precious should
he be to us.
He who takes up Christ s cross aright, shall
find it such a burden as wings to a bird, or sails
to a ship.
186 MEMOIRS OF
It is a great honour to be almoner to the King
of heaven. To give is the greatest luxury. How
indulgent then is God to annex future rewards to
what is so much its own recompense ?
To he libelled for Christ is the best panegyric.
Where affliction is heavy, sin is light.
Sin brought death into the world, and nothing
but death will carry sin out of it.
The best shield against slanderers is to live so
that none may believe them,
He who revenges an injury, acts the part of
an executioner; he who pardons it, acts the part
of a prince.
Why are we so fond of that life that begins
with a cry, and ends with a groan?
Where this excellent lady had particular kind
ness, or personal interest, she would improve the
authority of her friendship in free discourses and
arguments, and plead the cause of God, and their
own souls, with such eloquence, that it was hard
to resist the spirit with which she spake, " Let
" me," says the minister who writes her life, and
was many years well acquainted with her, " echo
44 from her lips, though alas too faintly, how she
" wjuld with melting charms, and powerful strains
* make her attempts upon the friends for whom
ft she had a kindness, and whom she longed to
" rescue from ruin.
" Come, come, my friend, you must be good ;
(( you shall be good. I cannot be so unkind, nay,
" so unfaithful to the laws of friendship as to let
" you persist and perish in a way which you know
tc as wc-11 as I leads clown to hell. It grieves my
" very soul to have so good a nature ensnared
" against the dictates of its own light by bad ex-
" ample, custom, or any thing else."- If they
replied with excuses, she would stop them thus:
"Pray, my friend, have patience; hear me out.
" I know, or guess at least what you would say,
" and I would not have you say it. It is bad to
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 187
" commit sin, but it is worse to plead for it, and
" defend it, None sin so dangerously as those
" who sin with excuses. The devil then plants a
" new snare when begets into our tongues to fas*
* k ten us to our failings, or when he niiscs an out-
" work in our own mouths to secure the fort he
" possesses in our hearts. I take it for granted,
" that all other holds were quitted easily could
" you conquer such or such a vice, too much by
f( custom prevailing over you. Unhappy custom
" that dares prescribe against God s law ! But,
" friend, use no arguments that will not hold at
" the clay of judgment, though hand join in hand,
ic you know what follows. No example, custom,
ff number should have power over us which cannot
tf excuse and secure us. But this is the mischief
" of sin lived in ; it bewitches the heart to love it
* so that it cannot leave it. CANNOT! So men
(i love to speak, but it is because they will not,
" that is will use no endeavours to be rid of it.
" But, my friend, you must leave it, there is no
" remedy, though it cost you trouble, smart, and
" self-denial, There is as much as all this comes
" to in cutting off a right hand, and plucking
" out a right eye. I speak to you as to one in whom
>l I have a party to help me plead, I mean your
" conscience, and the belief of the Scriptures,
" for, if you were one of those on whom you
" know I use to set my mark, I would not give
" you this trouble, nor esteem myself under more
" than the laws of general charity to wish you
" better, and should hardly venture my little
" skill to make you so. But as for you, who still
" own God s authority, and believe his word, and
" attend his worship, why should I despair of
" making one part of yourself agree with the
" other, your practice with your convictions, your
" conversation with your conscience? And not to
" terrify you with the thunder-claps of wrath and
* vengeance, and God s judging you know whom
188 MEMOIRS OF
" Listen to the still voice. It is your peculiar
" eminency to be kind and grateful, and because
" there is a kind of magnetic virtue in these ar-
" guments which touches our temper, I shall at-
" tack you on that side, hoping the strongest ex-
" cellency of your nature will prove the weakest
" defensative for sin, and to keep out God. You
" therefore who are so good-natured, so kind, so
" grateful, that you never think you have ac-
" quitted yourself sufficiently to those who have
" been civil, or as you please to call it obliging,
" Oh ! how can you be so unkind and so ungrate-
" ful to God Almighty, the kindest friend, who
C is so much before-hand with you, who hath
" given you so much good, and is so ready to
" forgive you all your sins? O that you who I
< dare say would take my word for any thing else
" would do me the honour to take my word for
" him, who I assure you upon your sincere repent -
" ance will be fully reconciled to you in Christ,
<c and never so much as upbraid your past neglects,
" but heal your backslidings, and love you freely.
" And do not fear you shall have cause to repent
" of your repentance. No man was ever yet a
" loser by God, and you shall not be the first.
" You shall not lose your pleasures but exchange
a them ; defiling ones for them which are pure and
" ravishing. And let it not seem strange, or in-
" credible to you that there should be such things
" as the pleasures of religion, because perhaps you
" never felt them. Alas ! you have deprived your-
" self unhappily, by being incapable of them.
" New wine must be put into new bottles. To
" say nothing of what the Scriptures speak of a
u day s in God s courts being better than a thou-
" sand, and of joys unspeakable, and full of glo-
" ry, of the great peace they have who keep
< God s law, and that nothing shall offend them,
" and that wisdom s ways are pleasantness, let my
" weakness reason out the case with yoiu Do you
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 189
" think that God s angels, who excel in all per-
<x fection, have no delight because they have no
" flesh, no sense, no bodies, as men and beasts ?
" Or have our souls, the angels in these houses of
" clay, which are God s images, and the price of
" his blood, no objects, no employments, which
" may yield them delight and satisfaction ? Think
<; not so unworthily of God, or so meanly of
" yourself. Have not the strokes of your own
" fancy, or the intellectual pleasures of your mind
" sometimes transported you beyond all the charms
: of your senses, when they have chimed all in
"tune together? And cannot Gocl think you,
" who is a spirit, and so fit an object for" our
" souls, give them as great pleasures as any object
" of our taste and sight? Come, come, my friend,
take my word for it, there is more pleasure in
:c the peace of a good conscience, in the well-
" grounded hopes that our sins are pardoned, in
" serving God, and in the expectation of eternal
life, than in all the pleasures in the world?
Alas ! I was once of your mind, but I assure
" yo upon my word, I have really found more
" satisfaction in serving God than ever I found
> in all the good things of this life, of which
" you know I have had my share. Try therefore;
" dare to be good, resolve to be so thoroughly.
If you do not find it much better than I have
< told you, never take my.word, or trust me more."
Thus and much more powerfully would our
lady s zeal for their good cause her to argue with
her friends that she might by holy violence at
tract and allure them to be good and happy.
She took great care of the souls of her servants,
and if she had any ambition in her it was to be
the mistress of a religious family. This appear
ed among others in the following particulars. In
exacting their attendance on the public worship
of God and reverent behaviour there:
In personal instruction and familiar persuasion
190 iitiioiRs of
of them: in preparing for them, and exhorting
them to the frequent participation of the Lord s*
Supper: in dispersing good hooks in all the com
mon rooms and places of attendance, that they
who were in waiting might not loose their time,
but well employ it: and in making religion in
her servants the step to their preferment; for she
used to make the 101st Psalm the rule of her eco
nomics, and, though she treated all her servants
as friends, yet they were her favourites which
most remarkably feared the Lord.
The good countess had learned St. Paul s
lesson to perfection, " to speak evil of no man. 1 "
Where she could not speak in commendation the
worst injury she would do was to be silent, irn-*
less it were to some single friend, of whose taci*
turnity she was secure by experience. Nor would
she invidiously diminish the just praises of any
who deserved them, but would study to exte
nuate their other failings by presenting the
bright sides of their characters to conceal their
dark ones.
As a wife it may be truly said that the heart of
her husband safely trusted in her, and that she
did him good, and not evil all the days of her life.
Never was woman more truly a crown or orna
ment to a man. She always lived under the sense
of the covenant of God which was between them
upon her heart. She was an equal mixture of af
fectionate obedience, and obediential affection.
She covered and concealed his infirmities, deeply
sympathized in his long indispositions, attended
and relieved him with the greatest tenderness, and
above all loved his soul, and would both counsel
him with a prudent zeal, and pray for him with
the strongest ardors and fervency. And he was
not wanting in her just praises. He hath with
vehement protestation!; declared, " he had rather
" have her with five thousand pounds, though
" she- brought him much more, than any woman
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 19 !
14 living with twenty." When the torrents of his
sorrow were highest for the death of his only
son, he made it the deepest accent of his grief,
" that it would kill his wife," which, he said, " wa*
" more to him than an hundred sons." But ac
tions speak louder than words: lie gave her his
whole estate, as an honourahle testimony of his
grateful esteem of her merits towards him, and
left her sole executrix. Which trust though it
cost her almost unspeakable labour and difficul
ties, she discharged with such indefatigable {Tains,
such conscientious exactness, and amazing pru
dence, that as she failed not of one tittle of his
will till all was executed, so she never gave or left
occasion for the least complaining from any inte
rested person, but rendered all more than silent,
satisfied, more than satisfied, applauding, and ad
miring her prudent and honourable management
of that great affair. An event which she owned
to God with much thankfulness, as no small
mercy and blessing to her. As for that noble
estate which was to descend to others after her,
she would not have wronged it in the least to
have gained the disposal of the whole, and there
fore was at vast expences in repairs, both of the
mansion, and the farms, though she herself had
them only for a term. It may be also truly said
concerning her that, though none were more ready
to recede from their own right terminating in per
sonal interests, yet that she was very strict and
tenacious in whatever might concern her suc
cessors, usually saying, " that, whatever she lost
" herself, she would never give occasion for them
" who came after her to say that she had hurt their
" estates, or wronged her trust, or them."
She was an incomparable mother, as appeared
in the education of her son, the hopeful young
lord Rich*, who went to the grave before her,
* Her historian tells us that she never was the mother of
more than two children, a daughter, who died young, and
MEMOIRS OF
and afterwards of three young ladies her nieces,
to whom she was in kindness an own mother,
though she was only an aunt-in-law. As they
were left with, less plentiful portions, she would
even during her son s life never leave pressing her
lord to make noble provisions for them, suitable
to their birth and qualities.
She was a most tender and indulgent landlady,
and would usually say of her tenants, " alas 1
" poor creatures, they take a great deal of pains,
" and I love to see them thrive, and live com-
" fortably, and I cannot bear to see them brought
" into straits, and would therefore without grudg-
" ing or difficulty have all things made conve-
" nient for them." And if they had sustained
any considerable losses she would effectually con
sider them, As for her copy-hold tenants she
would urge with warmth the timely finishing the
rolls of her courts, and the delivery of their
copies, declaring. " that she~ could not in con-
u science suffer these things to be neglected, be-
" cause it was all they had to shew for their
"estates. A piece of justice this not more ho
nourable than necessary in lords and ladies of
manors.
As a neighbour she was so kind and courteous
that it advanced the rent of adjacent houses to be
in such a near situation to her. Not only her
house and table, but her very countenance and
heart were open to all persons of quality for a
considerable circuit; arid for the inferior sort, if
they were sick, or, tempted, or in any distress of
body or mind, to whom should they apply but
to the good countess for assistance and relief?
She supplied them with surgical assistance and
physic, and herself, for she would personally visit
the meanest among them, and the ministers whom
this promising young gentleman, whom he here mentions with.
honour. .
THE COUNTESS OK WARWICK.
she would send to them, were their spiritual phy
sicians.
As her soul was filled with the love of God, so
she expressed her love to men in the most cxube^
rant munificence to all who stood in need of it.
In her charity she was forward to her power, yea,
and beyond her power ; for she would even anti
cipate her revenue and incomes rather than re
strain or suspend her liberality. She would not
live poor -in good works to die rich as to this
world s goods. She made her own hands her exe
cutors, and they were very faithful to her en
larged heart.
When she had in her lord s life-time a separate
allowance settled by marriage-articles, she con
sulted with a minister, with whom she was well
acquainted, what proportion persons are obliged
to consecrate to God of their substance. The
minister told her, " that it was hard, if not im-
; possible to fix a rule which should hold univer-
" sally, and that the circumstances in which per-
" sons stood, their qualities, their incomes, their
" dependencies must be considered, necessary and
" emergent occasions inevitably occurring." On.
her insisting on a more particular answer as to
herself what would be fit and becoming her to do,
the minister who was no stranger to her circum
stances, suggested, " that a seventh part he sup-
" posed would be a fit proportion of her substance
for charitable uses." Before he could assign
his reasons she replied, u that she would never
" give less than the third part." Accordingly she
kept her Resolution to the full, and with advan
tage, laying aside constantly that proportion for
charity, and even sometimes borrowing from the
other proportions to add to it, but never making
free with that to berve her own occasions, though
sometimes pressing enough.
When she came, to the possession of the very
large estate her lord bequeathed her for her life,
vol. i. o
MEMOIRS OF
she iii good measure realized what a great person
was reported to say, " that the earl of Warwick
" had given all his estate to pious uses," intend
ing that by giving it to his countess, it would
be converted to these purposes. All the satisfac
tion, as she declared, that she took in such large
possessions being put into her hands, was the
opportunity they afforded her of doing good; and
she averred that she would not accept of, or be
encumbered with the greatest estate in England^
if it should be offered her, if it was clogged with
this condition, that she was not to do good to
others with it.
Such was the amiable and exemplary life of the
countess of Warwick. It remains that some ac
count should be given of her death.
What presages she might have of its near ap
proach she never discovered, but her preparations
for it had been for a long time habitual. Death
was one of the most constant subjects of her
thoughts, and she used to call her walking to me
ditate upon it her going to take a turn with death,
so that it could never surprize or take her unpre
pared, who was always ready for it.
Yet there are some particulars worthy of our re
marks of the watchful kindness of Providence over
the people of God, alarming them to trim theif
lamps, as the wise virgins did, against the com
ing of the bridegroom, and allowing them fit op
portunities to do it, as Providence signally did to
this good lady.
The following transcript from her diary con
tains an account of the last Lord s day of her
health, being written but the very day before she
was taken ill; whence it should seem that the
thoughts of her dissolution were impressed upon
her soul in a remarkable manner, though at that
time there were no visible symptoms of it upon
her bodv.
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 19.7
March 24, 1678.
" As soon as I awoke I blessed God. I then
" meditated and endeavoured, by thinking of
" some of the great mercies of my life, to stir up
" my heart to give glory to God. These thoughts
" had this effect upon me to melt my heart much
" by the love of God, and to warm it with love
" to him.
" Next I prayed, and was enabled in that duty
" to pour out my soul to God. My heart was
" in it, and was carried out to praise God, and I was
* large in recounting many of his special mercies
" to me. While I was thus employed I found my
" heart in a much more than ordinary manner ex-
" cited to admire God for his goodness, and to
" love him. I found his love make deep impres-
" sions on me, and melting me into an unusual
" plenty of tears.
" Those mercies, for which I was in an especial
" manner thankful, were the creation and redemp-
" tioii of the world, and for the gospel, and the
" sacraments, and for free grace, and the cove-
" nant of grace, and for the excellent means of it
" 1 had enjoyed, and for the great patience God
" had exercised towards me before and since my
" conversion, and for checks of conscience when
" I had sinned, and for repentance when I had
" done so, and for sanctified affliction, and sup-
" ports under it, and for so large a portion of
" worldly blessings.
" After I had begged a blessing upon the pub-
" lie ordinances, I went to hear Mr. Woodroojf.
:< His text was, Pass the time of your sojour-
" nlng here in fear." After a summary ac
count of the sermon, she goes on, " In the after-
" noon I heard again the same person on the same
" text." This sermon she also concisely and me
thodically recapitulates, and then proceeds, " I
" \vus in a serious frame at both the sermons, and
o 2
]()6 MEMOIRS OF
" was by them convinced of the excellency of
" fearing God, and of employing the remainder
" of theVerm of my life in his service, and I re-
" solved to endeavour to spend the residue of my
" time better. At both the minister s prayers I
" prayed with fervency. Afterwards I retired,
"and meditated upon "the sermons, and prayed
" them over. I had also this evening large hied
" tations of death and of eternity, which thoughts
" had this effect upon me to beget in me an ex-
" traordinary awakened frame, in which the
" things of another life were much realized to me,
" and made very deep impressions upon me, and
" my soul followed hard after God for grace to
" serve him better than ever yet I had done.
u O Lord, be pleased to hear my prayers, which
" came not out of feigned lips, and to hear the
" voice of my weeping for more holiness, and tor
" being more weaned from the world, and all jti
" it! After supper I committed myself to God."
Our excellent lady was far from being among
their number whose consciences are such bad and
unquiet company that they hate solitude, and dare
not be alone, for she loved retirement, and found
in it her greatest satisfaction; though, when she
was called from it, she would deny her particular
inclination to comply with a duty of pressing ne
cessity, or of larger extent. Thus she cheartully
sustained the hurry of business, whieh was inevit
able, in discharging herself of the trust reposed
in her by her lord s last will.
But never did bird more joyfully clap its wings
when disentangled from a net, or delivered from
the prison of its cage, than she solaced hersell
upon her withdrawment from the bustle and croud
of terrene concerns. And when her dearest sis
ter was, in thebfcginmhg of the winter before she
d-d about to leave her, she took her farewell of
her in these words. " Now I have done my
" drudgery, (intending her attention to worldly
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. 197
" affairs) I will set to the renewing my prepara-
" tions for eternity;" and accordingly she made
it the repeated business of the following winter.
In the beginning of March, 1678, she set to
the making of her will anew, and signed and seal
ed it on the twelfth day of the same month, and
on the Tuesday, March 26, was taken with some
indisposition, loss of appetite, and aguish distem
per, and had four or five fits, which yet, in that
season, were judged, both by her physicians and
friends, more beneficial to her health, than threat
ening to her life. She continued afterwards free
from her fits till Friday the 12th of April, on
which day she rose in tolerable strength, and af
ter sitting up some time, being laid upon her bed,
she discoursed chearfully and piously. One of the
last sentences she spoke, having turned back the
curtain with her hand, being this most friendly
and divine one, " Well, ladies, if I were one hour
" in heaven, I would not be again with you as
" much as 1 love you/
Having then received a kind visit from a neigh
bouring lady, at her departure she rose from her
bed to her chair, in which being set she said she
would go into her bed, but first would desire qnp
of the ministers then in the house to pray with
]ier, and asking the company which they would
have, presently resolved herself to haVc him
who was going away, because the other would
stay and pray with her daily. lie was immediately
sent to, and came. Her ladyship, sitting in her
chair on account of her weakness, for otherwise
she always kneeled, and holding an orange in her
hand, to which she smelt, almost in the begin
ning of the prayer was heard to fetch a sight or
groan, which was esteemed devotional, but a gen
tlewoman who kneeled by her looking up, saw her
look pale, and her hand hang down; at which
she started up affrighted, and all applied them
selves to assist her ladyship, the minister catch-
198 MEMOIRS OF
ing hold of her right hand, winch had then lost
its pulse, nor ever recovered it more.
Thus died, in the fifty-fourth year of her age,
this right honourable lady, this most eminent
pattern of the zeal of the glory of God, and cha
rity for the good of men; she died in the actual
exercise of prayer, according to her own desire,
for there were many that could witness that they
had often heard her say, " that if she might
" choose the manner and circumstances of her
" death, she would die praying."
We shall annex to the Memoirs of this worthy
lady specimens of her own numerous composi
tions. Among her meditations on various sub
jects we find the following
MEDITATION,
On considering the different manner of the
working of a Bee and Spider.
While I am attending to this despicable Spider,
which, despicable as it is, yet has some of its kind
that have the honour to inhabit the courts of the
most glorious potentates, for the inspired volumes
tell us, that they are in king s palaces*, I am led
to consider that the work he is so busily employ
ed in, while he spins his webs entirely out of his
own bowels, without having any help from any
thing without him, is when it is finished good for
nothing, but is soon brushed down and flung
away, while the industrious Bee, who is busily
employed in making his useful combs, daily flies
abroad to enable him to do so, and, flying from
one flower to another, gathers from each of them
that which both renews his own strength, and
yields sweetness to others.
By the Spider s work I am minded of a formalist
pr proud professor, who works all from himself
* Trov, xxx, 28.
THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK.
and his own strength, and never goes out of him
self to get strength for his performances, or to
work by, and therefore his thin-spun righteousness
is good for nothing, and will be thrown away.
The Bee s going abroad is an emblem of the
real Christian, who is renewed in the spirit of his
mind, and, that he may be enabled to work the
great work for which he came into the world, he
goes out to an ordinance, and to Christ in a pro-?
mise for strength by which to work, and thus obr-
tains it, and this makes his work yield honey,
and turn to advantage.
O Lord, I most humbly beseech thee let me not
dare to work from myself, but let me go out
daily to thee for ability with which to work my
great and indispensable work, that I may deny
my own righteousness, and make mention of thine
only, and may iincl such sweetness from every
ordinance and promise, that my soul may be like
a garden which the Lord hath blessed, and may
exceedingly thrive and prosper!
We shall now give one of her pious Reflections
on several passages of Scripture.
REFLECTION
PSALM cxix. 136.
Rivers of Waters run down my Eyev, because
Men keep not thy Law.
Lord, when I read in thy word of the man after
thine own heart thus speaking, and yet consider
that I am so far from imitating him that I can
many times suffer sin to be upon my brother
without so much as giving him a reproof for it,
or advising him so much as to consider whom he
offends by it, nay, that I am ready to smile at
that which is a grief to thine Holy Spirit, I beseech
200 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
thee, O Lord, to humble me under this consider
ation, and to make me for time to come to him
tate holy David in my charity towards my offend
ing brother, and with thy servant Lot let my soul
be vexed in hearing and seeing the filthy con-
versaton of the wicked*. O let me be so chari
table as to weep over the soul of my offending
brother, and let me, as much as in me lies, deliver
him out of the snare of sin, and by my prayers,
and holy example, help him towards heaven !
* 2 Pet. ii. 8.,
( 201 )
LADY ELIZABETH BROOKE.
S lady was born at Jrigsalc in Susses, Ja-
unary, 16*01. Her father was Thomas Cul-
pcpper esquire, of Jl- igsalc, a branch of an an
cient, genteel family of that name, which was af
terwards in her brother advanced to the rank of
the nobility. lie was created a baron by kins*
diaries the first, with the title of John lord Cut-
pepper of Thoresicay. Her mother was the
daughter of sir Stephen Sidney.
Thus she had the honour of an honourable ex
traction, and a noble alliance; and as her family
conferred an honour upon her, so she reflected an
additional glory upon her family by her great
virtues, having been one of the most accomplished
persons of the age, whether considered as a ladv,
or a Christian.
While she was in her infancy she lost her mo
ther, and in her childhood her father, so that she
came early under the more peculiar care and pa
tronage of God, who is in an especial manner the
Father of the Fatherless.
Her first education was under her grand-mother
on the mother s side, the lady Sidney.
She had rare endowments of nature, an excel
lent mind, lodged in a fine form, and under a
beautiful aspect, the traces of which were dis
cernible even in her old age.. She had an extra
ordinary quickness of apprehension, a rich fancy,
great solidity of judgment, and a retentive me
mory.
She was married very young, about nineteen,
to sir Robert Brooke, knt. descended from a
younger brother of the ancient and noble family
of the Brookes, formerly lord Cobham. Sir Ro
bert was a person of good estate, and of virtuous
02 MEMOIRS OF
character. He lived with her six and twenty-
years, and died July 10, 1646. Their children
were three sons, and four daughters.
Sir Robert Brooke and his lady continued the
two first years of their marriage in London, as
boarders in the house of the lady IVeld, her aunt.
Thence they removed to La-ngly in Hertford
shire, a seat which sir Robert purchased purposely
for his lady s accommodation, that she might be
near her friends in London. After some years re*
sidence there they came to Cockfield in Suffolk,
his paternal seat, where she passed the residue of
her life, excepting the two first years of her wi
dowhood. In ail these places she lived an emi
nent example of goodness, and left a good name
behind her, and especially in the last, where she
past the most, and best of her time, and whence
her soul was translated to heaven.
She had many accomplishments, which recom
mended her to all who had the happiness of know
ing her. But the greatest glory that shone in her
was that of religion, in which she was not only
sincere, but excelled.
To which general head the following particulars
may be referred as the distinct jewels in her crown
of righteousness.
She devoted herself to God and religion very
early in life, remembering her Creator in the days
of her youth, and making haste, and delaying
not to keep his commandments. And as she be
gun, so she continued with great steadiness her
walk with God through the course of a long life,
so that she was not only an aged person, but which
is a great honour in the church of God, an old
disciple.
As she thus early applied herself to religion in
the power and strictness of it, so her good parts,
industry, length of time, and the use of excel-*
lent books, and converse with learned men unit
ing together, rendered her one of the most Intel-
LADY ELI7, BROOKE. 203
hgent persons of her sex, especially in divinity,
and the holy Scriptures, which made her wise un
to salvation.
This knowledge of the sacred writings was not
con lined to the practical, but extended also to
the doctrinal and critical part of the hook OL
God, even to the difficulties concefttlttg Scrip
ture-chronology, and the solution of many of
them.
She was able to discourse pertinently upon any
of the great heads of theology. She could oppose
an Atheist by arguments drawn from the topics
in Natural Theology, and answer the objections
of other erroneous minds by the weapons provided
against them in the holy Scriptures.
Though she was not skilled in the learned Ian-
O
guages, she had so great a knowledge in divinity
that no scholar could repent the time spent in con
verse with her, for she could bear such a part in
discourses of Theology, whether didactical, po
lemical, casuistical, or textual, that some of her
chaplains have professed that her conversation has
been sometimes more profitable and pleasant than
their own studies, and that they themselves learn
ed, as well as taught.
This perhaps may seem incredible to them who
were not acquainted with her, but something of
the wonder will be abated by shewing in what man
ner she attained her treasures of knowledge.
She was an indefatigable reader of books, espe
cially of the Scriptures, and various commenta
tors upon them; the very best our language af
forded. She had turned over a multitude not only
of practical treatises, but also of learned books,
and among many others some of those of the an
cient philosophers translated into Knglish, gather
ing much light from those luminaries among the
heathens, so that she could interpose with wLsdom
in a discourse purely philosopkical.
204 MEMOIRS OF
She was also a most diligent inquirer, and made
use of all learned men of her aequaintanee in or
der to increase her knowledge, by moving ques
tions concerning the most material things, as cases
of conscience, hard texts of Scripture, and the
accomplishment of the divine prophecies.
She generally also took notes out of the many
books she read, that she might with the less, la-r
bour recover the ideas without reading the books
a second time.
She was very industrious to preserve what either
instructed her mind, or affected her heart in the
sermons she had heard. To these she gave great
attention, while they were preaching, and had
them repeated in her family. After ^11 this she
would discourse of them in the evening, and in
the following week she had them repeated, and
would discourse upon them to some of her family in
her chamber. Besides all this she wrote the sub
stance of them, and digested many of them into
questions and answers, or under heads of common
places, and thus they became to her matter for re
peated meditation. By these methods she was
always enlarging her knowledge, or confirming
what she had already known.
Having thus acquired a great treasure of know
ledge, she improved it, through divine assistance,
which she was most ready to acknowledge, into a
suitable practice, working out her salvation with
fear and trembling, and being zealous of good
works.
Her piety was exact, laying rules upon herself in
all things, and it was also universal, having a respect
to all God s commandments, equally regarding
the two tables of the law ; and it may be truly
added, that it was also constant and affectionate.
Her whole heart was given up to religion, and an
holy zeal accompanied it, which zeal was guided
by much wisdom and prudence, the prudence ne-
LADV ELIZ. BROOKE. 12 OJ
vcr degenerating into craft, there being nothing
apparent in all her conversation contrary to sin
cerity.
Her piety also was serious, solid, and substan
tial, without any tinctures of enthusiasm, though
at the same time she had a great regard to the
Spirit of God, as speaking in the Scriptures, and
by them guiding the understanding, and operat
ing upon the heart.
As her own practice was holy, so she endea
voured that her family might M alk in the same
steps, providing for them the daily help of prayer
morning and evening, >vith the reading of the
Scriptures, and on the Lord s day the repetition
of what was preached in the public congregation.
And for their further benefit she for many years
together procured a grave divine to perform the
office of a catechist in her house, who came con
stantly every fortnight, and expounded methodi
cally the principles of religion, and examined the
servants. This work was done by her chaplains
till the service of God in her family, and the care
of the parish centered in one person. Thus with
Joshua she resolved that she and her house would
serve the Lord.
With her piety was joined much Christian love,
which was universal, and extended to all mankind,
so that she never suffered herself to hate, or de
spise, or overlook, unless in the way of censure
for a crime, any persons in the world, abhorring
only what was vicious and evil in them.
But this universal charity admitted a difference,
so that, as the more Christian and holy any per
sons were, they had more of her regard. That
image of God that shone out in a good conversa
tion she could not overlook in any, though in
some respects they might be less acceptable to
her, as she valued grace above all the accomplish
ments of parts, breeding, and agreement in
smaller things.
{ 2Q MEMO I us OF
While all were dear to her in whom the fear of
God appeared, she had a most peculiar regard for
his ambassadors and ministers, the guides of souls,
receiving them in their ministrations as angels of
God, fearing the Lord, and obeying the voice of
his servants, esteeming what they delivered in
harmony with the holy Scriptures as his word and
message.
She was very exact in matters of juftice, and
in rendering to all their dues. She could not en
dure to have any thing without a title in consci
ence as well as law ; and was particularly tender
in reference to tithes, giving away all which she
held by that title to him who took the care of the
souls, and reserving only a little portion yearly
for repairing the edifices.
Her almsgiving was very great, and drew the
admiration of all who observed it, though they
were acquainted Math only some part of it. Every
one who needed it received it in proportion to his
necessities, and in the kind that was most suitable
to his particular wants. She esteemed herself on
ly as a steward of her estate, and therefore gave
away a great portion of it to encourage the mi
nistry, and relieve the indigent. She dispersed
abroad, and gave to the poor, and her righteous
ness remains for ever. She most frequently cast
her bread upon the waters, and gave a portion to
seven, and to eight, and lent much to the Lord.
All this she did cheerfully and willingly, and was
so ready to these good works that, when there
was any occasion that solicited her charity, it
was never any question with her whether she should
give, or not give, but only in what proportion
she should communicate her bounty, and that
she might fix the proportion she would many
times most frankly refer herself to others, saying,
" I will give whatever you think is meet and fit
" in this case/ having in this respect an heart as
LADY ELIZ. BROOKE. 07
large as the sand upon the sea-shore, and a most
open and bountiful hand.
And as the poor were blest with her eharity in
abundance, so her friends, who needed not that
kind of benevolenee, were witnesses of her great
liberality and goodness, by which she adorned re
ligion, and won over many to speak well con
cern in % it.
O
Her generosity was such that one would have
imagined there was no room for her alms; and
her charity was such that it was matter of won
der that she could so nobly entertain her friends.
But her provident frugality and good manage
ment, with the divine blessing, enabled her to
perform both to admiration.
Her charity ^vas not only extended for the re
lief of the wants of others bodies, but she also
most readily afforded counsel and comfort to
such who applied to her for assistance in the
greater concerns of their souls, though of meaner
rank and condition in the world. To such she
would address herself wisely, such she would hear
with patience, and such she* \voukl treat with com
passion, when under temptations, and disquietude
of soul. Upon one of her servants coming to her
closet on this account, and beginning to open to
her the grief of her mind, she required her for
that time to forget that she was a servant, and
having discoursed to her with great tenderness
and prudence in reference to her temptations,
she dismissed her relieved, and much revived.
Very many others she received with the greatest
freedom, ministering spiritual comfort to them.
That part of religion which is particularly stiled
devotion, was the solace of her life, and the de
light of her soul. A considerable portion of her
time was every day employed in prayer, in
searching the scriptures, and fn holy meditations.
These exercises were her proper element, and in
them she would often profess she rbimd her great-
208 MEMOIRS OF
est consolation. In these she conversed with
God, and was then least alone when most alone,
for she did not merely perform these duties, nor
generally engage in them as a task, but she ob
served the frame of her spirit in them, and com
manded the affections of her soul to wait upon
God, not being satisfied without some emotions
of mind suitable to those holy exercises, as she
hath often professed, and as might be gathered
from her complaining sometimes of her infirmi
ties, and of the difficulty of praying aright,
and of preserving through the duty a due sense
of God.
The Christian sabbath was her delight, and a
day in God s courts was better to her than a thou
sand elsewhere, and her enjoyment of God in the
public ordinances and services of that day was to
her as a young heaven upon earth. The impres
sions she received by an attendance on these
holy institutions were such as that she longed in
the week for the return of the sabbath, and great
was her affliction when her hearing was so im
paired that she could not attend the public wor
ship of God, though few were better furnished to
supply the want by private exercises, and closet
devotions.
What challenges our admiration is, that this
lady, in the midst of all these attainments, virtues,
and graces, was deeply humble, and clothed with
the ornament of a lowly spirit. While many were
filled with wonder at the example she exhibited
to the world, she herself apprehended that others
excelled her in grace, and godliness, and conti
nually reckoned herself among the least of saints;
and the writer of her life* declares, " that not-
M withstanding her quality in the world, her ex-
u ijiiisite knowledge, eminent grace, and the high
* The Rev. Mr. Nathaniel Park/airst, M. A. vicar of IVv-
ford, and chaplain to her ladyship.
LADY EL12. BROOKE. 209
" value her friends had justly of her, he could ne-
ver perceive, in the whole course of eighteen
" years converse, the least indication of vain-
" glory, or self-admiration in her/
Her humility appeared to be of an excellent
kind, the fruit of great knowledge, proceeding
also from a deep sense of the fall, the corruption
of the human nature, the imperfection of morti
fication in the present life, and the remains of sin
in the souls of them who are sanctified. It was
also nourished by a great sight of God, and ac
quaintance with him, by frequent self-examina
tion, by an observation how sin mingles itself in
our best actions, and most holy duties, and a di
ligent trial of herself, and her conversation with
the exact rules of the scriptures.
This grace of Christian humility was the more
illustrious in her by the accession of the virtue of
courtesy, which she possessed in an high degree,
entertaining all persons with civilities proper to
their several qualities, so that she obliged all, at
the same time being ever careful that nothing
in conversation might border upon those free
doms which dishonour God, and blemish the
Christian profession, in this manner adorning the
gospel, and evincing that religion, though it re
quires great strictness, yet does not involve in it
either melancholy or moroseness. And, which is
a much greater thing than to be courteous in the
highest degree, as a real disciple of Christ she
had learned to deny herself, and could abridge
her own right, that she might thereby promote
the glory of God, do good to others/ avoid of
fence, and maintain love and peace in the church
and world.
^And which may be properly subjoined to her
self-denial, as a grace equal to it, she industrious
ly avoided censoriousness, and endeavoured to
put the best interpretation of both words and ac
tions, not lightly speaking evil of any, uor readi-
VOL. i. P
210 MEMOIRS OF
ly receiving an evil report. Above all things she
abhorred censoriousness in reference to preachers
and sermons, of which she was a most candid and
equal hearer, sufficiently judicious and critical,
but not in the least captious, if but truth were
spoken, and piety enforced in any ordinary me
thod, she was satisfied so as not to find fault.
But the discourses she preferred were either dis
courses peculiarly rational, or such as particu
larly illustrated the sense of scripture, or unfolded
the excellency of the gospel, or such as displayed
Christ in his person, undertaking, and offices, or
such as discovered the difference between the
real and almost Christian, and such as most near
ly approached the conscience, and urged the ex-
actest conversation, and the government of the
heart, thoughts, and inward affections.
In all her relations she behaved herself as a
Christian. She was a faithful, dutiful, affection
ate, and prudent wife. She was a watchful mo
ther, restraining her children from evil, and
bringing them up in the nurture and admonition
of the Lord, most constantly endeavouring to in
stil into their minds the principles of justice, ho
liness, and charity. To them AV!IO became her
children by marrying into her family she was
most kind, and treated them as her own. To her
servants and tenants she was just and good, and
to her neighbours she was, in one word, all that
they could desire.
To her particular friends she was endeared by
her prudence, iidelity, and almost excesses of love
and the improvement of friendship to serve the
great purposes of religion, the honouring of God,
and the benefiting one another.
O
Many more things might be added to this
account of her attainments, graces, and virtues,
but all may be summoned up in this shorter cha
racter.
She had the knowledge of a divine, the faith,
IADY ELIZ. BROOKE. 211
holiness, and zeal of a Christian, the wisdom of
the serpent, and the innocency of the dove. She
had godliness in its power, and spread a glory
over her profession. She was serious, hut not
melancholy, and cheerful without any tincture of
levity. She was very holy and humble, and
thankful to God for all his mercies, having a
deep sense of her need of Christ the Mediator,
depending entirely upon his merits and satisfac
tion, and renouncing all her works in the article
of justification.
By these excellencies she attained a good, and
which she never sought, a great name.
^y * o
A person of quality, and great learning) who
loved to speak much in a few words, having ob
served her gravity, holiness, prudence, and free
dom from all that was little, humoursome, or mo
rose, declared, " that she was a woman of a ge-
" nerous piety."
Another drew up her character in Latin in these
words; Ingenio mascula, mente theologa, ore
gratis, corde sane t a, cultu intensa, car it ate laeta,
crucis pattens, tota moribus generosa, marito
Sara, libtris Eunice, nepotibus Lois, ministris
Lydia, hospitibus Martha, pauperibus Dorcas,
Deo Anna.
In English,
She had a mind great by nature,
And enriched with the knowledge of a Divine.
She was venerable in her aspect,
Pure in heart,
Intense in her devotions,
Cheerful in her charity,
Patient in tribulation,
And in the whole of her behaviour a complete
Gentlewoman.
-MEMOIRS OF
In her concentered the various excellencies of the se
veral eminent women on sacred record.
She was a Sarah to her husband,
An Eunice to her children,
A Lois to her grand-children,
A Lydia to Ministers,
A Martha to her guests,
A Dorcas to the poor,
And an Anne to her God.
As the qualifications of this lady were great and
eminent, so were the providences of God towards
her, for she had great prosperities, and inter
changeably great afflictions. The first she re
ceived with humility, the last with patience.
To her prosperities may be referred the great
kindness of her husband with a numerous family,
and a very plentiful estate during his life, and a
competent revenue afterwards in her widowhood;
a fine temperature of body, so that she was sel
dom sick though never strong: the continuance
of her parts, the vigour of her intellects, and the
firmness of her judgment, even in the last years
of her life; the respects and civilities she received
from the gentry in her neighbourhood ; the
blessing of long life; the conclusion of some un
kind law-suits, which as she did not begin, so
she could not prevent; and the seeing every re
maining branch of her family amply provided for,
and in a very comfortable condition before her
decease. And, which was more than all these, as
the best of her prosperities, she enjoyed much in
ward peace, which, though it had sometimes the
interruptions of doubts and fears, was generally
firm and steady, and was sometimes advanced in
to joys, and strong consolation.
Her afflictions were chiefly widowhood, and the
loss of children. The sharpest of all her trials
LADY ELIZ. BROOKE. 215
was the untimely death of her last son, with the
aggravating circumstance of it that of his being
drowned. This huge affliction came upon her
like an inundation of waters, threatening all the
banks of reason and grace, hut the presence and
power of God supported her so, that she not only
lived many years after the death of her son, but
recovered in a great measure her former cheerful
ness. Her behaviour under this sad providence
was truly Christian, She did not murmur, though
at first she was astonished, and afterwards much
depressed by it. Her danger was that of fainting
under the correcting hand of God, but she was
upheld by him, who is able to succour them that
are tempted. She often expressed herself in words
importing that she justified God, and acknow
ledged his righteousness in the dispensation.
She feared lest some might be scandalized, and
reflect upon religion, and decline it, because of
her deep affliction, and she most earnestly desired
that God woukl take care of his own name ancj
glory. Afterwards her spirit revived, and she
was comforted as before, and rejoiced in the God
of her salvation.
The close of her life was a long languishing of
several months, which gradually confined her first
to her chamber, then to her couch, and last of all
to her bed, accompanied some times with great
pains, in the endurance of which patience had its
perfect work. During this sickness her mind was
calm. Her conscience witnessed to her integrity,
and she had a good hope in God that he would
crown his grace in her with perseverance, and
then with glory. She was very apprehensive of
her need of Christ, adhered to him, rejoiced in
him, and desired to be with him. She expired al
most insensibly, and had an easy passage to that
happiness, which is the reward of faith and holi
ness, and the free gift of God, through Jesus
Christ our Lord.
MEMOIRS OF
She left behind her, besides a great number of
other writings, a book containing Observations,
Experiences, and Rules for Practice, which, be
ing a most lively image of her mind, may supply
the defects of the narrative that has been given
of her, and extracts from which we have thought
proper to subjoin in hopes that they may be of no
little benefit to all pious readers.
Observations and Experiences, by the lady
Elizabeth Brooke.
L
The Vanity of the World.
All my comforts below are dying comforts. No
one creature nor all the creatures that ever I en-r
joyed, have given my soul satisfaction.
Good Actions will bear Consideration, but
Actions will not.
Every act of piety and obedience will bear con
sideration, but so will not any sinful action. If
we consider before we attempt any sinful action,
either we shall not commit it, or we shall do it
with regret, and a conscience half set on fire.
But if we consider before any holy action or diu
ty, our revolving thoughts will much animate us
to the service. Wherefore I hence conclude, that
sin sJiameSj and that religion justifies itself.
III.
The Worship of God is made pleasant by a Sense
of his Presence in it.
God s presence was formerly manifested by vi
sible signs, as the cloud, tire, and brightness, but
though we cannot expect these, yet we have the
LADY ELIZ. BROOKE. 215
i
same especial presence of God with us, and when
ever by faith we attain any lively apprehensions
of it, how solemn, profitable, and delightful do
they make the worship of God ! With what joy
do they bring us to the public assemblies, and
how unwilling are we to be kept from them, when
we have this expectation from them ! And finding
our expectation in this respect answered, how de^
youtly do we behave ourselves in them ! And how
joyfully do we return home, as they who have seen
God, and conversed with him?
IV,
// is our Interest to be religious.
It is a most experienced truth that we shall
never be well reconciled to religion, and steady
in piety till we see it is our interest to be re^
ligious f
V.
It is difficult to pray without some wander in*
Thoughts in Prayer.
It is very difficult to carry sincerity, and keep
up a sense of (rod through every part of prayer,
which is necessary to be endeavoured, and is the
life of the duty. I find it hard to keep my soul
intent for my thoughts are slippery and swift, and
my heart is snatched away sometimes against my
will, and before I am aware, yea, even then some
times when I have made the greatest preparation,
and have had the greatest resolutions through
grace to avoid wandering thoughts. My .best
prayers therefore need Christ s mcence to per
fume them.
VI.
A deep Sense of God in Prayer is desirable and
ravishing.
Could I understand my near approach to God
in prayer it would exalt my soul above measure.
MEMOIRS OF
And why am I not ravished with the thoughts of
being in the presence of God, and having the ear,
yea, the heart of the King of heaven? It is nothing
but want of faith, and the strange power of sense
that weakens my spiritual apprehensions, and
keeps me from an unspeakable delight in my ad
dresses to God. What an high privelege is this
to speak to the great Jehovah, as a child to a fa
ther, or a friend to a friend? But how slow of
Jieart am I to conceive the glory and happiness
thereof? Could I but manage this great duty as
I ought, it would be an heaven upon earth, it
would bring down God to me, or carry me up to,
him. Why should I not be carried above the
world, when I am so near to God? Why should I
not be changed into the same image from glory
to glory? Why am I not even transported beyond
myself?
VIL
We ought to be constant in Prayer.
Inconstancy in prayer is not only sinful, but
Dangerous. Omission breeds dislike, strengthens
corruption, discourages the spirit, and animates,
the unregenerate part. Constancy in this duty
breeds an holy confidence towards God. Incon
stancy breeds strangeness. Upon an omission I
must never approach God again, or my next
prayer must be an exercise of repentance for my
last omission.
VIII.
Sincere Prayers are never offered in vain.
Formality is apt to grow upon our secret prayers,
One of the best ways to prevent it is to come to
God with an expectation. This sets an edge
upon our spirits. I do not enough observe the
returns of prayer, though God hath said, I shall
never seek him in vain. But when I observe I
JLADY ELTZ. BROOKE. 217
must acknowledge I have daily answers of my
prayers in some kind or another. Nay, I think
I may say I never offered a fervent prayer to God.
but I reeievcd something from Jiiiu at least as to
the frame of my own spirit.
IX.
Prayer promotes Piety, and Godliness, and Ac
quaintance iclth God.
It is the Christian s duty in every thing to pray,^
and holiness lies at the bottom of this duty, if
I in every thing commit myself to God, 1 shall
be sure to keep his ways, or my prayer will up
braid me. This keeps me from tempting him,
and makes me careful to find a clear call in all I
undertake, knowing that if I go only where 1 am
sent, the angel of his presence will go before me,
and my way will be cleared of all temptations
and mischiefs. When our call is clear, our way
is safe. Besides, the practice of this leads me into
much acquaintance with God. My very praying
is an acquainting myself with him, and, if in
every thing I pray, I shall in every thing give
thanks, and this still brings me into more acquain
tance with him. By this means my life will be
filled up with a going to, and a returning from
God.
X
The real Christian lores Solitude.
Solitude is no burden to a real Christian. He
is least alone when alone. His solitude is as busy
and laborious as any part of his life. It is im
possible to be religious indeed, and not in some
measure to love solitude, for all duties of religion
cannot be performed in public. It is also a thing
as noble as it is necessary to love to converse
with our own thoughts. The vain mind does
218 MEMOIRS OF
not more naturally love company, than the divine
mind cloth frequent retirement. Such persons
have work to do, and meat to eat the world knows
not of. Their pleasures are secret, and their
chief delight is between God and themselves.
The most pleasant part of their lives is not in hut
out of the world,
XL
Religion gives us a real Enjoyment of God.
The true Christian lives above himself, not only
in a way of self-denial, but in the very enjoy
ment of God. His fellowship is with the Father,
and with the Son. He every where, and in every
thing, seeks out God. In ordinances, duties,
and providences, whether prosperous or adverse,
nothing pleases unless God be found in them, or
admitted into them. That is to him an ordinance
indeed, in which he meets with God. That is a
merciful providence indeed, in which their ap
pears much of the finger of God. God js nearer
to the true Christian than he is to others; for
there is an inward feeling, an intellectual touch,
which carnal men have not. And herein lie the
very soul of religion, and the quintessence of it,
that it unites us in a nearness to God, arid gives
us already to enjoy him.
XII.
The Expectation of Death Is profitable to a
Christian.
The serious expectation of death, not forget
ting judgment, frees us from the afflicting dis
composing apprehensions of it. It is of great
service to the Christian, it takes off the soul from
carnal pleasures, covetous desires, and ambitious
pursuits, and assists patience and contentment.
It helps the Christian to redeem his time, prompts
LADY ELJZ. BROOKE, 219
him to settle the atf airs of his soul, to put. his
heart and house in order, and to leave nothing
to be done to-morrow that may be done to-day.
It excites to frequent examination, quiekens re
pentance, and suffers him not to continue in sin.
It assists fervency in prayer, as it drives away
worldlv cares, and helps against distractions, tor
death "is a solemn thing, and the thoughts of
breed a passion in the mind, and all sott passions
cherish devotion. The expectation of death
sweetens all labour, work, and duty, because ot
the everlasting rest to which death leads us.
It moves us to pray for others, to counsel
them, and do what we can for them. Thus death
in the expectation of it is a blessing if we look
for as certain, and yet uncertain when it shall
come, as followed with judgment, and as putting
a full end to our state of trial. Ihus death is
HER RULES FOR PRACTICE.
I.
Let love and charity be universal, for no pre
tence whatever, no, not of religion and zeal for
God, can justify your not loving any person m
the world. Treat all men with kindness, and wish
them well. Do them good according to their ne
cessity, and your power and opportunity,
persons be above you, express your love to them,
by payino- them the honour and observance their
place and authority call for. If they are in world
ly respects beneath you, manifest your love by
kindness, affability, and granting them an easy
address to you. If they excel in natural or ac
quired endowments of mind, express your love
to them by a due esteem of them. If they be ra
ther wanting than excelling, shew your love by
pitying them, and despise not their weakness. If
any be in misery, compassionate them, pray for
220 MEMOIRS OF
them, comfort them with your presence if you
can reach them, and relieve them according to
your power. If any be defamed, shew your love
by stopping and rebuking the defamation.
II.
Be very careful not to harbour any evil af
fection in your heart against any person what
ever, for though you are far from intending any
actual mischief, yet you tempt God to let loose
your corruption, and his providence to permit
an opportunity, and so ere you are aware you
may be drawn to an act you never before thought
of. Besides, by an evil action harboured in
your mind you will prevent the blessed illapses
of the Spirit of God, and open a wide door for
the entrance of the devil into your soul; and in
deed an unkind disposition towards any man is
so much akin to Satan that, if you admit the one,
you cannot exclude the other,
III.
Despise none, for love never rides in triumph
over inferiors.
IT.
Look upon all unavoidable temptations as op
portunities for an high exercise of grace. Are
you injured? Be sorry for him who has done the
wrong, and bless God for the opportunity of shew
ing yourself hereby to be a Christian by patient
bearing, forgiving, doing good against evil, treat
ing your adversary with meekness, and breaking
his heart with love. Every provocation is a price
in your hand; get an heart to improve it.
V,
Put a due value upon your name and reputation,
but be not over solicitous about it, for that dis
covers some unmortified lust at the bottom.
LADY ELIZ. BROOKE. 21
VI.
Pursue piety under the notion of an imitation
of God, and then so g % reat a pleasure will result
from it that neither men nor devils shall be able
to make you question his being and attributes.
This notion will raise an esteem of piety, will ren
der it lovely, will make the several duties of re
ligion more free and easy, and will gradually wear
out the remains of unbelief, and unkind jealousies
of God.
VII.
Let humility be the constant covering of your
soul, and let repentance follow all your perform
ances. This will demonstrate your religion is in
ward, for if religion be suffered to enter deep into
the heart, it will always find work for repentance,
while we are in the state of imperfection.
VIII.
Love nothing above God and Christ, for to
love any thing more than God or Christ is the
way either never to enjoy it, or to be soon de
prived of it, or else to find yourself deceived in
it.
IX.
Do nothing upon which you dare not ask God s
blessing.
X.
Esteem time as your most precious talent,
which when you bestow it upon any, you give
them more than you can understand. All the
power of men and angels cannot restore it to
you again,
XI.
Never speak of religion for the sake of discourse
and entertainment, but for the purpose of piety.
MEMOIRS OF, &C,
XII.
Upon the Lord s clay consider in private the
love of God in the several instances of it to your
self and the world, in Creation and Redemption,
the promises of eternal life, the care of his pro
vidences and his mercies to you, your friends and
family, and stay upon these considerations, till
your heart be lifted up in his praise, and you can
say with David, " Now will I go to God my ex-
" ceeding joy." Consider also your miscarriages
in the week past, and industriously endeavour to
prevent them in the week to come.
( 223 )
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS.
SHE was the only child of sir Henry Andrews^
bart. and his lady Elizabeth of Lathbury,
in the county of Bucks. She gave very early
signs of piety. The good instructions of her pa
rents, accompanied "with the divine blessing,
wrought so soon upon her that she seemed well
inclined as soon as she understood any thing.
The buddings of piety shewed themselves in the
delight she took in prayer, in reading, and hear
ing her duty, in singing of psalms, in her meekness,
in recieving reproof easily from her parents, and
taking warning by it, in her justice, in her hating
and carefully avoiding a lie, and in her charity in
good inclinations to the poor, and a readiness to
supply them.
About the age of seven or eight years she gave
more full and evident signs of a regenerate state,
appearing really and constantly solicitous for the
Arelfarc of her soul. The pleasure she took in the
sacred Scriptures expressed itself not only in read
ing them, but by readily getting by heart many
psalms and chapters, which she did without much
difficulty, for upon reading a chapter to her mo
ther, she hath presently repeated without book
the greatest part of it. In these years of child
hood she had also a great respect for good mi
nister^ delighting to hear them pray and preach,
and asking questions of them concerning God,
and her duty to him. Her charity also was pro*
portionably improved. It was strange to observe
Row she would inquire into the necessities of poor
people, and endeavour to procure them one tiling
after another as they signified their want of them.
But it may not be improper particularly to
enumerate the several branches of this young
MEMOIRS OF
person s excellencies; and here we shall mention
the following.
First, Her indifference to the world, and supe
riority over it were eminently great. She! valued
the world and all its glories as little as most per
sons do their souls, who bestow but few, and it
may be no serious thoughts upon them through
out the year, or the whole term of their lives.
Her mind was so conversant with heaven, and its
glories, that, as if being already in the celestial
mansions, she looked upon these earthly vanities
at a great distance, unworthy of her esteem* and
too little to satisfy the enlarged desires of her
soul. And the consideration of their meanness
made her long after a better inheritance, which
would sometimes force a sigh from her, which
being once observed by some* and she being asked
bv them what she sighed for, since she wanted
nothing the world could afford her, her reply was,
" I want nothing in this world. I do not sigh
" for that, but how much better is heaven than
" all this?" Then starting up from her seat, and
spreading her hands she added, " O there are such
joys in heaven as cannot be conceived!" She
had a great indifferency to all those gaieties which
young ladies ,so generally admire, for, though she
submitted to wear clothes suitable to her age and
quality, yet she had too much wise consideration
to be puffed up by them. When her parents be
stowed any rarities upon her she received them
with very thankful acknowledgments, as tokens
of their favour and kindness, which she highly
valued, but afterwards would take very little no
tice of the things themselves, so that, when she
shewed her closet, and the line things she had
there to gratify the curiosity of her visitants, sh
would say, " And much 1 care for them." She
was once* before the age of twelve years taken by
some friends to see a play, who afterwards expect
ed that she would entertain herself by discoursing
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS.
upon some passages of it, but not doing this, she
was asked, How she liked it? to which she an
swered, " I like it so, that 1 never desire to see
" another." Not that she wanted either wit or
memory to observe or retain what might seem
most worthy, for she was eminent in both, but her
mind, being aceustomed to true and solid delights,
found no pleasure in such low and empty amuse
ments. She accordingly was as good as her word,
and was too wise to spend any more time upon
them. And it was no wonder, for her soul was so
much taken up with heaven, and heavenly things,
that she would sometimes be with difficulty per
suaded to the most innocent and useful recreations,
and, as if they were rather a burden than an en
tertainment to her, would shorten them as much
as might be to return to the more grateful exer
cises of piety and devotion.
Secondly, this young lady was remarkable for
her diligence and constancy in reading good
books. She appointed herself a daily portion iri
the holy Scriptures, and, when she hath been pre
vented reading any part of it, either by company,
or some other occasion, she would be much griev
ed, and lament her loss to a friend in the house
with her. She usually read with much observa
tion, and would ask of others what she did not
understand. But after some years she profited so
much, that she was able to instruct most who
conversed with her. Reading once in the Psalms,
she was affected with the troubles of David, and
thence took occasion to discourse with her maid
about the troubles of Christians in general, and
particularly her own. The servant observed,
<l that, she (her young mistress) had but little
trouble." She replied, "They tha,t have the
" least trouble have a great deal, and, if we do
but consider what joys there are in heaven, it
" is enough to make us impatient to live here."
She often read 2 Tim. iv. and told a near re-
VpL. I. ^
226 MEMOIRS o> s
lation that she would have the 7th and 8th verses
of that chapter to be the subject of her funeral
sermon, which was accordingly done. The words
are, I have fought a good fight, I have finished
my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth
there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord the righteous Judge will give me
at that day, and not to me only, but unto all
them who love his appearing : words which were
truly fulfilled in her, as will appear to any who
duly consider the course of her life, and the vic
tory of her faith.
As she read much herself, so she delighted also
in hearing others, and would appoint her maid
to read some particular chapters which she chose
for her, upon which she was so intent that, being
invited to recreate herself, she would express her
unwillingness, by saying, " that the other would
" do her more good." In fine, she took such
pleasure in reading and hearing the word of God,
as if, with David, it was dearer to her than thou
sands of gold and silver, and sweeter than the ho
ney, and the honey-comb.
Thirdly, To her reading we have reason to be
lieve that she added daily meditation, because she
delighted to be much alone, and hath been seen
walking with hands and eyes lifted up to heaven,
and in such action as shewed high measures of joy
and comfort. When she walked abroad with
others, she would discourse much of the works-
as well as the word of God, as if they were her
daily meditation. And among other things it ap
pears that death was much in her mind, for com
monly when she went to bed she would be hinting
something to her maids about it, and often say,
4< How ought we to think of our death, when
" this night may be the last?" And sometimes,
taking 1 leave of them at night she would say,
" Well, I am going to death s kinsman." And
no doubt, being forearmed by a daily considera-
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 227
tion of death, death was the more easy and wel
come to her when it came.
Fourthly, The devotion of this young person
was extraordinary. She kept constant to set
prayers three times a day at least, and rarely an
hour passed but, turning herself from her com
pany, she would, as it were, steal a look towards
heaven, and use secret ejaculations, which they
who were with her perceived by the manner of her
action, though they could hear nothing. Very
often, even in the midst of recreations, she would
send away her maids, and retire to secret prayer.
In this duty she took so much delight, that it
made her sometimes forget herself, and hazard her
health, for she hath continued in her closet two
hours together in the sharpest winter weather, and
would not be prevailed with to leave it, though
earnestly entreated. And indeed, if it be consi
dered with what zeal and fervency she performed
the duty of prayer, it is no wonder if she took
little notice of the coldness of the season. Her
holy zeal and fervency have sometimes been dis
covered at family-prayer, when her tears have
poured out abundantly from that earnestness of
spirit with which she wrestled with God, aud no
doubt mightily prevailed with him. What then
may we imagine was the fervour of her soul in se
cret prayer, when she could be more free, having
no restraint upon her from the observation of
others ? That this was very great hath appeared,
when she has sometimes been surprized in the du
ty, by the plenty of tears she has been shedding,
and sometimes it has been afterwards discovered
by the redness left upon her eyes. So constant
was she at this holy exercise, that nothing could
divert her from it, for when she was at London^
about a year before her death, where she had many
avocations, and more than ordinary occasions of
going abroad, she always performed this duty to
God before she went out, nay, when she was in-
Q 2
228 MEMOIRS OF
vited by an honourable lady to go into the queen s
presence, and dressed with the greatest advantage
for that purpose, she would not upon this occa-
sion abate any thing of her usual duty, but im
mediately retired to her secret devotion. The lady
being come, and Avaiting for her, -her mother, not
knowing the cause of her delay, went hastily into
the chamber, where she found her with her hands
lifted up to heaven, and her face bedewed with
tears, uttering these words, " Good Lord, for the
" sake of Jesus Christ, suffer not Satan to prevail
" over me."
As she drew near her end, though in as good
health, to appearance, as before, she used stated
prayers, as was apprehended, at least ten times in
a day, besides short occasional petitions. By
these she consecrated all places into which she
came, and made every room in the house an ora
tory. It must needs be a true zeal and importu
nity of soul which raised her soul to an intimate
communion with God, which caused her to delight
so much in secret devotion.
But, though she spent so much time, and took
such great pleasure in this holy solitude, she
would be chearful arid affable in company. She
had in the latter part of her life usually such a pe
culiar chearfulness of spirit as if her soul was
continually filled with comfort and joy.
Thus did she maintain a secret traffic with hea
ven, of which the world was not aware, sending
thither prayers, sighs, and tears, and receiving
thence blessing and peace into her soul. She ma
nifested by the tenor of her conversation that she
could be at once strictly devout and pious, and
at the same time courteous and obliging in her
carriage to others ; and the sweetness of her as
pect and behaviour was tempered with such a gra
vity as is very rarely found in a person of her age
and quality.
O that the example of this excellent persoa
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS.
might convince the sinful world, that it would be
good for tli cm also to draw near to God! For
however harsh and severe they may think a course
of piety is, yet every good Christian can assure
them, that the ways of wisdom are ways of plea
santness, and that all her paths are peace ; that
godliness hath the promise of the life that now
is, as well as of that which is to come ; and that
in keeping God s commandments there is great
reward.
Fifthly, This young gentlewoman manifested
great piety also in an holy observance of the
Lord s day. She prepared herself by private du
ties for the public worship of God, and hearing
his word, which she afterwards observed with
much devotion, reverence, and chcarful attention.
When the public worship was over it was her cus
tom to repeat in private what she could remember
of the sermons, and spend the rest of the day in
reading to others, or alone, in prayer, medita
tion, and the like. "When she hath been sometimes
desired for the sake of her health to walk abroad,
she would decline it, lest her mind should be di
verted from holy exercises. And at other times
if she walked abroad she did it rather in obedi
ence to her parents than from her own inclination.
Sixthly, The charity of this young lady was
very eminent. This charity she was ready to ex
press upon every occasion to the souls, bodies,
and good names of others according to her pow
er, and their necessity.
A little before her last sickness she expostulated
with her mother, why she was in so much care
about her. " Am I not," said she, " in the hands
" of God? cannot he preserve me? If it be his
: pleasure I shall live; if not, your care cannot
k preserve me. And what and if he should take
" me? you will not be long after me. If you
>c live twenty or thirty years after me, what is that
" to eternity ?" One would be apt to think from
230 MEMOIRS Ol?
such expressions, that she had some foresight of
approaching death, which appears to be further
countenanced by her having been heard to wish
her mother had another child, and that her pa
rents had less affection for her. And when a jour
ney to the Devizes was in contemplation a little
before her sickness, she said to one in the house,
" if I go to the Devizes, I shall return no more."
Awhile after, when she was within some months
of fourteen years of age, that sickness seized her
which proved her last, and which in a few days,
gave her up to God, and happiness. At the be
ginning of the disorder, being taken with great
pain, she often called upon God, and said, (f He
" is very merciful to me, for what I feel is no-
" thing to the sufferings of Christ for me." After
some ease she said, " God is very gracious in
<c giving us pain, otherwise we should not know
"how to be thankful for ease." She spent the
time of her sickness very much in prayer, and,
when she could not speak out, shewed great signs
of inward devotion.
About two or three hours before her death her
mother asked her in these words, " My dear are
^ you so ill that you think you shall die ? Be not
" shy to tell me, for it will not be hard for me to
" part with you to God, if it be his pleasure."
To this question she replied smiling, I hope
" God will pardon my sins." Her mother expect
ing a further answer, put the question again, to
which the daughter returned only the same words,
implying that the thoughts of death did not trou
ble her, as she had well-grounded hopes of that
rnercy which transforms the nature of death, de
prives it of its sting, and renders it an unspeaka
ble blessing to the children of God. She after
wards asked the doctor, " Do you think I shall
f c die?" He answered, " Madam, no one can tell
that." She replied, " Pray, doctor, deal plainly
" with me; I would not be deluded." He an?
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 231
swerecl, " It is doubtful." She then said, " I have
" been a great sinner, but I hope God will pardon
" me. My Saviour is in heaven, and I hope he
" will put on me the white robe." She confessed
the former mercies of God to her, that she had
been troubled for sin, but that the Lord had given
her the Comforter, and sealed her, and that she
had been comforted ever since. She then asked
her parents, " whether she had any thing of her
<c own to dispose of?" Upon receiving their con
sent to it, she desired the chancel of Lathbury
should be paved with marble, and ordered forty
pounds to be given to the poor of Newport Pag-
-tie I, and fifteen pounds to those of Lathbury.
She then addressed herself to her father and mo
ther, " Pray do not be troubled when I am gone."
And looking earnestly on her father, she said,
" Do you think you shall be long after me, fa-
" ther?" Then on her mother, " Do you think
" you shall be long after me, mother ?" Her fa
ther and the rest of the family kneeling down,
and recommending her to God, she seemed de
vout and chearfiil. Prayer being ended, she
bowed forward, saying, " I thank God, and
" thank you, father." Then she asked for the
minister, who coming to her when her spirits
were almost spent, she said to him, " O Sir, I
" have been a great sinner, but I hope God will
" pardon me." Afterwards she was heard to pray,
and heard to call upon the name of Jesus, and so,
without any cloud upon her intellects, departed
to the eternal vision and enjoyment of him.
What graces, what virtues were here in a young
lady not fourteen years of age ! Blush, and be^
ashamed ; hear, and be reformed, ye ancients of
days, ye threescore or fourscore years cumberers
of the ground, as to whom it would be hard, it
may be, to find one sincere fervent act of devo
tion towards God, or one act of true Christian
benevolence to your fellow-creatures through aU
( ~0 ( 1 MEMOIRS OF
your days. What fruits of holiness, what rich
and ripe fruits were here produced in a little time,
while to this hour you have been barren and un
fruitful, or when God has looked that you should
bring forth grapes, you have brought" forth wild
grapes. O that ye were wise, that you would con
sider such an example as has been held up before
you, and remember and prepare for your latter end I
Prefixed to the life of this excellent young wo
man we meet with a Latin epitaph upon her, which
we shall give our readers, and afterwards an En
glish translation.
In Margaretam Andrews,,
Unicam prolan
Henrici Andrews, Baronttti,
et
Elizabethan sua conjueis,
n . 7 / o .*
Jbpitap hium.
Siste gradum, viator,
Qua sub hoc marmoreo pavimento jacef,
Quod ipsa non solinn sibi std et majoribus suis
Moribiinda curamt instrui,
Paucis accipe.
Hie facet virgo Icctissima,
Parcntum suorum spes unica,
Uniccque dilecta,
Domus Lathburiensis delicitc simul et dccus,
LexpudortSf officina t&npcrantia,
Urbanitatis jilia,
Miindi victrix, Diaboli expugwtrix,
Pa uperum gazop/ula c him,
Qua Deum in seipsd possidebat, stipsam in
Quam Margaretam mortahs appcUebant
Margaritam cwlitcs,
Quamque adeo magiii facicbant
(It illam illi gcmmea corona
Mternum coruscQnti
Insererc properarent,
Capsula hie relicta ct deposit a
In diem a Deo prastitutcm.
Nee mireris
Animam tarn subito in ccclum avolqsse,
MRS. MARGARET ANDREWS. 233
Nam vicem a/arum sibi totpfilerunt
Prtccs stia: tt sitsfjiria.
Abi, viator,
Cogila, ct sapc.
In English.
An epitaph on Margaret Andrews,
The only child
Of sir TIcnn/ Andrews, baronet,
And tli^ lady Elizabeth his wife.
Stop, traveller,
And learn in a few words
The true character
Of that young lady,
Whose precious remains arc deposited
Under this marble pavement,
Which in her departing moments
She was desirous should be laid
As a sepulchral covering
JS.ot only of her own ashes
But those of her ancestors.
She was an accomplished person,
The hope and love of her parents,
And the delight and ornament of her family.
Her bosom was the temple
Of modesty,,
Purity,
and
Benevolence.
The pomps of the world
She disdained,
The powers of Satan
She vanquished,
For God dwelt in her,
And she dwelt in God.
An Angelic band,
Rejoiced to fulfil the divine order.
On triumphal wings
Bore away the precious gem
To its native skies;
The casket, which contained
This incomparable jewel,
As it was formed of earth,
Su it was returned thither,
234- MEMOIRS OF, &C.
And is here deposited
Till ihe appointed day
Which shall restore it
Jn immortal glory.
Wonder not, stranger,
That the soul of this excellent person
Made so short a visit to our world,
As her prayers and devout breathings
Were the wings and gales
That wafted her deeply sanctified spirit
To the realms on high.
Depart, traveller,
Ponder, and be wi&e,
ALICE LUCY.
1^1 1 IS lady was honourably descended, though
the particulars of her pedigree are not re-*
lated in the Memoirs we have met with concern*
ing her.
She entered early in life into the married state,
though not sooner than she was qualified for it,
To her husband, sir Thomas Lucy, of C/utrlcof,
in J Warwickshire, she was reverently amiable, and
from him for all the virtues which an husband can
wish for in a wife she received as much honour as
she could expect, or desire.
After this honourable pair had lived together
in this near relation for thirty years with much
endearment and delight, it pleased God to dis
solve the tie, by taking away her support and ho
nour, far dearer to her than her very life. But
it pleased God also to shew himself very gracious
to her, by upholding her, comforting her, and
enabling her prudently to manage her great es
tate, and to order her numerous family with ad
mirable wisdom, especially if we consider that
her bodily infirmities for the most part confined
her to her chamber, and seldom permitted her to
stir abroad.
She continually carried about her the burden of
a weak body, but she bore it with an exemplary
patience, and improved it to her spiritual advan
tage. It was her great affliction that she could
not visit the house of God, and attend upon the
public ordinances, where God hath promised his
presence, and where we may expect his blessing.
But, because she could not go from her own ha
bitation to the house of God, she made a church
of her own house, where for several years she
every Lord s day in the evening, unless she were
236 ME no i us OF
prevented by extraordinary weakness, heard the
preaching of the word, strictly requiring the pre
sence of all her family, and shewing herself an
example of great reverence, and singular attention.
Her first employment every day was her hum
ble addresses to Almighty God in secret. Her
next was to read some portion out of the divine
word, and of other good and profitable books;
and jndeed she had a library well stored with most
of our excellent English authors. No sooner
did she -hear of the publication of any pious book,
but she endeavoured to make it her own, and to
make herself the better by it.
She spent much time in reading, and was able
to give a good account of what she read; for
she had an excellent understanding, as in secular
so in spiritual tilings. Finding the benefit of
this practice as to herself, she recommended it to
her children, whom she caused every day to read
some portions both of the Old and New Testament
in her presence and hearing. In the afternoon she
employed some time in the same manner she had
done in the morning.
About an hour before supper she appointed some
one of her children to read some godly and use
ful sermon before herself and her other children,
frequently taking occasion of instilling into them
some pleasant and profitable instruction, and ex
horting them to a constant religious walk with
God. In the evening a little before she went to
rest she ordered them all to come into her lodg*-
ing-room, where they joined in singing a psalm,
as" the servants did also constantly after supper
before they rose from the table ; the men-servants
in the half, and the maid-servants in a more pri
vate room. After her children had done singing,
with many pious exhortations, and her maternal
benediction, she dismissed them, and then closed
the day with secret duties as she began it. This
was her continual course.
LADY ALICE LUCV. 237
By what has been said we may observe, that she
was of a pious spirit herself, and as caret id to
leave the like pious impressions upon her children
alter her. Some of them tasted death before
their dear mother, yet she left ten behind her,
five sons, and five daughters, who were ail pre
sent at her funeral, and who ail, with the children
of Solomon** virtuous woman, Prov. xxxi. 28
u called her blessed."
Next to the golden chain of graces, mentioned
by St. Peter, 2 Pet. i. .5, i>, 7. with which she
was eminently beautified, and the ornament of a
meek and quiet spirit, 1 Pet. iii. 4. she accounted
her children to be her chief ornaments, and there
fore her desires and earnest endeavours were to
ennoble and adorn them with all virtuous habits,
and to make them the true children of Cod. She
knew, and was solicitous to have them know too
that, if they would be happy, to their great birth
there must be added the new birth, that to great
kindred and alliance there must be a relation to
the family of heaven, and that to a great estate
there must be added the riches of grace, or that
else they would wish one day they had never been
born. She often inculcated it upon them that
true grace is true greatness, and that, the more
any of them feared and served God, the greater
share might they expect in her love.
This elect lady, to adopt the competition of
the Apostle, 2 John, \. was much in those holy
exercises by which she might make her calling
and election sure. She was much in the duties
of piety, and much in the duties of charity.
Many coats and garments did this Dorcas pro
vide for the poor. God gave her the blessing of
a great estate, and then added even a greater
blessing than that, an heart to make a rio-ht use
of it.
Every day she reached out her hands to the,
needy. A great number she relieved at her gates.
MEMOIRS OF
and gave charge to her porter that when there
came any who were very aged, or who complained
of great losses in those dismal times of our civil
wars, especially if they seemed honest, that he
should come, and acquaint her, that she might
enlarge her charity to such objects, which, if at
any time, he had neglected to do, she. would pro
bably have been as much displeased with him, as
she once was M*ith another of her servants for
neglecting an order she had given him for the re
lief of some poor persons.
In the times of scarcity she sent every week
many loaves to many neighbouring towns. She
caused her corn to be sold in the markets in such
small quantities as might not exceed the abilities
of the poor to purchase. She allowed certain
meals in her house to several poor neighbours,
whose want was visible in their pale faces, and,
when they had by her bounty recovered their for
mer complexion, and had received, as it were, a
new life by her means, she with pleasure declared,
4< that the sight of such an happy alteration in
" them did her as much good as any thing which
" she herself had eaten."
She continually employed many ancient men
and women in such works as were adapted to their
age and strength.
When the physician came at any time to her
house, she used to enquire of him whether there
were any sick persons in the town, that, if there
were any, they might enjoy the same helps with
herself. But at all times, if any persons were ill,
and she had intelligence of it, she most chear-
. fully communicated whatsoever she thought most
conducible to their recovery, having not only
great store of cordials, and restoratives always
by her, but great skill and judgment in the appli
cation of them.
As our Lord said to the woman of Canaan,
Matt. xv\ 28. great is thy- faith, so we may say
LADY ALICE LUCY. 239
of this excellent lady, that great was her charity;
for she well knew that faith is but a fancy with
out the labour of love, that the greater any are,
the better they should be, that the more they
have, the more good they should do, and that
pure religion and undejiied before God and the
Father is, James i. 27. to vi&it the fatherless and
widows^ i* 1 their affliction, and to keep ourselves
unspotted from the world. And the whole of
this pure and imdefiled religion was exemplified
in her ; for as we have seen that she visited the
fatherless and widows, so she kept herself unspot
ted from the world, As the Apostle says, Rom.
vii. 33. who shall lay any thing to the charge of
Cod s elect? It is God who justifies, so may we
say, who can lay any thing to the charge of this
elect lady? It was God who sanctified her : not
so as to free her from the inherency of sin, for so
he sanctifies none in this life, but so as to deliver
her from the dominion of it, and from all such
acts as would have cast a dishonour and blemish
upon her, as all who knew her must acknowledge.
Her soul might be compared to a beautiful well-
cultivated garden, which was not only free from
prevalent weeds, but richly replenished with all
manner of fragrant flowers, and delicate fruits.
Or she might be resembled to the glorious sun,
which is not only free from spots, but full of
light. As Boaz said to Ruth, Ruth, iii. 1 1. that
all the city knew that she was a virtuous woman,
so it might be said, that all the country knew
that this was the deserved character of this emi
nent lady.
At her entrance into her last sickness, which
was about a fortnight s continuance, she appre
hended that her life would be very short, and ac
cordingly composed and prepared herself for her
dissolution, but yet she durst not but make use
of her physicians, whose eminent skill and fide
lity she had frequently experienced, having been
240 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
raised up by them, as the instruments in the
hands of God from the very gates of death. But
the time was come, when, as the Poet says,
Non est in medico semper relevetur ut ceger ;
Inter dum clocta plus valet arte matum *.
Englished.
Sometimes die best physicians cannot heal
The dire diseases which their patients feel,
But spite of all their med cines, all their art,
Victorious death plants his unerring dart.
The last words of this pious lady were, " My
" God, T come flying unto thee." Presently after
her soul took its flight hence, and her body quietly
slept in the Lord, Anno Christi, 1648.
Such were her, humility and modesty that, al
though in that magnificent monument she erected
for her husband, she caused herself to be laid by
him in her full proportion, yet she would not suf
fer her epitaph to bear any proportion to his, con
ceiving that the most that could be said of him
was too little, and that the least that could be said
of herself was too much. She was unwilling that
any thing at all should be said of herself, but,
when that might not be permitted, she would by
no means allow of any more to be inscribed con
cerning her than this, " her observance of her
" dearest husband, while she enjoyed him, and
" her remembrance of him by that monument
<l when she had lost him." Only one thing more
was added, but much against her will, namely,
that her other exquisite virtues were forbidden
by her excessive modesty to make their appear
ance on that marble.
* Ovid, dc Pout.
( 241 )
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON.
TO a Sermon preached at Preston in Lanca~
shire, January the 4th, 1657, at the funeral
of this lady, by that eminent minister of Christ,
Mr. Isaac Ambrose, we are indebted for the fol
lowing account of her. After the author of the
discourse had finished his subject, Eph. v. 16",
on redeeming the time, he thus speaks of this ex
cellent person. The deceased, says he, redeemed
her time in life and death.
I. In life. Ordinarily every morning and every
evening she was exercised in the duties of medi
tation, and prayer. This was her course, and
daily in her daily walks or private chamber, she
spent both her early and later hours in communion
with God. I speak not this by report only, for
of her goodness she was pleased to invite me every
spring to her house, and by this means I became
acquainted with her constant practice. Indeed
I was the more willing to embrace her invitation,
because her house seemed to me like a college for
religion, or a retirement from the noises, and more
frequent temptations of the world, and this gave
her and me, and all who pleased, an happy oppor
tunity of continuing our devotions without inter
ruption. She had some books for contemplation,
others for an holy conversation, others for devo
tion, and of all these sorts she made some use;
but of all books for constant use and practice she
preferred the Bible, often telling me, " that other
1 books had their use and delight till by frequent
" reading they became more ordinary," and that
l( then they seemed to lose something of their
" former lustre and excellency, but that the Bible
was in her frequent reading ever fresh and new."
She found in it such perpetual streams of holy
VOL. j, u
242 MEMOIRS OF
heavenly, and spiritual delights, that, as Tertullian
said, " she could not hut admire and adore the ful-
" ness of the Scriptures."
She commonly spent the rest of the day in the
works of the needle with her maids about her.
Or if other things of housewifery interposed, she
was never so elevated with honour as to be above
her duty in the way of a particular calling, as she
well knew that idleness is the rust and canker of
the soul, and Satan s very tide-time of temptation.
She would sometimes visit poor cottages, and re
lieve the necessities she found there. In a word,
she was ever careful in the affairs of her own house,
and courteous to all the neighbourhood. Take
her all together, and for aught I know she might
be a pattern to most of the ladies in the nation,
or at least shine as a bright morning star among
other stars.
II. As she redeemed her time in life, so she re
deemed it in or near death. She was now taken
off her particular calling, and therefore this time
she spent, as far as her sickness would allow her,
in the exercise of spiritual duties, and spiritual
graces. As to her graces, she shone, and was
most eminent in these that follow. 1. In meek
ness. She was of a mild and quiet spirit. Seldom
have I seen her inordinate in passions, but often
have I observed her amidst provocations, peace
able, meek, gentle, and easy to be entreated. In
her sickness she behaved herself as a lamb. Not
a word of passion or peevishness dropped from
her lips, so far as I observed. The very image
of Christ was in this respect drawn fair within her.
Learn of me, says he, for lam meek, Matt. xi. 2<).
A meek Christ, and she a meek creature. 2. She
was eminent for humility. She was of high de
scent, and sprung* of royal blood, but yet was
humble and lowly in spirit. She never despised
the poorest creature, but often stooped, as I view
ed them, to wonderful condescensions. In her
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTON, 243
sickness as well as death she laid her honour in the
dust. She was far from their opinion who think
humility a diminution, and meekness a disparage
ment to their reputation. She had otherwise
learned Christ Humility was her ornament, and
with this grace, in the Apostle s language, 1 Pet*
V. 5. she clothed herself hoth in health and sick
ness. 3. She was remarkable for her patience,
submission, and contentment to be at the divine
disposal She had a sore sickness, and because of
her former health it was to her the sorer. For
many years before she had not lain sick in bed one
day, but many a turn had she taken in her walks,
and her gallery, and through much exercise in this
way she had the advantage of enjoying a good
state of health. But now the Lord laid her on a
bed of sickness not for a few days only, hut for a
long time together. She was now God s prisoner,
and, such was the nature of her sickness, that she
could not stir nor move one foot, and yet she was
patient and submissive under the hand of God.
She learned the churches lesson, Mi call vii; 9. /
will bear the indignation of the Lord, because I
have sinned against him. She never in the least
murmured nor repined, but was conformed to that
frame of Eli and David, Lord, here am I, do
with me as it seems good in thy sight. 4. She
was eminent for her faith. She was during her
sickness no stranger to the exercise of faith. She
often acknowledged her own vileness and wretch
edness, that she was of little faith, and had no
ability to help herself. Indeed -her weakness in
faith, in grace, and in all performances, was her
constant complaint, and this made me remind her
of that promise, Matt. xii. 20. that Christ would
not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smok
ing fla.v, till he had brought forth judgment unto
victory. Other persons I have seen^ most con
fident in their sickness of their salvation, whom,
though I dare not censure, because unacquainted
R 2
244- MEMOIRS OF
with their grounds, yet I ingenuously acknowledge
that I clearly love an humble, trembling, self-con
demning frame. Sure I am that they^who are
vilest in their own eyes are the souls in whom
God most delights. Give me a man among you
that will, as it were, kiss the dust of Jesus s feet,
and I dare pronounce concerning such an one ?
that Christ will take him into his arms, and lay
him in his bosom. This was the ^spirit of ^ this
good lady. She was full of confession of her
spiritual poverty, and yet she cast herself into the
arms of Jesus Christ, yea, she lay at his feet, cry^
ing, Lord I believe, help thou my unbdief. And
again, " I rest upon Christ, and upon Christ
" alone for heaven and salvation." And again,
" Though the Lord slay me, yet will I trust in
" him. ji " And again, " He hath delivered, and he
" doth deliver, and I trust in him that he will de-
" liver me still." And again, ." Hold out faith, and
* anon thou wilt come to vision." This expres
sion, hold out faith, was one of the last she ut
tered on that last day of her life. 5. She was
eminent for her love to the ministers of Christ.
Her heart was wholly set on Christ, and as a true
sign of it she loved the image of Christ, especially
hi" his ministers. Among others she was pleased
to shew her regard to me, the unworthiest of all
my Master s messengers. She preferred me to
this place. The Lord made her the first wheel of
his providence in bringing me hither, and it was
some trouble to her spirit that I left this pastoral
charge before she" left the world*. Indeed she ho-
* It appears from the Memoirs of Mr, Ambrose (see Palmer s
Nonconformist s Memorial, Vol. II. p. 92.) that he was some
time minister of Preston, at which place he preached this lady s
funeral sermon, and that afterwards he was minister at Garstang y
in the county of Lancaster, where the act of uniformity found
him, 16 6 2. "Mr. Ambrose was a man of substantial worth, emi
nent piety and exemplary life, both as a minister and Christian.
It was no wonder therefore that so worthy a person as the sub
ject of our memoirs distinguished him with her regard.
LADY MARGARET HOUGHTOX. 245
noured all the ministers ef Christ, yea, the very
function itself for his sake. 6. She was full of
love and charity towards all. Many discords
have happened in these sad times, and she hath
suffered much in many respects. In her ap
proaches near the confines of eternity, I desired
her to forgive others, as she desired God to for
give her; at which she very affectionately de
clared, " that she freely forgave all the world,
" and that she desired all whom she had offended
:c to forgive her." Her children kneeling about
her, she gave them her blessing, as Jacob to Joseph
and his children. This blessing was pronounced
with that cheerfulness, affection, and fervency of
spirit that it melted the hearts, and drew a flood
of tears from the eyes of them who were about
her bed, so that she was forced to rouse up her
self, and to bespeak them, as Christ did those
weeping women, Weep not for me, but weep for
yourselves. JVhy should you weep for me who
am going to my Christ, and to those joys prepared
by him? And then she gave a charge respecting
the duty to be performed by brethren. It con
cerned him most who was the eldest son, and, so
far as justice or religion calls, I presume it will
not be forgotten by him. Once more, 7. This
pious lady was desirous to die, and to be with
Jesus Christ, which was best of all. Sometimes
she cried, " O ! when will that blessed hour come !"
And again, "O! that I were dissolved, that I
might be with Christ." Being told of her duty,
that she must wait, for that waiting was a fit pos-,
ture for servants, Psalm cxxiii. 2." Behold as the
eyes of servants look to the hand of their masters^
and as the eyes of a maiden to the hand of her
mistress, so our eyes wait upon the Lord our
God, till he have mercy upon us, why then, said
she, I will wait. Lord, I will wait till my change
shall come. Only she bore in mind that promise,
Heb. x. 37, For yet a little while, and he that
246
MEMOIRS OF, &C.
shall come will come, and will not tarry. One
thing occasioned her trouble. She was afraid
that her body would not yield without much
struggling to the stroke of death. This she men
tioned to me, and others once and again. Her
reasons were best known to herself* but her ap
prehensions were verified, for indeed, when death
seized her heart, she uttered such groans, that she
out-groaned all our prayers. At last death by
degrees overcame the strength of nature, and then
she calmly and quietly left the world in the midst
of our supplications.
You see now how she redeemed the time in life
and death. As Christ said to the lawyer, so say
I to you, Go, thon, and do likewise, Luke x. 37.
It is not long that all of you have to live, and
therefore I beseech you improve time, and lav-
hold of every season to secure heaven. Walk
accurately, exactly, circumspectly, not as f
but as wise, redeeming the time because the
are evil.
( 247 )
MRS. ANN BAYNARD.
sensible, learned, and pious gentlewo-
man was born at Preston, in Lancashire,
and was the beloved daughter, and only child of
Dr. Edward Baynard, Fellow of the College of
Physicians in London, a gentleman of a very an
cient and respectable family, by Ann his wife,
daughter of Robert litiwliuson, esquire, of Carke,
in the same county. The father, upon the disco
very of his daughter s elegant and sprightly ge
nius, joined with a natural propensity to learn
ing, most generously gave her a very liberal edu
cation, which she improved to the best and no
blest purposes. For her character we are indebted
to the reverend and learned John Prude, M.A.
who preached her funeral sermon, and who tells us
in the introductory part of it, " that as the learned
" and ingenious young gentlewoman never made
" a shew of any" fondness or affectation in her
" outward dress, when living, so a plain and or-
" dinary one may be the better excused, now she
"is dead."
As for learning, says he, whether it be to un
derstand natural causes and events, to know the
courses of the sun, moon, and stars, the qualities
of herbs, and plants, to be acquainted with the
demonstrable verities of the mathematics, the
study of philosophy, the writings of the ancients,
and that in their proper language, without an in
terpreter, these, and the like, are the most noble
accomplishments of an human soul, and accord
ingly bring great delight and satisfaction along
with them, and in these things this young lady
was not only conversant, but s.he was mistress of
them, and that to such a degree as few of her
sex have ever arrived.
48 MEMOIRS OF
She had from her infancy been trained up in
the knowledge of these things, and had made
such a great progress in them, that at the age
only of three and twenty years she had attained
to the knowledge of a profound philosopher.
But that which most challenges our admiration
is that one so young, of an infirm constitution,
and the tenderest sex, not accustomed to the ad
vantages of the philosophic schools, should in
the hard knotty arguments of metaphysical learn
ing be a most nervous and subtle disputant. From
her amazing success let none despair or complain
of the roughness of the path, or the acclivity of
learning s hill, for she was a clear and lively in
stance that neither the crabbedness of languages,
nor the abstruseness of the arts and sciences are
too hard to be conquered by indefatigable dili
gence and application.
She took great pains to perfect her knowledge
in the Greek tongue, that she might with the
greater pleasure read that elegant Father St. Chry-
sostome, in his own pure and native stile ; and
her good acquaintance with the Greek Testament,
in which she was much conversant, was a great
help to her improvement in that language. She
was riot satisfied with reading only, but she set
herself to the composing of many things in the
Latin tongue, which were uncommon and useful
in their kind, and were written in a beautiful stile.
She had indeed a vast and comprehensive know
ledge, a large and exalted mind, and a strong and
capacious memory, and was still coveting more
and more knowledge, and in this particular alone
she would often say, " It was a sin to be contented
" with but a little."
But after all these acquisitions and endowments,
with profound humility, and prostration of mind,
she would cry out with the Apostle Paul, " Icount
" all things but loss for the excellency of the
MRS. ANN BAYNARD. 249
" knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord*," in which
knowledge she was no small proficient.
She has been heard to say, " that human learn-r
" ing was worth nothing unless as an handmaid it
^ led to the knowledge of Christ revealed in the
" Gospel as our only Lord and Saviour."
She would discourse finely after this manner,
by which she evinced the devotion of her spirit,
and how well religion was understood, and how
much it was preferred by her. " What avails So~
" lomotfs skill in all the works of nature, if by
" them we are not brought to see the God of na-
<c ture ? What is it to be so skilful in astronomy,
* or the knowledge of the heavens, as that we
" can foretcl things to come, if we never study
" by our holy practice to arrive at those blessed
" regions ? What is it to be so skilful in arith-
u metic, as that we can divide and subdivide to
" the smallest fractions, if, as God hath revealed
11 unto us in his holy word, we do not so learn to
" number our days, that we may apply our hearts
" to wisdomt- What is it for a physician to be
" so skilful in foreseeing and preventing the clis-
" eases of the body, if, as God hath revealed
" unto him, he knows not where to find that halm
" of Gilead, the wine and oil of that Samaritan,
" the Lord Jesus Christ, to pour into the festered
" wounds of his own soul and conscience^ ?
Such was her frequent discourse. This the
heavenly manna that often dropt from her lips.
As further evidences of her piety, she gave her
constant attendance on the word and sacrament,
and the daily prayers of the church, and was ne
ver absent from them unless prevented by some
bodily infirmity, with which in the latter part of
life she was much afflicted. Nor were her private
devotions less than those that were public. In
her closet, with holy David, she communed with
* Phil. iii. 8. | Psalm xc. 12. J Jer. vi. 11.
250 MEMOIRS OF
her own heart, and secretly examined the state
and condition of her soul, that she might stand
in awe, and sin not. She readily embraced all
opportunities of retirement that she might have
the hetter intercourse with heaven, as knowing
that the surest way of overcoming the world, and
living above it, was, to withdraw herself from it,
and that the best preparatory for death was to die
daily in holy solitude and privacy. By this prac
tice, she had disposed her mind for the time of her
dissolution, and it appeared that it pleased God
to give her some distant presages of it.
About two years before her death her medita
tions leading her in her solitary walks into the
church-yard, and resting herself in the porch
there, and no doubt ruminating on her mortality,
which the place suggested to her, a sudden thought,
a strong impulse broke in upon her mind, that in
a short time she should die, and be buried in that
church-yard. The impulse was so far from cast
ing any horror or melancholy into her mind, that
on the contrary it made her in love with the place,
and she was ever after desirous to retire there,
and accordingly chose it for the spot in which
she would be buried.
We shall not do justice to the character of this
young gentlewoman if we do not mention her
chanty, which indeed in her circumstances could
not be very extraordinary as to sums, but it was
truly so in the chearfulness and constancy of her
giving, for, whatever her allowance was, she duly
laid aside a certain portion of it for benevolent and
pious uses. But her charity did not stop here, but
raised itself to an higher degree of spirituality,
and beyond the scene of this world. She had a
great love for the souls of men, and was heavily
afflicted with the errors, follies, and vices of tho
age, to see that those, who called themselves
Christians, should by bad principles, and worse
practises, dishonour their profession, and not only
MRS. ANN BAYXAUD. Co 1
hazard their own salvation, but that of their weak
brethren too, for whom Christ died; and this
temper of mind made her not only importunate in
her intercessions for the good of the world, but
gave her courage and discretion above her years
and sex to benefit the souls of those with whom
she converged by friendly reproof, good counsel,
or some learned or pious discourse.
In the exercise of this Christian love she lived,
and in this she died ; " and here," says the minis
ter above mentioned, who preached her funeral
discourse, " that I may not be thought to flourish,
" be pleased to understand that she desired me on
" her death-bed, that 1 would exhort all young
" people to the study of wisdom and knowledge,
" as the means to improve their virtue, and bring
" them to the truest happiness, and this I think
" I cannot do better than in the words which were
41 taken from her own mouth, just upon her dc-
" parture, when her soul was hovering upon her
" lips ready to take wing for that other world.
" Her words were these, which were faithfully
" penned down, and delivered into my own hands. *
1 desire, says she, that all young people may be
exhorted to the practice oj virtue, and to in
crease their knowledge by the study of philoso
phy, and more especially to read the great book
of -nature, wherein they may see the wisdom
and power of the great Creator in the order of
the universe, and in the production and preserva
tion of all things. It will jiv in their minds a
love to so much perfection, frame a divine idea,
and an awj ul regard of God, which will heighten
devotion, lower the spirit of pride, and give an
liabit and disposition to his service. It will make
its tremble at folly and prof aneness, and com
mand reverence and prostration to his great and
holy name.
That women, says she, are capable of such im
provements which will better their judgments
.52 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
and understandings, in past all doubt, would
they but set to it in earnest, and spend but half
of that time in study and thinking, which they
do in visits, vanity, and folly. It would intro
duce a composure of mind, and lay a solid basis
and ground work for wisdom and knowledge, by
which they would be better enabled to serve God y
and help their neigbours.
Mr. Prude, being minister of the parish, had
undoubtedly frequent opportunities of forming a
right judgment of the lady. But though he has
given us such a large and satisfactory account of
her excellencies, yet he seems to lament it as his
infelicity that he knew her but so little a time be
fore she was removed from our world, and he was
called to preach her funeral discourse, " I should
" otherwise," says he, " have learned much more
" from her ; I should, as the wise man speaks of
" wisdom in general, have attended to her wisdom,
" and bowed my ear to her understanding."
The lady died at Barnes, in the county of
Surry, on the twelfth of June, 1697, and was
buried at the east-end of the church-yard, at that
place, where is a small monument erected to her
memory, on which is the following inscription.
Ann Baynard obiit
Jun. 12. Ann: JEtat : su& 25.
Christi 1697.
O mortaks! quotusquisque vestrum cogitat,
Ex hoc momenta pendet aternitas.
In English.
Ann Baynard died on the twelfth of June, in the 25tli
year of her age, and of Christ 1697.
Mortals, how few among your race
Have giv n this thought its weight,
That on this slender moment hangs
Your everlasting state ?
( 2J3 )
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THB
LADY FRANCES HOBART.
noble lady was born in London in the
year 1603. She was the eldest of eight daugh
ters, who all grew up to mature age, with which
it pleased God to bless the right honourable John
earl of Bridgwater, viscount Brackley, and lord
Elsmore, lord president of /rales, by his noble
lady Frances, daughter to the right honourable
Ferdinando, earl of Derby.
The lady the subject of our Memoirs had no
sooner passed out of the care of her nurse, and
begun to speak, but she was in her father s house
intrusted to the tuition of a French governess,
from whom she learned to pronounce the French
tongue before she could distinctly speak English.
An accomplishment which she retained to her
dying day, and having her organs of speech so
early formed to this language, she so naturally
accented it, that the natives of France could
hardly be persuaded that she was born in Eng
land.
The years of her minority were spent in learn
ing what was proper for that very early age, and
that might qualify her for that noble station in
which, if providence spared her life, she was to
appear in the world. She was now instructed in
playing upon the lute, in singing, &c. Things
of which in her after-life she made little or no
use, and which were even less in her esteem, but
they fitted her for the court, with which she was
to be acquainted, before her dismission into the
country. She was taught also to read, to write, and
cast accompts with great skill and exactness, to use
her needle, and order the affairs of a family; qua
lifications which iu future time proved of extra-
54 MEMOIRS OP*
ordinary advantage both to herself, and her hus
band. She was also in these younger days of her
time, partly by the diligence of her governess,
partly by the pains of one Mr. Moor, her father s
chaplain, and partly by the superintending c are of
the earl her father, fully instructed in the prin
ciples of religion. As to which she would often
mention with particular honour her father, and
her governess, and the last especially for the good
histories she would tell her, and the good counsel
she instilled into her. She gratefully remembered
how exactly the hours of her days were portioned
out for the several kinds of instruction, so that no
time was left her except a small allowance for ex
ercise, and what was granted her for her private
devotions, as to which her governess was her most
faithful monitor, or for the more public religious
duties of the family, in which her constant pre
sence was required hy her father.
Having attained to riper years, she was fre
quently at the court of king James, and queen
Ann, and was in great favour with the queen,
and king Charles the first, then prince of Wales.
She made frequent sad reflections upon this period
of her life, for mispending-a part of many Lord s
days in masques, and other court-pastimes, ac
cording to the custom of others in like circum
stances. This she would often mention with
bitterness, and with a commendation of one of
her noble sisters who had in her youth a just sense
of the error of such a conduct, and courage
enough to resist the temptations to it. It was the
only thing in which a divine, who was well ac
quainted with her, declared that he ever heard her
repent her obedience to her mother, and her at
tendance upon her.
The noble soul of this lady was ordained for
higher things than balls, and masques, and visits.
It was now time for a plant nurtured with so rare
a cultivation to be removed into another place,
LADY FRANCES IIOBART.
that her God might have the glory, and her ge
neration the fruit of such an education. Her na
tive beauty, and the excellent parts she began to
discover, made many noble persons desire her in
marriage; but at length with the approbation of
her parents she chose for her husband sir John
Hobart of Brick tin, in the county of Norfolk,
bart. who was the eldest son of sir llenry Ilobart,
at that time lord chief justice, and chancellor to
the prince. He was a person indeed as to title in
the lowest order of nobility, but his estate bore a
full proportion to his quality, and his noble spirit
and temper far better suited his excellent lady
than an higher ascent in the scale of honour with
a different spirit and temper would have done.
In her conjugal relation she was become more
conspicuous. She was now, as it were, planted
upon an hill, in which those good seeds which
had been sown in her ingenuous soul during her
minority sprung up, and yielded abundant fruit
in the whole of that triple capacity to which this
relation, in some little succession of time, brought
her, that of a wife to a worthy husband, that of
a mother of children and that to a governess of
a numerous family of servants.
If we consider the constituents of a good wife
as living in chastity in the prudent management
of the affairs of the household in respect to her
husband s person, a concealment of his weaknesses,
and in an obedience to his commands, together
Avith a due sympathy, and patient and cheerful
participation with him in the vicissitudes of Pro
vidence with which he was exercised, and above
all, a serious and tender regard to the salvation of
the soul of her husband, this most worthy lady
will he found to have deserved the highest praise.
As to chastity, she judged it not enough to he
in this respect virtuous, unless she lived above
the suspicion of the contrary. She would ofteu
mention a saying of her mother s on this head,
%56 MEMOIRS OF
" that temptations to the violation of the honour
" of ladies in this particular took their rise from
" a carriage too light and familiar in themselves,
" and that that man was suffered to come too near
" who came to be denied." Her constant beha
viour therefore was that of an affability, ever
tempered with gravity, and they both shone in
such an inseparable conjunction as spread a glory
upon her character.
As to her prudent management of the affairs of
her houshold, she was not only so vigilant as that
it was no easy thing for any servant to impose
upon her, but she also extended her regard to con
cerns which were more extrinsical, and not the
ordinary province of women; for finding her hus
band encumbered with a great debt, she under
took the management of his whole estate, and
the auditing of all his accompts, and so happily
succeeded in the business, as to diminish several
thousand pounds of the sums which he owed.
Her respect to her husband s person, her con
cealment of his weaknesses, and her obedience to
his commands, were evinced not only in words,
but in actions, and she shewed that she had learned
that precept of sacred writ, Eph. v. 29* Wives
.submit yourselves to your own husbands as unto
the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife,
even as Christ is the head of the church.
Most remarkable was this lady s kind sympathy
\vith her husband in those bodily afflictions with
which it pleased the divine Providence to visit
him. From their first marriage he was visited
with afflictions, though in different degrees, and
his noble consort seemed to be allotted to him as
much for a nurse as for a wife. Her care for him,
and tenderness of him was beyond expression, of
which the writer* of her Memoirs " declares he
Dr. John Callings. He drew up apiece intitled, The Excellent
Woman, discoursed more privately from Prov. xxxi. 29, 30, 31.
upon occacion of the death of the right honourable the lady
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 257
" was an eye-witness for the seven or eight last
" months of his lite, when his distempers lay hea-
" viest upon him. In the day-time she confined
" herself to his chamber, seldom leaving him for
" so much as an hour! unless to attend upon pub-
" lie ordinances, to take her meals, or perform her
" secret devotions. In the night she watched
" with him to such a strange excess, as some may
" deem it, that all about her wondered how her
" tender frame could bear the continual fatigue,
" seldom laying herself clown to take any rest till
" two or three o clock in the morning, and then
" taking it upon an ordinary couch in his cham-
" her, where she might hear every groan, and be
" at hand to render her husband every service in
" her power."
But this was not all. She was as much a meet
help for her husband as to the things of eternity,
and the salvation of his soul, as in the concerns
of the present life. The familiar compellation which
her husband generally used in speaking to her was
my dear saint ; and this not without good reason
from the experience he had had of her in spiritual
things. No sooner^ had God wrought a change
in the. heart of this noble lady, but there sprung
up with it a great solicitude for the best interests
of the companion of her life. By her prudent
admonitions, and pathetic intreaties he. was reco
vered from the vanities he had indulged in his
youth, so as to abhor the things in which he had
formerly delighted, and to inquire after, choose,
and tjncl his pleasure in those good ways of God,
with which formerly he had no acquaintance, and
against which, for want of a due knowledge, he
had formerly conceived a prejudice. He now un-
weariedly desired, and was present at private fasts,
Frances Hobart, and prefixed it with what he calls A short Ac
count of her holy Life and Death. To this account we are ob
liged for the Memoirs we are here giving of this lady, and in se
veral places have made large quotations from it.
VOI. I. S
2158 MEMOIRS OF
and other religious duties, and admonished his
friends, and severely reproved others, and especi
ally his servants, as to those errors which had for
merly been too much his practice and delight.
In short, by the blessing of God upon the public
ministry of the word, upon which he now dili
gently attended, and the more private means of
his excellent lady, he was brought to so good an
hope through grace for several months before he
died as without perturbation to view death every
day making its near approaches to him, and at
last not without testimony of a true hope in God
quietly to commit his soul into the hands of his
blessed Redeemer.
Having viewed this lady in her marriage-rela
tion, we shall next consider her as a parent. She
was the mother of nine children, of which, only-
one, a daughter, lived to marriageable years, the
rest all dying either in their infancy, or before
they had arrived to mature age.
This young lady was married to an honourable
and worthy person sir Jo hn Hobart, bait, the heir
of her father s honour and family, by whom it
pleased God after some years to give her a son,
which she did not long survive, being taken away
from our world many years before the death of
her mother. The son she left behind soon fol
lowed her to the grave, and thus did the good
lady, the subject of our Memoirs, live to see God
stripping her of every branch that had sprung
from her, though he had a better name with which
to crown and comfort her than that of sons and
daughters.
" Concerning her deportment," says the writer
of her life, u to her other children, while she en-
" joyed them, I can say nothing, not having had
"the -advantage of knowing her till some years
" after God had deprived her of them ; only I
" may rationally presume it was not unlike to
" what she shewed to the only survivor. For her
LADY FRANCES HOBART. Q59
ec I could say much, if, while she had a being
" with us, by her pious disposition, affable and
" ingenious temper, and most virtuous conversa-
" tion, in short, by whatsoever accomplishments
" could perfect and adorn a young and virtuous
<c ladv, she had not both approved herself to all
" to whom she was known, and also commended
" her by whom she was educated to such a pitch
" of feminine perfection. The instruction of her
" father which she heard, and the law of her mo-
" ther which she did not forsake, proved an orna-
" ment of grace unto her head, and as chains of
" gold, and orient pearls about her neck. And
" indeed as there was nothing wanting in nature
" to accomplish that young and excellent lady, so
" her virtuous mother had resolved that nothing
" should be wanting which either her own care,
" or the art of others could help her to. Nor did
" this rare lady shew more of a mother to her while
" she lived than of a Christian mother when it
" pleased God to extinguish this Ught of her eyes,
" and quench this only coal which she had left
" her, taking her death with that due sense which
" became so tender and indulgent a mother, and
" yet with that patience and fortitude which be-
" came not only her rational spirit, which consi-
" dered that she had brought forth a mortal daugh-
" ter, but also a submissive Christian, who had
" learned not to repine against heaven, but in
" great measure to melt down her own into the
" divine will."
We shall next consider this noble person in the
relation of a mistress to a numerous family of ser
vants; and it may be truly said of her that she
acquitted herself in it with an equal honour to that
with which she adorned her other capacities in life.
She behaved herself in such a manner to her do
mestics as that her carriage would not allow them
to be proud and malepert on one side, nor dis
couraged into a servility and baseness of spirit on
s 2
260 MEMOIRS OF
the other. After the choice of her servants de
volved entirely on herself, her great care in the
first place was to procure persons for her houshold
who feared God. She ever preferred the virtuous
and sober. She might indeed as to such he once
and again deceived, but none were ever suifered
to continue in her house when she had once dis
covered them to be drunkards, unclean persons,
profane swearers, or cursers, enemies to religion
and godliness, or in any way wicked and scandal
ous ; and her eye was so much upon her fami
ly, and her care so much employed in the disci
pline of it, that it was not easy for any such per
sons to be long concealed, but they were quickly
seen in their true light, either by herself, or her
steward.
She not only amply provided for the comforta
ble maintenance of her servants, but she also be
stowed a more than ordinary concern for the bet
ter interests of their immortal souls. In short,
there were none%who served her who would not
praise her in the gates ; none who ever waited
upon her but what would rise up and call her
blessed.
We shall now view this excellent lady in the
third and last period of her life, when she became
a widow. " In this state," says her Biographer,
" she was indeed best known to me, as I had the
" happiness of waiting upon her during this whole
" time, and for some little time before, about se-
" ven or eight months, whence I shall begin my
" story. It was in September, 1646*, that I was
" invited by sir John Hobart, at that time alive,
" to take may chamber in his house, while I dis-
" charged my ministerial office in the city (Nor-
" wich,) and to take some oversight of his fa-
* Dr. Collhtgs was then only about twenty-three years of age.
What on excellent spirit, and uncommon endeavours to do good
this man of God discovered so early in life will be made abun
dantly evidently from the Memoirs of the lady.
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 261
1: mily in the things of God. Sir John himself
" having heen lately valetudinarious, and the t a-
" mily without any spiritual guide, I found it in
" some disorder, and the several persons in it, the
" daughter only excepted, being persons grown
in years, I apprehended it no easy matter to re-
" duce it to a due religious order and discipline.
" My design was, it being a family of much lei-
" sure, to bring it into a course of prayer in con-
" formity to David s pattern, morning, evening,
" and at noon-time, reading some portion of
" Scripture every day, and expounding it, as my
" leisure would allow me, together with catechis-
" ing once in the week, a stricter observation of
:c the Lord s day, and repetitions of sermons, both
" on that, and other days, when we had attended
" upon the public ordinances. I did not do this
" as thinking it was what God required of all fa-
" milies, but because I thought God expected
" more of us to whom he had given more leisure
" from the distracting concerns of the world, be-
" cause my hands at that time were not so full of
" more public employment, but that I could at-
"tend this more than ordinary service in the fa-
" mily, and indeed because I thought I saw the
" family so much behind-hand as to spiritual
u knowledge, as that ordinary performances in a
" short time were not likely to reach the end at
" which I aimed.
"As to the generality of the servants, I feared
" this alteration might prove like the putting new
" wine into old bottles, and be judged a yoke that
" they were not able to bear. I therefore first
" communicated my thoughts to my lady, sir
" Johns sickly state not allowing much liberty
" for discourse at that time. Her ladyship chear-
:c fully approving my thoughts, propounded them
" to her husband, who with great expressions of
" thankfulness signified his approbation to me,
" and commanded the servants diligently to at-
MEMOIRS OF
" tend the duties, and himself, when his infirm i-
" ties would permit him, was never ordinarily ab-
" sent for some time at our prayers. At noon and
" night he was with them. The morning-service
" was by seven of the clock, rarely after eight,
" from which her ladyship, unless in a bed of
" sickness, in eighteen years I think was hardly
" twice absent, and was commonly with the first
" of the family in the room where they were per-
" formed, before her sickly state brought them
" to her own chamber.
" The business of catechising was more diffi-
" cult, but yet it was made easy by the parents
" prevailing with their own daughter to go before
" the family in a noble example, which she con-
" tinued till she had attained a competent know-
" ledge in the most necessary principles of reli-
" gion. From the time I first came into the fa-
" mily it pleased God to keep sir John Hobart in
" a dying condition, though he had some more
" lucid intervals than other, and within less than
" eight months God removed him into a better
" life. It was his great satisfaction all along his
" sickness to see his dear daughter making such a
" proficiency in the knowledge of the things of
" God, and so willing to set an example to his
" family ; and he mentioned it as his dying com-
" fort that he had seen his family before his death
" in a course of reformation, which he doubted
" not but his lady would bring to perfection."
To come directly to that period of her life, her
ladyship s widowhood. Now she sat solitary
mourning as a turtle that had lost her mate, and
for awhile knew not how to be comforted, because
he was not. Having recovered herself from her
passion, and learned to hold her peace because it
was the Lord s doing, she made it her first request
to Dr. Collinges to stay with her, and keep on the
course of religious duties in the family, which he
had begun, proposing to him an high encourage-
LADY FRANCES HOBART. 253
ment from an assurance that he should find her,
according to the pattern of the man after God s
own heart, endeavouring to walk in her house
with a perfect heart that those who were of a
froward spirit should depart jrom her that her
eyes should be upon thejaithjutoftheland, that
they might dwellwith her that they who wrought
deceit should not dwell in her house that he who
told lies should not tarry in her sight*. To which
resolutions she afterwards strictly adhered. To
give herself the advantage of doing good to the
souls of many, she at no small expenee converted
some less useful lower rooms of her house into a
chapel which would conveniently hold more than
200 persons. Here she engaged the above-men
tioned minister to preach a lecture every week,
and to repeat one "or both of his sermons every
Lord s day at night, after the more public sermons
were over in the city, which for sixteen years was
continued to a very full auditory, and to the great
benefit of many younger persons, and of those who
had- not such ad vantages as they desired in their own
houses for hearing again what they had been hear
ing in the day-time. This work of piety was the
more remarkable as her ladyship s chapel lying in
the way to that field, where young persons had for
merly been used to profane the latter part of the
Lord s day by idle walks, and recreations, hap
pily intercepted many of them, and proved from
the example of it an allurement to them to a fur
ther reverence of the sabbath, and from the in
structions they heard there, the happy means of
an acquaintance with God and their duty. After
this her ladyship engaged Dr. Collinges above-
named to preach a morning sermon on the Lord s
day, those monthly days only excepted when he
was to administer the communion of the Lord s
Supper more publicly. This course she continued
* Psalm ci.
264 MEMOIRS OF
so long as tlie good doctor bad liberty to preach,
or her ladyship had liberty to hear.
This most worthy lady having thus served her
generation according to the will of God, her
time came when she was to fall asleep, or rather
when as a shock of corn she was to be gathered
in her season.
The time of her last sickness, the dropsy, which
seized her something more than half a year before
her death, afforded no great variety of temper as
to her spiritual condition. She kept on her course
of religious duties in her house and chamber, as
formerly. Her work was finished both as to the
present and future life, her house and her soul
were set in order, so that she had little to do but
to be still, and wait for the salvation of God the
remaining days of her appointed time, till her
change came. " I do not remember," says Dr.
Collinges, " that during her long illness she more
" than" twice discovered to me any conflicts in her
" spirit, though I constantly attended upon her,
" and as constantly inquired into the frame of-her
" spirit. She had sown in tears before, and HM
" now nothing to do but to reap in joy. Her
" death was a long time foreseen both by her, and
" by ourselves, but as to the particular time we
" w r ere somewhat surprized, for, when she probably
" thought the day of her change at some dis-
" tance, she lost her senses, and her speech, and
" after two or three days quietly fell asleep in the
" evening of the Lord s day, Nov. 27, 1664.
" Thus lived, thus died/ says her worthy Bi
ographer, "this twice noble, excellent lady, about
"the sixty-first year of her age, possibly the
" brightest example of piety, and truest pattern
" of honour, liberality, temperance, humility,
" and courtesy, which it hath pleased God in this
" last age to shew in that part of the world where
" he had fixed her. A woman indeed not without
" her infirmities; to assert that were to discharge
LADY FRANCES HOBATIT.
" her from her relation to human nature, but as
" they were of no reproachable magnitude, and
" the products of natural temperature, not of vi-
" cious habits, so they were so much outshone by
" her eminent graces and virtues, as that a curi-
" ous eye could hardly take notice of them. In
" a word, none ever lived more desired, or died
" more universally lamented by all worthy persons
" in the city of Norwich, to which she was re-
" lated.
" She was buried in a vault belonging to the
" family of her dear and noble husband at Blick-
" lin, in Norfolk, December 1, 1664, therein pay-
" ing her deceased husband a last obedience,
" who, as I have heard her pleasantly say, made
" it his first request to her on the day of her
" marriage."
266 MEMOIRS OF
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE LADY CUTTS*.
THIS lady, though but young in life, but just
turned of eighteen, yet was continued long
enough to hold forth a bright example of female
excellency to the world.
In her devotions she was very punctual and
regular. Morning and evening came not more
constantly in their course than her stated hours of
private prayer, which she observed not formally,
as a task, but returned to them always with de
sire, delight, and eagerness. She would on no
occasion dispense with herself from paying this
duty. No business, no common accident of life
could divert her from it. She esteemed it her
great honour and happiness to attend upon God,
and she resolved to find leisure for that, for what*
ever else she might want it.
How she behaved herself in these secret trans
actions between God and her soul is known to
him alone whom she worshipped. But if we may
guess at her privacies by what was seen of her in
public, we may be sure that she was full of hu
mility, devotion, and fervency, for so she remark
ably was in the time of divine service. Her be
haviour was then very devout and solemn, and
yet the most decent, easy, and unaffected. There
was nothing in it either negligent and loose, or
extravagant and strained. It was throughout
such as declared itself not to be the work of the
* This lady was the \\ife of the right honourable John, lord
Cults, of whose gallant behaviour at the siege of Namitr, 16.95,
see Rapin s History, Vol. XIV. Svo. edit. p. 237, 238, 23p.
The funeral sermon for the lady was preached by doctor, after
wards bishop Atterbury, 169$. See his Sermons and Discourses,
Vol. I. Sermon VI. The substance of the doctor s character of
her we have abridged, and here present to our readers.
THE LADY CUTTS.
267
passions, but to flow from the understanding, and
from a clear knowledge of the true grounds and
principles of that her reasonable service.
This knowledge she attained by early instruc
tions, by much reading and meditation, to which
she appeared from her childhood to be addicted,
and by a very diligent and exact attendance on
the lessons of piety which were delivered from the
pulpit, which no one practised better, because no
one delighted in, listened to, or considered more;
for at these performances she was all attention, all
ear. She kept her heart fixed and intent on its holy
work by keeping her eye from wandering. She
often expressed her dissatisfaction at that inde
cency of carriage which prevails in assemblies for
public worship, and wondered that they should be
most careless of their behaviour towards God,
who are most scrupulously nice in exacting and
paying all the little decencies that are in use
among men.
When the bread of life was distributed, she was
sure to be present, and the strictness of her atten-^
tion, and the reverence of her behaviour, were, if
it were possible, raised and improved on these oc
casions.
Books she took pleasure in, and made good use
of, chiefly books of divinity and devotion, which
she studied and relished above all others. Ihit of
all books the book of God was that in which she
was most delighted and employed, and which was
never for any considerable time out of her hands.
No doubt she knew and felt the great use and
sweet influence of it in calming her mind, regu
lating her desires, and lifting up her thoughts to
wards heaven, in feeding and spreading that holy
flame, which the love of God had kindled in her
heart, and which she took care by these means to
keep perpetually burning.
When she met with any thing in the holy Ora
cles, or in any other pious book, which she
268 MEMOIRS OF
thought would be of remarkable use to her in the
conduct of her life and affairs, she trusted not her
memory with it, not even that excellent memory,
which she safely trusted with things of smaller
moment, but immediately committed it to writing.
Many observations of this kind she hath left be
hind her drawn from good authors, but chiefly
from those sacred pages, in collecting which
whether her judgment or her piety had the largest
share, it is not easy to determine.
The passages of holy writ which she took no
tice of were indeed commonly such as related
either to the concerns of her spiritual estate, or to
matters of prudence, but it appears also that she
spent some time in meditating on those places where
the sublimest points of Christian doctrine are con
tained, and in possessing herself with a deep sense
of the wonderful love of God towards us mani
fested in the mysterious work of redemption. She
endeavoured to understand the great articles of
faith, as well as to practice the good rules of life
contained in the gospel, and she sensibly found
that the best way to excite herself to the practice
of the one was to endeavour to understand the
other.
In the book of God she was particularly con
versant on the Lord s day; a day ever held sacred
by her, and which therefore always in her family
wore a face of devotion suitable to the dignity
of it. It was truly a day of rest to all under her
roof. Her servants were then dismissed from a
good part of their attendance upon her, that they
might be at liberty to attend on their great Lord
and Master, whom she and they were equally
bound to obey. There were such a silence and
solemnity at that time observed by all about her,
as might have become the house of mourning,
and yet so much ease and serenity were visible
in their looks, at least in her looks, as shewed
that they who were in the house of feasting were
THE LADY CUTTS. 269
not better satisfied. Thus did she prepare herself
for the enjoyment of that perfect rest, the cele
bration of that endless sabbath she was so soon to
enter upon. Thus did she practise beforehand
upon earth the duties, the devotions, the customs
and manners of heaven.
To secure her proficiency in godliness she kept
an exact journal of her life, in which was con
tained the history of all her spiritual affairs, and
of the several turns that occurred in her soul.
In this glass she every day dressed her mind : to
this faithful monitor she repaired for advice and
direction. She compared the past with the pre
sent, judged of what would be by what had been,
accurately observed the several successive degrees
of holiness she attained, and of human infirmity
she shook off, and traced every single step she
took onward in her way towards heaven. One
would have imagined that so much exactness and
severity in private would have affected a little her
public actions and discourses, and have wrought
themselves insensibly into her carriage, and yet
nothing could be more free, simple, and natural.
She had the reality without the outside and show
of strictness. All her rules, all her performances
sat so well and gracefully upon her, that they ap
peared to be as much her pleasure as her duty.
She was in the midst of them perfectly easy to
herself, and a delight to all who were about her,
ever cheerful in her behaviour, but withal ever
calm and even. Her satisfaction, like a deep un
troubled stream, ran on without any of that vio
lence and noise, in which the shallowest pleasures
sometimes abound.
However cheerful and agreeable as she was, yet
she never carried her good humour so far as to
smile at a profane, aji ill-natured, or an unman
nerly jest, but on the contrary in her highest mirth
such a licentiousness made her remarkably grave
and serious. She had an extraordinary nicety of
270 MEMOIRS OF
temper as to all the least approaches to faults of
that kind, and shewed a very quick and sensible
concern at any thing- which she thought it did
not become either her to hear, or others to say.
True piety, which principally consists in an hu
mility and submission of mind towards God, is
ever attended with humility and goodness towards
his creatures, and so it was in this excellent lady.
Never was there a more deep, and unfeigned, and
artless lowliness of mind seen in her rank and sta
tion. As far as she was placed above the most of
the world, she conversed, as it were, upon the le
vel with all of them, and yet, when she stooped
the lowest towards them, she took care, even at
that time, to preserve the respect that was due to
her from them. She had so much true merit that
she was not afraid of being looked into, and there
fore durst be familiar, and the effect of that famili
arity was, that by being better known, she was more
loved and valued. Not only no one of her infe
riors ever came uneasy from her, but no one went
uneasy to her; so assured were all beforehand of
the sweetness of her temper, and her obliging re
ception. When she opened her lips, gracious
words always proceeded thence, and in her tongue
was the law of kindness. Her reserved ness and
love of privacy might possibly be misinterpreted
sometimes for an overvalue of herself, but the
least degree of acquaintance with her made all
such suspicions vanish, for, though her perfections
both of body and mind were very extraordinary, yet
she was the only person that seemed, without any
endeavour to seem, insensible of them. She was
it is true in as much danger of being vain, as great
beauty, and a good natural wit could make her,
but she had such an overbalance of discretion
that she was never in pain to have the one seen, or
the other heard. Indeed this was particular to
her, and a distinguishing part of her character,
that she never studied appearances, nor made any
THE LADY CUTTS. 271
advances towards the opinion of the world, being
contented to be whatever was good, or deserving,
without endeavouring in the least to be thought
so, and this, not out of any affected disregard to
public esteem, but merely from a modesty and
easiness of nature, which made her give way to
others, who were more willing to be observed;
and yet she had also her hours of openness and
freedom, when her soul poured itself into the bo
soms of her friends and familiars, and then out
of the good treasure of her heart what good
things did she bring forth? and with what de
light was she listened to by those who had the
happiness to converse with her? so that a doubt
it is whether she were most to be admired for
what she did, or for what she did not say. It
was wonderful that one who, when she pleased,
could discourse so fitly, and so freely, should yet
choose to be silent on so many occasions, and it
was surprising that she, who was such a lover of
silence, should, whenever she spake, charm all
who heard her.
To her command over her tongue she added
a strict and watchful guard upon her passions,
those especially of the rough and troublesome
kind, with which she was scarce ever to be seen
disquieted. She knew not what the disorders of
anger were, even on occasions that might seem
to justify if not to require it. As much as she
hated vice, she chose rather to look it out of coun
tenance than to be severe against it, and to win
the bad over to the side of virtue by her example
than by her rebukes.
Her sweet deportment towards those who were
with her could be outdone by nothing but her
tenderness in relation to the absent, whom she
was sure to think and speak as well of as was
possible; and when their characters were plainly
such, as could have no good colours put upon
272 MEMOIRS OF
them, she would shew her dislike of them no
otherwise than by saying nothing of them. Nei
ther her good nature, nor her religion, neither
her civility, nor her prudence would suiter her to
censure any one. She thought she had enough
to do at home in that way without looking much
abroad, and therefore turned the edge of all her
reflections upon herself.
Her conversation might for this reason seem to
want something of that salt and smartness, which
the ill-natured part of the world are so fond of;
a want that she could have easily supplied, would
her principles have given her leave, but her settled
opinion was, that the good name of any one was
too tender and serious a thing to be played with,
and that it was a foolish kind of mirth which,
in order to divert some, hurt others. She could
never bring herself to think that the only thing
which gave life and spirit to discourse was to
have somebody s faults for the subject of it, or
that the pleasure of a visit lay in the giving up
the company to one another s sport and malice
by turns; and if these are the marks of wit and
good-breeding, it must be confessed that she had
neither.
With all this goodness, gentleness, and meek
ness of disposition, she had at the same time a de
gree of spirit and firmness, unusual in her sex, and
was particularly observed to have a wonderful pre
sence of mind in any occurrence of danger.
With, these excellent endowments she had a
modesty of temper, which shone throughout her
whole life and conversation. A quality so strict
ly required of her sex that it may be thought not
so properly commendable in any of them to have
it, as infamous to want it. However, in the most
common and ordinary graces there are uncommon
heights and degrees, and it was the particular
happiness of this lady remarkably to excel in
THE LADY CUTTS, 273
every virtue that belonged to her, even in those
in which christians of the lowest attainments do
in some degree excel.
Her love of purity was the cause why she ba-
iiishecl herself from those public diversions of the
town, at w r hich it was scarce possible to be pre
sent without hearing somewhat that wounded
chaste ears, and for which she thought no amends
could be made to virtue by any degree of wit or
humour with which they might abound. These
good qualities she knew served only to recom
mend the poison, and make it palatable. She
had really neither relish nor leisure for such en
tertainments, nor for a thousand other things,
which the world miscals pleasures. Not that sbe
wanted naturally a taste for any thing of this
kind, for her apprehension was fine, and her wit
very good, and very ready at command, whenever
she pleased to exercise it, but she had turned her
thoughts so much towards things of use and im
portance, that matters of mere pleasure grew flat
and indifferent to her. She was so taken up with
the care of improving her understanding, and
bettering her life, in the discharge of the offices
necessary to her rank, in the duties of her closet,
and the concerns of her family, that she found at
the foot of the account but little time, and had
less mind to give into those vain amusements.
She did not think it the peculiar happiness and
privilege of the great to have nothing to do, but
took care to fill every vacant minute of her life
with some useful or innocent employment. The
several hours of the day had their peculiar busi
ness allotted to them, whether it were conversa
tion, or work, or reading, or domestic affairs,
each of which came up orderly in its turn, and
was, as the wise man speaks, certainly under her
management it was beautiful in its season*.
* Eccl. iii. 11.
VOL. I. T
74* MEMOIRS OF
Yet this regularity of hers was free and natural,
without formality or constraint. It was neither
trouhlesome to herself, nor to those who were
near her. When therefore any accident inter
vened, it was interrupted at that time with as
much ease as it was at other times practised, for
among all her discretionary rules the chief was to
seem to have none, and to make those she had
laid down to herself give way always to circum
stances and occasions.
She wrought with her own hands often when
she could more profitably and pleasingly have em
ployed her time in meditation or reading, but she
was willing to set an example to those who could
not, and she took care therefore that her example
should be well followed by all that were under
her immediate influence, for she well knew that
the description of a good wife, and a perfect wo
man in the Proverbs, a description which she
much delighted in, and often read, was spent
chiefly in commending that diligence by which
she looked well to the ways of her houshold, and
eat not the bread of idleness ; and she knew
also that the person, whose words these are said
to be, was no less a woman than the mother of
king Lemuel*.
Diligence and frugality are sisters, and she
therefore, who was so well acquainted with the
one, was not likely to be a stranger to the other.
She was stricly careful of her expences, and yet
knew how to be generous, and to abound, when
the occasion required. But of all ways of good
management she liked that the worst which shuts
out our hands to the poor; towards whom she
always shewed herself compassionate and charit
able. Of the other delights, with which an high
fortune furnished her, she was almost insensible,
but on this account she valued it, as it gave her
* Prov. xxxL
THE LADY CUTTS. ?
an opportunity of pursuing the several pleasures
of beneficence, and of tasting all the sweets of
well-doing. She delivered the poor that cried,
and the fatherless, and him that had none to
help him. The blessing of him that was ready to
perish came upon her, and she caused the widow s
heart to siug for joy *.
In the exercise of this, and of all other virtues
she was wonderfully secret, endeavouring to come
up as near as she could to the rule of not letting
her left hand know what her right hand did \\
This secrecy of hers she managed so well that
some of the most remarkable instances of her
goodness were not known till after her death, no,
not by him, who was partaker of all her joys and
sorrows.
Retirement and privacy she always loved, and
therefore chose them, when, after the death of a
near relation, who had the care of her education,
she was at liberty to have lived otherwise. From
that time to her marriage, which was more than
three years, she hid herself in the country, hav
ing an early and settled aversion to the noise and
inconveniences of a town-life, and too little an
opinion of herself to think that it was so much
the interest of virtue and religion, as it really was,
that she should be known and distinguished.
When afterwards she went to court, as it was
necessary for her sometimes to do, she did it with
an air, which plainly shewed that she went to pay
her duty there, and not to Delight* herself in the
pomp and glitter of the place.
Soon after her marriage she declared to several
friends her thoughts, " that every woman of
>{ quality was as much obliged, as she was more
" enabled than other women, to do good in the
" world; and that the shortest and surest way of
" doing this was to endeavour by all means to be
11 Job xxix. 17, 13. | Matt. vi. ;3.
rr\ O
%~6 MEMOIRS OF
" as good a Christian, and as good a wife, and as
" ,<rood a friend as was possible."
She endeavoured to all this, and she fell not far
short of her mark, for she excelled in all the cha
racters that belonged to her, and was in a great
measure equal to all the obligations under which
she lay. She was devout without superstition ;
strict, without ill-humour; good-natured, with
out weakness ; cheerful, without levity ; and re
gular, without affectation. She was to her hus
band the best of wives, the most agreeable of
companions, and the best of friends ; to her ser
vants, the best of mistresses; to her relations, ex
tremely respectful ; to her inferiors, very obliging;
and by all who knew her, either nearly, or at a
distance, she was reckoned, and confessed to be
one of the best of women.
Short as her life was, she had time enough to
adorn the several stages of virginity and marriage,
and to experience the sadness of a kind of widow
hood too, for such she accounted it when her Lord
was long absent from her; mourned as much, and
refused to be comforted till his return.
As her life was short, so her death was sudden.
She was called away in haste, and without any
warning. One day she drooped, and the next
day she died ; nor was there the distance of many
hours between her being very easy in this world,
and very happy in another.
However, though she was seized thus suddenly
by death, yet she was not surprized, for she was
ever in preparation for it; her loins girt, as the
scripture speak, and her lamp ready trimmed and
burning *. The moment almost that she was taken
iil she was just risen from her knees, and had made
an end of her morning devotions; and to such an
one a sudden death might well be desirable.
Where a pious soul is in perfect readiness, there
* Luke xii. 35,
THE LADY CUTTS. 277
the sooner the fatal stroke is struck the better ;
all delays in this case are uncomfortable to the
dying*. In truth, she could not be called away
more hastily than she was willing to go. She
had been used so much to have her conversation
in heaven, and her soul had been so often upon the
wing thither, that it readily left its earthly sta
tion upon the least notice from above, and took as
it were the very first opportunity of quitting her
body without lingering, or expecting a second
summons. She staved no longer after she was
%j c?
called than to assure her Lord of her entire resig
nation to the divine will, and of her having no
manner of uneasiness upon her mind, and to take
her leave of him with all the expressions of ten
derness. When this was over she had nothing
more to do. She sunk immediately under her
illness, and, after a short unquiet slumber slept
in peace.
278 MEMOIRS OF
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE
LADY ELIZABETH HASTINGS.
THE lady Elizabeth Hastings was born Ap r il
19, 1682. Pier father was Theophilus, earl
of Huntingdon, and her mother was the daughter
of sir John Lewis, of Ledstone, in the county
of York, bart. one moiety and more of whose very
large estate came to her by inheritance.
There was a fine dawn of her future excellen
cies in her tender age. A countenance that united
in it something great, and something condescend
ing, an ingenuous temper, a quickness of under
standing, a benevolent spirit, a flexibility of na
ture, a devout frame, and a solemn sense of di
vine things were observable in her first departure
out of her infancy, and her footsteps slipt not in
the dangerous ascent of life, so that she was not
only free from every stain of vice in her early days,
but superior to the world, and its vain and trifling
amusements.
Before she launched into life, she was fond of
privacy and retirement, and was much in devo
tional exercises in her closet. In some contests
between the earl her father, and lord Hastings
her brother, she observed such a prudence in her
conduct, that she preserved the kindness and af
fection of both, and, after the death of the for
mer, and till the decease of the latter, she would
be doing good things with her substance, when
her abilities were not so great.
Her ladyship s active life most conspicuously
commenced soon after the death of her brother
by the whole blood, the right honourable George,
earl of Huntingdon, already mentioned under
the title of lord Hastings, when her excellent
virtues shone out by what has been the eclipse of
virtue in others, the accession of a large fortune.
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS.
Then it was that she became known, and was
observed to be something more than a lady of
great beauty, and fine accomplishments, of affa
bility, and easy access, of condescension, and
good-nature, and of regular motions in religion.
Her aims were set high, and no attainments in
piety and goodness would content her soul short
of perfection.
When she had not many months finished her
twenty-seventh year, hersingular accomplishments
and merits were celebrated by the ingenious au
thor of the pipers called the Tatler under the
name of Aspasia.
" But these ancients," says our writer, " would
" be as much astonished to see in the same age so
" illustrious a pattern to all who love things
" praise-worthy as the divine Aspasla. Me-
" thinks I now sec her walking in her garden like
" our first parent, with unaffected charms, before
11 beauty had spectators, and bearing celestial
" conscious virtue in her aspect. Her counte-
" nance is the lively picture of her mind, which
" is the scat of honour, truth, compassion, kuow-
" ledge, and innocence.
" There dwells the scorn of vice and pity too.
" In the midst of the most ample fortune, and
u veneration of all that behold and know her,
" without the least affectation, she consults rc-
" tirement, the contemplation of her own being,
" and that Supreme Power which bestowed it.
" Without the learning of schools, or knowledge
4 < of a long course of arguments, she goes on in
" a steady course of uninterrupted piety and vir-
u tue, and adds to the severity of the last age all
" the freedom and ease of this. The language
u and mien of a court she is possessed of in the
u highest degree, but the simplicity and humble
u thoughts of a cottage are her more welcome en-
" tertaininents. Aspasia is a female philosopher,
" who docs not only live up to the resignation of
280 MEMOIRS OF
" the most retired lives of the ancient sages, but
" also to the schemes and plans which they
" thought beautiful, though inimitable. This lady
" is the most exact economist, without appearing
"busy; the most strictly virtuous, without tast-
" ing the praise of it; and shuns applause with as
" much industry, as others do reproach. This
" character is so particular, that it will be very
" easily fixed on her only by all that know her,
" but I dare say she will be the last that finds it
In order to assist her endeavours to reach the
sublimest heights of honour and virtue, our lady
commenced an acquaintance with persons eminent
for religion, doctor John Sharp, archbishop of
York, Robert Nelson, esq. and doctor Richard
Lucas. Many years after the decease of all of
them she has been heard to felicitate herself upon
the privilege of her friendship with them, and how
much she was esteemed and honoured by Mr.
Nelson in particular, and we have no reason to
think but she had a like esteem from the others,
is evident from a letter of his yet remaining, in
which he applies to her the following text, Prov.
xxxi. 29. Many daughters have done virtuously,
but thou ex eel lest them all.
In the place (Ledst one- House) where her lady
ship spent the greater part of her life, almost every
eye beheld her with wonder. The higher ranks of
mankind were by her acquaintance some of them
charmed into the love of virtue, while others
found their virtues heightened and improved. As
to the lower part, they were guided by her wis
dom, and, if they wanted it, were cherished by
her bounty.
Such was the superiority of her understanding
that in matters of high moment hundreds would
ask counsel of her, who were themselves well qua-
* Tatler, Number 42, dated July l6, 1709.
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS. 281
lifiecl to give it to others, for she was blessed with
a rectitude of jugdment, and could readily pene
trate through perplexities, unravel them, and
mark out the wisest and safest conduct, having
ever for her ground the interests of truth, fidelity,
honour, and religion. Her end was the glory of
God, and the good of all men, keeping all her
capacities, all her powers, and all her fortune con
tinually upon the stretch for the benefit of her
fellow-creatures; weeping with them that weep,
rejoicing with them that rejoice; given to hospi
tality, distributing to the necessities of the saints,
and to others that were less so, having joy at the
conversion of a sinner, or any the smallest appear
ances of it.
Besides the wisdom which is called secular, as
having for its objects the affairs of this life, her
ladyship s mind was endowed with that wisdom
which comes from above, and, was so influenced
by it, that whether she writ or spoke, it was ever
in consistency with it. Her will was in full sub
jection to the precepts of the gospel. She took
her measures from them, and "observed a close
conformity to them. Her will also bowed to the
Divine Will in her afflictions. Because they were
the pleasure of God, they were hers too, and, when
his arrows stuck fast within her, and his hand
pressed her sore, she possessed herself in these
painful parts of life with great cheerfulness, and
preferred them in her whole judgment, and upon
the most important considerations, to the days of
health and ease. As to her affections they were
set upon things above, panting and longifig after
the pleasures that are there, or attaching her to
such employments as infallibly lead to them.
Her ladyship s attendance and apparel were such
as became her place and station. Her body she
knew was the temple of the Holy Ghost, and she
possessed it in sanctiiication and honour. Her
support of it by meat, and drink, and sleep, was
82 MEMOIRS OF
ever bounded by necessity. The intervals that
happened as to the last were improved in pious
meditation or prudent deliberations what better
measures to take in the duties of her Christian
calling.
The word of God was a lamp to her feet, and
a light unto her paths. Her delight was in his
Jaw, and she made it her every day s study. She
held her bible to her heart ro receive its quicken
ing virtue, and used it at the same time as she
would a mirror to her face, to discover every spot
and blemish. The other books that she used were
well chosen, and they were much in her esteem,
and often in her hands, in order to learn from
them to examine herself by them, and to see what
she had in common with the children of God, and
if in any thing she fell short of them. She com
pared spiritual things with spiritual, she pondered
with her own heart, and searched out her spirit,
weighing herself as it were in a balance.
She used her pen much; sometimes for her own
service, but more for the service of others. Be
sides what papers went abroad, great numbers re
mained, but were unhappily destroyed by a se
vere sentence of her own. By them she would
have been more fully and better known, and more
excellent things might have been spoken of her
than what could have been gathered by any other
information.
She begun every day with supplications, and
prayers, and intercessions in private; addressing
herself to her God with all diligence and earnest
ness, and with a recollected spirit, and fervency.
True it is that she allowed herself little intermis
sion in this duty of prayer, every where attending
to the all-seeing eye of God upon her, and having
her soul winged, and carried up with holy pantings
and aspirations towards him. So well did she
know the mighty importance of prayer, its graci
ous acceptance with the Almighty, and its power-
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS. 283
fill help to enlighten, relieve, strengthen, and pu
rify the soul, that she made most public provision
for the practice of it, as for herself, so also for her
family, collecting All the members of it, excepting
such as were necessarily detained, four times a
day, for the exercise of this duty. Happy was it
for those servants who came under her roof, for
there was every thing for them that might do
them good, in a gentle, gracious, considerate,
bountiful, compassionate mistress, presiding over
them with the dispositions of a parent, providing
for the improvements of their minds, for the de
cency of their behaviour, and the inoffensiveness
of their manners, and using every possible mean
and method to bring them to true religion. And
as her great talents were every way fitted to turn
many to righteousness, so they were as successful,
and she both near and afar off much enlarged the
borders of God s kingdom.
She much delighted in public worship, and con
stantly attended it. Her behaviour in the house
of God was solemn, and grave, and awful, and
clear of all pharisaical affectation, and no doubt
much quickened, and animated the devotions of
others.
She was ever mindful of every jot and tittle of
the law. In this spirit her care extended even to
her cattle, because that it is declared to be a pro
perty of mercy. She would have the skill and
contrivance of every artificer used in her house
employed for the ease of her servants, and that
they might suffer no inconvenience or hardship.
Besides providing for the order, harmony, and
peace of her family, she kept great elegance in
and about her house, that her" poor neighbours
might not fall into idleness and poverty for want
of employment, and, while she thus tenderly re
garded the poor, she would visit the higher" part
of the world, lest those who sought after her
friendship, should complain of her, or fall into
284* MEMOIRS OF
uncharitableness concerning her, or censure her
for being proud and supercilious.
A just display of her ladyship s art and manner
in company would be to place her in one of the
most amiable lights Her talents for conversation
were most shining and great, and more in truth
than she would allow herself to use, accordingly
she would restrain a brisk and lively imagination,
and give the demonstrative proofs of a deep and
sound understanding, and to flourishes of wit and
humour would prefer the much better ornaments
of courtesy and complaisance. It was her great
care that they with whom she conversed should be
convinced of the honour and esteem she bore them,
to observe a carriage by which none should be
awed or made uneasy at the superiority of her
condition, to see that she failed not in any part
of right decorum, that none might think them
selves neglected or overlooked by her, and to hear
and speak according to what occurred, or was
before her, watching all the while with penetration
and eagerness for an happy transition of the dis
course to religion ; and, when that was once gained,
she was then in the true enjoyment of her spirit,
and was got into her natural element; for to say
the truth in all her intercourses she was never
rightly at ease unless religion had some place in
the conversation, and she thought the spirit of it
was dead in the majority of the company at least,
if there was an utter neglect and silence as to the
one thing needful.
At her table her countenance was open and se
rene; her voice soft and melodious, her language
polite, and seasoned with salt, treating of things
useful and weighty, and bringing out of her rich
treasures of wisdom things new and old. Here
she displayed all the elegancies of good breeding,
addressing herself to all with great meekness and
condescension, and adapting herself to every one s
respective talents and capacities. The smiles of
LADY fcLIZ. HASTINGS. 1285
her benevolence were enjoyed by all, and every
one felt the sweetness of her company.
As her house and table were rarely destitute of
some or more of her family, so she made them
all the parts of herself, and embraced all her re
lations according as they stood in the several
degrees of consanguinity with true and tender af
fection. She would also inquire and seek after
any of the withering and drooping branches of
her family, and would kindly support and cherish
them, directing her aim by kindnesses of this na
ture to serve their best interests, and lead them
into the paths of godliness.
But what shall we say of her care of all cares,
the strangers, the fatherless, and the widow, the
needy, and him that hath no helper, the lame, the
halt, and the blind ! These objects drew out the
compassions of her soul. Sbe had a share in all
their sufferings ; she would often converse with
them, and inquire into their history with the ut
most condescension. She would study their par
ticular cases, and put them in the way of a better
condition. She would visit them in sickness,
and bear the expences of it. Some of them were
ever in her court-yard, or in her house, and fre
quently in great numbers, and it was not charge
able upon any neglect of hers if any one went
away unrelieved with meat, physic, cloathing, or
money, according to their several necessities, and
many times a single person would receive all four.
Many of these that lived remote had yearly al
lowances, and large sums frequently were sent
into distant parts of the kingdom.
Her still larger applications of her substance
were fixed pensions upon reduced families, exhi
bitions to scholars in the Universities, the main
tenance of her own charity-school, her contribu
tions to other schools, disbursements to the reli
gious societies for the propagation of the gospel in
foreign parts, and for promoting Christian know-
286 MEMOIRS OF
ledge at home, and the erection and augmenta
tion of Churches. To which may be added free
and frequent remission of debts, in cases of strait-
ness or insolvency, together with a noble plenty
and all becoming magnificence in her house, and
mighty acts of generosity to relations, friends,
and even to those who were neither. Her lady
ship s declared and most admirable rule was to
give the first place to justice, the second to charity,
and the third to generosity. Of this third me
thod of applying her substance surprising instances
might be produced, as in five hundred pounds a
year given to one relation, three thousand pounds
in money to another, three hundred guineas, all
the money that at the time was within her reach,
and large promises of more to a young lady who
had very much impaired her fortune by engaging
in the South-Sea scheme.
At the same time there were these visible glo
ries that adorned her ladyship s life, and spread
the beauty of holiness around her, she well knew
that the great scene of religion lies within, and in
the right government there, called the hidden
man of the heart: accordingly her eye was ever
upon her heart, to see that all its principles were
cleansed from evil mixtures, that they had no
taint of self-love, and were not sullied with vain
glory, to observe the tendency of all its motions,
which way the bias of it was set, and how its
struggles weakened towards sinful excursions,
and she would continually cherish the divine life
by acts of faith in the blood of her Redeemer, by
rating her own righteousness as nothing, and
by marking well, and daily committing to writ
ing all her slips, and penitentially mourning over
them.
Such were the diligence and circumspection
which this lady used in her Christian calling. In
this practice of piety did she walk closely with
her God, and in this manner through a series of
LADY KLIZ. HASTINGS. 28?
almost thirty years, did she shine, the bright ex
ample of every virtue, at the same time that she
gave a clear demonstration on how right a basis
every thing stood, and by what principles she was
governed in that she could never endure to hear
one word spoken in her own praise.
We . shall now accompany her to her closing
scene. As was her day such was her evening, if
indeed her sun did not go down with an improv
ed, and redoubled lustre. Her ladyship in early
life had received a contusion upon her right
breast, which left behind it a small inward tu
mour, attended with little or no disturbance, and
for that cause probably not much regarded. This
continued several years without any sensible in
crease, till about twenty months before her death
it gave her cause of complaint, upon which ap
plication was made to a reverend gentleman (Dr.
Johnson) very eminent for his skill in surgery,
who upon sight and examination was clear in his
judgment, that there was an absolute necessity
that the affected part should be separated from the
body.
" What her ladyship s first impressions were up-
" on hearing of this I will not," says the author of
her historical character, " undertake to relate :
" perhaps nature might flinch at first." But a
neighbouring clergyman, who had a correspon
dence with one in the family, being made ac
quainted by his friend what afflict ing sorrow the
family was in. and his friend in particular, with
out being informed from what cause, he imagin
ing that it was no common matter, but something
of a very distressing nature, and something too
in which her ladyship had a very large share", this
clergyman immediately wrote back as suitably as
he could upon no other grounds than his own
conjecture, and happily touched upon the ne
cessity of sufferings, setting forth briefly those
which Christ endured in. the" flesh, and observing
288 MEMOIRS OF
that he will bring all his followers in conformity
to himself in all things, and that sufferings were
the way to his perfection, and must be so to ours,
and that they are the expressly declared condi
tion of our being glorified with him, the marks
and characteristics of our adoption, and the most
sovereign medicines sent from heaven to heal our
o
spiritual diseases.
Her ladyship before hand saw into the truth of
all this, as she had well explored and digested
every other truth in the whole system of our holy
religion, and would often express some uneasiness
that her own sufferings, in the account she macle
of them, should in a manner be little or none.
And it was the sentiment of one, who had a sta
tion under her, and was not unskilled in this kind
of knowledge, that the mighty torrent of sufferings
which broke in upon her at the last was designed
by her heavenly Father for this end among others
to solace her spirit, and to strengthen her assur
ance that she had every mark and token of her
favour and acceptance with him.
The letter mentioned above was shewn to her
ladyship, who, with an emotion beyond what was
usual with her, declared, " that she would not
" wish to be out of her present situation for all
" the world, nor exchange it for any other at
" any price;" and accordingly with great meek
ness and tranquillity, without any change in her
temper, with a cheerfulness scarce to be believed,
in perfect serenity and freedom she went through
every day till the time appointed for the opera
tion, as one who sat loose to, and was indifferent
for life or death.
When the day came for the excision of her
breast, great skill and wisdom were used in all
things, every bad event was guarded against, and
her hands were held by men of strength but her
hands might have been held by a spider s thread.
She shewed no reluctance, no struggle, or con-
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS* 280
tcntion, nor did she even make any complaint:
only indeed towards the end of her bloody bap
tism she drew such a sigh, as any compassionate
reader may do to be told this. Though even this
small expression of anguish has been denied by a
clergyman of great worth, who assisted at the
operation, and was one of the number who held
her ladyship s hands, and from his account one
would think that her flesh was as insensible of
pain as her spirit was superior to it.
The following night was not indeed a night of
much sleep, but it was a night of truly celestial
rest; a night of thanksgiving to her God for the
visible demonstration of his power in and about
her, for his stretched out arm in her great de
liverance, for the bountiful provisions he had
made for all the occasions of her body, and soul,
and, in a word, for all his blessings, holding all
the powers of her spirit in tuneful employment,
and exercising them in acts of love, gratitude and
adoration; so that some doubt may be made whe
ther the Israelites^ with their heavenly-commis
sioned captain at the head of them, offered more
acceptable melody to their almighty deliverer,
after their escape from Pharaoh and his armies
at the Red Sea, than did this lady at this junc
ture under distresses, one would think superior to
what theirs had been.
Her ladyship sooner than was expected was
restored ; and with every improvement that could
be made returned into the same tenor of life
\vhich she had so long observed before, in some
variety of employments indeed, but such as were
calculated for the glory of God, and the good of
mankind.
She saw what an excellent and serviceable hand
maid learning was to religion, and upon that ac
count was a great lover of it, and indeed was far
from being destitute of learning herself, for she
was able to compose and judge well, and could
VOL. i. u
290 MEMOIRS 6F
mark out the beauties, excellencies, errors, and
defects in authors, and whether they were writ
ten in taste, or not; and as to practical di
vinity, and things belonging to the direction of
conscience, she rarely ever made an erroneous de
termination.
Impressed with these sentiments, and possessed
bf these talents, she thought provision made for
the better state of learning, as it is begun and
carried on in schools, and further promoted and
finished in universities, was a right exercise of her
attention and care, and a proper object for her
munificent donations, and how suitable and pro
portioned to the magnificence of her spirit these
were may be found in the codicil annexed to her
will, containing the devise of her manor of
Whddah to the provost and scholars of Queen s
College, Oxford^ for the educating students for
the ministry.
In the weakly condition in which she now
must be, it was very much her employment to
provide that all her settlements should be secured
from prostitution, and guarded against spoil and
depredation, and that all her good purposes might
be followed with execution and effect. To this
end with an indefatigable industry she digested,
improved, enlarged, and altered several schemes,
rules, orders, and provisions, and all this very
much from her own ability and wisdom.
But this care, this work, and labour of love, to
which she dedicated a large share of her estate,
and for many years a large stock of her health,
were shortly to be exchanged for tranquillity and
rest. The distemper, only repressed for a time,
broke out with new malignity, to the much
greater affliction of thousands in the world, than
of her that bore it, for she had now been for some
time in the school of affliction, had been exer
cised with its sharpest discipline, and had found
-its salutary effects, and, as she had lost one part
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS. 291
of her body without being shaken or hurt, so she
trusted in God that, if there was need, as in
reality there was an expectation, she might with
safety loose another, and she knew that her own
sufferings were infinitely short of what her Sa
viour endured for her on the cross, and that there
was great probability that the last draught of her
cup might not be so bitter as was the first. Un
der these views and sentiments her hope was full
of immortality, and the eternal weight of glory
now in full prospect made all her afflictions light.
Her faith was not to be diverted from it, though
her condition would not allow her for several
months for obtaining any ease to turn herself in
her bed, and therefore she would hold to her long
established purposes, and strive to enter in at the
strait gate, and excel every thing that was past
as much as she could, not looking back at the
things that were behind, but pressing forward to
the things that were before. Though she had
little appetite to eat, she could find strength to
pray, and, as the author of her historical charac
ter verily believes, she suffered not any one hour
of the day to pass without prayer. But every
other duty is to be attended to as well as this, and
doing good to the souls of others was ever the
same with her doing good to her own ; and be
cause her family mourned, and refused to be
comforted, some of them perhaps having less ac
quiescence in the divine will than she had, she
would therefore be cheerful that they might cease
to weep, and for a pattern for them, when in like
circumstances with hers, she made no complaints
among them which a mortal creature could sup
press, and accepted all their kindness and services
with condescending acknowledgments, passing
by with inobservance any errors, mistakes, neg
lects, or inadvertencies into which any of them
might fall.
In this near and certain approach of death her
u 2
292 MEMOIRS OF
cherishing warmth, like that of the sun, though
it might be most felt by those of her family, yet
reached those at greater distance. Witness the
great number of letters she wrote and dictated to
others when she became unable to write herself,
full of sweet counsel, having for their argument
the blessedness of piety, setting forth its true na
ture and pressing home the necessity of it, and
witness also the great resort to her house of per
sons of all conditions to behold the living power
of religion in her, and to be partakers of, and be
benefited by her wisdom, whom she would in
struct herself, or engage those who had any ta
lent that way to do, having them in great num
bers about her, and continuing in heavenly con
versation and conferences with them as long as
she had strength to speak, and keeping up her at
tention to others when her strength was gone.
At other seasons she would seek out for, and draw
to her the company of holy persons, refreshing
and warming her spirit with them, as her great
delight was ever in them ; she and they mutually
giving and receiving light, heat, comfort, and
strength from the words of the wise, and their di
vine sayings. She and they at the same time
having their spirits mingled and holding mystical
communion with all the saints upon earth, and in
heaven; as her alms all along, in the same series
of days, under the great and necessary expences
upon herself, under every other increase of ex-
pence still driving on, and carried \vith a like
impetuous succession as the waves of a swelling
tide. " Where, would she often say to those
" about her, is there a poor member of Christ s
" whom I can comfort and refresh?" Silver and
gold were given to many who very rarely had
seen so much which they could call their own,
and in this period forty guineas were issued in one
sum for the enlargement of a gentleman who was
a prisoner for debt at Rothwdl, though she had
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS. 293
never seen him, or heard any thing of him, except
some few words of his case, and in his favour, in
all her life before.
Her ladyship was for several months separated
from public worship, of which she was a great
lover, and to observe which she held herself un
der sacred and inviolable obligations. So great
and exemplary was her zeal in this respect that
she could not excuse herself from an attendance
at the House of God for having had a bad night,
or for having taken a little cold, or because the
roads were deep, and there was some danger that
the coach should be overturned, but she ever con-
tin tied to go under great want of sleep, and great
cold taken, and even under afflictions worse than
they, even after her coach had been overturned,
and after part of her body was mouldering in the
church-yard. But now impediments were thrown
in her way, which she could not possibly over
come. What must she do in this distress? Her
expedient was, now she could not go to the
church, to bring the church as far as she could
to herself. Accordingly she had in this season
the established service as formerly daily read,
and the holy sacrament administered to her every
Lord s day.
She was now in a very tottering state, though
with less pain, or at least less complaint than ever
could be thought of, or rationally expected.
The skill of the reverend gentleman already men
tioned cannot be praised according to his merit.
Under God he kept her pains moderate, and gave
her relaxation and relief under every distress. But
her firmest support was her faith in Christ, which,
fifty years ago being only as a grain of mustard-
seed, had now grown up into a spreading tree,
and she could refresh herself under its shadow.
By the virtue of this grace she had overcome the
fears of death, and taken out its sting, and neither
the sight of death, nor the rigour of the law could
MEMOIRS OF
in the least dismay her soul. She had walked by
the rule the law of God had set her, and, though
she had not perfectly obeyed it, yet her Redeemer
had, and his righteousness were hers, and wrought
for her, and he spoke peace to her spirit, and
strengthened hef with assurance that, as lie had
long brought her up in his nurture, and admoni
tion, and was now putting his last hand for the
finishing his own work, so the gates of his king
dom were opened for her entrance into his joy.
But she knew she must wait his pleasure, "and
desired nothing but it; though it must not be
omitted that her ladyship had a willingness, con
sistent enough with her full resignation to the
Divine Will, to travel still in the wilderness till
such time as her durable charities were established
by law. Dr. Johnson, at once the physician of
her body and soul knew this, and directed all his
skill for the continuance of her life, till her bene
volent wishes were accomplished; and, so indulgent
was the Almighty to her in this respect, that she
survived the legal and necessary time by seven
or eight days; when with triumph, she entered
into the joy of her Lord.
We shall add to the above account of this most
excellent lady what may be called its epitome, as
it was published in the Gentleman s Magazine
for January, 1740, p. 36. in the list of "deaths
for the year 1740. The first of them is the fol
lowing article. "December 22, 1739. The ho-
" nourable the lady Elizabeth Hastings, at her
" seat at Ledstone, Yorkshire, sister to George
" late earl oi Huntingdon, and half-sister to Theo*
" philus the present earl. Though the splendor
" of her birth was truly great it seemed as it were
" eclipsed by her shining qualities. She was
" amiable in her person, genteel in her mien, po-
"lite in her manners, and agreeable in her con-
" versation. Her judgment was solid, her regard
" to friendship sacred, and her sense of honour
LADY ELIZ. HASTINGS. 295
11 strict to the last degree, and she was of so rare
" modesty and humility, that a more disagree-
" able thing could not be done than publishing
" her good deeds, and rendering her due praise.
ct She was above all a sincere Christian. Her
" piety towards God was ardent and unaffected,
" and her benevolence towards mankind was such
" as the good angels are blessed with. Thousands
" had she comforted and relieved, many enriched
" and advanced. Her patience and resignation un-
" der her last long and tedious sickness, her mourn-
" ing for the sins of men, her unwearied endeavours
" for their eternal welfare, her generous and cha-
" ritable appointments, her tender expressions to
" her relations, friends, and servants, and her
grateful acknowledgments to her physicians re-
quire whole pages to set them in a proper light.
In short, scarce any age has afforded a greater
blessing to many, or a brighter example to
all. Her corpse was interred with great funeral
solemnity in the family-vault at Ledstojie, near
" her grandfather, sir John Lewis, bait, the fol-
" lowing inscription being put upon her leaden
coffin, &c."
The Right Hon. the lady Elizabeth Hastings,
Daughter of Theophilus Earl of Huntingdon,
By Elizabeth his first wife,
Daughter and co-heir of Sir John Lewis, Knight
and Baronet,
From whom descended to her the manors of
Lfdstont, Ledsham, Thorparch, Collingham, Wddah y
Wyke, and Shadwell.
In the four first she erected charity-schools,
And, for the support of them and other charities,
She gave in her life-time Collingham, Shadwcll,
And her estate in Burton- Salmon.
She was born the IQth of April, 168C.
Died the 22d of December, 1739.
A pattern to succeeding ages
Of all that s good, and all that s great.
"
"
MEMOIRS OF
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE.
MRS Jane RatcUJfe was born of good pa
rents of unblameable characters, morally
civil, not without some appearances of religion.
Her uncle was Mr. Edward Brerewood, a learned
professor in Gresham College, London. In her
younger years she was rather civil and religious,
and was too much delighted with glancing, stage-
plays, and other public vanities, according to
the fashion of young people, especially in those
times when these things were so well thought of
that they were admitted to be acted in the
churches*. But it pleased God, according to the
election of grace, in due time effectually to call
her to himself by the ministry of Mr. Nicholas
Byfield, who was a powerful and profitable preacher
of the word of God at that juncture in the city
of Chester, which was also seconded by the af^
flicting hand of God, in taking away her first
child, which Providence she laid deeply to heart,
while it was made the occasion of great good to
her soul,
At her entrance upon religion she rather feared
God than loved him, which engendered many
perplexing scruples in her soul, which for the pre
sent were very grievous to her. Her spirit was
sore wounded, and her inward distresses were so
sharp and painful, and sometimes so terrible that
it was difficult to fasten any comfort upon her.
* The acting of stage-plays in churches may appear almost in
credible, but we have faithfully transcribed the passage as it stands
in Mr. Clark s Lives, p. 377- Certain it is that in Charles the
first s reign the court had its Balls, Masquerades, and Plays, on
the mndmj evenings, while the youth of the country were at their
Morr ice-dancing, May-games, Church and Clerk Ales, and all such
kinds of Revellings, Neat s History of the Puritans, Quarto Edit,
Vol. I. p. 569,
MRS. JANE RATCLIFI E. 297
But, after the Lord had thus chastened her, he
shewed himself her most kind and effectual phy
sician, according to Job. v. 18. He maketh sore,
and bindeth up ; He wounds, and his hands make
whole, for he quieted her troubled spirit, and set
tled her in the assurance of his love.
Being thus by the divine goodness converted
and comforted, by her frequent and attentive
hearing of sermons, and reading* good books, the
bible especially, in which she took an incredible
delight, and by moving questions to persons
whom she thought best able to answer them, she
became an excellent proficient in the great mat
ters of religion, though she took not upon her to
extend her instructions beyond her own children
and servants.
She very little concerned herself in worldly af
fairs, and when she did she entered not with any
great spirit into them, but, -while she declined
much acquaintance with the world, she shone
gloriously in the knowledge of God, and divine
things.
It might be truly said of her, that the word of
God dwelt richly in her in all wisdom. She was
well fitted and prepared either to counsel, or
comfort, to reprove, or to plead for, as there was
occasion. Yet she was by no means talkative,
but rather sparing of her speech, so that she was
as much remarked for her silence as for her suit
able discourse, when there was a proper oppor
tunity. So far was she, when she spoke, from
speaking ill, especially of the absent, and her su
periors, that she rather concerned herself to look
to her own life, than to censure others. She also
gave the proofs of her prudence in the course of
her behaviour. She was a woman of a well-com
posed spirit, and of remarkable discretion, direct
ing her affairs by the dictates of grace and rea
son, without any debasing mixtures of passion,
298 MEMOIRS OF
which usurped no sway over her, and very seldom
made any appearance in her, but when her wis
dom suggested to her that it was fit to make use
of it for due admonition to others, and then she
would temper her warmth with such moderation
as that neither her words, nor looks, nor gestures
carried any colour of contradiction to her pru
dence and piety. So that her wisdom was a pro
tection to the reputation of her godliness from all
scornful reproaches, and raised the Christian pro
fession to an higher esteem in her person, and for
her sake.
Though she had eminent gifts, yet she was far
from their disposition, who think they do no
thing well unless they are singular; and, though
she had less to do with worldly affairs than most
would have had in her situation, yet in the ma
nagement of them she gave that proof of pru
dence which Solomon mentions, Prov. xiv. 1.
that a wise woman builds her house, for she was
very provident in the management of her family-
concerns both while she was in the married state,
and when she became a widow.
Her devotion and piety were correspondent to
her knowledge of God, and faith in him. As she
had a clear apprehension of God, so none had more
inflamed and devout affections to him, as appear
ed in the following particulars.
She was frequently and fervently conversant
with God, not only in the public ordinances, but
in her private exercises of devotion; and in these
he graciously communed with her, for he s.ent
forth his spirit into her heart, whereby she cried,
Abba, Father, the spirit of grace and supplica
tion, which enabled her in an extraordinary man
ner and measure to pour out her soul into his
bosom, and, though she duly esteemed the so
lemn prayers of the public assemblies, and never
slighted, nor censured set forms of prayer, yet
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 2,99
ould she excellently well conceive prayer, and
vary her petitions as the present occasion re
quired.
In this her devotion she was so abundant in apt
and pertinent expressions, that indeed it was a
matter of admiration that one, so frugal of her
speech in her common conversation with the
world, should be so prompt and eloquent in her
intercourse with God. Nor was she more copi
ous in words, than fervent in spirit; for, such was
her holy violence in prayer, that she seemed not
so much to knock at heaven s gate, as to make
an onset upon it, and to break in by the powerful
importunity of her supplications.
Her service also to God in this kind was drench
ed in tears ; and, though in prudence she used
much privacy in the duty of prayer, yet the ex
ercise of such a singular gift as she possessed
could riot be concealed from her servants, and
some secret female friends, who sometimes, when
they were sick, or harrassed with fears, or in the
pains of child-birth, would prevail upon her by
their importunity to pray with them, and when
she yielded to them, and God seemed to yield to
her by answering her request, were apt, as there
was reason, to ascribe the good effects to her
fervent entreaties. A female friend of hers, who
lay in the same bed with her in London for
many weeks together, and was by the mean a
partaker with her in her daily devotions, pro
fessed that she was so plentifully furnished for
Utterance of her requests to God, that she never
wanted variety of suitable words to be presented
to him, except when a surcharge of sighs and tears
put her prayers to a pause.
When the heart is full of love, the mouth is filled
with praise of a person most deservedly, and most
dearly beloved, of which we have an example in
this excellent gentlewoman, who, when time,
company, and occasion invited her to commuai-
300 MEMOIRS OF >
cate to others the good matter which her heart
indited concerning God, employed her tongue
as the pen of a ready writer. And it was observ
able in her that, when she had that great king
for the subject of her discourse, she spake of him
with such cordial and savoury relishes of sacred
reverence and delight, and with such an affec
tionate force, as if her soul were ready to leap out
of her lips into the ears of others, that she might
enkindle the same holy fire in the hearts of those
who heard her, which burnt in her own, longing
that others might with her taste and see the
goodness of the Lord, and that they might be
rivals with her in her religious love: and glad she
was when any sinner was converted, or any, al
ready called, was better enabled to promote
the glory of God, the end which she prin
cipally aimed at in her holy discourses concern
ing him.
In giving vent to her heart in this duty of spi
ritual conference she could spend her spirit with
great delight both to herself, and to those parti
cular friends, who had an opportunity to hear
her, and yet, when she had spoken best, she
found matter of complaint in her own expressions
as being too faint, and too flat, and so far below
what was meet for the majesty of the great Je
hovah, that all the acceptance she desired of him
was but to pardon her presumption, as the error
of her love, for taking upon her to speak of his
excellency, and the weakness of her spirit and
speech, which made her fall infinitely short of
what is his due in the publication of his praise.
Another evidence of her eminent love to God
was the eminent love which for his sake she bore
to whom, or whatsoever stood in any near rela
tion to him. She had a sincere and singular good
will to his saints, and to his true religion and
worship both at home and abroad, the progress
and prosperity of which she preferred above her
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 301
chief joy ; and it was a great affliction to her
heart, when she heard any ill tidings of any good
man, or any good cause.
She highly prized the word of God, and in the
blessed sacrament of the Lord s Supper, she felt
such a divine refreshment, that she might truly
say that she had meat to eat which others knew
nothing of.
If by any insuperable impediment she was kept
back from the public worship, as sickness, and
indisposition of body, <$T. her soul was full of the
most fervent longings to be there. And, where
as many from a very slight occasion absent them
selves from the sanctuary, she would often force
her feeble body to carry her to the house of
God, though the day before she had not only
been confined to her chamber, but even to her
bed ; and it was remarkable, though in these cases
&he hazarded her health, yet that it pleased God
so graciously to accept of her zeal for his ser
vice that she never was the worse for these pious
adventures.
She kept at a great distance from doting upon
the world, and, though while she lived she must
of necessity be in it, yet she had such an over-
coining love to the Lord Jesus Christ, that for
his sake she estranged herself from it, as appear
ed bv her abstaining from the delights of sense,
J & O
which she shewed by her frequent fastings from
meats and drinks, and by her abstinence from
such sports and pastimes as she had been too im
moderately addicted to before her conversion.
Indeed her love to, and delight in communion
with God set her above provision for gratifying
the flesh. She well knew that, though fasting
makes the body weak, yet that it strengthens the
spirit, and makes it vigorous and victorious in
spiritual conflicts. Fasting and prayer she used
not only as weapons against Satan, but as wings
to elevate her .soul towards God and heaven. Yet
302 MEMOIRS OF
she was at the same time observant of our Saviour s
rule to fast without any appearance of fasting,
only the next day it might be discerned by her
faintness that she had spent her spirits in spiritual
exercises the day before.
She had so chosen God for her portion, and
taken up her happiness in the riches of his love,
that she had but little regard to worldly wealth,
and possessions. She well knew that riches may
be had, and be well used by the people of God,
and that poverty alone commends no man to God,
but yet she did not dote upon them, but, though
she was careful and frugal, and was provident for
herself and houshold, yet she often besought of the
Lord rather to make, and keep her poor, than to
suffer her heart to sink down from her Maker, and
go astray after Mammon.
It might be truly said of her that she honoured
God with her substance. She was as cheerful in
her exhibitions for him as any miser could be in
laying up stores for himself; and, when she heard
of the parsimony of some towards the mainte
nance of the public ministry in the city tf Chester,
\diere she lived, she professed that she had rather
be at all the charge of all the common contri
butions herself, if her estate could bear it, than
that God should be murmured at, or his service
poorly prized, or the wages of his work unwil
lingly paid.
Another undoubted testimony of her true love
to God was her desire to die out of a fervent af
fection to him, so that she feared a long life
would keep her too long from the fruition of him.
Death, which worldlings are most afraid of, she
so much wished, that her friends pleaded with her
to be pleased with life, though she, not being
satisfied with their arguments, contended against
them by contrary reasons, shewing, first, why
she did desire to die, and secondly, why she was
not afraid .of death, aad hoping that he would
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 303
not long delay. She had in readiness some spe
cial considerations to be remembered at the time
of her departure, which she left under her own
hand, and which are as follow, under the two ar
ticles, Why she desired to die, and Why she did
not fear death. 9
First, Why I desire to die,
" I desire to die, because I want while I live
" here the glorious presence of God, which 1 love
:e and long for, and the sweet fellowship of an-
41 gels and saints, who would be as glad of me,
;< as I of them, and would entertain me with un-
* c wearied delight.
:c I desire to die, because while I live I shall
c want the perfection of my nature, and be as an
" estranged, banished person from my father s
" house.
I desire to die, because I would not live to
" offend so good a God, and grieve his holy spi-
" rit, for his loving-kindness is better than life
;< itself, and he is abundant in mercy to me, and
" it many times lies as an heavy load upon my
" heart to think of displeasing him.
" I desire to die, because this world is gene-
" rally infected with the plague of sin, and some
" have this plague sore running upon them, and I
" myself am tainted with the same disease, so
" that, while I live here, I can be in no place,
" nor in any company, but I am still in danger
" of being infected, or of infecting others, and if
" this world hates me because I endeavour to fol-
" low goodness, how will it rejoice if my foot do
" but slip ! And how woeful would my life be to
" me if I should give occasion for the world to
" triumph, or blaspheme on my account? I can-
" not choose but desire to die, when I consider
that sin, like a leprosy, hath so corrupted me,
that there is no soundness in me: my mind, my
MEMOIRS OF
" memory, my will, and my affections, yea my
" conscience arc still impure. In every faculty
" of my soul there is a miserable mixture of vile
"infection, which makes me weary of my life:
" and all this is the worse because it is incurable,
" and a constant companion of my life, so that 1
" can go no whither to avoid it There is no bu-
" si ness that I can dispatch, that concerns my
" happiness, but there is a mutiny in my heart.
" Though the works of God be all fair, yet there
* are in my nature many defects, insufficiencies,
" mistakes, and transgressions, so that I may say
" innumerable evils have compassed me t about;
" mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so
" that I am not able to look up. I therefore de-
" sire heaven for holiness rather than for happi-
" ness, that I might sin no more. I desire that
" condition in which I may most glorify God. I
" desire to die, because of the devil s malignant
" and perpetual assaults. I can stand no where
" before the Lord on earth, but one devil, or an-
" other is at my right-hand, and I must of ne-
" cessity enter into conflict with them, and their
" temptations, and be buffeted and gored by
" them, which is a thousand-fold worse than death.
" It is more easy to wrestle with flesh and blood
" than with principalities, and powers, with spi-
" ritual wickednesses, and the rulers of the dark-
" ness of this world, for they are subtil and cruel,
" and, like roaring lions they go about seeking
" whom they may devour.
" I desire to die, because by death I shall rest
" from the hard labours of this life.
" I desire to die, because nothing in this world
" can give me solid and durable contentment. I
" am less in liking of life, and have the greater
" desire of death, when I consider the misery
" that may come both on my body and estate.
" Fearful alterations may come; wars may come,
" and all the desolations and terrors which ac-
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE.
<c company them, and I may be left in the hands
" of the sons of violence. Besides I daily suffer
" the loss of my friends, who were the compa-
" nions of my life, and the channels of much plea-
E< sure to me: and those whom I lose by my life
l( I shall find by my death, and enjoy in another
world to all eternity. As for my leaving my
" children it doth not much trouble me, for that
w God who hath given them life and breath and
" all they have, while I am living, can without
" me provide for them when I am dead. My
" God will be their God if they are his, and if
" they are not, what comfort would it be for me
" to live? my life would be exceeding bitter to
" me if I should see them dishonour God whom I
" so much love."
When she enjoyed the greatest measure of tem
poral or spiritual comfort she would never say,
Master, it is good for us to be here, but making
her enjoyments as a step for an higher ascent,
she rather inferred, it is good to go hence, for, if
on earth there be so much good, how pleasant
and desirable is heaven? The joys on earth, in
comparison with the joys above are but as the
earth is to heaven, little and low, dark and
heavy.
Such were the reasons why this excellent gen
tlewoman desired to die. The reasons why she did
not fear death were as follow.
I fear not death, because it is but the scpa-
" ration of the body from the soul, and that is
" but a shadow of the body of death, Romans vii.
" 24. whereas the separation of the soul from God
" by sin, Isa. lix. 2. and of soul and body, for
" sin is death indeed.
" I fear not death, because deatli is such an
" enemy as hath been often vanquished, and be-
" cause I am armed for it, and the weapons of
[f my warfare are mighty through God, and I am
" assured of victory."
VOL. i. x
506 MEMOIRS OF
" I do not fear death for the pain of it, for I
" am persuaded I have endured as great pains in
" life as I shall find in death, and death will be
" the cure of all my pains and because Christ
" died a terrible and cursed death, any kind
" of death may be blessed to me and because
" that God, who hath greatly loved me in life,
" will not neglect me in death, but his spirit
" will strengthen and comfort me all the time of
fc < the combat.
" I do not fear death for any loss, for I shall
" only lose my body by it, and that is but a pri-
" son to my soul, or an old rotten house, or tat-
" terecl garment. Nay, I shall not lose that nei-
" ther, for I shall have it restored at my Sa-
" viour s second coming much better than now
" it is, for this vile body shall be like the body
" of Christ, and by death I shall obtain a fai
better life."
These were her reasons, how strong and conclu
sive let the pious reader judge, why this good
gentlewoman was not afraid of death.
As an incentive to divine love she prepared a
breviate of God s principal benefits to herself for
meditation upon her death-bed, and as the mat
ter of thanksgivings to him, which runs as
follows,
" How shall I praise God? 1. For my conver*
" sion. 2. For his word, both in my affections>
" to it, and the wonderful comforts I have re-
" ceived by it. 3. For hearing my prayers. 4.
tc For godly sorrow. 5. For fellowship with the
" godly. 6. For joy in the Holy Ghost. 7. For
" the desire of death. 8. For contempt of the
" world. 9. For private helps and comforts.
" 10. For giving me some strength against my
"sin* 11. For preserving me from gross evils
" both before and after my calling, c."
This excellent person discovered her holy love
to God by conforming* her practice to his coin-
MRS. JAXE RATCLlFfrE. 307
mandments, according to the directions of her
Lord, John xiv. 15. If ye love me keep my com
mandments. Shethought nothing toomuch so that
she would object against, if God enjoined it, or
if God forbad it. She judged nothing so small
but his word was able to give it weight enough
to bow her soul to the obedience of it. If it was
a greater matter which he required of her, she
considered that he was a God both infinitely great
and good, and that he was so to her, who had
done, and would do for her ten thousand times
more and greater things than she could do for
him. If it was a little thing which God required
of her, she apprehended that the contempt or
neglect of it would aggravate her guilt, as Naa-
mans servants said to their master*, If the pro
phet had bidden thec do some great matter y
wouldest thou not have done it? How much ra
ther when he saitli unto thee, JVash and be
clean ? The less the duty is, the greater the dis
obedience if we do it not, for thereby we exte
nuate the authority of the Almighty, and such as
slight it in a little thing, will not regard it in a
greater. She was therefore very careful and ac
curate in every article of duty which God called
her to perform.
By these means she made further advances in
holiness, and sanctification, and preserved a
greater distance from great offences, for he who
is afraid of a small sin, will not easily grow bold
to commit a great one. Her love to God was
strong as death, and indeed much stronger, so that
death could not dismay her, for she desired daily
to look death in the face, nor could he hurt her
more than what she was contented to endure,
for though it was not likely that she should pass
through the narrow straits of death without some
* 2 Kings v. 13.
x 2
308 MEMOIRS OF
tossings, and difficulties, yet she was well satis
fied to venture into them, as they were the ready
passage to come to God, whom she so much
longed to enjoy.
Such was the excellent spirit that dwelt in her
that she was very tender of the absent, towards
whom she would not suffer either her tongue or
her ears to be guilty of any wrong, or robbery of
their reputations. She never charged false crimes,
or feigned faults upon others. She never disclosed
their secrets sins, or aggravated those that were
known. She never denied, dissembled, or dimi
nished the virtues or good parts of any. Though
her hatred of sin was such as became a sincere
Christian, yet she knew how to distinguish be
twixt sin and the sinner, and setting a severe dis
like on the one she made a reserve of love and
compassion for the other.
Her charity was regulated by the directions of
scripture, which she set down in a paper with
quotations of texts for her guidance in four par
ticulars. " 1. I must give readily, Job xxxi.
" 16. Prov. iii. 28. 1 2ii vi. 18. 2. I must
" give secretly, Matt. vi. 3. 3. I must give li-
" berally, 2 Cor. viii. 12. and ix. 6. And 4. I
" must give cheerfully, 2 Cor. viii. 12." She
distributed her charity also according to her own
ability, and others necessities. She preferred giv
ing a little to many, as the number of the indi
gent is very great, before giving a great deal to
a few, and she so ordered her charity, as to be
still able to communicate, and did not as some
\vho give so much that after a while they can
give no more. Upon extraordinary occasions if
she was not magnificent in her donations, the
obstacle lay not in her mind, but in her cir
cumstances.
Her charity was vigorous and so cordial that
what she gave was always without grudging. She
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 309
was so cheerful in the distribution of her bounty,
that she bestowed nothing upon herself with
more alacrity than she did upon others, whether
it were for the support of the ministry, or for
the relief of the poor. And yet in all this she
followed the rule of her Lord not to let her left
hand know what her right hand did ; for she was
many times as close in giving what was her own
as a thief would be in stealing from others ; so
that none did more good deeds with less shew or
sound than she.
As to the objects of her charity she did good to
all, but especially to the houshold of faith. She
indeed shut up her munificence from none who
had need of it, but she chiefly enlarged it to the
faithful in Christ Jesus.
Her affection and benevolence were very great
and entire to her friends, but yet not so confined
to them, but that she reserved a large measure of
them for them who dealt unfriendly with her, or
that were enemies to her. If there was any un
kind difference between herself and any other,
though she enjoyed the freedom of her judgment
to think as there was reason, yet she would not
suffer her affections to be estranged from them,
but was ready to do them good as opportunity of
fered. She returned love for hatred, compassion
for spight, and friendly offices for offensive treat
ment. She hated nothing but sin, and that she
hated in all, and most of all in her own soul.
As her chanty was evidenced by doing, so it
also appeared by suffering. If any troubles lay
upon others, or were hanging over them, she was
of the same mind with her lord and master, ac
cording to that of the prophet Isaiah Ixiii. 9.
In all their afflictions he was ajjlictcd. She
tenderly sympathized in the sufferings of her fel
low-members.
If it went ill with the church, or any particu
lar saints, it was no better with her. Chajity
310 MEMOIRS OF
made her suffer as much by inward affection, as
they did of their enemies by outward affliction.
Her patience also was very eminent. Though
her apprehensions were quick enough to conceive
any thing tending to the disturbance of peace,
and patience, yet she enjoyed such a serenity of
spirit;, as could hardly ever give way to a storm.
If any were injurious to her, her tongue could
more readily pray, and her eyes weep for them,
than her looks or words express indignation and
disdain. If news came to her of any losses in her
estate, as sometimes there did of great ones, yet
she was never put out of temper with these ill
tidings, having these considerations ready at
hand to compose her spirit. " It is that God who
" gave all who now takes away some, why should
" I take it ill? He would not have me be in love
" with, and trust in uncertain riches, which were
" never true to any who trusted them, but to trust
" upon himself, and I willingly renounce them to
" rest upon him. He can, if he see it good, re-
" compense the loss in the like, or some better
" kind. If he takes more from me, there will yet
" be many poorer than myself, and if he takes
" away all my goods, he can give me content-
" merit without them, for he is all-sufficient, and
< ( so though I have nothing, yet I may be as pos-
" sessing all things, 2 Cor. vi. 10. The world
" and I must part, and whether we be loosened
" from each other by degrees, or torn asunder all
" at once, all is one to me. What God chooses
" is best for both of us, for his glory, and my
" good, if I murmur not against him, but wil-
" lingly, as is my prayer, give way to his will."
Her patience both in its truth and strength was
exceedingly tried by her bodily sufferings. In
the births of some of her children she had long,
painful, and very perilous labours, but the afflic
tion that was beyond all was a lingering and
heavy sickness, to which were applied very sharp
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 311
and irksome medicines, so that she endured not
only the anguish of her disease, but with the wo
man in the Gospel, Mark v. 26. suffered many
things also of the physicians. But her distemper
was not only painful, but accompanied also with
an uncommon deformity.
Her lower jaw being fallen she could not bring
it up towards her upper one. Her mouth was dis
torted, and drawn awry towards her ear, so that,
not without much difficulty both to herself and
others, her food was conveyed through so oblique
a passage to her throat, which might have been
the more afflicting to her, as the disorder was the
wreck of great beauty and comeliness, which till
now were seated in her countenance, and of
which she preserved the traces to her dying day.
However, under this sharp, complicated trial she
shewed a truly admirable patience, and her heart
was brought meekly to submit to it, and she de
clared, u that, if it pleased the Lord to conli-
" nue her a spectacle of deformed misery, she
" would not repine at what he did, or what she
" suffered, but would willingly abide it till he
" freed her body from her disease by her return
" to health, or dismissed her soul from her body
" by death."
The modesty of this excellent gentlewoman was
very remarkable, and it may be said of this virtue
in her, that it was rather sometimes too much,
than at any time too little. It variously discovered
itself, as, 1. In her looks. Her countenance was
habitually composed to a becoming gravity, so
that it carried in it a severe rebuke upon every
unseemly word or action. If any were so immo
dest as to speak or do any thing before her not
becoming Christianity, her modesty made some
supply for their want, and she would blush for
them. 2. Her modesty manifested itself in her
speech. Whereas some wouk( have boasted them-
312 MEMOIRS OF
selves, or made some vain-glorious ostentation of
such abilities as she possessed, she rather threw a
vail over her endowments. When she was a teacher,
she behaved herself like a learner, rather asking
questions, than making resolutions, or giving rules
and directions to them, 3. She gave a testimony
of her modesty by her silence. Her motion, her
habit, and her whole behaviour was a lecture of
modesty, which, attended with her other virtues,
wrought a kind of awfulness in her person, so
that they, who had not the grace to do well in
private, were more afraid and ashamed of an ap
pearance of evil in her presence than in the sight
of many a magistrate.
As for humility, that twin-sister of modesty,
$he made great account of it. She studied it se
riously, and was so great a proficient in it, that
there was no occasion for any art to make profes
sion or ostentation of it. Solomon makes conten
tion to be the daughter of pride, Prov. xiii. 10.
Teachableness then is the daughter of humility;
and if so, the humility of this worthy person emi
nently shewed itself in that she could endure con
tradictions, reproaches, fyc. without a quarrel, or
breach of peace with any, being still ready to
deny herself, and to yield to others as far as she
could with a safe conscience.
She was a most respectful and obedient wife.
This she evinced in her behaviour; and she had
such a sense of her duty to her husband, that
among her papers were found some special direo
tions which she had drawn up for her affection and
conduct towards him, which were as follow under
the title,
" Duties which concern me in particular.
" I must submit myself to my husband as to the
f Lord, Eph. v. 22.
" I must account him my head, Eph, v. 23.
" I must be in subjection to him in all things., as
" the church unto Christ, Eph. v. 24.
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFE. 313
fc I must walk pleasingly towards him, 1 Cor.
" vii. 34.
When by his death she was loosed from the law
of her husband, she would have returned to a
meaner naoit, hut because it was suitable to the
rank which she held in the city, as having* been
wife to him who had been twice mayor of Ches
ter, and several times a Member of Parliament,
and that it might not be imputed either to singu
larity, or covetousness, she made no remarkable
change in her dress, at the same time, that she
might keep down pride, she would not eat the
bread of idleness, but willingly wrought with her
hands, and readily descended to such offices as
were meet for the meanest of her servants.
Her humility was most amiably evidenced in her
not undervaluing or envying the gifts of God in
others. In lowliness of mind she esteemed others
better than herself. She disavowed her own praise,
though those that gave it her thought it much less
than her due, and she advanced others far beyond
herself, though they were far below her. The
source of all this were her exact inquiries into her
own life and the severe censures she passed upon
her own imperfections and failings, while as to
others she observed them most for what was best
in them, and in order to improve herself in holi
ness by imitating what was excellent in them, and
to increase her humility for that in which she fell
short of them.
She often presented and arraigned herself before
God s tribunal to bring herself down in abasement
as guilty before him, imploring pardon on her
knees at his hands, and she sunk the lower before
him by comparing her own faultiness, infirmity,
and wretchedness with his infinite purity, power,
and majesty. These exercises of soul made her
think of him with admiration and love, and of
herself with detestation and lothing. Her humi
lity also shewed itself in that, when she took no-
314 MEMOIRS OF
tice tof any thing good in itself, she boasted not
of it, and that because she had received it, and
it was God s free gift, making it a memento of
thankfulness to him who gave it her, knowing
that he might have passed by her, and vouchsafed
it to another, and that he might be provoked to
resume it, if she should take any of that glory to
herself which was due to him alone.
She always held it for a maxim with her, " that
ec if it be good to be esteemed virtuous, and most
" desire to be so esteemed, that it is much better
" to be so indeed, for that the substance of a good
" thing is always to be preferred before the sem-
* blance of it." Hence she was so sincere in her
"whole course of life, that she hated the least ap
pearance of hypocrisy. It was observable in her
that she made her deeds of charity and benevo
lence always better than her words, of which she
was so sparing that some blamed her for want of
affability, which being objected to her, she said,
i That she liked not the lavish language of some
" who had their mouths full of complimental
" courtesy to every one, though their hearts are
* e shut and contracted at the same time their
* c mouths are so enlarged ; or, if they have love
" enough to maintain such liberality of words
" without, I like, said she, my own heart the
" worse that it is not so ready to attend upon my
" tongue, as on the sudden to minister cordial af-
" fections suitable to such frank, and friendly ex-
" pressions." She used rather to let her friends
see and feel her love by her works, than to hear
it by her words.
Her constancy also in religion was very re-
markabie, by which her heart was right with
God, and steel fast in his covenant. Her faith
was grounded and settled so that she was not
carried away with every wind of doctrine.
What she was for faith and godliness at her first
conversion, the same she was afterwards at all
MRS. JANE RATCLIFFK. 315
places, at all times, and in all companies. But for
the measure of grace and holiness she was like a
growing plant in a garden. By spiritual nourish
ment, and daily exercise of her graces, she ad
vanced apace towards the stature of Christ. Her
path was indeed the path of the just shining more
and more unto a perfect day. She was best at last,
like wines on the lees well refined, and was most
heavenly-minded when she had the least time to
continue in our world.
To sum up her character. She was an obedient
wife, a careful and tender mother, a gentle and
beneficent mistress, a good and charitable neigh
bour, and a true and constant friend.
Towards her latter end she fell into some bodily
distempers in which she had fits, like the embrios
of death, which, by a gradual failure of her spi
rits, left her at last unable to speak or move, yet
without any great alteration in her countenance.
The fits were short, but not sharp, for she felt no
pain, but when she returned to herself she was
commonly more feeble than before.
On the Monday sevennight before she left our
world death seemed to make his first assault. A
pale hue overspread her face, and was visible in her
fingers from the middle joints towards the ends.
Her nails turned to a bluish black, but, upon be
ing rubbed awhile, they recovered their former
colour, and she remained that night indifferently
well. The next day her disorder appeared in the
form of an ague, though not very violent, and so
continued mostly till within three or four days be
fore her end, and then, instead of an intermitting
ague, she was visited with a continual fever, which
afflicted her with extreme burning, and other pains
usually attendant upon such a disease.
During her sickness, as she had the free use of
all faculties, her soul no doubt was employed in
holy meditations, for which she had kept in store
many particulars of importance to be remembered
316 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
by her at the time of her departure out of this
world. Her desires were strong for a speedy dis
solution, so that she adopted the requests of Da-
vid, Psalm xxxviii. 22. Make haste to help me,
O Lord of my salvation ; and Psalm xl. 13. Be
pleased, O Lord, to deliver me ; O Lord, make
haste to help me. The springs of her vehement
desires were that she might attain to the beatific
vision and enjoyment of him after whom her soul
longed, even when her life was most lightsome,
and her condition the most comfortable. And
now the hour came when her desires were to be
granted in the very kind she wished by the gate
of death to pass to the author of life, which she
did in such a calm manner that, when she was
thought to be asleep, she was found to be dead,
17,
Sculp 1
Pub * by R.Oglt Holborn London 1? Ju
(317)
MRS. CATHARINE BRETTERG.
MRS. CATHARINE BRETTERG was born in
Cheshire, about the year 1580, and was
the daughter of Mr. John Bruen y of Brucn-
Stupleford. Her education was such as became
the gospel, in godliness, and purity of manners.
From a child she was a student in the holy scrip-
tares, and by reading them attained such a know
ledge of the book of God, that she was able to
make good use of it as occasion required. She
was moderate and sober in the enjoyment of the
good things of life; by no means affecting the
vain pleasures and fashions in which others too
much delight themselves. It was her pleasure to
resort to the sanctuary of the Lord, and to walk
in the >rays of Zion.
The sabbath-day was ahvays dear and welcome
to her, and, though she many times went far for
it, she could not be content without enjoying
the ministry of the word. Her heart was so ten
der and susceptible, that she was often observed
to hear sermons, read and pray, and meditate with
tears. She made conscience of all, even of the
least sins, and such as many accounted as no
sins. She never broke out into any unbecoming
speeches, foolish jesting, or immodest words.
She used not the names nor titles of God at any
time without great reverence. Her private dis
courses were always well seasoned, and evidenced
that they proceeded from a sanctified heart, so as
to minister grace to the hearers. Her daily ex
ercise was to converse with God in reading, pray
ing, singing, and meditating. Her delight was
in the saints, the excellent of the earth. The
precepts of the Lord were precious to her. From
her childhood she appeared to fear God, and to
318 MEMOIRS OF
walk before him with a perfect heart. She was
not like too many of her age, unable to render a
reason of the faith and hope in them, but she
grew in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord
Jesus Christ, When she was about twenty years
old she was by her parents consent married to
Mr. JVilliam Bretterg, of Brettcrglwld, near
Liverpool, in Lancashire : a young gentleman who
sincerely embraced religion, and suffered much for
it at the hands of the papists.
This pious pair lived two years together in such
mutual peace and comfort as well became the chil
dren of God ; in which time she had one daugh
ter. Their habitation was situated in the midst
of ignorant and brutal papists, who were always
doing them some wrong or injury, but her know
ledge, patience, mildness, and constancy in the
truth much edified and strengthened her husband
in his most holy faith, and encouraged him with
greater patience to bear all the ill usage and in
dignities which he every day met with.
He had his horses and cattle several times kill
ed in the night by malicious papists, who hated
him for the sake of his religion, to his no small
loss and damage, as they were the chief stock he
had, but she not only submitted to this great af
fliction with an admirable patience, but even re
joiced, and praised God, resigning up herself to
his hol^y and wise Providence. She would often
say, " It is good that such things should be, but
" woe be to them who do them it is good in
" God thus to chasten his children, and prevent
" some sin into which he saw we were likely to
ic fall it is good in respect of the church of
" God, that the weak may be confirmed in the
" truth, and that popery may be disgraced, when
" the world sees what wickedness proceeds from
" it it is good in God, that so the wicked may
" be without excuse in the day of judgment,
" when their consciences tell them that, though.
MRS. CATHARINE BRETTERG. 319
" God suffers them to commit such villainy for
" some just cause known to himself, they perpe-
" trate it only from malice and revenge." And
in the midst of such vexatious wickedness she
would often say, " The mercies of the Lord are
" infinite, who does not only by his word but by
" his justice also make us fit for his kingdom.
" Little do our enemies know what good they do
" unto us by these things, and what ruin they
<c bring to their own kingdom, while they thus
" publish abroad its wickedness."
She often used to pray that God would forgive
them who did these wrongs, and give them repent-
ancce for their iniquity. She used to call upon
her husband also to do the like, and bless them
that cursed him ; and, lest her husband should
fail in this duty, she daily prayed to God to
sanctify her husband s thoughts, and direct his
heart aright, only to seek the glory of God with
out seeking revenge, or gratifying his own pas
sions. So careful was she to prevent sin both in
others, as well as in herself!
Her meekness, humility, and unblameable car
riage were such that she forced some, who were
adversaries to religion, to speak well of her. She
had a good report of all who knew her for her
holy and virtuous life. She was very tender and
bountiful to the poor, neglecting no opportunity
that presented itself of being good where she
could. She constantly kept her times of prayer,
reading, and meditation. She would by no means
be absent from family-duties. She used private
duties not only in her closet, but in her garden,
orchard, &c. She enjoined herself the reading
eight chapters at least every day in the holy scrip
tures, and such time as she saw idly spent she
called, " the time of temptation."
She employed also much of her time in reading
good books, judicious expositors, and the Book
320 MEMOIRS OF
of Martyrs, and was many times so affected with
the histories of the torments which Christians had
endured that she would weep very bitterly over
them. She was so zealous for the glory of God,
and was so entirely attached to the truth, that
she would often argue against popery, hut never
open her lips on its behalf. Sin was so hateful to
her, that she would grieve for it both in herself
and others.
Once as she was riding to public worship with
her husband, he was angry with his man, upon
which she said to him, " Alas ! husband, I fear
" your heart is not right towards God that can
" be thus angry for a trifle:" and weeping she
added, " you must pray against your passions, and
" always be sure your anger be for God, else ho\r
" dare you appear this day before his minister,
" and offer up your prayers in the public con-
" gregation before the Lord?"
Another time a tenant of her husband s being
behind hand in his rent, she desired him to bear
with him a quarter of a year longer, and after
wards, when he brought it, she said to her hus
band with tears, " I fear you do not well to take
" it of him, though it be your right, for I doubt
" he is not well able to pay it, and thus you op-
" press the poor."
She was so blameless in her whole course of life
that the common enemies of religion had nothing
to say against her, and amongst all the people of
God, who knew her, she was held in high esteem
for her modest, humble, and holy behaviour.
Thus she continued with her husband, this was
the tenor of her life with him, about two years,
and then it pleased God that she was taken ill of
a fever, which was so violent that it sometimes
interrupted the regular exercises of her mind, and
made her talk idly, and " by Satan s subtilty,"
says her historian, " who watches his opportuni-
MRS. CATHARINE BRETTERG. 321
r< ty to disturb and distress the children of God,
;< she began to fall into an heavy conflict of spirit"
The ^clay before her deatli the Lord discovered
himself more abundantly to her, from which time
to the hour of her departure she was freed from
the temptations of Satan. She dismissed all
thoughts of the world, her husband, child, or
any thing- else. She lay with a chearful counte
nance, as one in transports of spirit, and her lips
overflowed with the praises of God. Her hus
band reading some portions of Scripture to her,
when lie came to that in John xvii. 4. / have
jmished the work which thou gavest me to do, and
now glorify me, she desired him to pause, and
then broke out, " Blessed be thy name O blessed
Saviour! perfect the work I humbly beseech
* thee that thou hast begun in me." \Vhen her
husband read verse 9, / pwy not for the world,
but for them which thou hast given me, for they
are thine, she said, " O Lord Jesus, dost thou
"pray for me? O blessed, and sweet Saviour !
how wonderful! how wonderful! how won
derful are thy mercies ! Read on : the bles-
sedest reading that I ever heard, the comfort
c whereof doth sweeten my soul/ When he read
verse 22, the glory that thou gavest me / have
given them, that they may he one, as we are one,
with transport of joy she said, " I confess before
the Lord his loving kindness, and his wonderful
works before the sons of men, for he hath sa-
tisfied my soul, and filled my hungry soul with
" goodness." When her husband read verse 24,
Father, 1 will that they whom thou hast given
me be with me where / am, that they may behold
my glory, &c. " Stay," said she, Met me medi-
tate on the goodness of the Lord, for this is the
" sweetest saying that ever came to my soul, for
; now I perceive and feel that the countenance of
Christ my Redeemer is turned towards me, and
1 the bright-shining beams of his mercv are spread
VOL. 1. V
322 MEMOIRS OF
" over me. O happy am I that ever I was born
" to see this blessed day ! praise, praise, O praise
" the Lord for his mercies ! &c. O my sweet
" Saviour, shall I be one with thee, as thou art
" one with the Father? wilt thou glorify me with
" that glory thou hadst with the Father before
sc the world was ? and dost thou so love me, dust
" and ashes, to make me partaker of glory with
" thee ? what am I, poor wretch, that thou art so
" mindful of me? O how wonderful? how won-
" clerful? how wonderful is thy love? O thy love
" is unspeakable ! O I feel thy mercies ! and O
" that my tongue and heart were able to sound
" forth thy praises as I ought, and willingly would!
" O help me to praise the God of all consolations ! 5>
Thus she continued for the space of five hours
praising the Lord with a chearful and heavenly
countenance, testifying such inward joy from a
comfortable experience of God s mercies in her
soul, using such sweet sentences, and delightful
phrases of divine eloquence as were most admir
able. Such as, " O my Lord God, blessed be
<c thy name for evermore. Thou hast shewn me
" the path of life. Thou didst, O Lord, for a
" little season hide thy face from me, but with
" everlasting mercy thou hast had compassion on
" me, &c. Thou art come with fulness of joy,
" and abundance of consolations, c. Help me ?
" O help me to praise the Lord !" She sang with
as sweet a voice as ever she did in her life the third
Psalm, and then said, " O praise the Lord, for
" he hath filled me with joy and gladness of heart !
<4 My line is fallen to me in a pleasant place. I
" have a goodly heritage, for the Lord is the por-
" tion of my inheritance. O how pleasant is the
" place where I lie ? It is sweeter than Aaron s
" composed perfume of principal spices. How
" comfortable is the sweetness I feel? It is like,
" that odour that proceeds from the golden censer
" that delights my soul. The taste is precious.
MRS. CATHARINE BRETTERG. 3 C 23
" Do you not feel it ? It is sweeter than the ho-
" ney, or the honey-comb." Then she sang Psalm
xix. vcr. 7, &c. Then she prayed to, and praised
God again. After which she sang Psalm cxxxvi.
Soon afterwards she fell asleep in the Lord, her
spirit departing in peace without any struggle or
motion, May 31, in the year 1601, and in the
twenty -second of her age.
We shall annex to the above narrative of this
pious gentlewoman a Latin Epitaph which we
have met with as applied to her, if it was not ra
ther composed on her account.
Katharina jwira Christo quam purgata,
Vita Christo pra parata,
Morte Christo dtdisata,
Calls Christo coronata.
Paraphrased.
How pure was Catharine, Christ had made her so,
In life how well prepar d his praise to shew !
In death to him how pleas d to yield her soul !
How pleas d to hear his wheels triumphant roll
To bear her, wrapt in extasies unknown,
To star-pav d mansions, and a gem-blaz d crown.
Y Q
324 MEMOIRS OF
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL.
I^HIS lady was born about the year 1636, and
was the daughter of Thomas JVriothesley,
earl of Southampton, by his first wife, Rachel,
daughter of Henry de Massey, baron of Rovig-
ny, and sister to the marquis of Rovigny, father
of Henry, earl of Galway. She was married
first to Francis, lord Vaiighan, eldest son of Ri
chard, earl of Carberry, and afterwards, about
the year 1669, to William, lord Russell, son of
William, earl of Bedford, by whom she had one
son, and two daughters. Lady Rachel, the el
dest, was married to William, lord Cavendish,
afterwards duke of Devonshire ; and the lady
Catharine, the youngest, to John Manners, lord
Roos, afterwards duke of Rutland. Wriothes-
ley, the son, married Elizabeth, only daughter
and heir of John Hozvland, esquire, was created
baron Rowland of Streatham, June, 13, 1695,
and succeeded his grandfather in 1700, became
duke of Bedford, and died May 26, 1711, in the
thirty-first year of his age ; by this lady he had
three sons, and two daughters.
It is well known, and is an event which can
never be forgotten, that the husband of this lady,
William, lord Russell, was beheaded July 21,
1683. How worthy a man he was, how true a
friend to the liberties of his country, how imme-
ritorious of his bitter treatment, and with what
an invincible fortitude he met his cruel doom,
the Introduction to the Letters of lady Rachel
Russell, his widow, particularly shews, and to
that we refer our readers*.
* Letters of lady Rachel Russell from the manuscript in the
Library at H oub urn- Abbey, to which is prefixed an Introduction,
vindicating the character of lord Russell against sir John
rymple, &c. third Edit, printed 1774.
RACHEL RUSSELL. 325
As our concern is only with his relict, we shall
turn our thoughts entirely to her. We own we
are not furnished with any considerable materials
for our Memoirs of her before the dismal period
of her illustrious husband s sufferings. At this
juncture she conducted herself with a mixture of
the most tender affection, and the most surprizing
magnanimity. She appeared in court at the trial
of her husband, and, when the Attorney-General
told him, " he might use the hands of one of his
" servants in waiting to take notes of the evi-
" dence for his use," lord Russell answered,
:< that he asked none, but that of the lady that
"sat by him." The spectators at these words
turning their eyes, and beholding the daughter of
the virtuous Southampton rising up to assist her
lord in this his utmost distress, a thrill of anguish
ran through the assembly After his condemna
tion she threw herself at the king s feet, and
pleaded, but, alas, in vain, with his majesty the
merits and loyalty of her father*, in order to save
her husband And without a sigh or tear she took
her last farewel of him, when it might have been
expected, as they were so perfectly happy in each
* " The carl of Southampton? says Clarendon, " was a great
man in all respects, and brought very much reputation to
king Charles the First his cause He went to the king to York,
^ was most solicitous for the offer of peace at Nottingkavt, was
with him at Edge-Hill, and came and stayed with him at Ox-
^ ford to the end of the war." Burnct calls him, " a man of
great virtue and good parts, of a lively imagination and sound
^ judgment, who had merited much by his constant adherence
to the king s interest during the war, and the large remittan
ces lie made him in his exile, and styles him a fast friend to
the public the wise and virtuous earl of Southampton who
deserved every thing the king could give him." " The kin-
says Oldwixon, saw the virtuous and lovely lady Rmsell weep-
^ ing at his feet, imploring but a short reprieve for her con-
; demneil lord, with dry eyes, and a stony heart, though she
was the daughter of the earl of Southampton, the best "friend
he ever had in his ]ifc,"-8ee the Introduction to lady R us .
sell s Letters.
526 MEMOIRS OF
other, and no wife could possibly surpass her in
affection to an husband, that the torrent of her
distress would have overflowed its banks, and been
too mighty for all the powers of reason and reli
gion to have restrained it. Indeed the affection
of lord Russell and his lady to each other, and
their behaviour in the season of their extremity
of distress were very remarkable, and well deserve
a particular mention. On the Tuesday before
lord Russet Ts execution*, after dinner, when his
lady was gone, he expressed great joy in the mag
nanimity of spirit he saw in her, and declared,
" the parting with her was the greatest thing he
" had to do, for/ he said, " she would be hardly
" able to bear it; the concern about preserving
" him filled her mind so now, that it in some mea-
" sure supported her, but, when that would be
" over, he reared the quickness of her spirits would
" work all within her." On Thursday, while his
" lady was gone to try to gain a respite till Mon-
" day, he said, " He wished she would give over
" beating every bush, and running so about for
" his preservation ; but when he considered that
"it would be some mitigation of her sorrow that
" she left nothing undone that could have given
" any probable hope, he acquiesced." Indeed his
heart was never seen so near failing him as when
he spake of her. Sometimes a tear would be seen
in his eye, and he would turn about, and presently
change the discourse. The evening before his
death he suffered his children, who were very
young, and some of his friends, to take leave of
him ; in which interview he preserved his con
stancy of temper, though he was a very fond pa
rent. He parted with his lady at the same time
with a composed silence, and she had such a com
mand of herself, that when she was gone, he said,
" the bitterness of death was past," for he loved
* See the Introduction to lady Russell s Letters..
-LADY RACHEL RUSSELL.
and esteemed her beyond expression. He ran out
into a long discourse concerning her, declaring,
" ho\v great a blessing she had been to him, and
" what a misery it would have been to him if she
" had not had that magnanimity of spirit joined
" to her tenderness, as never to have desired him
" to do a base thing for the saving his life." He
added, " there was a signal Providence of God
"in giving him such a wife, where there were
" birth, fortune, great understanding, great reli-
" gion, and great kindness to himself, but her
" carriage," said he, " in my extremity was be-
" yond all. lie was glad that she and his chil-
" dren were to lose nothing by his death, and it
" was a great comfort to him that he left his chil-
" dren in such a mother s hands, and that she had
" promised him to take care of herself for their
" sakes." As to lady Russell, she bore the shock
of his death with the same magnanimity she had
shewn at her lord s trial. When in open court,
attending at her lord s side, she took notes, and
made observations of all that passed on his be
half, and when prostrate at the king s feet, and
pleading with his majesty in remembrance of her
deceased father s services, in order to save her
husband, she was a spectacle of the most lively
compassion, but now, when without sigh or tear,
she took her last farcwel of him, she was an ob
ject of the highest admiration.
After this most distressing event, the death of
her lord upon the scaffold, this excellent lady,
though encompassed round with the darkest clouds
of affliction, seemed to be absorbed in a religious
concern to behave herself aright towards her God
under his mighty hand, and to fulfil the duties
now devolved upon herself alone in the care, edu
cation, disposal, and happiness of her children,
those living remains of her lord, and which had
been so clear to him, and were for his sake, as
well as her own, so dear to herself.
328 MEMOIRS OF
Iii proof of this pious and maternal spirit which
animated her ladyship during the residue of her
clays, the following Extracts from her Letters are
laid before our readers. Extracts we call them,
for they are by no means the whole of her Letters,
which, if they had been all given, would have
been too large to have been comprized under a
single article in our work, and at the same time
would not have directly fallen in with our design,
that of exhibiting her as an eminently pious per
sonage, as some, and indeed several of her Epis
tles relate at least in great part to matters of pub
lic intelligence, business, and other inferior con
cerns.
Extracts from the Letters of Lady Rachel Russell.
Lady Russell to Doctor Fitzwilliam*.
I NEED need not tell you, good doctor,
how little capable I am of such an exercise as thisf.
You will soon find how unfit I am still for it, since
my yet disordered thoughts can offer me no other
than such words as express the deepest sorrows,
and confused, as my yet amazed mind is. But
such men as you, and particularly one so much
my friend, will I know bear with my weakness,
and compassionate my distress, as you have al
ready done by your good letter, and excellent
prayer. I endeavour to make the best use I can
of both, but I am so evil and unworthy a creature
* A Divine, for whom lady Russell had a great esteem and
friendship. He had been Chaplain to her father, as he was af
terwards to the duke of York, was Rector of Cottenkam, in Cam
bridgeshire, and Canon of Windsor^ which preferments he lost
after the Revolution, upon refusal of the oaths. He died in or
abour the year 1696, having appointed all the Letters which
lady Russell wrote to him to be returned to her ladyship, that
they might be printed, but many of them, says the Editor of her
Letters, do not appear. See her Letters, p. 307 .
f Lord Russell, her husband, was beheaded July 21, l6S3.
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 312<)
that, though I have desires, yet I have no dispo
sitions or worthiness towards receiving comfort.
You, that knew us both, and how we lived, must
allow I have just cause to bewail my loss. I know
it is common with others to lose a friend, but to
have lived with such an one it may be questioned
how few can glory in the like happiness, so conse
quently lament the like loss. Who can but shrink
at such a blow, till, by the mighty aid of his Holy
Spirit, we let the gift of God, which he hath put
into our hearts, interpose? That reason which
sets a measure to our souls in prosperity, will
then suggest many things which we have seen and
heard to moderate us in such sad circumstances as
mine : but, alas ! my understanding is clouded,
my faith weak, sense strong, and the Devil busy
to fill my thoughts with false notions, difficulties,
and doubts ; but this I hope to make matter of
humiliation, not sin. Lord, let me understand
the reason of these dark and wounding providen
ces, that I sink not under the discouragement of
my own thoughts ! I know 1 have deserved my
punishment, and will be silent under it, but yet
secretly my heart mourns, too sadly I fear, and
cannot be comforted, because I have not the dear
companion and sharer of all my joys and sorrows.
I want him to talk with, to walk with, to eat and
sleep with. All these things are irksome to me
now : the day unwelcome, and the night so too.
All company and meals I would avoid, if it might
be, yet all "this is that I enjoy not the world in
my own way, and this sure hinders my comfort.
When I see my children before me, I remember
the pleasure he took in them. This makes my
heart shrink. Can I regret his quitting a lesser
good for a bigger? O ! if I did stcdfastly believe,
I could not be dejected ; for I will not injure my
self to say I oiler my mind any inferior consola
tion to supply this loss. No, I most willingly
forsake this world, this vexatious, troublesome
330 MEMOIRS OF
world, in which I have no other business hut to
rid my soul from sin, secure my eternal interests,
with patience and courage bear my eminent mis
fortunes, and ever hereafter be above the smiles
and frowns of it ; and, when I have done the rem
nant of the work appointed me on earth, then
joyfully wait for the heavenly perfection in God s
good time, when by his infinite mercy I may be
accounted worthy to enter into the same place of
rest and repose where he is gone, for whom only
I grieve. From that contemplation must come
my best support. Good doctor, you will think,
as you have reason, that I set no bounds, when I
let myself loose to my complaints, but I will re
lease you, first fervently asking the continuance
of your prayers for your infinitely afflicted,
but very faithful servant,
R. Russell.
Woborne-Abbey, 30 September, 16S3.
Lady Russell to Doctor Fitzwilliam.
IT is above a fortnight, I believe, good
doctor, since I received your comforting letter,
and it is displeasing to me that I am but now
sitting down to tell you so; but it is allotted to
persons under my dismal title, and yet more dis
mal circumstances, to have additional cares, from
which I am sure I am not exempt, but am very
unfit to discharge well or wisely, especially under
the oppressions I feel; however it is my lot, and
a part of duty remaining to my choicest friend,
and those pledges he has left me. That re
membrancer makes me do my best, and so occa
sions the putting by such employments as suit
better my present temper of mind, as this I am
now about, since, if in the multitude of these sor
rows that possess my soul, I find any refresh
ments, though, alas ! such as are but momentary,
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 331
it is but casting off some of my crowded thoughts
to compassionate friends, such as deny not to
weep with those that weep, or in reading s uch
discourses and advices as your letter supplies me
with, which I hope you will believe I have read
more than once, and, if I have more days to pass
upon this earth, I mean to do so often, since I
profess of all those that have been offered me, in
which chanty has been most abounding to me*,
none have in all particulars more suited my hu-
* That eminently great and good man, the Rev. Mr. John
Hmt* wrote a most excellent letter to her ladyship in this season
of her distress, which well deserves in the whole of it a place in
our work, but it is too long for insertion. However some pas
sages we shall take leave to select, which are as follow; " The
cause of your sorrow, madam, is exceeding great. The causes of
your joy are inexpressibly greater. You have infinitely more left
than you have lost. Doth it need to be disputed whether God be
better and greater than man ? or more to be valued, loved, and
delighted in ? and whether an eternal relation be more consider*
able than a temporary one ? was it not your constant sense in
your best outward state, whom have I in heaven but thcc, God 9
and -whom can I desire on earth in comparison ofthee ? Psalm Ixxiii.
25. Herein the state of your ladyship s case is still the same, if
you cannot rather with greater clearness, and with less hesitation
pronounce these latter words. The principle causes of your joy
are immutable, such as no supervening thing can alter. \ on have
lost a most pleasant, delectable, earthly relative. Doth the blessed
God hereby cease to be the best and most excellent good ? Is
kis nature changed? his everlasting covenant reversed, and an
nulled, which ordered in all things, and sure, and is to he all
your salvation, and a/I your desires, whether he make your house on
earth to grow, or not to grov ? 2 Sam. xxiii. 5. That sorrow
which exceeds the proportion of its cause, compared with the re
maining and real causes of rejoicing, is in that excess causeless,
i. e. that excess of it wants a cause, "such as can justify or afford
defence unto it.
" Again, we ought to consider in every case principally that
which is principal. God did not create this or that excellent per
son, and place him for awhile in the world principally to please
us, nor doth he therefore take him away principally to displease,
or punish us, but for much nobler and greater ends, which he
hath proposed to himself concerning him. Nor are we to reckon
ourselves so little interested in the great and sovereign Lord of all,
whom we have taken to be our God, and to whom we have ab
solutely resigned and devoted ourselves, as not to be obliged to
MEMOIRS OF
niour. You deal with me, sir, just as I would be
dealt withal, and it is possible I feel the more
Consider and satisfy ourselves in his pleasure, purposes, and ends
more than our own apart from his. Such as he hath pardoned,
accepted, and prepared for himself, are to serve and glorify him in
an higher and more exalted capacity than they ever could in this
wretched world of ours, and wherein they have themselves the
highest satisfaction. When the blessed God is pleased in having
attained and accomplished the end and intendments of his own,
boundless love, too great to be satisfied with the conferring only
temporary favours in this imperfect state, and they are pleased in
partaking the full effects of that love, who are we that we should
be displeased ? or that we should oppose our satisfaction to that of
the glorious God, and the glorified creature?
" Therefore, Madam, whereas you cannot avoid to think much
on this subject, and to have the removal of that incomparable
person for a great theme of your thoughts, I only propose most
humbly to your honour, that you would not confine them to the
sadder and darker part of that theme. It hath also a bright side,
and it equally belongs to it to consider whither he is gone, and to
whom, as whence and from whom. Let, 1 beseech you, your
mind be more exercised in contemplating the glories of that state
into which your blessed consort is translated, which will mingle
pleasure and sweetness with the bitterness of your afflicting loss,
by giving you a daily intellectual participation, through the ex
ercise of faith and hope in his enjoyments. He cannot descend to
share with you in your sorrows; but you may thus everyday
ascend, and partake with him in his joys. He is a pleasant sub
ject to consider. A prepared spirit, made meet for an inheritance
with them that are sanctified, and with the saints in light, now
entered into a state so connatural, and wherein it finds every thing
most agreeable to itself. How highly grateful is it to be united
with the true centre, and come home to the Father of Spirits! to
consider how pleasant a welcome, how joyful an entertainment
your consort hath met with above! how delighted an associate he
is with the general assembly, the innumerable company of angels,
and the spirits of just men made perfect! how joyful an homage
lie continually pays to the throne of the celestial king !
" Will your ladyship think that an hard saying of our depart
ing Lord to his mournful disciples, If ye loved me you would re
joice that 1 said 1 go to the Father , for jny Father is greater than I?
John xiv. 23. As if he had said, He sits enthroned in higher
glory than you can frame any conception of by beholding me in
* so mean a condition on earth. We are as remote, and as much
short in our thoughts as to conceiving the glory of the supreme
king, as a peasant, who never saw any thing better than his
own cottage, from conceiving the splendor of the most glorious
prince s court. But if that faith, which is the substance of things
LADY RACHAEL RUSSELL. . 333
smart from my raging griefs, because I would not
take them off but upon fit considerations, as it is
hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen, be much accus
tomed to its proper work and business, the daily, delightful visit
ing and viewing the glorious, invisible regions; if it be often con
versant in those vast and spacious tracts of pure and brightest
light, and among the holy inhabitants that replenish them, if it
frequently employ itself in contemplating their comely order, per
fect harmony, sublime wisdom, unspotted purity, most fervent
mutual love, delicious conversation with each other, and perpe
tual, pleasant consent in their adoration and observance of their
eternal king, who is there to whom it would not be a solace to
think i have such and such friends and relatives, some perhaps as
clear as my own life, perfectly well pleased, and happy amonor
them ! how can you love, madam, so generous a love towards so
deserving an object, how can it but more fervently sparkle in joy
for his sake, than dissolve in tears for your own ?
" Nor should such thoughts excite over-hasty, impatient desires
of following presently to heaven, but to the endeavours of sen-
ing God more cheerfully on earth for our appointed time, which
1 earnestly desire your ladyship to apply yourself to, as you would
not displease God, who is your only hope, nor be cruel to your
self, nor dishonour the religion of Christians, as if they had no
other consolations than this earth can give, and earthly power can
take from them. Your ladyship, if any one, would be loth to
clo any thing unworthy your family and parentage. Your highest
alliance is to that father and family above, whose dignity and ho
nour are 1 doubt not of highest account with you.
" I multiply words, being loth to lose my design. I shall only
add that consideration, which cannot but be valuable with you,
upon his first proposal, who had all the advantages imaginable to
five it its full weight, I mean that of those dear pledges left behind.
ly own heart even bleeds to think of the case of those sweet
babes, should they be bereaved of their other parent too; and
even your continued visible dejection would be their unspeakable
disadvantage. You always naturally create in them a reverence
of you, and I cannot but apprehend how the constant mien, as
pect, and deportment of such a parent will insensibly influence the
temper of dutiful children, and, if they be sad and despondent,
depress their spirits, and blunt and take off the edge and quick
ness, upon which their future comfort and usefulness wifl much
depend. Were it possible their now glorious father should visit
and inspect you, would you not be troubled to behold a frown in
that bright and serene face ? You are to please a more penetrating
eye, which you will best do by putting on a temper and deport
ment suitable to your weighty charge and duty, and to the oreat
purposes for which God continues you in the world, by givino-
over unnecessary solitude and retirement, which, though^ they
please you, do really prejudice you, and are more than you can
334 MEMOIRS OF
easiest to our natures to have our sore in deep
wounds gently handled, yet as most profitable I
would yield, nay desire to have mine searched
that, as you religiously design by it, they may
not fester. It is possible I grasp at too much of
this kind for a spirit so broken by affliction, for
I am so jealous that time, or necessity, the ordi
nary abater of all violent passions, nay even em
ployment, or company of such friends as I have
left should do that my reason or religion ought to
do, as makes me covet the best advices, and use
all methods to obtain such a relief, as I can ever
hope for, a silent submission to this severe and
terrible Providence, without any ineffective un
willingness to bear what I must suffer, and such
a victory over myself that, when once allayed,
bear. Nor can any rules of decency require more. Nothing that
is necessary and truly Christian ought to be reckoned unbecoming.
David s example, 2 Sam. xii. 20. is of too great authority to be
counted a pattern of indecency. The God of heaven lift up the
light of his countenance upon you, and thereby put gladness into
yoiir heart, and give you to apprehend him saying to you, Arise,
and walk in the light of the Lord !
* That I have used so much freedom in this paper I make no
apology for, but do therefore hide myself in the dark, not judg
ing it consistent with that plainness which I thought the case
might require to give any other account of myself than that 1 am
one deeply sensible of your and your noble relatives deep afflic
tion, and who scarce ever bow the knee before the mercy-seat with
out remembering it, and who shall ever be, madam,
Your ladyship s
most sincere honourer, and
most humble devoted servant."
Though Mr. Horsey says Dr. Calamy, the writer of his life, did
not put his name to this his consolatory epistle, yet the style, and
several particularities in it soon discovered who was the author. Her
ladyship sent him a letter of thanks, and told him that he must
not expect to remain concealed. jS he promised to endeavour to
follow the advice he had given her, and often wrote to him after
wards, some of which letters, says Dr. Calanii/, 1 have seen and
read, and they shew that his freedom was taken kindly, and that
his pains were well bestowed. See Dr. Calamy s Life of Mr.
Ho nc prefixed to his works, p. 33.
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 335
immoderate passions may not be apt to break out
again upon fresh occasions and accidents offering
to my memory that clear object of my desires
which must happen every day, I may say every
hour of the longest life I can live, that so, when
I must return into the world so far as to act that
part that is incumbent upon me in faithfulness to
him I owe as much as can be due to man, it may
be with a great strength of spirits, and grace to
live a stricter life of holiness to my God, who
will not always let me cry to him in vain. On
him I will wait till he have pity upon me, hum
bly imploring that by the mighty aids of his Holy
Spirit, he will touch my heart with greater love
to himself. Then shall I be what he would have
me. But I am unworthy of such a spiritual bless
ing, who remain so unthankful a creature for
those earthly ones I have enjoyed, because I have
them no longer. Yet God" who knows our
frames, will not expect that when we are weak
we should be strong. This is much comfort un
der my deep dejections, which are surely increased
by the subtil malice of the great enemy of souls
taking all advantage upon my present weakened
and wasted spirits, assaulting with diverse temp
tations, as, when I have in any measure over
come one kind, I find another in the room, as
when I am less afflicted, as I before complained,
then I find reflections troubling me, as omissions
of some sort or other, that if either greater per
suasions had been used he had gone awav or
some errors at the trial amendedor other appli
cations made, he might have been acquitted, and
so yet have been in the land of the living, though
I discharged not these things as faults upon my
self, yet as aggravations to my sorrows, so tliat
my heart shrinks to think his time possibly was
shortened by unwise management. I believe I
do ill to torment myself with such unprofitable
thoughts.
33$ MEMOIRS OF
Lacly Russell to Doctor Tlllotson.
YOUR letters never trouble me, Mr.
Dean*. On the contrary, they are comfortable
refreshments to my, for the most part, overbur-
thened mind, which, both by nature and accident
is made so weak, that I cannot bear with that
constancy I should the losses I have lately felt.
I can say friends and acquaintance thou hast hid
out of my sight, but I hope it shall not disturb
my peace. These were young*, and as they had
begun their race of life after me, so I desired they
might have ended it also. But happy are those
whom God retires in his grace. I trust these
were so, and then no age can be amiss. To the
young it is not too early, nor to the aged too late.
Submission and prayer is all we know that we can
do towards our own relief in our distresses, or to
disarm God s anger, either in our public or pri
vate concerns. The scene will soon alter to that
peaceful and eternal home in prospect. But in
this time of our pilgrimage vicissitudes of all sorts
are every one s lot.
About the middle of October,
Lady Russell to Lady Sunderland*\.
YOUR kind letter, madam, asks me to
do much better for me and mine than to scribble
so insignificantly as I do on a piece of paper, but
for twenty several reasons yours must have the
advantage yoa offer me with obliging earnestness
a thousand times greater than I deserve, or than
there can be cause for, but that you have taken a
resolution to be all goodness and favour to me:
* Then dean of St. Paul s, afterwards archbishop of Can
terbury.
f Daughter of George Digby, earlofBrofo/.
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 33?
and indeed what greater proof can you almost give
than remembering me so often, and letting me re
ceive the exceeding advantage of your doing so
by reading your letters, which are all so edifying?
when I know you are continually engaged in so
great and necessary employments as you are, and
have but too imperfect health, which would un
fit any other in the world but lady Sunderland
for at least so great dispatches as you are charged
with. These are most visible tokens of Provi
dence that every one that aims to do their duty
shall be enabled to do it.
I hope your natural strength is so great that it
will in some time, if you do your part, master
what has been accidentally in the disorder of it.
Health, if one strictly considers, is the first of
earthly blessings, for even the conversation of
friends, which as to spiritual profits, as you ex
cellently observe, as it is the nearest approach we
can make to heaven, while w r e live in these taber-
pacles of clay, so it is in a temporal sense also the
most pleasant and the most profitable improve
ment we can make of the time we are to spend on
earth. But, as I was saying, if our bodies are
out of tune, how illy do we enjoy what in itself
is so precious ? And how often must we choose,
if we can attain it, a short slumber that may take
off the sense of pain, rather than to accept what
we know in worth excels almost to infiniteness?
No soul can speak more feelingly than my poor
self on this subject, M ho can truly say my friend
ships have made all the joys and troubles of my
life, and yet who would live, and not love? Those
who have tried the insipidness of such a life would,
I believe, never choose it. Mr. Waller says, " it
" is with singing all we know they do above* *
And it is enough, for if there is so charming a
delight in the love, and suitableness in humours
to creatures, \vhat must it be to our clarified spi
rits to love in the presence of God ! Can there
VOL. i.
338 MEMOIRS OF
be a greater contemplation to provoke to dili
gence in our preparation for that great change,
when we shall be perfected, and so continue for
tver 1
Her ladyship appears to have been a faithful
guardian of her lord s reputation, and to have
shewn his memory every honour that lay in her
power. A few days after her lord s death, she, in
vindication of his character, and indeed of doc
tor Burners, who was supposed to be the author
or adviser of lord Russell s speech upon the scaf
fold *, wrote the following letter to the king.
N. B. This letter is thus indorsed by her;
My Letter to the King a few days after my dear
Lord s death.
" May it please your Majesty,
" I FIND my husband s enemies are not
" appeased with his blood, but still continue to
4C misrepresent him to your majesty f. It is a
<c great addition to my sorrows to hear your ma-
" jesty is prevailed upon to believe that the paper
" he delivered to the sheriff at his death was not
" his own. I can truly say, and am ready in the
" solemnest manner to attest that [during his im-
" prisonment] I often heard him discourse the
" chiefest matters contained in that paper in the
" same- expressions he therein uses, as some of
" those few relations that were admitted to him
" can likewise aver. And sure it is an argument
" of no great force that there is a phrase or two
" in it another uses, when nothing is more com-
" mon than to take up such words we like, or ac-
" customed to in our conversation. I beg leave
* Bur-net s History of his own Time, Vol. II. p. 223. f Ibid,
J The words included in the brackets are crossed out
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 339
c< further to avow to your majesty, that all that is
" set clown in the paper read to your majesty on
" Sunday night, to be spoken in my presence is
" exactly true *, as I doubt not but the rest of
" the paper is, which was written at my request,
" and the author of it in all his conversation with
" my husband that I was privy to shewed himself
" a loyal subject to your majesty, a faithful
" friend to him, and a most tender and consci-
" entious minister to his soul. I do therefore
" humbly beg your majesty charitably to believe
" that he, who in all his life was observed to act
" with the greatest clearness and sincerity, would
" not at the point of death do so disingenuous
" and false a thing as to deliver for his own what
" was not properly and expressly so : and if after
" the loss in such a manner of the best husband
" in the world I were capable of any consolation,
" your majesty only could afford it by having better
" thoughts of him, which, when I was so impor-
" tunate to speak with your majesty, I thought I
" had some reason to believe I should have in-
" clined you to, not from the credit of my word,
""but upon the evidence of what I had to say. I
" hope I have written nothing in this that will
" displease your majesty. If I have, I humbly
" beg of you to consider it as coming from a wo-
" man amazed with grief, and that you will pur-
" don the daughter of a person who served your
" majesty s father in his greatest extremities (and
" your majesty in your greatest posts), and one
" that is not conscious of having ever done any
" thing to offend you (before). I shall ever pray
" for your majesty s long life, and happy reign,
* The paper contained an account of all that passed between
doctor Burnet and his lordship during his attendance upon him.
This account doctor Burnet calls a journal, which he read before
the king and council at his majesty s command on the day after
lord Russell s execution. Burners History of his own Time,
Vol. II. p. 224.
Z 2
540 1IEMOIRS OF
" who am with all humility, may it please your
* majesty, &c."
Upon the duke of Monmouth s insurrection *,
her ladyship thus writes to doctor Fitzwilliam, in
which letter, as there are the tenderest accents of
grief for her loss, her wounds still bleeding, so
there is the most honourable testimony borne to
her lord s character. " And now, doctor, I take
" this wild attempt to be a new project not de-
" pending on or being linked in the least to any
" former design, if there was then any real one,
" which I am satisfied was not any more than
" (my own lord confessed) talk ; and it is possi-
f * ble that talk going so far as to consider if a re-
4i medy to supposed evils might be sought, how
IC it could be formed? But, as I was saying, if
" all this attempt was entirely new, yet the sus-
" picion my lord must have lain under would
" have been great, and some other circumstances
" I do confess must have made his part an hard
" one, so that from the deceitfulness of the heart,
" or want of true sight in the directive faculty,
" what would have followed God only knows.
" From the frailty of the will I should have fear-
" ed but little evil, for he had so just a soul, so
* The duke of Monmouth was son to king Charles the second,
by Lucy Barlow, alias Walters. In his declaration against James
the second among other things, he accuses him of the barbarous
murder of Arthcr, ea*l of Essex, in the Tower, and of several
others to conceal it: of the most unjust condemnation of William
lord Russell, and colonel Algernon Sidney, being only accused for
.meeting, in discharge of their duty to God and their country, to
consult of extraordinary yet lawful means to rescue our religion
and liberties from the hands of violence, when all ordinary means
according to the laws were denied and obstructed, concluding,
* ,And we do appeal unto the great God concerning the justice of
* our cause, and implore his aid and assistance that he \vould
** enable us. to go forth in his name, and to do valiantly against
* his and our enemies, for he it is that knows that we have not
61 chosen to engage in arms for corrupt and private ends or de
" signs, but out of a deep sense of our duty; we therefore com-
* mit our cause unto him, who is the Lord of Hosts and the God
" of battles." I he duke of Monmouth was taken, tried, and, oa
the ISthof JVy, 168 5, beheaded.
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL.
f< firm, so good, he could not warp from such
" principles as were so, unless misguided by his
" understanding*, and that his own, not another s,
" for I dare say, as he could discern, he never
* c went into any thing considerable upon the mere
" submission to any one s particular judgment.
" Now his own, I know, he could never have
" framed to have thought well of the late actings,
<4 and therefore most probably must have sat
" loose from them. But I am afraid his excel-
" lent heart, had he lived, >vould have been often
" pierced from the time his life was taken away
" to this. On the other hand, having, I trust, a
" reasonable ground of hope, he has found those
" mercies, he died with a cheerful persuasion he
" should, there is no reason to mourn my loss,
" when that soul I loved so well lives in felicities,
" and shall do so to all eternity. This I know in
" reason should be my cure, but flesh and blood
u in this mixed state is such a slave to sense, the
" memory how I have lived, and how, as I think,
<e I must ever do for the time to come, does so
e< prevail and weaken my most Christian resolves
" that I cannot act the part that mere philosophy,
" as you set down many instances, enabled many
" to au appearance of easiness, for I verily believe
" they had no more than me, but vainly affected
" it. As I began the day with your letter, and
" the sheets of discourse both inclosed in one
" paper, so I conclude it with some prayers you
" formerly assisted me with. Thus, doctor, you
" see you have a special right to those prayers
" you are pleased I should present for the same
" effect on your spirit, if a portion of suffering
" should be your lot, as you now wish ou mine,
" which after my poor fashion I will not be want-
" ing in, that am,
tl Sir, your obliged, and faithful
" friend and servant,
" Rachel Russell:"
Southampton-house, 21 July, 1685.
342 MEMOIRS OF
Her ladyship also, in the same affectionate re
gard to her lord s memory after the revolution,
made use of her interest in favour of his chaplain,
Mr. Samuel Johnson, who calls lord Russell "the
" greatest Englishman we had," and was very in
strumental in procuring him the pension, and
other bounties which he received from that go
vernment. It may he also added that, as she had
promised her lord to tak care of her own life for
the sake of his children, she was religiously mind
ful to perform that promise, and continued his
widow to the end of her life, surviving him above
forty years, for she lived to the 29th of Septem
ber, 1723, dying in her 87th year. Indeed the
series of letters during her long widowhood are the
most tender and honourable testimonies of her
respect to her husband s memory, and we may ob
serve in them an almost unabating som>w r for the
loss of him, united with an eminent piety, and
profound submission to the divine will, at least no
murmurs against it.
It is observable concerning lady Russell, that
in the free effusions of her heart to her intimate
friends with the constant moans of grief for the
loss of her dear husband, that we remember not
upon a diligent perusal of her letters so much as
one trace of keen resentment or reflection upon
any person whatever that had any concern in her
husband s death, if rather it may not be called
murder. If the duke of Fork \vas so malignant
as to instigate his brother king Charles to be in
exorable to the applications that were made for
lord Russell s life*, and even to propose that he
* The king (says bishop Burnct] could not bear the discourse
of shewing any favour to lord Russell ; and the duke of York
would bear the discourse, though he was resolved against the
thing. But, according to Dr. Wdkcood, the king was not only
inclined to pardon him, but suffered some words to escape on the
very day he was executed, as sufficiently shewed his irresolution in
that matter. In the duke of Mwtmouth * journal it is said, that
the kin told him that he inclined to have saved the lord Russell,
LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 343
should be executed at his own door, the good
lady drops no censures upon him, and even after
James the second was no more king but a wan
derer in a foreign land, there is nothing like a tri
umph over him, or an intimation from her lady
ship that she thought he was justly punished for
Jiis bloody crimes.
Even the inhuman Jeff tries himself, who dis
tinguished himself by a flaming speech against
lord Ruxsell at his trial, is passed over in silence
by her, and she takes not the least notice of his
disgrace, imprisonment and death in the Tower,
owing, as it has been thought by some, to the
blows he received while in the hands of an enraged
populace*.
In fact her ladyship s letters discover a mind irj
close connection with her God, or earnestly la
bouring to enjoy this inestimable blessing, and
bleeding with the incurable wound she had felt in
the loss of the best of friends, and husbands, but
but was forced to consent to his death, otherwise he must hare
broke with his brother the duke of York. The duke of York de
scended so low in his revenge, originating not improbably from
lord Rttucu s having proposed the bill in 1680, to the Commons,
to prevent a popish successor, and having carried it, when passed,
to the House of Lords, for their concurrence, as to desire that
lord Rusaeil might be executed before his own door : an insult the
king himself would not consent to. Introduction to lady Rusvclt *
letters, p. 60. But though laJy Ruwell, as far as we remember,
calls not up in a single hint in all her letters the duke of York s
asperity against her husband, who was so d?ar to her, yet it seems
that he was by another person, the father himself of lord Russet/,
reminded to his face of the hard fate his son had met with. Kino-
James the second in his distresses 1688, addressed himself to the
carl " My lord, you are an honest man, have great credit, and
" can do me signal service." " Ah, Sir," replied the earl, " ] am
" old and feeble ; I can do you but little service, but I once had
" a son that could have assisted you; but he is no more."
James was so struck with this reply, that he could not speak for -
some minutes. Introduction to lady Russell s letters, p. 73.
* ^ e , e , R<*} (n s History of England, Vol. XI 1. p. 162, 8vo.
edit. This historian adds, " never man had better deserved a
" public punishment as an atonement for all the mischiefs done to
" his country, and for all the. blood spilt by his means/
544 MEMOIRS OF
there are not the least traces of a sour or angry
spirit against the unkind instruments that had
brought such overwhelming sorrows upon her.
It appears from some of her ladyship s letters,
that she was afflicted some years after her lord s
death, with great weakness or dimness of sight.
" My eyes grow ill so fast," says she, in one of her
letters, " I resolve to do nothing of this sort by
" candlelight*." And in another, " For the
" chat of the town I will not venture to hurt my
" eyes for it|." From this complaint we find her
happily relieved, for on June 28, 1694, archbi
shop Tillotson wrote to doctor Burmt, bishop of
Salisbury, " That, he could not forbear telling
" him that lady Russell s eye was couched yes^
" terclay morning with very good success J."
From this time to her death from what we can
gather, she seems to have enjoyed her sight with
out any impediment, for her last two letters to the
earl of Galway, written about the years 1717, or
1718, appear, says the editor of her letters , by
the largeness of the text to have been written
without spectacles, as lady RusseU was sometimes
accustomed to do in extreme old age. This cir-i
cumstance of her disorder upon her eyes we the
rather take notice of that we may communicate
to our readers the resignation she discovered even
in the apprehension that she might be shortly de
prived of the invaluable blessing, the light of the
day. " While I can see at all," says she, writing
to doctor FitzwWiqm, .5th Nov. 1692JJ, " I must
do a little more than I can when God sees it
" best that outward darkness shall fall upon me,
" which will deprive me of all society at a distance,
" which I esteem exceeding profitable and plea-.
" sant, but still I have full hope I $hali rejoice in
* See her Letters, p. 28p. f Ibid. p. 29t.
J Ibid. p. 304, in a marginal no.te. Ibid. p. 33 U,
j! Ibid. P . 393.,
1ADT RACHEL RUSSELL. 345
t( that he will not deny me his great grace to
" strengthen me with might by his spirit in the
" inner man. Then I shall walk in the right way
" till I reach the joys of eternal endurance/
And again to the same friend*, "Alas! my
** bad eyes serve me now so little that I could not
<e read your papers, and tell you that I have done
" so in one day. It is mortifying, yet I hope I do
" not repine, but on the contrary rejoice in the
" goodness of my God to me that, when I feared
" the utter loss of sight, has let me thus long see
" the light, and by it given me time to prepare
" for that day of bodily darkness, which perhaps
" must soon overtake me."
We shall conclude the present article with some
lines of Mrs. Scott, in her poem, intitled, The Fe
male Advocate, in honour of lady Russell, adding
some other lines, distinguished from those of Mrs.
Scott by being printed in Italics.
Be Russell s nam by ev ry heart approved,
Whilst thou, celestial piety art lov d,
In her the strongest fortitude was join d,
With all the graces of a female mind:
The noblest pattern of connubial love;
Twas hers the dread extreme of grief to prove:
Yet still convinc d that Providence is just,
She made its arm her unubating trust,
Saw lenient mercy blend lier cup of woe,
And deal out all her portion here below,
For ever conscious of her heav nly birth,
And dead to all the vanities of earth.
Impatient to attain a purer clime,
With pain her soul su>tain d the load of time,
Yet heav n long spar d her life to bless the age,
And now she charms another by her page.
O may that page, where all the virtues shine,
And faith s strong ardors breathe in ev ry line,
Kouze the lethargic, animate the weak/
The sordid ties of sense and time to break,
Since ev ry wish, that centers here below,
Must end in disappointment, pain, or woe!
* See her Letters, p. 295.
546 MEMOIRS OF, &C.
Yet is not man unblest, nor heav n unkind;
True pleasure dwells with ev ry virtuous mind.
How false the toy that oft assumes the name,
For which we hazard honour, health, and fame!
Like the coquette, she on each wooer smiles,
And charms his fancy by her soothing wiles:
His love obtained, his fond embrace she flies,
And meets with cold disdain his longing eyes.
Eternal wisdom with benignant zeal
Closely unites our duty and our weal.
Hence, when we quit the heav n-directed way,
And through the beaten paths of folly stray,
Peace and contentment wing their hasty flight,
And leave the mmd a stranger to delight;
Wild anarchy prevails, and dire despair
With tyrant-sway the rufiled breast shall tear.
But in religion what tramcendant gain!
Whdt peace, wliat pleasure in, her presence reign!
Prosperity her wond rous pow rs improve
With the sweet smiles of heavn s distinguished love
She shews that all the good we here possess
Is the fair blossom of that happiness
We shall enjoy, when, mounting from this clod.
Our souls arrive the bosom of our God.
She too adversity s sad scenes relieves,
To bear our burdens strength proportioned gives,
To throbbing wounds a lenient balm imparts.
With cordials cherishes our fainting hearts,
Wipes off our tears, to praises tunes our breatk f
And with her sunshine gilfc the vale of death*
Jt. Ogle Holborn London f j ." June i3o
( 347 )
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET.
THE subject of our Memoirs was born Novem
ber 8, in the year \66l. She was the eldest
daughter of sir Richard Blake, knight, the fifth
son tf Thomas Blake, esquire, of Larontoun, in
the county of Southampton, esquire, of an emi
nent family, and tfEliz.ab~.th> daughter of doctor
Bathursc, a physician in London, a person of dis
tinguished piety, and among the mo-st consider
able men of his profession in his time.
At eleven years old she began to have a true
sense of religion, and read with great application
the books that were put into her hands, but was
not entirely satisfied with them, aspiring after
more solid and sublime sentiments than what she
met with in them. On this account it was that
more than ordinary care was taken to make her
-think meanly of herself, she being bred up in the
greatest privacy possible.
When she was but a little more than seventeen
years of agje she was married to Robert Berkely,
of Spetchlcy, in the county of IForcester, esq.
grandson of sir Robert Berkely, who was a judge
in the reign of Charles the second. The match
between this young gentleman and her was prin
cipally procured by the means of doctor Fell,
then bishop of O.vjord, who was Mr. Berkely s
guardian, and had taken the care of his educa
tion. The bishop thought that the assisting his
friend in that match was the greatest service he
ever performed for him.
VV hen the young lady came into the family, she
found her husband s mother a zealous papist, and
a woman of a good lire. This put her upon tak
ing particular care to study her own religion in
a larger compass, in order to understand the con-
548 MEMOIRS or
troversies between the protestants and papist*,
that she might be able to preserve her husband
and herself from the artifices and insinuations of
the popish priests, and the influences of his mo
ther, who had great interest in him. But yet,
considering the particular turn of her husband s
mind, and the great deference she owed to his
mother, she found herself obliged to be very ten
der and careful, that she might not be disturbed
with unnecessary disputes about religion, in
\vhich, and in her whole management in this re
spect there appeared a discretion admired by all
who knew her.
At the same time our young lady obliged her
self to a more than ordinary strictness in all the
offices of piety, and in her whole conduct, that
she might adorn her own profession by a suitable
practice, constantly governing herself by the rules
of true religion, and the severest virtue. Ac
cordingly, living in the country, where she en
joyed much leisure, she spent great part of her
time in devotion and reading. When she was in
clined to divert herself with work, she generally
had some persons to read to her, and when her
poor neighbours came to visit her, which upon
her encouragement they often did, she would fre
quently read good books to them herself, that she
might instruct them without seeming to take too
much upon her.
In this manner she lived for six years, being
esteemed and loved by all who knew her, even
by them, who on account of different opinions in
religion, were likely to be most prejudiced against
her.
In king James s time, when the fears of popery
began greatly to increase, and bishop Fell died,
who had great influence over Mr. Berkely, to
prevent his being wrought upon by his relations
at the time they conceived mighty hopes of the
popisk religion being settled in these kingdoms,
MRS. ELIZABETH JBURNET. 345
Mrs. Berkely prevailed upon her husband to go
to Holland; and accordingly they travelled to
gether over the seventeen provinces. In the
popish provinces, on the account of his relations,
they met with an unusually kind reception, let
ters being sent without their knowledge to Brus
sels, Ghent, Liege, and other considerable places,
recommending Mrs. Berkely in a very particular
manner, as one whose piety and virtue, had she
been of the catholic church, as they called it,
were great enough to intitle her to the character
of a saint.
After these journies Mr. and Mrs. Berkely fix
ed at the Hague, where she was soon known, and
grew into the esteem and friendship of persons
of the highest rank. Here they continued till
about the time of the revolution, when they re
turned into England, and went to Spetckly, their
country-seat.
Here Mrs. Berkely went on in the happy course
of life she had at first engaged in, making conti
nual increases in knowledge and good works.
She had generally some young persons in her fa
mily, whom she well improved both by her in
structions and example, so that there was quickly
a visible alteration made in them.
Her knowledge and virtue made her every daj
more and more taken notice of in that country.
She contracted an intimate friendship with the
eminent doctor Stillingjleet, bishop of Wor
cester^ who to his death maintained an high
esteem of her, and upon several occasions has been
often heard to say, " that he knew not a more
" considerable woman in England than she was."
Thus she continued to live with Mr. Berkely till
the year 1693, when it pleased God to remove
him from her by death.
In her widowhood, as she had more leisure than
in her married state, so she applied it wholly to
devotion, to reading, to acts of charity, and the
550 MEMOIRS OF
offices of friendship; particularly she took upon
her the care of her late husband s protestant re
lations, as if they had been her own ; and indeed
she was a mother to them all, as long as she lived,
and shewed a great concern and kindness for them
at her death. She was also very good, and oblig*
ing to all the rest of his family.
She had then a very plentiful income, which
she managed with great prudence, as well as in a
large exercise of charity, and indeed she was un
easy at all other kind of expences but what went
in that way.
While she continued at Spetchly she kept an
hospitable table, to which the neighbouring clergy
were always welcome. She paid true respect to
such of them who were in low circumstances,
cordially esteeming them for their functions and
labours. She frequently made them presents of
the most useful books, and to some she generously
lent money, without requiring any security, ex
pecting only to be paid when, by the providence
of God, they might be put into more easy cir
cumstances.
She spent some time in Worcester^ at his pa
lace, with bishop Stilling fleet and his lady, with
whom she had a most particular friendship, and at
the house of Robert J Vylde, esquire, who took a
particular care of her, and of her concerns, for
whom, and his whole family, she retained, as they
well deserved them from her, a very high esteem
and friendship.
Mr. Berkely ordering in his will a great sum of
money to be raised out of his estate to erect an
hospital at Worcester for poor people, she had it.
much at heart to see the design brought to per
fection as soon as possible, and it pleased God to
continue her life till she saw it accomplished.
JBesides the care of this business she took upon
her several charges in relation to his affairs more
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNET. 351
than the law required in the payment of debts and
legacies. She also still continued one eminent in
stance of charity, to which she had engaged Mr.
Berkely in his life-time, a kind of charity which
is now, by the divine blessing, spread almost all
over England, the setting up schools for the in
struction and education of poor children ; which
she afterwards increased to a far greater number.
She spent a good part of her time at London
with her only sister, the wife of Mr. Justice Dor
mer, who was always very dear to her, and she
had an high value for the great integrity and
worth of that judge.
Mrs. Berkely had early an inclination to em
ploy her pen in several sorts of composition, which
she was thought by her friends to do to such very
good purpose that it encouraged her to spend
much of her time in that way. While she was a
widow, she made the first draught of that excel
lent book of hers, intitled, A New Method of
Devotion, or Rules for Holy and Devout Liv
ing, with Prayers on several Occasions, and
Advices and Devotions for the Holy Sacrament
for her own use only, consisting of such rules
and directions as she resolved to conduct herself
by, and which indeed had been all along the mea
sure of her practice.
She continued a widow near seven years, and
then was married to doctor Gilbert Burnet, bi
shop of Salisbury. She found in the bishop s
house a family of children, whom she treated not
with a false indulgence on the one hand, nor an
unnatural severity on the other, but with all that
care and true concern for their education, as if
they had been her own, and indeed she was loved
and respected by them as if she had brought them
into the world: of which the bishop was so sensi
ble that he had by his will then made left them
under her direction and authority in so absolute
3J2 MEMOIRS OF
a manner that it has been seldom known that so
much power was ever intrusted even to the real
mothers of any children. The bishop, rightly
judging that he brought blessing and happiness
enough into his family by bringing such a mo
ther into it, desired her to secure all her own
estate and income to herself, with a power to make
such a will as she pleased, to which he bound
himself to consent.
Thus she continued the mistress of all that was
her own, allowing for her own entertainment
what did not exceed the rate of a boarding-house,
that so she might the more abound in good works,
which the bishop accepted of, though he was will
ing, as he often told her, " that nothing at all
* should be allowed on that account," for she
had in herself a treasure of more value than any
riches. And indeed the bishop was desirous that
all the world should see what an esteem he had
for so much true worth, and that of the sublimest
kind, as he found in his lady.
After this she extended her charity further than
she had done before: and indeed, instead of giv
ing a fifth part of her income, which would have
been no small proportion, she was very uneasy at
taking only a fifth part to her own use. She
seldom went beyond it, and was much ofterier
restrained within it, by which means she was able
to employ considerable sums in charitable uses,
and particularly the number of children taught at
her expence in and about Worcester and Salis
bury amounted to above an hundred.
She now grew into a more general acquaint
ance, and was continually rising higher in the
esteem of the world in proportion as she became
more known. She entered into friendships with
some persons of the greatest quality, which made
no other alteration in her than that of increasing
her zeal of doing more good as her interest was
MRS. ELIZABETH EtJUXET. 353
rnlarged. To be rich in good works was visibly
the reigning design of her whole life, and that in
which she most of all delighted herself.
Notwithstanding the interruptions which a
more diffusive acquaintance gave her, she spent
as much time as she could secure to herself in
writing upon divine and moral subjects, and was
prevailed with to consent to the printing of the
first edition of the above mentioned book, which,
as well as the second, was entirely her own com
position, without any assistance or addition by
any person whatever.
The book being very much approved of by
many of her friends, she apprehended she could
make it more useful by a large addition out of
many other papers she had by her. Upon this she
printed a second edition at her own expence, that
she might dispose of it among those whom she
thought most likely to be improve d by it.
This excellent woman kept a constant journal
of her life, and every evening employed no incon
siderable time in recollecting her actions and dis
course in the day, and she would call herself to
an account in every particular that the errors of
every day past might be avoided in those that
might follow.
She continually laboured under a weak habit of
body, which at length grew upon her to such a
degree that it was thought she could not easily
overcome it. On this account she was advised to
go to the Spa for the recovery of her health. She
undertook a journey thither in the year 1707,
and wheresoever she went she was received with
great marks of esteem and respect by persons of
the most eminent rank.
After her return she seemed to be in a much
better state of health, and bore the severity of the
beginning of the winter of 1708 so well that her
friends hoped her constitution was grown stronger
than it had been: but it pleased God, upon the
VOL. i. A a
354 MEMOIRS OF
breaking up of the frost, January 27, 1708-&
that she was seized with a pleuretic fever, the
symptoms of which were not violent at first, nor
were her friends at first apprehensive of her dan
ger, hut, her lungs being weak, she sunk under
the disorder in a few days, and died February
3, 1708-9. She was buried at Spetchly, by her
former husband, according to a promise she had
made him, as appears by the following clause in
her will. " I will that my body be buried in the
* parish-church of Spetchly, in the county of
" Worcester, in a vault made for me by my
" former husband Robert Berkely, esquire, and
" myself. I order this to fulfil a promise I made
16 to him, and not out of any want of respect or
" kindness to my present husband, who has by his
" great kindness and confidence deserved from me
" all the gratitude and acknowledgments of love
" and respect I can testify."
" After this brief account," says the writer of
her Memoirs*, " of some of the most remarkable
" circumstances of her life, in which she must ap-
" pear a bright example of the most eminent vir-
" tue in a private station, I should not do justice
" either to her, or to the world, if I did not en-
" large a little more upon her character ; in which,
" if I should be thought to have said too much
" by them that were not acquainted with her, I
" am confident what I say will be judged by them
" who knew her to fall below her character."
She knew exactly how to distinguish between
the means and end of religion, and, was wel] aware
of the necessity of joining them both together in
her practice, so that, as she came up to the
strictest rules of piety in her devotions both in
private, and public, especially in her frequent re
ceiving the sacrament of the Lord s Supper, she
was also fully persuaded that she was to maintain
* The Rev. Dr. T. Goodvyn, archdeacon of Oxford.
3MRS* ELIZABETH BURNET.
a strict government over her passions, to observe
a constant care and watchfulness over her whole
conduct, and to abound in every good work.
Though she had no skill in the learned lan
guages, vet by making the understanding the^
scriptures her chief study, with the help of Eng
lish commentators, and the assistance of those
clergy with whom she most frequently conversed,
and with whom she often discoursed about texts
of scripture that were obscure to her, she attained
to a great knowledge in the divine writings.
Though her mind was naturally inquisitive, her
apprehension quick, and her judgment solid, yet
she confined her inquiries to a few things. Ac
cordingly, when she had made some progress both
in geometry and philosophy, she laid those studies
aside, though she had a genius and relish for
them. She considered the one thing needful, and
applied herself wholly to what related to it, and
even in that she valued knowledge only as it pu
rified the mind. Her chief care was to govern
her passions, to moderate her affections to created
objects, and to elevate her soul to an entire re
signation and conformity to the holy will of
Uod.
A a
356 MEMOIRS OF
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY.
MRS. Elizabeth Bury was born about the
second of March, 1644, at Clare, in the
county of Suffolk, and was baptized the twelfth.
Her father was captain Adams Lawrence of Lyn~
ton, in Cambridgeshire, a person of good charac
ter, and great integrity. He died June 13th,
1648. Her mother was Mrs. Elizabeth Cutts,
daughter of Henry Cutts, esquire, of Clare, a
gentleman learned in the law, a great peace-maker
among his neighbours, and a zealous promoter of
the interest of the gospel. He died August 2 3d,
I6o7, and his most eminently religious consort
after him August 5th, 1667. His daughter, the
mother of the subject of our Memoirs, was a re
markably serious, heavenly, and experienced Chris
tian, an ornament to her family, a blessing to her
children, and the delight of all her friends. She
died full of grace and years, October 6th, 1697,
aged 78. Such were the truly respectable and
heavenly roots whence Mrs. Bury sprung!
The freedom, ingenuity, and pleasantness of
Mrs. Bury s temper were ordinarily known to all
who conversed with her. She never was reserved
but when she thought her company was disagree
able, or she could profit herself more by her own
thoughts than the discourse of others.
She has been often taken notice of as a person
of uncommon parts, ready thought, quick appre
hension, and proper expression. She was always
very inquisitive into the nature and reason of
things, and greatly obliged to any that would
give her information.
In writing of letters she had a great aptness
and felicity of language, and was always thought
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 357
so close and pertinent, and full to the purpose,
and withal so serious, spiritual, and pungent, that
her correspondence was greatly valued by some
of the brightest minds, even in very distant
countries,
Her genius led her to the study of almost every
thing, and, having a fine understanding, accom
panied with a very faithful and retentive memory,
and taking a continual pleasure in reading and
conversation, she soon became a proficient in
Avhatever part of knowledge she was desirous to
attain.
She often entertained herself with Philology,
Philosophy, and ancient and modern History.
Sometimes she diverted herself with Music vocal
and instrumental; sometimes with Heraldry, the
Globes, and Mathematics; and sometimes with
learning the French tongue, principally for the
sake of conversing with French Refugees, to
whom she was an uncommon benefactrix, but she
especially employed herself in perfecting her ac
quaintance with the Hebrew language, which by
her long application and practice she had render
ed so familiar and easy to her, as frequently to
quote the original in common conversation, when
the true meaning of some particular texts depend
ed upon it. Very critical remarks upon the
idioms and peculiarities of that language were
found among her papers after her decease.
Another study in which she took much pleasure
was that of Anatomy and Medicine; being led to
it partly by her own ill health, and partly by a
desire of being useful among her neighbours. In
this branch of knowledge she improved so much,
that many of the great masters of the faculty have
been often startled by her stating the most nice
and difficult cases in such proper terms as could
have been expected only from men of their own
profession, and they have often owned that she
understood an human body, and the Matcria
358 MEMOIRS OF
Medica much better than most of her sex, -with
whom they had ever been acquainted.
But however she diverted herself with these
parts of literature, yet her constant, favourite and
darling study was "Dmniti^ especially the Ijoly
Scriptures, having from her very chikfhood taken
God s testimonies for the men of her counsel. In
the latter part of her life she devoted most of hev
secret and leisure hours to the reading of Mr.
Henry s Exposition of the Bible, whose volumes
s)ie would often say were the jnost plain, profitable,
and pleasant books she ever read, and the last
books, next to the Holy Scriptures, she would
ever part with. She honoured the author, for
finding so much of God in him, and for speaking
the case of her own heart better than she could
speak it herself. He always surprized her with
something new, and yet so natural, and of such
necessary consequence, and unobserved by others,
that she still read him with fresh gust and plea
sure. Next to the Bible her chief delight lay in
reading practical divinity, and the plainer and
closer, and more penetrating any author was, he
was always the more acceptable to her.
But notwithstanding all her knowledge, and
unusual improvements in such a variety of learn
ing, and her deep acquaintance with the spiritual
and most interesting truths of religion, she would
always confess and bewail her own ignorance, and
that she knew little to what others did, or what
she ought to have known in any of those matters.
The certain time, and particular means of her
conversion she could not positively determine,
but she thought that blessed event took place
about the tenth year of her age. She had been
under many convictions some years before, but
she apprehended the effectual work was not ac
complished till that time; but then she judged it
was indeed performed, for though she had many
Suspicions and jealousies of her st;at towards G
MRS. ELIZABETH BUKY. 359
after that period, yet upon the most serious searches
she concluded with herself that she had more
ground for hope than fear. ^
Her entrance upon a life of religion so young
gave her many opportunities of glorifying God,
of doing much good to others, and of enjoying
large experiences of the divine grace and faith
fulness towards her, and from the benefit and
comfort she found in early religion herself, she
always recommended it with much seriousness,
affection, and importunity to others. There was
something very peculiar in the disposition of her
mind, and turn of thought, that adapted itself to
the capacity, temper, genius, and relish of most
children. Her first and principal attempt upon
their tender minds was to bring them in love with
their Bibles, to learn them some short sentences
and prayers, and the pleasant histories of the Scrip
tures, especially such as concerned children, and
then to insinuate herself into their affections, and
so instruct, persuade, and oblige them by discours
ing with them in their own phrase and dialect as
to render her company very acceptable and de
lightful to them, and, by the grace of God, she
by these methods was made very useful to many.
Having set out thus early in the way to Zion
herself, and allured and persuaded all she could
into the same path, she held on her own heavenly
course with great steadiness, resolution, and plea
sure, proceeded from strength to strength, and,
for the joy that was set before, went beyond many
of her fellow Christians. She thought it not
enough to begin her work in the morning of life,
but she diligently attended to it all the day. She
was always "aware of the vigilance of her spiritual
enemies, and this kept her upon her watch. She
would always say, " she had much to do, and that
" which must be done, and that she knew not how
" short her day would be, and therefore she had
< ( no time to lose," She often observed what was
360 MEMOIRS OF
said of Jacob, that after he had met with God,; fte
gathered up hisfwt*, and went his way, and sh<?
thought that she herself ought to imitate his ex
ample.
Having set out for heaven thus soon, and con-
tinning her resolutions for God, and religion, and
the eternal interests of her soul, she often con
sidered with herself, and advised with others upon
the properest and most effectual means to promote,
and carry on her spiritual and pious designs, and
at last determined upon this as one, to keep a
daily memorial of what she did, which should be,
as she expresses it, a witness between God and,
her own soul.
It cannot be ascertained when she began her
Diary, but it is conjectured it was about the
eighteenth or twentieth year of her agef. In it
both morning and evening she strictly observes
with a very great liberty and happy variety of ex^
pression the most remarkable providences of God
with respect to herself and others, and sometimes
in the minutest circumstances of them the solemn
transactions between^ God and her own soul in
her closet, in her family, in the sanctuary, and in
her daily walk and converse with others the subr
stance of what she had read or heard, that was
most affecting in her present case, or might direct
her future practice her preparations for holy
* What is rendered in our Translation, Gen. xxix. 1 . Jacob
went on his journey, in the Original is, He lifted up his feet, to which
this good lady, who was acquainted with the Hebrew language,
evidently refers, vVjH Spy* NttW Mox snstulit Jacobus pedcs anos %
Schnrid. To lift up the feet, to travel with alacrity and expedition.
Taylor.
f " After that, * says her Biographer and Husband, the Rev.
Mr. Samuel Bun/, " for betwixt twenty and thirty years she
concealed her accounts in short hand^ which cannot be recover-?
ed by me, nor, I believe, by any otl;er, because of many peculiar
characters and abbreviations of her own. The first 1 have ga
thered begin in the year 1690, with some short references to for
mer years ; and from that time she continued her accounts if\
f Iqngrhftnd for the most part to the end of her life."
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. Sl
cluties-^-the influences, impressions, assistance,
withdrawing^, and consolations of the Spirit of
God in them Her daily infirmities/ afflictions,
supports, self-examinations, evidences, and fore
tastes of eternal life Her advances in religion,
and her suspected decays the matter of her
prayers for herself and others, and the manner,
time, and seasonableness of God s answers the
temper of her soul, especially on Sahhaths, and at
Sacraments, and on clays of solemn Fasting and
Humiliation, and Thanksgiving public, private, or
secret, and on days she set apart for the trial of
herself, and searches into her own soul the
various scenes of her life, and her comforts and
exercises in each of them the state of her servants,
and of others committed to her care her merci
ful protections in journies the directions of Pro
vidence as to all the places of her abode, and the
gracious visitations of God to her soul in all such
places the uncommon events that either bcfcl
herself, or family, or friends, or the church of God
the burdens that pressed hardest upon her the
joys that most relieved her the manner and form
of her covenanting with God, and his faithfulness
to his covenant in every relation and state of life
the kindness of Providence to her the advan
tage of Christian conversation her constant in
tercession for ministers and their people her
faithful reproofs her success with young persons
her concern for the health and maintenance of
the poor her reflections upon the unwary escapes
of her conversation her esteem of the llolv Scrip
tures, learned expositors, and practical writers
her annual recapitulation of mercies, and sins, and
afflictions, and resolutions, and self-dedications
her special remarks upon days of mercy either to
herself or family the manner of her entrance
upon a new year, $c. But it would be almost
impossible to enumerate the several heads and ar
ticles which make up her Diary. Enough how-
36*3 MEMOIRS OF
ever from the particulars that have been mention*
eel may be said to shew its pious nature, and ex
cellent design. .
In this method she found singular advantage.
She would often say, " that was it not for her
" Diary she should neither know what she was,
" or what she did, or what she had," and by re
course to it in all her afflictions, temptations, and
surprizes, she generally found great relief. Let
her mind be never so much embarrassed, and the
exercise of reason and grace never so much inter
rupted, yet the review of her former experience
was an extraordinary help to future confidence,
and thus was she brought again to her great rock,
refuge, and rest, and recovered her usual cheerful
ness. Hence also it was that she often recom
mended the keeping a Diary to others, that so
God might not lose the glory, nor they themselves
the comfort of their lives.
It was easy to observe a very lively impression
of the image of God upon her soul, and the whole
train of graces exhibited in a beautiful exercise
through the whole course of her life and actions.
Her" humility shewed itself in her courteous car
riage towards the poorest persons, and her con
versation with them, especially where she thought
she could have any advantage for doing good.
Whenever she appeared before God her Diary
discovers how exceeding vile she was in her own
eyes, and how much she abhorred herself by rea
son of the Lerna -motor um*, as she often calls^t,
which she found in her sinful nature, and which
made her a burden to herself. She was also
greatly humbled by observing the condescensions
of divine grace under all her infirmities. " What
* The infinity of Sim* as this Latin Proverb may be rendered.
Lerna was a lake near Argos, in Pcloponcms, where Hercules slew
the Hydra, whose heads grew again as fust as they were cut off.
Hence AhvY, xsMuy, Lerna malorum, Vidi Chiliad. SciAiiWMrtA j
Latin Dictionary of Proper Names.
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 3G3
* grace, and such grace to me, to umvortliy me,
4< to vile ungrateful me." There was nothing
that so much affected her heart as the grace of
God to such a sinner.
Her patience was admirable under all the
chastisements of her heavenly Father, She would
often profess her unfeigned submission to all his
discipline. " This," says she, " or any other mc-
:( thod, Lord, to take away sin. This flesh shall
" hear it, and this spirit shall not repine at it.
This is a part of thy covenant, and I am thank-
11 ful for it. Thou hast done me good by afflic-
" tions, and wilt do me more, and therefore I will
M glory in them." Under the unkind tieatmcnt
of sonic, whom she had studied to oblige to the
utmost, and whose interests she had often espous
ed to the prejudice of her own, she manifested a
very exemplary carriage by keeping the posses
sion of her mind, and rendering them good for all
their evil. Indeed these trials stuck close to her,
but, by the grace of God she was superior to
them all; she eyed God in all, and ever referred
her cause to him.
As to this world, she was very thankful to her
divine Benefactor for the good provision he had
made for her in it, but she often protested " that
" she would never take it for her portion, since
" God had tendered heaven, and himself to her."
The cares, and incumbranccs, and vexations, and
especially the sinfulness of the world had weaned
her affections from it, and raised many restless
and almost incessant cries for her deliverance out
of it. She was never elevated with its smiles, un
less in thankfulness to God, and never depressed
by its frowns, unless she apprehended that sin was
the cause. Her mind for the most part was equal
in every state, because she was ever aspiring and
longing after her heavenly country and inherit
ance. How often would she wish, *" () for thoi>e
f< realms of light, and love, and purity!"
MEMOIUS OF
Her love to the souls of others was manifested
by her instructions, examinations, reproofs, and
counsels, upon all occasions. There were very
few could escape her after some acquaintance
with them, but she would know in what state
they were as to religion, and, after she had con
versed with them, she would earnestly pray for
them in her closet, and be greatly thankful when
she found any serious impressions had been made
upon their minds. She constantly bewailed the
ignorance, impiety, profaneness, and immorality
she saw, or heard of in any, but above all, the in
sensibility, carelessness, and evil practices of the
seed of the righteous, the children of prayers and
vows.
Her love to the truly godly could not but be
observed by all. She delighted greatly in their
company, regarding them as the excellent of the
earth, how mean and contemptible soever they
appeared in the sight of others. She loved them
as the children of God, and fellow-heirs of the
kingdom, would diligently frequent their as^
semblies for prayer, and always promote some
spiritual conversation, which, if not forwarded by
others, was a disappointment and grief to her.
In her Diary we may often iind her praying that
her visits may be made profitable to herself and
others, and that precious time may not be wasted
by empty discourse, but that she and her com
panions may be helpers of each others faith and
joy, and may have some comfortable conference
on the kingdom. She often lamented that the
Communion of Saints, which was an article of
the Christian creed, was so much forgotten by
most Christians; and sometimes when she return
ed from unprofitable conversation, she would
complain, " that, though she had struck lire so
" often, yet that it always fell upon wet tinder."
Her zeal for God was shewn by promoting his
worship, and encouraging every probable method
.AIRS. ELIZABETH BURY. S65
for public service. She had the interest of God
and religion much more at heart than any private
or personal interest whatsoever.
Her charity to the poor was known to many
especially to the houshold of faith, whether na
tives of her own country, or forrio-ncrs. She
spared no pains, and grudged no expences in her
state of widowhood for carrying on her designs
for the relief of destitute families exiled for "the
sake of religion, for erecting charity-schools for
the education of the poor, for the maintenance of
ministers, and candidates for die sacred office and
for a provision of bibles, and practical books to
be distributed as she should see occasion. So
many long and expensive journies had she taken
for promoting these charitable designs amona-
her acquaintance that she sometimes pleasantly
remarked upon herself, " that she had acted the
; part of a beggar so long that she was now
almost really one herself." She very much ap
proved of every person s devoting a certain part
of their estates to pious and charitable uses " for
then/ says she, " they will not grudge to o-i ve
out of a bag that is no longer their own " And
as to such as had no children she thought it was
reasonable they should appropriate a fourth part of
their neat profits or income, if they could allow it
as she herself did, to such valuable and necessary
purposes. /
Her faith in Christ, and dependence on the
covenant of her God was the daily exercise of
her soul Her first and principal" care was to
clear up her interest in Christ, and the promises
in doing which she ivas cautious and exact She
then prepared and methodized a very choice col
lection of promises suited to every state, duty re-
lation, frame, temptation, and difficulty. These
promises were the food of her faith, always
ready and from these she derived constan
strength and comfort. On these promises she
266 MEMOIHS OF
grounded her prayers, She took her arrows out
of God s own quiver, pleaded with him from his
own word, and wrestled with him in his own
strength for herself and others in every ordinance,
in every business, in every circumstance and turn
in jiife. Her Diary shews what fast hold she
took of God by the promises of his covenant,
and how she kept her hold, sometimes hoping
against hope, till she had baffled temptation, sub
dued corruption, and surmounted all her diffi
culties* The reaches of her faith after Christ, her
solemn dedications of herself to him, and steady
recumbency of her soul upon him, as her only
rock and refuge, were such as did not appear in
common Christians. It might well be said of her,
O woman ! great is thy faith! and it was often
said to her, be it unto tliee even as thou wilt.
She considered walking with God in general as
implying a living as in his sight, in conformity
to him, and communion with him. She esteemed
it requisite in walking with God that a person
should be humble under a sense of his own vile-
ness and the great condescension of his God to
him, and that he should be close, ^ and steady,
and persevering, and lively in opposition to slug
gishness and melancholy; and her own practice
very much corresponded with her right apprehen
sion of the duty, for it is observable from her
Diary that she lived in a daily awe of the omni
science of God, in holy meditation of him, in
humble expectations from him, and in constant
devotcdness of herself entirely to him.
She always began her day with God, by con
secrating her first and freshest thoughts to him,
that she might guard against vanity, temptation,
and worldly discomposures, and keep her heart in
tune for .the following duties of the day. ^ She
always accounted the morning, not only a friend
to the Muse*, but also to t\\c Graces, and found
it the fittest time for the best services. She never.
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY* 3G/
or very rarely, entered upon any worldly business
till she had begun with God, and given the first
f i nits of the day to him in her closet by reading,
meditation, and prayer before the worship of the
family, often urging on herself the words of the
Psalmist, Aly voice shalt thou hear in the morn
ing. O Lord, in the morning wilt I direct my
prayer to thee, and will look up*.
When reading, singing, and prayer in the
family were over, she constantly returned to her
closet, and generally spent most of her morning
there. She first lighted her lamp, as she expressed
it, by reading the holy Scriptures, for the most
part with Mr. Henry s annotations. She diligently
compared parallel texts, and took a great pleasure
in reducing what she met with in the History of
the Bible to its proper time. She then poured
out her soul to God in prayer, with a constant re
gard to the intercession of Christ, would often
bitterly bewail the wanderings of her heart in,
that duty, and plead covenant grace and faithful
ness, and to finish her morning s work with some
hymn of praise, and write down an account of all
in her Diary.
Through the rest of the day she walked with
God, and carefully observed her goings, avoided
the occasions of sin, watched over her heart, set
a guard upon her lips, accustomed herself to holy
conference with others, and was frequently lifting
up her heart in ejaculatory prayers or praises upon
any occurrence/ VVb.cn at any time she had been
.surprized by sin, she presently reflected, confessed,
repented, had fresh recourse to the blood of Christ,
and solemnly engaged herself to God for greater
circumspection in time to come.
In the evening, as early as she could, she called
herself to an account for all that had passed in
the day, and again inserted the records of herself
* Psaim v. 3.
3(58 MEMOIRS OF
in her Diary. Having poured out her heart to
God, and committed herself and her all to him,
she then cheerfully joined in the devotions of the
family.
Though the people of God were always the peo
ple of her choice, she was often obliged to keep
company with others. When she expected to
make a visit to any such, or to receive a visit from
them, she frequently begged of God his grace
that she might order her conversation aright, and
that she might not be a partaker with others in
their sins, but know how to reprove them, and
that she might not suffer others to trifle away
their time, but know how to employ them. She
quickly observed the gifts and graces of others,
and endeavoured to draw them out to her own
advantage. She always valued the conversation
of ministers, physicians, and persons of rea ding*
and ingenuity, especially such as had the greatest
savour of religion.
She often visited the sick, and relieved the
poor, and blessed God that she was in circum
stances to give rather than to receive. When in
her state of widowhood she had sometimes given
to the last penny, through the delays of tenants
in their payments, she often observes, that speedy
supplies were sent in a very unexpected manner,
as if giving to the poor were the readiest way to
bring in the payment of her debts.
Of all company there were none more offensive
or painful to her than tattlers, and talebearers.
She could not forbear reproving them, and often
frowned them out of her house. " She had busi-
" ness enough, she would say, of her own, and
" therefore did not desire to intermeddle with
" her neighbours." She durst not defame others,
or take up an evil report against them, or coun
tenance such who did. She was never more
palled in conversation than in hearing what others,
did, and what they had, and what they said, what
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY.
dresses were worn, what entertainments were given,
what company were present, and what discourse
passed among them, and therefore would often say,
b How happy would it be if we might talk of things
" rather than persons? 1 Both her own good
sense, and the power of religion carried her soul
above such trifles and impertinencies, and they
rather gave her disgust than any degree of plea
sure.
Her worldly losses, especially in the latter part
of her life, were many and very great, but she
AVOU Id sav, " The world is not my portion, and
" therefore these losses cannot be my ruin. I
" have all in God now, and shall have all this re-
" stored by one mean or another, if not to myself*
" yet to those that shall survive me, if God sees
" it good for us/ She was frequently exercised
with afflictions even from her youth. The in
clemency of the air, where her own estate lay, and
many of her pious friends and relatives lived, often
laid her under a necessity of removing to distant
places. She was also no stranger to very sharp
bodily disorders, but, under extremity of pains
in her head or breast, her usual complaints, she
ever submitted with exemplary patience and si
lence to the sovereign will of God, justifying him
in his severest discipline, and oiten saying, " she
" would not for all the world but she had been
" afflicted."
She set an high value upon her time, and espe
cially on those seasons and opportunities in which
the interest of her soul was so nearly concerned,
and she thought she never could abound enough
in that work which afforded her the greatest sa
tisfaction. She would often say, " that she would
** not lose her morning-hours with God, though
" she were sure to gain the whole world by it."
She grudged that the poorest labourer should ever
be found at his work before she was at hers.
Even from her youth she agreed it with her scr-
VOL. i. B b
370 11 KM IRS OF
vant, under great penalties upon herself, that she
Wofcld rise every morning at four o clock for her
closet; " which was her practice/ says her bio
grapher, and husband, " as I have been told, from
" the eleventh year of her age, and at five, to my
" own knowledge, if sickness or pain did not
" prevent her, for betwixt twenty and thirty of
" the last years of her life."
She carefully endeavoured to improve the day
in company and conversation with her friends.
She was always well furnished with matter for
useful conversation, and could make very happy
transitions from worldly to serious discourse.
But yet she would often complain of the loss of
much precious time in giving and receiving visits,
and say, tc she could not be satisfied with such a
" life, in which she could neither do good, norre-
" ceive good, but that she must keep to her closet,
" and her book." She often remarked in her Diary,
" that she Avas entertained very kindly at such
" and such houses, but no good done to herself,
" or others."
It was her frequent prayer that affection might
never bias her judgment, but that reason and re
ligion might govern her in every state and change
of life.
Her first marriage was to Griffith Lloyd, esq.
of >ffemin&foril*&Fey, in Huntingdonshire, on
the first of February, 166?, in the twenty-third
year of her age. lie was a gentleman of good re
putation and estate, of great usefulness in his
country, while he was in commission of the peace,
and afterwards as a reconciler of differences,
and common patron of the oppressed. Me was
a person of a very active and generous spirit, of
great piety, of a singularly good temper, and
steady faithfulness to his friends. They lived
togetlier about fifteen years, to April 13, 16 82,
when death dissolved the near relation by remov
ing him from our world. This worthy pair were
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 371
such patterns of love and harmony as to be taken
notice of by all their neighbours; and, if they
were envied by some, they were gloried in by
others, and especially their own relations.
Her second marriage was to the Rev. Mr.
Samuel Bury, on May 29, 16*97, who appears to
have been a very \rorthy and excellent minister,
and who happily survived her to communicate
the Memorials of her for the instruction and
benefit of the world.
As to her relative duties she made great con
science of them, and was very exemplary in their
observation.
As a mistress and governess of a family, she
was very careful in the choice of her servants,
where she could have a choice. She was always
afraid of strife and contention in her family, lest
she should be discomposed in her own spirit, and
the common interest of religion should be obsruct-
ed by intestine jars and disaffection. She never
took any person into her service till she had
solemnly prayed to, and pleaded with God, and
submitted herself to his direction. Whenever she
treated with any, she not only acquainted them
with the business of their place, but also with the
religious orders of the family, to which she had
their explicit consent. When they were once ad
mitted into her house, it was her first and constant
care to inquire into the state of their souls, to in
struct, and catechize, to reprove, and encourage
them, to warn them of the snares and dangers of
their age and place, and to enjoin them to take
time for secret prayer, reading the Scriptures, me
ditation, and self-examination. She always charg
ed it as a duty upon herself to discourse over
with her servants every sermon they heard toge
ther, especially on sabbaths, and to inculcate that
upon them in a particular manner, in which she
thought they were much concerned. She some
times took an account of them together, but ut
ii b
372 MEMOIRS OF
other times, when her strength and health wonltl
allow, she examined them singly and apart, that
such who could remember but little, might not he
discouraged by those that could do better, and
that she might have a fairer opportunity of closer
application to their particular state as she saw oc
casion. By these means she became a servant to
her servants, and she took pleasure in all her pains
with them, though oftentimes to her own extreme
faintness. Her servants themselves are witnesses
what tender care she took of them in sickness, as
well as in health; and her Diary will abundantly
prove how incessantly she prayed for them, and
suited her prayers to the particular exigencies of
their several states. Often does she there mourn
over the unteachableness of some, melting into
tears on their account, and lodging her appeals
with God as to the sincerity of her endeavours to
have done them good. And in her Diary also we
shall find her rejoicing over others that God had
answered her prayers, blessed her instructions, and
brought them under the bonds of the covenant,
planted them in families, and made them blessings
there. " I cannot remember," says her husband
writing concerning her, " any servants that were
" ever brought under her care who had not learn*
" ed something of the method of a sermon before
" they left her, and very many had their memories
" improved so far, as to bring home all the parti-
" CLilar heads, though numerous, of the two ser-
".mons on the Lord s day. He adds, that when-
" ever she inclined to part with a servant, she al-
" ways consulted God in it, and that she would
" take the person into her closet, and very pathe-
" tically advise, and teach a proper conduct of
" life, in order that the servant might be accepta-
" ble in other families. And such was the sue-
** cess," says her historian, " of these her religious
i4 methods, that I know not of any one servant
".she ever had but what was first or last under
MRS. ELIZABETH BUIIY.
" some awakenings of conscience, and spiritual
" convictions, and seeming resolutions for God
" and religion, however they wore off* afterwards.
"It is common with some of them still upon
" every occasion to speak of their mistress s care
" of them, and prayers for them, when the family
;t was left with her, as in the necessary absence
" of others was frequently the case."
If we view her in regard to her relations, we
shall find her a constant sharer with them in all
their joys and sorrows. A more sympathetic
spirit is very rarely to be met with. She never
ceased to pray for them, as parts of herself. She
often mourned for their sins and afflictions. She
rejoiced in the piety of some, and longed after the
conversion and return of others. When at a dis
tance from her relatives she had an happy talent
in writing to them, and such were the pertinency,
pathos, and pungency of all her letters, that eveiy
one valued them, and was greatly pleased with
them. ."When she was present with her relatives,
she was ever feeling how the pulse of their souls
beat, she ingratiated herself into their regard, and
instilled something proper into their minds, ob T
serving, persuading, warning, and directing, as she
thought necessary, She has an honourable tes-
" timony," says Air. Kitry, " I believe in the con-
" sciences of all her relations who respect her me-
< mory, and own her to be a pattern of great in-
:c tegrity, piety, ingenuity, and faithfulness. Her
" animadversion upon her friends, in the manner
" she used to do it, was so far from offending
" them, that it was oftentimes very pleasing to
them, and begat in them some awful regard to
11 her person, and a true decorum in their own
" lives."
Of all orders of men she had the greatest love
for the ministers of Christ. She coveted their
company, that she might improve by it, and was
never better pleased than whcu her house and her
? MEMOIRS OF
table were filled with them. She would diligently
inquire of them in all her difficulties, and as care
fully observe all their directions. She honoured
the aged, the learned, and grave with a double
honour, was often grieved for the infirmities of
others, but despised none for their weakness, if
she apprehended them faithful to God, and his
interest, and that they had been useful in their
places.
She thought it her duty to pray for ministers
above all men, as they are concerned in the wel
fare of so many souls. That this washer practice
appears from her Diary, from one end to the
other, and particularly from a remark she makes
of a single omission. " I have heard a sermon,"
says she, " to day, but I forgot to pray for the
" minister, and I sped accordingly." This shews
that it was her custom to pray for every minister
before she heard him.
She looked upon the tabernacles of God as truly
amiable, which she had often seen filled with his
glory, and where his blessing had been command
ed out of Zlon : she constantly attended upon the
public ordinances, if not debarred by insuperable
difficulties, and made it a point always to be pre
sent at the beginning of them. She would often
blame the remissness of many in this respect, and
say, " That surely they did not feel the wants
" that she did, or else they could not live in such
" common neglects." There was no preaching so
acceptable to her as that which alarmed her con
science, searched her heart, and came closest to
her in matters in which she most suspected her
self.
She greatly disliked a selfish and narrow spirit,
and had always a very generous Christian concern
for the public. She had many melancholy thoughts
upon the account of the impiety, and profaneness,
the immorality, and licentiousness of the greatest
part of the nation, and the indifference, formality,
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 375
and visible declension, and apostasies, that were
found among the rest. Many private days either
in her closet, or in some unobserved apartment
abroad, she devoted to fasting and prayer, either
upon the account of the distresses of foreign
churches, or the dangers of our own, and gene
rally concluded them with some instance of the
favour of her God, and further hope in his mercy.
She would always bless God if authority appoint
ed any public fasts, and looked upon them as
presages of good to the church and nation. She
bore her part in them with great fervency and
zeal, after she had very solemnly prepared for them
on the preceding day. The searches she made into
her heart and life upon those days were deep,
strict, and impartial; her confessions were parti
cular and full; her sorrows pungent and afflictive;
and her resolutions for future conduct were very
solemn, but always with a special dependence
upon the grace of God to make them effectual.
The success of those fasts is frequently observed
ill her Diary upon proper occasions.
Besides her common concern for the good of
all men, and her special regard to her family and
relations, she would shew upon all occasions,
when her own health would allow it, a very com
passionate concern for the sick and afflicted.
Though in some cases it was very noisome and
dangerous, yet she took a pleasure in visiting the
sick, as it gave her an opportunity of inquiring
into the state of their souls, and impressing upon
their minds the concerns of religion, and improv
ing the alarms of God upon their consciences for
future watchfulness and reformation. However
matters appeared to her upon such private inquiries,
and conversation with any, she would always
afterwards bring their cases into her closet, spread
them before the Lord, pray them over, and observe
what answers were given to her supplications.
How much knowledge and skill soever she attain-
MEMOIRS OF
ed in the practice of physic by long observation,
conversation, and experience, yet she was always
very distrustful of herself in any chronical cases,
and could hardly be persuaded to direct without
better advice, till the poverty of her patients, and
their great importunity compelled her to it. When
God g-ave her success, she always acknowledged
it with great thankfulness to him that he should
own so weak an instrument for the preservation
of human lives. The instances of such successes
in most places where she had lived were not easily
numbered.
She always abhorred flattering others, or being
flattered herself. She thought that as evil speak
ing moved men to sin, so that evil silence left
them in sin. It was not to create uneasiness to
others, or from an officiousness in matters that
did not concern her, or because she thought her
self more capable of doing it, that she reproved
any, but because she apprehended others for the
most part very sinfully neglected it, and that the
honour of God, and the credit of religion in the
mean time suffered by the omission. She judged
that she as well as others w r as bound in conscience
not to hate her brother by letting sin lie upon
him, but in any wise to reprove him for it. She
considered this salutary liberty as an evidence of
true Christian love to others, and therefore, having
begged of God to guide her tongue, to move their
hearts, and restrain their passions, she would in
great tenderness at a proper season with much
plainness and freedom tell them of their faults,
and plead with them concerning them. Younger
persons, and her inferiors, if the case required it,
were reproved with some severity and smartness,
but others with much meekness, moderation, and
modesty. If it at any time so happened that she
took this liberty with ministers, she would always
preface her addresses to them in the Apostle s
words, Rebuke not an elder, but entreat him as
MRS. ELIZABETH BUIIY. S77
a father, cuul young men #.v brethren*. There
were not wanting instances of great success in
this her freedom tempered with modesty, and
some have thanked and honoured her on the ac
count as long* as she lived. Nor was she moie
ready to give than to take reproof. She ever
reckoned them her truest friends who used the
greatest liberty with her in this respect; and,
when in any tiling she appeared to be blame- wqr-
thy, she would acknowledge it with an ingenuous
concern, and often profess that she had not taken
notice of it in herself, but that she would endea
vour after a greater circumspection for time to
come.
She always called the sabbath a delight, holy
of the Lord, and honourable. She was very un
easy if worldly business was not dispatched in
time that the sabbath might be remembered be
fore it came. She endeavoured to awake with
God, and possess her mind at first with proper
thoughts that might prepare her for the work
that was to follow. She presently engaged in se
cret prayer to bespeak the divine presence and
assistance through the day. She then read and
sang, as she had time, before family-worship be
gan. When that was over, she retired again to
read, sing, and pray, and, as has been before ob
served, had a constant remembrance of the minis
ter, that God would grant him assistance, and
success to his labours. As she was up early on
the sabbath, so she was not only always out early,
but her whole family with her, not so much re
garding the dressing of her own dinner as the ad
vantage of her servants souls. When public or
dinances were over, she always withdrew for me
ditation; she next examined her servants, and in
culcated upon them what they had heard, then
she prayed in her closet before family-worship
* iTim.v. 1.
37$ MEMOIRS OF
and after that filled up the spaces of the evening
with spiritual and edify ng discourses.
She was never more pleased in any ordinance
than that of singing, as she had a natural love to
Jllusic, and a good understanding and skill in it.
But yet a concord of voices could not satisfy her
without an agreement and harmony of heart with
what was sung. Hence a smart remark upon her
self in her Diary, " In such a place I was so
u charmed with the novelty and sweetness of the
" tune, that I had sung several lines before my
" heart was concerned in what I was doing/
As to Sacraments, she always shewed a most
religious regard to them in obedience to the pre
cept, and in a sense of interest, " and for twenty-
" three years together," says Mr. Bury, who was
that time married to her, " I never knew her ab-
" sent from one, if bodily illness did not prevent
" her."
She durst not rush upon that sacred ordinance
of the Lord s Supper without a serious and solemn
preparation for it. She carefully examined and
proved her graces, her faith, love, repentance, and
the like, and could not be satisfied only with for
mer trials. She made diligent search into her
heart and life, to make a discovery of her sins, in
order to confess and bewail them before God in
vsecret. For this purpose she read over the com
mandments, and some expositor upon them, that
she might better know the duties required, and
the sins forbidden in each of them, with their
several aggravations. She then read over her
Diary, and more especially reflected upon the
sins she had been guilty of since the last Sacra
ment, that she might pray, and guard against
them for the future.
When she had thus prepared herself, and endea
voured to excite her graces for their proper exer
cises, she never dared to trust to her own prepara
tions, but relied only on the power, merits, and
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 3?9
meditation of the Lord Jesus Christ for accept
ance, and success. In his strength she was strong,
and went forth with longing expectations of
much grace and consolation in that hanquct of
love, and she seldom failed of the enjoyment of
what she had prayed and hoped for.
She then attended the ordinance in an humble
sense of her own vileness, with an awful regard to
the Majesty of God, and with great fear and cau
tion lest any worldly trifle should carry oft her
heart from it s proper work. Her faith iixed upon
Christ to receive, and apply, and appropriate him,
and to live upon his fulness. Her love was en
gaged with great intenscness and ardour upon God
the Father, and the Son, for the discovery of such
infinite kindness and grace in the Redemption of
Man, and the blessings of an everlasting covenant,
so that she often in her Diary appeals to God
concerning the sincerity of her love to him.
Ai Lord, if I love not thce, I love nothing I love
" not my friends; I love not myself; I love not
46 any thing in heaven, or on earth, if 1 love not
" thee." Her heart also in this holy ordinance
was melted for sin, while she looked upon that
Saviour whom she had crucified, and upon all the
scenes of his sorrows from his Father, from men,
and from devils. Nor did any thing more invi
gorate her prayers, and resolutions, and covenants
against sin, than the love of God to her, and her
reciprocal love to him.
When the blessed sacrament was over, she
would not suffer herself to be diverted, but con
stantly withdrew to her closet, to bless God on
her knees for what she had done, and for what
she had received, and to entreat forgiveness for
her failings, the continuance of present pious im
pressions, and grace to be faithful for the time to
come.
She was truly a praying person, and one who
gave herself to prayer, and in the scripture-sense
380 MEMOIRS OP
she prayed always. She would often say, u she
" would not be hired out of her closet for a thou-
" sand worlds." She never enjoyed such hours
"of pleasure, and such free and intimate commu
nion with God as she experienced there. She
wondered how any persons could live without
prayer, and deprive themselves of one of the
greatest privileges that was ever vouchsafed to
the children of men.
Her gift in prayer was very extraordinary, as
many have observed when the care of the family
devolved upon her, and, as her excellent husband
and biographer observed, when upon some pecu
liar occasions they have prayed together in secret
" He has been struck, as he declares, with won-
" tier, at the freedom and aptness of her lan-
" guage, at the warmth and vigour of her affeo
" tions, at her humble confidence in God, and
" her strong expectations of blessings from
" him, when she poured out her soul to him in
" that duty." With satisfaction and cheerful
ness she would leave all her own complaints, and
all the difficulties, grievances, and distresses of
others with her God, thus casting her burdens
upon the Lord, and finding rest for her soul in
him.
She never determined any doubtful cases with
respect to herself, her friends, or her family, till
she had first asked counsel of God, and then what
ever she resolved in her closet, upon that direc
tion she was always unalterably fixed.
Many merciful returns of prayers she observes
in her Diary. Sometimes God answered her upon
her knees, while she was praying, either in the
recovery of the sick, whose lives were despaired
of by others, or in ease to the pained, when in
their paroxysms and acutest agonies, or in com
fort to the dejected, when under the gloomiest
apprehensions, and most afflicting confusions, or
in relief to the poor, when in the deepest dis-
MRS. ELIZABETH BCRV.
tresses, or in extinguishing the violence of flames,
when the towns where she lived have been in the
greatest danger of being laid in ashes. In the last
case, that of fire, she always retired upon the first
alarm, " being incapable, as she used to say, "of
" giving any other assistance in that calamity
" than by prayer." At other times she observes
in her Diary how long she waited for God s an
swers. At such a time, she notes, " I prayed,
" and at such a time God graciously heard my
" prayer, and concludes, surely this" was mercy
worth praying and waiting "for." She would
often remark the seasonablencss of the divine
mercies, and how much better they were in God s
time of giving them than they would have been
at the first time of her asking them; and some
times she would very thankfully own the wisdom
and goodness of God when in the result of things
she found she had prayed for what had not been,
honourable for God to give, and would have been
liurtful to herself or others to receive.
It is not to be told upon how many occasions
she thus addressed herself to God, or" how often
she opened the treasures of grace by this key of
prayer. It is most certain that an application to
the throne of mercy was her daily refuge, and her
daily relief in every distress. If she did not al
ways obtain what she asked in temporals, she owns
she had an equivalent, or better, and God fully
satisfied her of the reasonableness of his denials.
As to her trials and temptations she acknowledges
with great gratitude to God, " that she had either
" present deliverances, or grace sufficient, for the-
most part, to resist, and power at last to over-
" come."
The Motto in her closet for many years in
Hebrew characters was, Thou Lord "sees / me*,
hereby plainly intimating her awful adoration of
382 MEMOIRS OF
the omniscience of God, that her eye of faith
t/
should he always upon him, and that she would
ever act under the influence of that persuasion,
that GOD was present, whether in reading, prayer,
meditation, self-enquiry, or in recording the
solemn transactions that passed between him and
her soul in her closet. She had this Motto al
ways before her, that as often as she entered into
her closet, and as long as she continued there, and
in every duty she performed, it might be a memo
rial to her that every sin, and folly, and instance
of her departure from God was perfectly known
to him, that every penitent confession, tear, and
groan were in his sight, and under his hearing,
and that every prayer, and purpose, and vow, and
solemn obligation made, and renewed, and ratiii-
ed in her closet was sacred and awful as under the
eye and notice of an all-seeing and heart-search-
i ng G od. Th is Mo tto she often found had greatly
restrained her from sin, had excited her to duty,
had disposed her for comfortable communion
with God, and kept her from trifling in the place
of her sacred retirement.
The great work of this pious gentlewoman s
life was a readiness for death. She began this
work early, and she pursued it daily, and with
great and growing success. She often took a re
view of the several ages of her life, and very pe-
nitentially bewailed the sins of her childhood and
youth, as well as of her riper years, to the end of
her days, and could never rest satisfied till God
spoke peace and pardon to her soul in the blood
of Christ.
" It was in her youth, I think," says her hus
band, and the writer of her life, " about the
fi> twentieth year of her age/ that God gave her
the sure pledges of his love, and the clear evi
dences of her title to eternal life, and for fifty- six
years after she lived in comfortable communion
with God, and the joyful expectation of the pro-
MRS. ELIZABETH BUKV. 3S3
imsed inheritance. She carefully laid her founda
tion at first in God s covenant with Christ, and
with sinners in him, and her own cordial consent
to that covenant, and then built upon the pro
mises of God, and the righteousness, merits, and
meditation of the Lord Jesus Christ. She would
often say, " that, though it should sometimes rain
" in at the roof, she must not therefore pluck up
" the foundation, or suspect her safety from every
" shock, or flaw, or failure in the course of her
61 life and actions.
She did not only helievc, but she knew in whom
she believed, and to whom she had committed
herself, and her eternal all, and with the greatest
satisfaction and assurance she left them in his
hands.
She was always complaining of a corrupt na
ture, and many times of an evil frame of heart,
and wanderings from (iod in seasons of duty, but
still she anchored her soul on the Redemption of
Christ, and kept her hold of the covenant of God
in him, and thus her hope was stedfast unto the
end.
She was often taken into God s banqueting-
house, where she had the display of his banner of
love. Special remarks are to be met with in her
Diary, upon some days, and some hours, as afford
ing her greater pleasure than all the rest. " O jov-
1 lid morning never to be forgotten ! Blessed day
" of God, a day of heaven to my soul ! This day
in God s courts was better than a thousand
" O how the face of the dear Redeemer shone on
Mm unworthy dust in- that ordinance! O the
>l fulness of joy, and ravishing consolation of the
" Spirit of God this morning in my closet! was
" ever such grace as this! what shall I render to
" the Lord!" She lived long at the gate of hea
ven, and therefore it was no wonder she so earnestly
desired to enter into the beatific region itself.
" How often," would she say, " The blessed hour
384- MEMOIRS OP
" will come How fain would I enter into tlie
"heavenly courts! When shall I see God! O
" how I long- to get out of the tents of Kcdar,
" and to he at rest! Come, Lord Jesus, come
" quickly I love my relations on earth, yes, I
" love them clearly, hut I cannot hut love my
ic God and Saviour, and love them better (J
" for that life of purity, and love, and joy, where
" every thing will be as I would have itf"
For some of the last years of this exemplary
Christian s life, she found herself in a declining
state, and was always waiting for her dismission,
The clearness of her thought, the vigour of her
o - o
mind, and the strength of her memory con
tinued to the last, hut, as she was often oppressed
with bodily infirmities, and had many wearisome
days and nights appointed her, she was the more
desirous of entering into her eternal rest. And
now, after a course of such eminent piety, vigilant
and daily preparation for death, and fervent de
sires for her dismission from the body, let us at
tend her to her closing scene.
On the third of Mai/, 1720, as she and Mr.
J$ury her husband had just entered into a friend s
house, where they were to have dined, she was
immediately struck M 7 ith an exquisite pain in one
of her ears, which presently caused such a deaf
ness as to render her unconversable; upon this she
desired to withdraw, and went home. Her deaf
ness continuing, a pleuretic fever soon followed,
and after that a lethargy, which, in part deprived
her friends of that heavenly discourse they pro
mised themselves they should have heard from
her upon her death- bed.
In former illnesses, when she herself, and every
one else thought her under the sentence of death,
she was always so far above it, though she was
naturally of a very timorous spirit, that she tri
umphed over it, and sang, "O death! where is
"thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory?
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 385
:( thanks be to God, who gives me the victory
" through our Lord Jesus Christ I am lighting,"
said she, " under the great Captain of my Salva-
tion, and can bid defiance to all the powers of
hell, and boldly encounter Satan in his own
l kingdom I am now in the dark valley, but I
" see light at the end of it, and the gate of hea-
t( ven stands open. O let me go into endless love,
" and live that sinless life! When, Lord, shall I
Cf come to thee? Almost gone, and yet I cannot
"go () my dear friends, why so cruel? What
" should I live any longer for? My work is done,
"and why would you not have me go to rest?
" give me up I entreat you to God, and do it
" cheerfully. My constant prayer has been to be
" always waiting, and hoping, and this is my
present frame It is an abundant answer to all
" your prayers for me that I have peace, and hope,
" and comfort, without any doubt, or fear, or any
" suspicious thought of my salvation I am sure
" I have not flattered myself in the trial of
" my state, nor been superficial in it, and I am
:c fully persuaded that God will not deceive me
c I am my Beloved s, and my Beloved is mine.
It is but one struggle, and better now, if God
" sees fit, or else I have all this to do again
Father! into thine hands let me commend my
16 spirit She would with pleasure feel her faulter-
( ing pulse, and say, when wilt thou beat thy last?
It is not death yet, but, blessed be God, it is
: pretty near it 1 hope I shall not return to labour,
" and sorrow, and sin again O that I had the
< wings of a dove, then would I fly away, and be
"at rest! -She would often add, " We have
:c need of patience that, after we have done the
c will of God, we might inherit the promises."
In this her last illness she had the same stedfast
faith and strong consolations she had before-ex
perienced, but a more difficult passage out of life
VOL. I C C
386 MEMOIRS OF
than what was expected. It was concluded by
her lamentable groans for some days together,
that her pains had been quite exquisite, but when
she was asked concerning herself, she generally
answered, " 1 feel but little pain, only am restless."
Her cold and excessive sweats continued for many
hours together, and were not more profuse in
themselves than affecting to others.
Though the nature of her distemper prevented
her from speaking much, yet what she did speak
was always rational and spiritual. Her mind was
not only calm and sedate, but very placid and
cheerful, as oft as she awoke. " O my God,"
said she, " I wait for thy salvation This day I
" hope to be with Christ in paradise The pro-
" mises of God are all yea and amen in Christ
" Jesus; and here my faith lays hold, and here it
"keeps its hold."
On the llth of May she prayed her friends
with much entreaty to detain her no longer by
their prayers, but to resign up her soul to God,
" which," says Mr. Bury, " we did with as much
" earnestness as ever we had asked her life before.
" Such are God s ways to wean us from our
" dearest enjoyments in this world." About ten
o clock that night the prisoner was released from
all her bonds, and obtained a glorious freedom.
Her heaven-born soul took wing for the realms
of light, and was bid welcome into the joy of her
Lord.
She had often made it her prayer to God that
she might come off honourably in her last encoun
ter, so that neither religion might be discredited,
nor her friends discouraged by any thing that
.should then be observed in her: and, as God had
abundantly answered so many of her prayers be
fore, so he very graciously answered her in this
request, for such were the free and lively exercises
of her faith and love, that they entirely triumph
ed over all fears, and carried her with a full sail
MRS. ELIZABETH BUtlY, 387
into the port of glory: and to the great comfort
of her surviving friends she left this world at last
without either sigh, or groan, and with the plea
sant est smile that was ever observed in her
countenance before.
Mr. Bury, her husband, who drew up an ac
count of her life, has made a very large collec
tion of excellent passages from her Diary. We
must content ourselves with only some few ex
tracts from what he has more ditiiisively commu
nicated. To have published all that he has given
to the world from her private papers, would have
taken up more room in our volumes than we could
conveniently spare; and on the other hand to have
entirely passed over such divine memorials Mould
have been with-holding what may be both highly
entertaining and edifying to our pious readers.
We have thought proper to select the following
passages.
1690, Sept. 27. When I was nine or ten years
old I first began the work of self-examination,
and begged the all-searching God to try, and
discover me to myself; and, I think I may date
my conversion about that time.
I have kept an account of my trials of myself
since 1670; and though my undutiful, ungrateful,
returns have filled each examination with just
and bitter complaints, yet upon twenty years re
view to the glory of free grace, I take it the case
has stood thus with me*
My judgment has esteemed God, even his ho
liness, the most desirable good, and I would be a
partaker of his holiness, whatever it cost me, and
I have generally been willing and thankful for
the smartest discipline in hope of that desired
effect, and I would still be more holy, though by
sickness, pain, or any other affliction, having al
ways accounted sin the greatest evil, and now for
many years my bitterest affliction, though in
c c 2
388 MEMOIRS OF
some hurries I have not felt the most sensible
mournings for it.
As I have chosen God for my portion, so I
stand by my choice; and rejoice in it above all
the world, and, through his grace assisting me, I
resolve never to forsake him, though I die for it,
which I shall never do without extraordinary aids,
having no natural courage. I have chosen the
path of God s precepts as the means to this end,
and have deliberately, entirely, and joyfully given
myself to Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and
the life, and his love I prefer to all the world;
and by many sweet, though two short experiences,
I have found his love lifting up my heart above
all earthly enjoyments, and sometimes making it
joyful under pain and trouble, which has hinted
the power of his prevailing love, and made me
hope it will cast out fear, if he calls me to martyr
dom.
My hope is in God through Christ, and all I
have I would part with rather than his love, and
the interest I hope I have in it,
My desires are after him above gold, health,
friends, honour, &c. I long to have fuller com
munion with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit here,
and the uninterrupted communion of heaven.
My sorrow and anger are usually most intense
against sin, though too violent torrents of them
have been often spent on my sufferings.
My hands, feet, head, and heart follow not as
I would. My life is stained and blotted with
daily sins, yet God knows I loath them. I find
daily defects in my duties, yet I have a respect
to all God s commandments. O wretched crea
ture ! sin still dwells in me. I cannot do the
things I would, but I would upon any terms be
rid of sin. I sin daily, but I daily sorrow for,
and hate sin, and fly to the fountain opened, which
alone can cleanse me.
I forsake and renounce the devil s dominion.
MHS. ELIZABETH BURY. 389
and as I have received the Lord Jesus Christ, so
I watch, and pray, and strive to walk after his
will, and holy example.
The world gets near me, and about me, and I
am too ready to follow and seive its pleasures
and conveniences, but it is more solid joy to my
soul to say, " that Christ is mine," than to be
able to say, " this kingdom, this world, yea all
- " that I ever loved are mine."
My own righteousness I abhor. The best, the
most perfect, the most sincere service I ever did
or hope to do gives me no hope of acceptance but
in and through Christ.
Lord, Jehovah, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
thou art my portion. Whatever this flesh would
have, Lord, let me be thine at any rate. Truly I
am, and would, and will be thy servant by choice
and consent, whatever thou givest me, or what
ever thou deniest me. O how bountifully has
God dealt with me, while he has loved me from
death to life !
Lord Jesus ! thou art my way to the Father; my
only mediator. I have accepted thee to teach
and rule, as well as save my guilty soul. I
cry as loud for purifying as for pacifying grace,
I am willing to be kept from mine iniquity. I
except no darling sin from thine iron rod. I ask
no mercy for it, nor would I shew it any.
1 approve and subscribe to all thy precepts as
holy, just, and good; as best for me at all times,
and in all conditions. Let my heart be searched,
and I will love the word that searches it. I ac
count thy law my liberty. Thou hast drawn,
and I have run. Thou hast made thy word my
love, delight, and study, and it is the sincere bent
of my life to keep it. *O that I might keep it to
the end !
1692, February 19. Ashamed, and sad in the
consideration of the wonderful structure of my
house of clay, inhabited by an immortal spirit,
390 MEMOIRS OF
capable of reflection, &c. yet both so long utterly
useless to my Creator s glory, still so little answer
ing the noble intentions to which body and soul
were most wisely and righteously directed, yet
adoring* ,tbe divine bounty, pity, and patience,
that pardon, adopt, and sanctity such an unwor
thy creature. I resigned body and soul entirely
to him who made them, begging a willing, happy
dissolution.
lb>2, March 20. Faint, yet pursuing; dull,
yet adoring; impure, yet loathing; wandering,
vet returning; going to the fountain opened to
be purified from all sin. O that this day may
begin my eternal Hallelujah!
1692, July 19. All the world never gave me
such satisfying delight as this morning s commu
nion with God. And whence is this to me that
my Lord will thus visit, revive, and cherish his
poor, dull, languishing, unworthy child! O what
shall the full, assimilating, eternal, immediate
vision of my God be !
16 92, September 1. My delight soon abated.
It is April weather with me. I am still on a
floating island. Lord! When shall I dwell on the
continent (of rest and joy !)
1693, February 16. Continual violent pains ren
der me incapable of reading, prayer, or meditation,
yet I am willing to undergo any discipline for the
removal of the spiritual maladies under which I
labour. Strike, Lord, so thou still healest; wound
for my cure, and spare not,
1693, May 6. Reflecting on my sinful soul
from my childhood to this day, I find my heart
humbled with amazing sorrow for what I still re
member, and of which I still feel the remainders.
I am astonished at the patience of God, in whose
sight all my past sins, both what are remembered,
and what are forgotten as to me, are still present,
and yet he waits to be gracious to an ungrateful
and rebellious creature, I acknowledge I deserve
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY.
nothing but hell, but yet fly to the mercy of God
offered hi Christ, and beg that he would deal
with my sins after his own hatred of them, and
shew mercy to me, a miserable sinner, according
to the tenor of his gracious covenant in Christ
Jesus.
1693, May 1. Thy vows, O God, are upon me,
and my resolutions are renewed to be more thine
than ever, but the grace and strength to perform
them are thine. Lord, give what thou com-
mandest, possess what thou hast purchased, and
perfect what thou hast begun !
1696, August 4. O how much better than life,
or any thing in life is the loving-kindness of God,
so sweetly, so evidently, so abundantly manifested
to my soul this morning! Lord, how free, how
full, how humble, and ingenuous my confessions,
when thine Holy Spirit indites them, and giants
me his assistance ! what a view of sin ! what melt
ing shame, and sorrow! what tears of love! what
delight! what panting after more grace! what
calm and joyful acquiescence in what was once
dreaded discipline! what cheerful, unreserved re
signation! Lord how long have I struggled in
vain for what of thy free bounty thou hast given
in one hour! Lord, keep it ever on my heart!
1697, January 3. God taught me to pray, and
heard my prayer. He assisted his messenger to
draw the bow with full strength, and to cry to
him to direct the arrows. Lord, I look, and will
wait for some of the arrows from thy quiver this
day to stick fast in my own soul, and the souls of
others. I bless thy name for sweet directions to
live on another s life, to satisfy by another s righ
teousness, and to act in another s strength. Lord,
strengthen thy weak creature!
J697, March 20. I made a search into my
heart before the Sacrament with respect to the
nature and effects of true faith, and I find I am
glad of the discovery even of such truths as most
30,2 MEMOIRS OF
directly strike at my strongest heart -sins, and
most violent inclinations. I am as glad of the
th reatnings, that powerfully work on me for my
reformation, as of the promises that refresh me.
I believe them all in Thcsi and Hypothesi, and
wish their energy in purifying as well as comfort
ing me, so far as I can discern.
I embrace the promises with delight, and find
through free grace a spiritual taste and relish in
the food of life, such as sometimes quite weans me
from the love of the world, and gives me great peace
of conscience, joy in the Holy Ghost, and love to
Christ s second appearing. I find good hope
through grace, that I live by the faith of the Son
of God, who gave himself for unworthy me, for
I delight in his word above my appointed food.
It has been in some measure of an assimilating na
ture. I hope I have attained to some, and I pray
and labour for more growth in universal, uniform
obedience to all God s commands. I depend on
the peffeft righteousness of Christ, and must own
that from the beams of that sun of righteousness
I have received a gracious illumination and pow
erful inclination upon my soul to all good a
tender sympathy for the most part with the church
of God, even when my particular state inclines
me to a contrary temper and a free use of spiri
tual senses, seeing the light of God more perfect
ly and frequently than usual, hearing his word with
delight, tasting his mercies with comfort, and feel
ing and mourning under the wounds and pressures
of sin. I love divine truths, not so much because
they are proportionable to my desires, but because
they are comfortable to God. I resolve in all
estates to rely on God s mercy and providence. I
wholly renounce all trust in myself or any concur
rence of my own naturally in any good. I build
not my hopes or fears on men, or make them or
myself the end or rule of my desires. -I indulge
no known sin. I have no known guile. I allow
MRS. ELIZA-BATH BURY.
not the least sin, or appearance of evil. I hate
the first risings of sin, and bitterly regret the
least, the first, the most unavoidable thought that
rebels against the divine law.
16 98, June 22. A cheerful morning this; my
heart appealing to God that Christ is my choice,
religion my business, the holy Scripture my rule,
heaven my design, the saints my beloved com
panions, and the ordinances my delight when I
meet with God in them.
1706, October 25, 2b\ I set closely to examine
my state, and begged of God to discover what
ever mistake I might have been under in my for
mer trials which I reviewed. Mr. Vines distin
guishes the true Christian from an hypocrite by
the following marks;
1. A true Christianas hatred against sin, and
his liking to God arise from an inward nature^
or principle. Lord, my conscience does not re
proach me when I say 1 hate the whole species of
sin, and whatever appears sinful to me. I love
the whole law of God, and my soul pants daily
for more conformity.
2. The inward man of a Christian is made up
of Christ. Lord, thou krtowest that the little
knowledge of faith in Christ, and tastes of Christ
I have experienced have made me hate and mourn
for sin, and love Christ, and that I tight against
sin in his strength. I have known the teachings
of God, and love my adorable Lord Jesus Christ
for himself. My repentance and sorrow for sin
are most pungent, when I am under the power of
love. I desire grace for service, as well as salvation.
3. True Grace casts out keif -love. Grace
comes from and draws the soul into union with
Christ. Lord ! I love my soul and body when
they love and serve thce. I hate that either
Should dishonour thee. I am willing to deny my
self any thing for thce, yet I fear too much in
dulgence of myself by sloth, and love of ease.
MEMOIRS OF
4. To lone and seek God for himself is above
the pozver of ail common gifts. O Lord, tbou
Last enabled my soul to love thee for thy glorious
excellencies and perfections, as well as for thy re
deeming love, though not always so distinctly as
I would. From these and such like evidences
upon the most diligent search I can make I dare
not but conclude I am a sincere Christian, arid no
hypocrite.
1707, April 20. Sweet was this morning s re
tirement in reading Numbers xxi. Lord, what
encouragement is there in looking to Jesus, for
healing (the wounds occasioned by) the flaming
stings of sin in my soul ! what my tears cannot
quench, my exalted Saviour can. O send thy
Spirit (alluding to Numbers xxi. 17.) to be a
well of life in my soul! Spring up, O well, this
clay, and cause me to sing to it, and let poor
diseased souls be healed in the waters of the
sanctuary.
1707, August 17. I go to this holy feast Cthe
Lord^s Supper) for increase of faith, that I may
more clearly apprehend divine truths, and be
more distinct and firm in the assurances of them,
that my consent to the covenant may be more
free, resolved, and delightful, that my love may
be more inflamed, and that I may be more patient
in suffering, and more diligent in doing the will
of God. I depend on the sufficient grace of God
for strength in all duties, for wisdom to direct
me, and for victory over sin and temptation.
Help, Lord, under all affliction, and in my last
change! strengthen my faith, patience, and dili
gence, by this ordinance!
1710, July 16. I was grieved to read that as
sertion of Popinus and Quint inns in Calvin s
time, that the only mortification required of sin-
ners was to extinguish the sense of sin in their
heart. But surely this is to mortify repentance,
not sin; to kill the New Man, not the Old, to
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY.
outface conscience, and not to quiet it! surely
where there is sin, there must and will be trouble!
17112, June, 17, to July 9. In the evening
(June 17) about seven or eight o clock, I was
seized with a violent rigour upon my nerves
which lasted all night, and next morning a fever
succeeded, which so much affected my head that
I was incapable of directing those about me what
to do with me, yet, so graciously did God hear
my daily and last supplication in secret, that I was
willing rather to depart, and be with Christ, and
had not one cloud, doubt, or fear of death through
the whole sickness. The disease appeared des
perate, and no hope of my life from human help re
mained. But my dear relations ceased not to
pray, and call on others to join, and many, from
whom I expected not so great a share of affection,
were much enlarged in prayer for me, and the
Lord was entreated to spare a poor, sinful, un
worthy, unprofitable creature, and say, Return,
while strong men bowed under the same disease,
and fell down slain, though they had the same
physicians, and had the same means used for
them as myself. So, father, it has seemed good in
thy sight! Thy will be done! But what "shall I
render, what shall 1 do? I am thankful for life.
It is the gift of God. It is given in answer to
prayer. But, Lord, if I improve it not for thy
glory, how sad shall I be? Thou kno\\est I had
no desire to live but for better service, and shall I
be called from a seeming abundant entrance into
glory again to struggle with flesh and blood, the
world, and devil, and not be made more than
conqueror through the captain of my salvation?
O Lord, on thee, through thy assistance, did I
cast my sinful soul, and diseased body, when I
thought them parting asunder without any reluc
tant thought, and shall I distrust thy power or
love in what thou hast yet for me to do, or suffer?
Strengthen my faith by this experience of thy
396 MEMOIRS Of
power and goodness for Jesus his sake, whom
thou nearest always.
1713, March 22. I cannot deny, O Lord, the
marks of a true love to thee. I value thee above
all, and verily hope I can part with all for thee.
E am sure I have a love for ordinances, and a
thirst after thyself, that there is no pleasure so
great to me as communion with thyself, and no
grief so lasting and so pungent as distance and
estrangement from thee. I have not ordinarily any
hard thoughts of thee. I am sure I allow of none. I
have a filial fear of offending thee, especially when
I enjoy thy smiles. I can mourn heartily for griev
ing thee, when thou art evidencing to me thy
pardoning love. My studied, allowed, and most
pleasant meditations are on thee. I choose thine
interest, and would ever prefer it to my own. I
love thy memory, and to commemorate thy dy
ing love at thy table. I commend thy love to all
others, but O that I did it more feelingly and
fervently ! I am grieved when thy name is pro
faned, though I am not valiant enough in resent
ing the affront I would obey all thy command
ments more sincerely, freely, and constantly in
the most difficult articles, aiid the most dangerous
seasons. Lord, help me! Eternal God-man, I
love thy person, as well as thy benefits. I love
thy sweet dispositions, and aim at a likeness, but
attain too little. I adore thee as the Son and
Servant of God, as my Redeemer, Husband, and
Advocate. I would submit, and be faithful,
loyal, and loving. I adore thy suitableness. I
feel my need of thee, and accept thee in all thy
offices. I adore and love thee for all thy graces,
and strive to imitate them. I adore and love
thee for all thine ordinances, in which thou hast
often shewn me thine unparallelled love.
1714, September 30. O Lord, who seest into
the secret recesses of my heart, thou knowest my
most ardent desires are after more holiness, and
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 397
resemblance to thyself. Thou gavest this thirst
not to torment thy creature. Thou hast pro
nounced a blessing to it, and promised that it
should be satisfied. But yet how little do I find
my soul as yet conformed to thine image and will?
Lord, shall I have the name of thy child so many
years, and yet no more of thy nature ! O that I
\vere more meek, merciful, humble, thankful, pa
tient, ready to give, and to forgive ! O Lord, I
have chosen thee for my portion, and verily hope
thou art and wilt be my everlasting felicity, and
yet what little selfish designs and thoughts pos
sess my mind ? I know and daily feel there is no
thing in this world can satisfy my soul, and yet
every little disappointment in the creature dis
composes my spirit. I feel this earthly tabernacle
falling, and yet what little joy do t find in the
prospect of my house in heaven ! Lord, what un
accountable contradictions are there in my de
ceitful heart? O search, and heal me!
1715, July 31. I went out in hope of some re
vival, and heard some of the sermon (a partial
deafness was now upon her) and my heart an
swered the marks of a deliberate, free, humble,
thankful, cordial unlimited consent to be the
Lord s. I renounce all others, and love to love
and obey him. I love his precepts, and had ra
ther conform to them all, than be pardoned for
my breaking any of them. I submit to his dis
cipline, but cannot be so cheerful under, or thank
ful for it as I ought. Lord, help me that I may
neither despise thy chastening, nor faint when I
am rebuked of thee ! I adore and love all thy
perfections, even thy justice, power, and sove
reignty.
I know thy goodness is commensurate to all,
and is thy glory. I adore and take thee for my
portion here, and for ever. I desire no other por
tion, but more of thyself, and then I have a
goodly heritage. I like and love thy people,
398 sjrj MEMOIRS OF
though weak, and infirm, and with spots, as I
have. I love thy institutions, and long to enjoy
thee in all ordinances, and to imitate thee in ho
liness, justice, goodness, and patience. Lord,
thou knowest this to be my love, and choice :
thou madest me consent, and therefore I hope
thou hast chosen me poor, vile, impotent creature,
for thou bctrothcst in righteousness to thy cove
nant (Hosea ii. 19- ) with thy Son, my Redeemer.
He has paid my debts to thy justice, and thou wilt
not require asecond pay merit. Thoiibetrothestaiso
in judgment (Hosea ii. \$.) on mature counsel.
Thy gifts and callings are without repentance. Thou
foresawcst all events, and how often I should
abuse thy mercy, and grieve thy Spirit, and yet
betrothedst in judgment. O adorable pure love
and kindness to betroth a creature so vile by birth,
so deformed, so lame, so blind, so weak, so poor,
and yet proud ! O the multitude of mercies ori
ginal and actual, first and continued mercies in
this espousal. Betrothed also in faithfulness
(Hosea ii. 20. ) though subject on my part to so
many infirmities, and worse transgressions, yet
in faithfulness. Though I sin, and thou cor-
rectest, yet thy faithful covenant fails not. Thou
wilt never cast me off, and I shall never depart
from thee. Amen.
1715, October 2. Lord, melt my dull heart
with the distinguishing unparallelled kindness al
ways shewn to unworthy me in watering my fleece
while the ground has been dry around me. O
the riches of immortal grace ! If I outlive 1117
senses, I cannot outlive my graces ! O how beau
tiful, how honourable, how durable.
1716, October 6. Not so much watchful over
my tongue as I ought to have been, having told
a fault of a member of the congregation to ano
ther before I had told the guilty, I begged par
don for this, and resolve on more watchfulness
over my words for the future !
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 399
1716, December 31. Very sweet the Sabbaths,
and all tbe Sacraments of the year have been. I
have received many gracious answers of prayers
for myself, and sick friends. And now, Lord, I
acknowledge the sweetness of following thy con
duct, relying on thy strength, and depending on
thy word. I also acknowledge the pleasantness
of thy ways; only my slips in, and stepping out
of thy paths have made all the bitterness of the
year. Lord, enable me to keep the resolution of
the year, to leave every circumstance of my fu
ture life and death in thine hands, to be watchful
over my words, and to do to others as I would
they should do to me !
1718, July 14. Very dull and drowsy all this
day. I have often covenanted to be the Lord s
with soul and spirit, with will and affections, but
yet how treacherous and unprofitable have I been!
I have renounced sin, self, this world, yet how
often have I been overcome by them ! I have ta
ken Christ Jesus the Lord on his own terms to
love, obey, and serve him, but how short have I
been found in all ? I have given up myself to God
through Christ, to the sanctifying operations of
the Holy Spirit, to the commanding powers of
his law, and the disposals of his Providence, and
would be to him a praise, yet how oft have I been
a dishonour to him ! Lord, I still resolve in thy
strength to be what I ought. Be surety for thy
weak but Avilling servant.
Such are the passages in this gentlewoman s
Diary. Large is the collection which her hus
band has drawn from her Memoirs, and whence
the above extracts have been made, but yet Mr.
Bury says, so copious is her/)/4**v, " that it had
" been as easy to have collected many hundreds
" more of such like passages from her original
" manuscripts, would it not have swelled the vo-
" lume he published concerning her beyond com-
" mon use." We shall only obseive, that the
400 MEMOIRS OF
same vein of piety, and holiness, which flowed in
such a full and strong current for such a number
of years, abated not in the last months and days
she spent on earth, but appears to have run on
without interruption till she entered into her mas
ter s joy; for thus she writes in the four last
months of her sojournment in our world.
1720, January 1 and 2. I ended the last, and
began the present year in extremity of pain. Af
ter a long waking night I could not fix my mind
on any thing with comfort till past four in the
morning, when I surrendered myself afresh to
God, and begged healing for my diseased soul.
I rose at six in much pain, intreated of God to
reconcile me to his discipline, and shew me where
fore he thus contends with me. Not long after
I had some ease, and was carried in a chair to the
house of God, where I gave thanks, and experi
enced a joyful day. Lord, pity, and heal my
soul, and prepare me for glory ! O make haste,
my beloved, and end these days of sin and sorrow
to a poor distressed worm that longs to be with
thee !
1720, February 21. Sweet entertainments !
How excellent is thy loving-kindness, O Lord !
How gracious was thine assistance to thine am-
O
bassador in public, and to a poor worm in fami
ly-worship !
1720, March 6. I went out, and heard the
sermon in great pain, and renewed my solemn
dedication of myself to God with firm resolution
in his strength to acquiesce in his all-wise disci
pline as best forme, however grievous to my flesh.
I returned in great torture, but with submission
to the rod, though its strokes are very sharp.
1720, April 18. The Lord has hitherto helped
me under bodily infirmities. I pray, and hope,
and wait for his gracious aids under all my spirit
ual complaints and maladies. Thou, Lord, know-
est my hunger and thirst for more righteousness.
MR$. ELIZABETH BURY. 401
and thou hast said I shall he filled. (Matt. v.
6. ) I rely on thec, O thou eternal Amen, and on
thy power, compassion, faithfulness for what I
want, and am longing for.
1720, May 1. ( Two days hefore she was struck
with her last sickness) While I looked inward I
was overwhelmed with sorrow for the sad remain
ders of vain and evil thoughts, pride, selfishness,
$c. whicli damped my joy and praise. O Lord,
accept my broken heart, which thou hast said
thou wouldest not despise. Teach me better how
to rejoice and mourn together, and give me vic
tory over my heart-sins.
The husband, and biographer of this excellent
gentlewoman acquaints us ; " that she wrote often
" to her intimate friends, and especially to such
" as were young to persuade them of the reason-
" ableness and benefit of the great duties of reli-
" gion to warn them against the temptations of
" their age and stations to improve their edtica-
" tion to excite them to an early and exemplary
" piety to confute their cavils to impress upon
" them the obligation of their baptismal cove-
" nant to satisfy their spiritual doubts, and en-
" courage their hopes in God, and perseverance
" in their Christian course. The most of these,
" says Mr. Bury, and the most considerable are
" supposed to be in the hands of such, whom
" they immediately concerned. Some part of
<; the very few that are come to my knowledge
" since her death are these that follow/
Out of this number we shall communicate only
a part, though it will be the major part, and so
conclude our Memoirs of this most pious and or
namental Christian.
VOL. i. r> d
402 MEMOIRS OF
LETTER I.
To a Person impatient under Crosses.
My pensive temper feeds not so much on fu
ture as present troubles. I never live till I get an
hour s converse with myself, and with that God in
whose hands my times are ; but, when I can turn
in and seriously consider the cause and effects of
my impatient struggles under the most just and
perfectly xvise disposals of Providence, I am cured
for that day by finding worse troubles within than
ever I found without. So true is great Mr. Dod s
saying, where sin sits heavy, the cross sits light.
I cannot but think it unparallelled ingratitude
that creatures fallen from God the chief good,
and final happiness of immortal spirits, and yet
restored by God incarnate, should so basely dis
pute the tasting of the cup, the dregs of which
he himself drank up for us. What can we surfer
from friends or enemies, in body, soul, name, or
estate, that he has not waded through, and tri
umphed over for our good, and in our stead ? And
is not our quickening head, the second Adam, as
powerful to conquer sin and sorrow, as the first
Adam was to convey them ? O for a more lively
faith in the great Redeemer to heal our souls of
this plague (impatience). Could Heathens say
it was glorious to live, when it was easier to die,
and cannot we be willing to live, when all in life
pleases us not ? O ! how unworthy of Christians
is such impatience ! I long for heaven, more for
freedom from such reluctances at the divine will
than from any troubles this world creates me.
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 403
LETTER II.
To a Parent on the Death of a Child.
I know your tender love to your children
must make a wound in your heart, when you lose
any : but I hope grace and long experience of
God s all-sufficiency, eternity, and the unchange-
ableness of his love and covenant are better to you
than your own or children s lives. The good as
surance your daughter left behind her of her en
tering into immortal glory has set her above our
pity ; and as to ourselves, our short remaining
moments here, and good hope through grace of
being very soon with all our departed perfected
friends should greatly moderate our sorrows ; for
why, for so short a time should we be so much
concerned whether we meet them next on earth,
or in the heavenly mansions, since the last only
can afford us that joy and pleasure which are with
out alloy or mixture ? If to hear that your chil
dren are well on earth rejoices you, why not to
know any of them are well, and can never be
otherwise in heaven ?
LETTER III.
To one in doubt whether the certain knowledge of
a Christian s state is attainable on earth.
I cannot but offer at some assistance under
your seeming doubt, Whether a person might
certainly know in what state he stands ? If once
we can persuade ourselves that the greatest good
is not attainable, it ceases to be the object of our
hope and endeavour. That wicked men, may
without doubt, conclude themselves such, and
D d 2
404 MEMOIRS OF
consequently in a damnable state, possibly you
might more easily believe, than that a person truly
accepting- Christ upon Gospel-terms, may discern
that he doth so, and consequently is in a state of
salvation. But that both are to be known, I
think, is sufficiently evident from Scripture, since
it puts us upon judging and trying ourselves, and
making sure our own salvation; and besides, ho\r
many saints have affirmed their knowledge, and
joyful evidences of God s grace in them ? Add
further, that our blessed Redeemer himself has
laid down this as an evident title (as the evidence
of our title) to the heavenly mansions, that if
Our hearts are there, our treasures are there also,
Matt. vi. 21. Can we imagine that the good
Spirit of God would excite our desires after such
an inheritance only to torment or deceive us ?
No, surely ; he, who is gone before to prepare a
place for *his disciples, hath left them his Holy
Spirit not only to fit them for that glorious inhe
ritance, but also to seal them up to the day of re
demption, and given them undoubted pledges and
earnests of their future possession The major
proposition is unquestionably true, that he who
believes shall be saved, the doubt will lie in the
minor ) but I believe, but upon serious trial, you
may come to the knowledge that you are the true
believer. That some persons upon their first con
version have been able to draw the conclusion, I
have no reason to doubt, but it is not God s or
dinary method to convince, convert, and assure at
once. Do not therefore impatiently conclude that
assurance is not attainable because it is not as yet
attained, but with strenuous endeavours be still
pursuing the making your calling and election
sure, always remembering that it is the same Spi
rit who works grace who alone can shine on it,
and discover and give you the clear knowledge of
his work. Pray hard, arid be very thankful for
kis least assistance, than which I know not a more
MRS. ELIZABETH BU RT. 405
effectual way to gain more. Beware of grieving
him by continuing- in any known sin, or neglect
ing any known duty. If you dally or trifle in
your return to God, it will not only make your
case seem doubtful, but, like a broken bone, make
you halt for many years to come. The smallest
sin, if not resisted and mourned over, will breed
doubts and troubles as surely as putrid flesh en
genders worms, therefore fall to your work in
earnest, and I can assure you the sooner you be
gin the greater will be your honour, and peace.
Though you may not presently be able to affirm
an infallible certainty of your state, yet, if by
such means you attain a comfortable hope to en
courage future endeavours, who knows how soon
you may triumph over your conquered enemies?
LETTER IV,
On the Death of an intimate Friend.
I came hither to close the eyes of my clear
friend; and since she might shine no longer
among sinful worms here, I bless God who
brought me to her instructive death-bed, where
faith, submission, patience, and almost uninter
rupted joy in breathing after her dear Redeemer
more than equalled all I ever saw in one who lay
so long in sight of their last ghastly enemy; and,
though I cannot yet pray against sudden death
yet her steel fast hope, and glorious conquest have
given me more tolerable thoughts of languishing
sickness, since in her I saw that neither the
strength of pain, nor weakness of the patient
can hinder a triumphant exit, when God will
make his joy our strength.
406 MEMOIRS OF
LETTER V.
Directions how to instruct a Child.
J am glad your brother can so prettily divert
you. I wish you wisdom and love to instruct
him. Be very watchful of his conversation, and
whatever you find faulty in him, shew him the
evil of it, rather than charge him with it, lest
you put him upon lying to hide his guilt. Let
him see you love him before you chide him, and
that you are ready to conceal or excuse his toler
able faults. Be very frequent, but not tedious in
your instructions. Often open the nature, and
inculcate the necessity of prayer for all we want,
and the encouraging promises of God that he will
hear us. Lisp to your brother in his own lan
guage what he prays for by his form, and labour
to excite in him a sense of his sad state by sin,
greater, desires after grace, and fuller resolutions
and endeavours after the life and power of godli
ness. Let some part of his catechism be daily
recited, and what he most imperfectly repeats be
said at his going to sleep, and at his first waking.
Talk over the sermons you hear together in lan
guage adapted to his capacity, and fail not to
beg of God a blessing upon all your labours, or
else you will do little to purpose. If God makes
you instrumental in the conversion of your bro
thers and sisters, it will be a great honour and
comfort, and produce the strongest union among
you. Take special care of them who are in the
greatest danger. Imitate your godly impartial
mother, who, though she loved all her children
alike, yet would often say, " If she knew to
" which child she had conveyed most of her sin-
" ful nature, she would pity and endeavour the
" help of that child most."
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 407
LETTER VL
To a friend under great dejection and desertion.
In these dark hours of your life the silence
of your friends may seem unnatural. I cannot
therefore but heartily condole you, and beg you
would not imagine your case to be unusual, or
out of the road of God s fatherly discipline, for
what good Christian s Diary did you ever read
or hear of, that has no such lines of complaint as
yours ? And no wonder when our Head, and Lord
Redeemer almost dies with them in his mouth ?
Why should we grudge to pledge him in that bit
ter cup, whose soul was sorrowful, and sore amaz
ed ? Can our jealousy argue a dereliction more
than his? Are not the gifts and callings of God
without repentance ? If your soul has not been
touched with the true loadstone, what makes it
stand trembling towards its beloved point ? Is not
love in desire, and lamenting after its beloved
object as truly love, as when resting in the enjoy
ment? If you find much dross in your best gold,
will you throw away both together? Or would
you change with one that hopes without trial ? I
find it a mighty craft of the old Serpent, when
upon serious search I have found sin in my heart
that did not discover itself upon transient inqui
ries, to be very ready to persuade me there was
nothing else to be found there. I bless God I
can at present believe he lies, but how long I shall
believe so I know not, for, alas ! I have some gloo
my days as well as others, especially under bodily
languors. I doubt not but you address yourself
to spiritual physicians under your present mala
dies. Blessed be God, you have many skilful
and faithful ones. Search not without their help,
and God send you a Messenger, one of a thou-
408 MEMOIRS OF
sand, who may shew to you your uprightness. I
know only he who creates the fruit of the lips
Peace, can make your help consolatory, yet wait
in the way of instituted means ; and remember it
was hut a little further (Cant. iii. 4.) the drowsy
spouse went in her search ere she found her slight
ed and grieved beloved. I trust your present
temptations to throw away your hope will not pre-*-
vail ; however think not of throwing off duty,
especially your attendance on that comfortable,
sealing ordinance, the Lord s Supper, which I
have reason to recommend to all my afflicted,
tempted friends, since I find it no small mercy to
go and renew rny former covenant, or, if I cain
not find my fidelity therein, to make it anew, for
surely God doth there renew his covenant with
everyfallon child of Adam who heartily consents,
though he cannot perfectly reach the terms ac
cording to his desire ? If former stated times of
communicating afford you not a sufficient support,
be more frequent, since every Lord s day gives
you an opportunity in the city. Remember my
dear disconsolate Grandmother waited long at
these waters, though with sorrow complaining
they were to her a sealed fountain, and that her
dutiful attendance ended in a triumphant death.
Before that period I hope to hear you are emerg
ing from under the waves that now overwhelm
you, and by that time you may be ready to
strengthen the weak hands from more glorious
appearances of God to your soul. I beg that the
God of all consolation would shine on the graces
he has wrought in you, and will by his own me
thods perfect in your soul, that, when he has
tried you, you might come forth as gold, and
meet for the inheritance of the saints in light,
where no doubt of God s love to you, or of your
love to him, will break your peace, or interrupt
your joy more.
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 409
LETTER VII.
Cautions against Spiritual declensions.
A declining state is incident to the best, and
therefore to be feared by all. How shamefully
have some of our acquaintance stained their fa
milies, and whither have their gradual declensions
at last brought than? 1 know there are many
who assert a total apostacy from true grace, but
you and I have been taught better, and can com
fortably conclude from God s unchangeable love,
decree, and almighty power engaged for persever
ance, and from our union with Christ, and his
constant intercession for us, that the habits of
true grace cannot be lost ; but alas ! what abate
ments may there be in the degrees and exercise,
in the life and strength of it? And how sad and
deplorable is such a case? Who can but pity a ro
bust body reduced to a skeleton by a pining con
sumption? And is less pity due to souls declining
in their graces, when ardc-nt *ove, strong desires,
humblest mournings, liveliest joys are all wither
ing, or choakecl with a confluence of worldly
cares, or pleasures ? Ah ! the sad ness of this state !
May I never weep over ?ny of my dear relations
in such a case ! The best are apt to decline in du
ty, in their love and ai-rction to it, and some
times find a sad distance from God, an estrange
ment from him, and a shyness of him in prayer,
which yet before has been the delight, and relief
of their souls. Surely the restraining prayer is a
very sad mark, and when our hearts do not joy
fully answer the call of God to seek his rate?
And it is little bettrr when our wandering spirits
are not watched, called in, and made to m\ their
work, but flies light upon ihe sacrifice tn:u used
to flame. Nay, if but our chearfulness iu duty
410 MEMOIRS OF
should ataite, how heavily shall we drive? If what
was once our delight becomes our task and bur
den? If after duty there are no advantage, no
greater nearness to God, no fuller resolutions, no
humbler resignations, how weary shall we quickly
be of our choicest happiness for the enjoyment of
some inferior good, or what is worse some foul
corruption, which our treacherous hearts have se^
cretly fallen in love with, while yet we profess to
be entirely the Lord s? There are in the best such
remainders of sin as ever incline to apostasy, for
none are so completly sanctitied, but the flesh is
still lusting against the spirit, and in-dwelling sin
is an active principle very importunate, and not
easily to be denied. The temptations too of satan
are always assaulting, and our own corruptions
are ever ready to side with them; yea and God s
just desertions often concur, for, though he does
not withdraw his love and care, yet for our neg
lects he often may and does suspend his influence
and assistance, and then what are we? Let me
entreat you not to lose these hasty lines till you
have tried your present case, whether you are
growing or declining, If grace withers I am sure
so must comfort. If this be your condition, re
member whence you are fallen, and repent, and
do your first works, and lay fresh hold on the
great Redeemer. If your case be better, bless
God, and rejoice my soul in letting me know it
LETTER VIII.
Cautions to a friend about marrying.
It is very odd, when you ask my opinion in
the matter proposed, that you only give me an
account of the gentleman s circumstances, and
not of his character. So far as I know I mu&t
freely own that I fear the estate is too great, and
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 411
likely to prove a snare to you. Bishop Hall af
firms, that riches have made many worse, but
never any better. I hope you would rather
choose to he hetter than richer, and that you will
never be biassed by an estate to an indifferent
choice. You know 1 have ever cautioned you,
and I must caution you still against too great a
fondness for wealth. Alas! should you have it,
ho w many things may i in bitter it to you? Should
you have a churlish Nabal, and you could only
behold your riches with your eyes, and not be
suffered to do any good with them, how uneasy
would that be to your charitable, generous mind?
Or should your partner s temper be good, vet, if
debts, or provision for younger children should
cripple a man s estate, it is but the name, and not
the thing which you enjoy. But if neither of
these disagreeables should happen, yet may not
worse? Supposing there is no piety, no warm de
votion in your husband, but an aversion against
your attendance on private altars, where you have
found more than all this world can afford you,
what perplexity are you then tied to for life? I
know what troubles you have met with, but
might you not by avoiding present plunge your
self iuto future difficulties? It is better to be in
distresses by necessity than choice. What evil
God inflicts is easier borne than that which we
bring upon ourselves. Let me entreat you to
moderate your desires after worldly grandeur.
Pardon my freedom. If I am apt to be too jea
lous of you, it is becauee I love you
LETTER IX.
On the death of a good Lady and Friend
I am heartily concerned for my own, and
for the country s loss of that excellent lady, and
MEMOIRS OF
condole you especially, who had the honour of
her friendship, I believe as much as could consist
with the inequality of your stations in this world,
and that the goodness of the deceased levelled
more than is usual even in pious ladies. A friend
wise, godly, compassionate, secret, &c. is a rarity
while it is enjoyed, and a loss seldom repaired in
this world. But O what a friend is our dear Re
deemer! He is not limited to one, or a few, like
our contracted minds, hut condescends to the
title and offices of a friend to all his faithful fol*
lowers. I am thankful for the tastes of his good
ness in creature-friendship, but in its utmost per
fection it is but a faint shadow of that which is
divine, and what I find in my eternal lover and
friend the Lord Jesus Christ, whose friendship has
not the disparagement which all creature-enjoy
ments have, of being but a short and uncertain
pleasure
LETTER X.
On a tradesman s casting up his shop.
Since you seem to be pleased with any of my
scrawls, I will give you a short history of what
has passed with us this Christmas. You remem
ber L now live with a tradesman called a Milli
ner*. I suppose from the multitude of things
that such ordinarily trade in, especially in the
country, it -is a prudent and laudable custom
with him to cast up his shop for the most part
once in the year. I love not to be ignorant of
any thing that falls in my way without trouble,
and therefore to divert my mind I have some
times engaged with him in some little part of
this pleasant fatigue, the whole of which is a
* Millc in Latin signifies a thousand.
MRS. ELIZABETH BURT. 415
thorough scrutiny into all that has been bought
and sold, what has been got by it, and what re
mains. In order to this abundance of files, of
bills, of letters, and of receipts, besides books,
were to be examined, but my province was only
to assist in measuring, and to write on every piece,
after it was measured, what it contained. The
trial of gains was left to themselves, and held
them to it day and night, and every one was
cheerful and pleasant at the conclusion. I ex
postulated with my landlord on the unnecessary
trouble of this for one who had no reason to sus
pect his circumstances, but was answered by him,
" that besides the pleasure of proving it (the
41 good state of his circumstances) his future trade
" could not be so successful, easy, and beautiful
" without this examination. The sale of what
" had been bought directs to what is best to be
" bought again, by finding out what had been
" sold to the best advantage. What had been
" misplaced, and thought to have been lost is now
* put in order again, and readily found. Besides
" the gain made a recompence for the trouble,
" and was an help to thankfulness, c." Now,
my dear friend, if we are so wise as to this world,
why should we be so w r cak for the other? And
yet how few are there, who with a like unwearied
diligence, dexterity, and cheerfulness cast up in
their spiritual traffic? I blush at my own sloth and
folly, and endeavour to commend heart-examin
ation to my thoughts for my Christmas employ
ment. The result of all my landlord s trouble
assures him he has gained by his last year s trade,
but can give him only some probable conjectures
how he may thrive the next, together with many
fears of losing by some unfashionable goods,
which he looks upon with heavy sighs. But, if
upon serious search, I can find 1 have gained any
true grace, 1 am sure of its increase, and that it
can never be lost, or become useless. Can I but
414 MEMOIRS OF
find grace as a grain of mustard-seed, I can safely
conclude it will grow up to a tree. The path of
the just, as a shining light, will shine more and
more to a perfect day. If I sigh over the weak
ness of my grace, I am yet encouraged when I
read the encomiums of my compassionate Re
deemer on the weak faith of many who have ad
dressed him in the days of his flesh ; therefore,
my good friend, let us call in the assistance of
others, and diligently search our hearts and ways,
and follow it to a comfortable conclusion, and
then my diversion may be useful to myself and
you
LETTER XL
Upon the death of a Sister..
I thought I could with less discomposure
have parted with a sister than I find I can. I
hoped that death would not have begun at the
wrong end of the register- book, but they are se
niors in the best sense, who have soonest done
their work, and are first fit for glory. Though I
could not have parted with a sister without tears
to any distant country upon earth, though it had
been to her advantage, yet reason would have
blamed, and soon overcome such a fond and fool
ish passion : and surely religion then should not
only do no less, but even more, when my sister
is in a far higher and happier preferment than all
this world can pretend to offer. Our all-wise
Creator first formed our bodies, and then inspired
them, and when he is pleased to dissolve the com*
positum, it is not that either of the constituent
parts should be destroyed. But the dissolution,
as to the righteous, with regard to their souls, is
immediate glory, and with regard to their bodies,
but a refining in order to a re-union. The for
saken mansion is indeed a melancholy object, and
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 415
it is very affecting to close the dear eyes that >vere
wont to delight us with their silent rhetoric, but
we more than water the body sown in dust, white
we dim our prospect of the glory of our friends
who have died in the Lord. Why should I wish
the soul in this body still, merely to say I have a
sister in such a place ? what :f heaven, where she
is, is farther off? I am sure, as that is more suit
able, so it ought to be nearer to my immortal
part; and may I not still have communion with
her, and the glorious company she keeps by lov
ing, praising, admiring, and adoring the same
God, though I am yet on earth? May I not re
joice in the thoughts of meeting her among the
spirits of the just made perfect? Surely they have
more courage, better success, or less difficulty
than I, who can wish the spiritual war protracted
But she has passed the pikes. O happy soul !
her body indeed is sown in corruption, it cannot
defend itself from worms, and is at present putri*
fying and loathsome, but it will not always be so.
If the innate desires of re- union could not per
suade me of a resurrection, yet the infallible word
of God has assured me of it, and that it shall
arise, not as it was sown, a natural and sluggish
body, but agile and sprightly, and fit to serve its
superior and vigorous soul. It is a pleasure to me
sometimes to think of the lustre and activity of
glorified bodies, which rest not either clay or night,
nor suffer any decays, imperfections, pauses, or
interruptions in their high and happy employ
ments, but the greatest pleasure of all is to think
of being for ever with the Lord
LETTER XII.
To a Friend under great afflictions and spiritual
Fears.
I cannot forget my promises of praying for
you, and writing to you. I daily attempt the
416 MEMOIRS OF
one, and wish I could perform it better; and a*
to the other, I should be glad if my pen could
assist your faith and patience under the smarting
rod oi] I hope I may say, your heavenly Father,
for so it may be, though accompanied with angry
frowns. It is true afflictions in themselves cannot
be proofs of Sonship, but we are fully assured by
the sacred Scriptures that the sorest trials are very
consistent with that privilege. The experience of
many of God s favourites confirms it. All the
promises of support under, benefit by, and deli
verance from such troubles suppose it ; yet our
souls are too apt to misconstrue fatherly chastise
ments for the revenges of an enemy, or to think
there is more anger than love in them, and to
murmur that they are so long and heavy. But
the all-wise Father of spirits cannot mistake in
measuring, timing, and appointing his methods
of healing souls. If guilt makes you fear his
wrath rather than taste his love in your afflictions,
you should cast your guilty soul upon him for
promised rest, and may well be assured that God
will not exact the debt from the offender and the
surety too. Fly daily to that refuge, that sure
hope, that justifying righteousness, and then you
will find no fury in God, how grievous soever
your afflictions are. You have liberty to pray for
pity and help as well as David, who, when he had
aching bones, had a sense of guilt also, even of
scandalous sins. If your own, or the cries of
others for you seem to be yet unheard, it might
be our mistake to urge for present ease without a
due respect to future cure. Sin is the worst dis
ease; its cure is to be sought, though by the
roughest methods. The children of God are
agreed in this, and yet can scarce submit the
means to the infallible Physician. Though we
can trust a surgeon to apply a caustic, though of
Lapis infernalis, and let it lie his time, if there
be any hope of a cure, yet how hardly can we
MRS. ELIZABETH BURY. 417
submit on higher reason, surer hope, or happier
experience to him, whose word of truth assures
us that every thing he does shall do us good, and
both purge away our sins, and make us partakers
of his holiness ? I must confess these lines upbraid
my own foolish choice oftentimes for myself and
friends, but I pray and wait for better submission
to the heaviest strokes, either on myself or them
LETTER XIII.
Various dispensations of Providence argued and
justified.
I have been long your debtor for a very kind
and comfortable letter which came seasonably to
hand, as I was groaning under great pain, and
sympathizing with others in bitter affliction.
Since then, I bless God, I have seen brighter
days, but clouds have returned after rain upon
others ; and may not all this put together com
ment! the variegated dispensations of Providence?
Had all our days been halcyon, would they have
"been so safe or useful? Had all been sable, how dis
consolate ? Were all the children in equal smart
under the rod together, we should be too ready
to make some unworthy reflections on the all-wise
discipline. Were not all alternately so, we should
be ready to suspect their Sonship. O jthe depth
of wisdom, that poor shallow mortals can never
fathom ! Yet how proud and peevish are we when
any thing is denied at our own time which we
fancy to be good for us ? Had I been always well
and at ease, how chill a sympathy should I have
had with the dear afflicted members of Christ?
Had you never been so, I had wanted your expe
rimental consolations. Now if the brief hints
of this beautiful variety in the dispensations of
Providence can afford us such pleasure here, how
VOL. i. EC
418 MEMOIRS OF
bright and glorious, how sweet and ravishing will
they appear when unfolded in eternal glory*?
And why should I he impatient of, of fear the
darkest scene that shall end in the brightest glo
ry ? Yet with shame and sorrow I confess the fear
of what I may feel has been as afflictive to me as
most I have felt, yea, when I have found a good
hope of an interest in God, and after a thousand
experiences of his never-failing compassions con
futing my guilty fears. This childish, or rather
unchildlike distemper, I think increases with
years, and is partly occasioned by frequent and
close converse with many of my superiors in grace
under, bitter afflictions living and dying; and
when I see what is done to the green trees-, I am
apt to run into an excess of fear what shall be
done to the dry. Fain would I cherish an awful,
while I subdue a slavish fear, but this I cannot
do of myself and therefore beg it of the God of
all grace, in which I crave your assistance.
Such are the threads (the above extracts of her
Diary and Letters) of the mantle Mrs. Bury left
behind her, when her spirit ascended to the celes-
* This observation of Mrs. Bur?/ falls in with a passage in a Let
ter of a late eminent Minister to his friend under affliction ; a pas
sage, which however excellent, may nerer as yet have been com
municated to the world. <c It is my hearty desire for you that
* your faith may ride out the storms of temptation, and the an-
" chor of your hope may hold, being fixed within the vail.
There site Jesu.s our forerunner, that sailed over -this rough sea
before us, and has given us a chart, even his word, where the
shelves and rocks, the fierce currents, and the dangers are well
described; and he is our pilot, and will convey us safe to the
shores of happiness. I am persuaded that in the future state
we shall take a sweet review of those scenes of Providence that
have been involved with the thickest darkness, and trace those
footsteps of God when he walked with us through the deepest
waters This will be a surprizing delight to survey the manifold
harmonies and correspondencies of clashing dispensations, and
to have those perplexing riddles laid open to the eye of our
souls, and read the full meaning of them in set characters f
wisdom and grace. *
HUS. ELIZABETH BURY. 41$
tial glory : how rich and heavenly their texture
our readers will judge.
We have now only to add a Poem which Dr,
Watts wrote on the occasion.
She must ascend : her treasure lies on liisjli,
.And there her heart is. Bear her through the sky
On wings of harmony, ye sons of light.
And with surrounding shields protect her flight ;
Teach her the wond rous songs yourselves compose
For your bright world ; she ll learn them as she goes
The sense was known before ; those sacred themes
The Go*/, the Saviour, and the flowing streams,
That ting d the cursed tree with blood divine,
Purchas d a heaven, and wash d a world from sin :
The beams, the bliss, the visions of that place,
Where the whole godhead shines in mildest grace,
These are the notes for which your notes are strung,
These were the joy and labour of her tongue
In our dark regions; these exalted strains
Brought Paradise to earth, and sooth d her pains.
Souls made of pious harmony and love
Can be no strangers to their icork above*
O
But must we lose her hence r the muse in pain
Regrets her flight, and calls the saint again.
" Stay, gentle spirit, stay. Can nature find
" No charms to hold the once unfctter d mind ?
" Must all these virtues, all these graces soar
" Far from dur sight, and bless the earth no more ?
* Must the fair saint to worlds immortal climb
f( For ever lost to all the sons of time :"
O, no ; she is not lost, behold her here ;
How just the form ! how soft the lines appear !
The features of her soul without disguise
Drawn by her own blest pen ! a sweet surprize
To mourning friends. The partner of her cnres
Seiz d the fair piece, and wash d it o er with tears,
Dress d it in flow rs, then hung it on her urn,
A pattern for her sex in ages yet unborn.
.Daughters of Eve, come trace these heavenly lines
Feel with what pow r the bright example shines :
She was what you should be. Young virgins, come
Drop a kind tear, and dress you at her toinb ;
420 MEMOIRS OE
Gay silks and diamonds are a vulgar road ;
Her radiant virtues should create the mode.
Matrons, attend her hearse with thoughts refinU,
Gaze and transcribe the beauties of her mind,
And let her live in you. The meek, the great,
The chaste, yet free, the chearful, yet sedate,
Swift to forgiveness, but to anger slow,
And rich in learning, yet averse to show,
With charity and zeal that rarely join,
And all the human graces and divine
Reign d in her breast, and held a pleasing strife
Through ev ry shifting scene of various life,
The maid, the bride, the widow, and the wife.
Nor need a manly spirit blush to gain
Exalted thoughts from her superior vein.
Attend her hints, ye sages of the schools,
And by her nobler practice frame your rules.
Let her inform you to address the ear
With conquering suasion, or reproof severe,
And still without offence. Thrice happy soul,
That could our passions, and her own controul,
Could wield and govern that unruly train,
Sense, fancy, pleasure, fear, grief, hope, and pain,
And live sublimely good ! Behold her move
Thro earth s rude scenes, yet point her thoughts above*
Seraphs on earth pant for their native skies,
And nature feels it painful not to rise.
Ye venerable tribes of holy men,
Read the devotions of her heart and pen,
And learn to pray and die. Burma knew
To make life happy, and resign it too.
The soul that oft had walk d th ethereal road,
Pleas d with her summons, took her flight to God.
But ne er shall words, or lines, or colours paint
Th immortal passions of the expiring saint.
What beams of joy, angelic airs, arise
O er her pale cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes,
In that dark hour ! how all serene she lay
Beneath the openings of celestial day !
Her soul retires from sense, refines from sin,
While the descending glory wrought within,
Then in a saci ed calm resigned her breath,
And, as her eye-lids clos d, she sinil d in death.
ELIZABETH BURY.
421
O may some pious friend, who weeping stands
Near my last pillow with uplifted hands,
Or wipes the mortal dew from off my face,
Witness such triumphs in my soul, and trace
The dawn of glory in my dying mien,
While on my lifeless lips such heavenly smiles are seen
422 JIEJ10IKS OF
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE,
MRS. Elizabeth Rowe, a gentlewoman, not
more admired for her fine writings by the
ingenious who did not know her, than esteemed
and loved by all her acquaintance for the many
amiable qualities of her heart, was born at Ilches-
ter in Somersetshire, Sept. 11, 1674, being the
eldest of three daughters* of Mr. Walter Singer,
a gentleman of a good family, and Mrs. Eliza
beth Portnell, both of them" persons of distin
guished merit and piety. Mr. Singer was not a
native of Ilchester, not so much as an inhabitant
before his imprisonment there. for his nonconfor
mity in the reign of king Charles the second,
but being confined there, Mrs Portnell, thinking
herself obliged to visit those who suffered for the
sake of a good conscience, as a testimony of her
regard, not only to them, but to our common
Lord, in this way commenced an acquaintance
with Mr. Singer, which afterwards proceeded to
an union that death alone could dissolve, and this
it did too soon for the mournful survivor, if the
tenderest affection might be judged, and for the
world also which can badly bear to lose any, and
^specially the eminent examples of virtue and re
ligion in the several scenes and stations of life.
Till her death Mr. Singer resided at Ilchester,
but not long after removed into the neighbour-?
Jioocl of Fro me, in tlje same county, where he be-
* One of the other two daughters died in her childhood, and
the other survived to her twentieth year, a lovely concurrent witla
her sister in the race of virtue and glory. She had the same extreme
passion for books, chiefly those of medicine, in which she arrived
at a considerable skill . Both the sisters frequently studied till mitU
Slight,- Jiiograph , Britannicq.
Put* lyR. ffyU Holtcm Lcn&
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 423
came so well known and distinguished for his
good sense, primitive integrity, simplicity of
manners, uncommon prudence, activity and faith
fulness in discharging the duties of his station,
inflexible adherence to his principles, and at the
same time truly catholic spirit, as to be held in
high esteem even by persons of superior rank;
the lord IVey mouth, who was reckoned a very
good judge of men, not only writing to him, but
honouring him with his visits, as did also the de
vout bishop Ken, and that very frequently, some
times once a week.
Mr. Singer was religiously inclined, as he said
himself, when about ten years old, and declared
that he never from that time neglected prayer,
and, as far as he knew his own heart, had sin
cerely endeavoured to keep a good conscience. He
died as, he had lived April ly, 1719, in a blessed
calm and peace, of mind, an4 humble confidence
in the mercy of God through a Redeemer. A
worthy and intimate friend of his and witness to
the heroic and Christian manner in which he
iinishedlife, observes, " that he settled his affairs,
tc and took leave of the world with the same free-
" dom and composure as if he had been setting
" out on a journey, was peculiarly careful that
" the widows and orphans, with whose concerns
- he was intrusted, might not be injured after his
" decease, conversed, though under great bodily
" disorders, AV jth those who came to see him, who
" were not a few, in the easiest freest manner,
" spent his time in praising and blessing God,
" praying to him, and giving good counsel to
" those about him, shewed an uncommon sweetr
ness and patience in his behaviour, and was exr
" cceding thankful tc> those who did the least
" kind office foy him, though they owed him a
" great deal more. In a memorandum relating
to her father s last sickness and death, Mrs.
Howe herself hath these words. " My father
424 MEMOIRS OF
" often felt his pulse, and complained that it was
" still regular, and smiled at every symptom of
" approaching death. He would be often crying
f< out, Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly; come,
" ye holy angels, that rejoice at the conversion of
" a sinner, come and conduct my soul to the
" skies, ye propitious spirits:" and then would
add " But thy time, Lord, not mine is best."
Such as were acquainted with Mrs. Rowe from
her earliest years, could not but observe a great
many things not common in that age of life
which promised that bright day that afterwards
ensued, and it must have been with peculiar satis
faction that Mr. Singer, in whom parental affec
tion conspired with a penetrating discernment to
heighten the pleasure, beheld the dawnings of a
great and good mind in his young daughter.
When she received the first serious impressions
of religion does not appear. Undoubtedly they
were made while she was very young, for in one
of her pious addresses she herself thus speaks to
God. " My infant-hands were early lifted up to
" thee, and I soon learned to know and acknow-
" ledge the God of my fathers*."
She loved, such was her taste for painting, the
pencil, when she had hardly strength and steadi
ness of hand to guide it, and one might almost
venture to say that even in her infancy she would
squeeze out the juices of herbs to serve her in
stead of colours. Mr. Singer, perceiving her
fondness for "this art, was at the expence of a
master to instruct her in it, and it never ceased
to be her amusement till her death.
She was also very much delighted with music,
chiefly of the grave and solemn kind, as best
suited to the grandeur of her sentiments, and the
sublimity of her devotion.
But her strongest bent was to poetry. So
* Devotional Exercises, p. 53.
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 425
valent was her genius this way, that her very
prose hath all the charms of verse without the
fetters, the same fire and elevation, the same bright
images, bold figures, and rich and flowing diction.
She could hardly write a single letter but it bore
the stamp of the poet. One of her acquaintance
remembered to have heard her sa} r , " that she
f; began to write verses at twelve years old,"
which was almost as soon as she could write at all.
In the year 16 )6, the % c 2d of her age, a collec
tion of her poems on various occasions was pub
lished at the desire of two of her friends, which
we may suppose did not contain all that she
had by her, since the ingenious prefacer gives the
reader to hope, " that the author might in a little
" time be prevailed with to oblige the world with
" a second part no way inferior to the former."
Though many of these poems are of the religi
ous kind, and all of them consistent with the
strictest regard to the rules of virtue, yet some
things in them gave her no small uneasiness in
advanced life, What she could not absolutely
approve, so quick was her moral feeling, appear
ed unpardonable, and, not satisfied to have clone
nothing that injured the cause of virtue, she was
displeased with herself for having written any
thing that did not directly promote it.
What first introduced her into the notice of
lord Weyrqoutti* family was a little copy of
verses of hers, with which they were so highly
delighted as to express a curiosity to see "her,
and the friendship that commenced from that
time subsisted ever after, not more to her honour,
who was the favourite of persons so much superior
to herself in the outward distinctions of life, than
to the praise of their judgment and taste, wlio
knew how to prize, and took a pleasure to en
courage such blooming worth. She was not then
twenty years of age. Her paraphrase of the 38th
chapter of Job was written at the request of bi-
426 MEMOIRS OF
shop Ken, who was at that time in the family,
and gained her a great deal of reputation,
She had no other tutor for the French and
Italian languages than the hon. Mr. Thynne, son
to the lord viscount IVey-mouth, who willingly
took that task upon himself, and had the pleasure
to see his fair pupil improve so fast under his les
sons that in a few months she was, able to read
Tqsso*s Jerusalem with great ease.
In the year 1710 she was married to Mr, 77/0
mas Row 6) the son of the Rev. Mr. Benoni Rowe,
a nonconformist minister of a reputable family.
This young gentleman, for he was. but about
three and twenty when he married, was possessed
of a very line understanding, had largely enriched
his mind with learning, and was rernarkably devoted
to knowledge and improvement*, Kir. llowe
* A very particular account of him is interwoven in the Life of
Mrs. Rowc prefixed to her M wcllanies. It appears, that Mr.
Rowe had formed a design to compile the lives of all the illustrious
persons of antiquity omitted by Plutarch, and for this purpose
read the ancient historians with great care. This, design he in part
executed. Eight of the lives were published after Mr. Rove s de-
cease, and do honour to his memory. In how high a point of
Jight he was considered, young as he was at the time of his
marriage, appears from the following Latin Epigram written by
Mr. John llusisell, I suppose the same who was minister at that
time at Ncvitigton-Grce?!, who died soon after, and left behind
him a most excellent character.
In Nuptias T/iomfe Rove et Elizabethan Singer^
Quid df>c turn par usque tuuin^ sociosquc lakores
Fabra.ttf Uacierii, Gallia vana crepas ?
Par inajus aens Angla deditjuvenem clique pucllam;
Quos hod Ic sacrofa-dcre junxit amor,
^funque ea quce nostri Phcebo cec incrc. docente
Explicuisse tuis gloria SHwrnaforct*
In English,
On, thp Marriage of Mr. Thomas Roice and Mrs. Elizabeth S&gcr^
I.
Let France no longer, plum d with pride,
Deleter s and Fvvres s praise resound,
And boast what volumes they compos d;
Their erudition how profound !
SIRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 427
well knew how to value the treasure yhich Pro
vidence had given him, in a woman of such exalted
merit, and amiable qualities, and accordingly
made it his study to repay the felicity with which
she crowned his life. The esteem and tenderness
he had for her arc inexpressible. It was some
considerable time after his marriage that he wrote
to her a very tender ode under the name of Delia,
full of the warmest sentiments of connubial friend
ship and affection, in which the following lines
may appear remarkable, as it pleased heaven to
dispose events in a manner so agreeable to the
wishes Mr. Rowc expresses in them.
Long may thy inspiring page,
And great example bless the rising age;
Long in thy charming prison inay st thou stay^
jLate, very iate, ascend the well-know way,
And add new glories to the realms of day!
/Vt least heav n will not sure this pray r deny,
Short he my life s uncertain date,
And earlier far than thine the destin d hour of fate!
V\ hene er it comes, may st thou be by,
Support my sinking frame, and teach me haw to die,
Banish desponding nature s gloom,
IVIake me to hope a gentle doom,
And fix me all on joys to come!
With swimming eves [ 11 gaze upon thy charms,
And clasp thee, dying, in my fainting arms;
Then, gently leaning on thy breast,
Sink in soft slumbers to eternal rest;
Without a groan resign my breath,
Nor shrink at the cold arms of death;
The ghastly form shall have a pleasing air,
And all things smile, while heav n and thou art there,
H.
Albion can shew a greater pair,
Whom this auspicious day has join 4
In love s inviolable bands,
Whose writings shall amaze mankind.
in.
What they by heav n inspirM indite,
So rich in rapture rolls their strain,
The Gallic pair shall count their praise
Supreme t illustrate and explain.
428 MEMOIRS OF
Mr. Rotve had not a constitution naturally ro
bust, so that his intense application to study
might perhaps contribute to that ill state of health
which allayed the happiness of his marriage state,
during the greater part of it. In the latter end
of the year 1714 his weakness increased, and he
appeared to labour under all the symptoms of a
consumption, This fatal distemper, after it had
confined him some months, cut off the fair hopes
of his doing great honour and service to his>
country, and put a period to his life May 13,
1715, when he was but just past the twenty-eighth
year of his age. He died at Hampstead y near
IiGndon, whither he had for some time resided for
the benefit of the air, and was buried in the vault
"belonging to his family in the cementry in Bun-
ftill-Jields, where on his tomb are only written his
name, and the dates of his birth and death. But
an inscription of greater pomp is rendered unne
cessary by the honour which Mrs. Rowe paid to
his memory in the elegy she wrote on his death,
which we iind among her poetical composures,
and shall communicate to our readers, not only
as a lively proof of her affection for her husband,
but as a specimen of her fine talents as a poetess^
In what soft language shall my thoughts get free*
My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee?
Ye Muses, Graces., all ye gentle train
Of weeping Loves, assist the pensive strain.
But why should I implore your moving art?
Tis but to speak the dictates of my heart.
And all that knew the charming youth will join
Their friendly sighs, and pious tears to mine*
For all who knew his merit must confess
In grief for him there can be no excess.
His soul was form d to act each glorious part
Of life, unstain d with vanity or art:
No thought within his gen rous mind had birth,
But what he might have own d to heav n and earth.
Practis d by him. each virtue grew more bright,
And shone with more than its own native light;
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE, 429
Whatever noble warmth could recommend
The just, the active, and the constant friend,,
Was all his own But O a dearer name,
And softer ties my endless sorrow claim!
Lost in despair, distracted, and forlorn,
The lover I, and tender husband mourn*
Whate er to such superior worth was due,
Whatever excess the fondest passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear youth : my joy, my care,
My pray rs themselves were thine, and only where
Thou wast concern d my virtue was sincere.
Whene er I begg d for blessings on thine head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I said;
My warmest vows to heav n were made for the<?.
And love still mingled with my piety.
O thou wast all my glory, all my pride,
Through life s uncertain paths my constant guide!
Regardless of the world to gain thy praise
Was all that could my just ambition raise.
Why has my heart this fond engagement known?
Or why has heav n dissolv d the tie so soon?
Why was the charming youth so fonn d to move?
Or why was all my soul so turn d for love?
But virtue here a vain defence had made,
Where so much worth and eloquence could plead,
For he could talk twas ecstacy to hear,
Twas joy, twas harmony to ev ry ear.
Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue,
Soft and transporting as the muse s song:
List ning to him my cares were charm id to rest,
And love and silent rapture filFd my breast;
Unheeded the gay moments took their flight,
And time was only measur d by delight.
J hear the lov d, the melting accents still,
And still the kind, the tender transport feel:
Again I see the sprightly passions rise,
And life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes.
My fancy paints him now with ev ry grace,
But, ah! the dear delusion mocks my fond embrace!
The smiling vision takes its hasty flight,
And scenes of horror swim before mv sight;
Grief and despair in all their terrors rise;
A dying lover pale and gasping lies;
Each dismal circumstance appears in view;
The fatal object is for ever new:
430 MEMOIRS OF
His anguish with the quickest sense I feel,
And hear this sad, this moving language stilL
" My dearest wife, my last,, my fondest care;
<{ Sure heav n for thee will hear a dying pray r,
" Be thdu the charge of sacred Providence,
t( When I am gone, be that thy kind defence;
" Ten thousand smiling blessings crown thy he
fc When I am cold, and numher d with the dead:
" Think on my vows, be to my liiem ry just;
" IVJy future fame and honour are thy trust:
* c From all engagements here I now am free,
" But that which keeps my ling ring soul with thee:
" How much I love thy bleeding heart can tell.;
" Which does, like mine, the pangs of parting feel 5
" But haste to meet me on those happy plains,
" Where mighty love in endless triumph reign."
He ceas d ; then gently yielded up his breath,
And fell a blooming sacrifice to death:
But oh ! what words, what numbers can express,
What thought conceive the height of my distress?
Why did they tear me from thy breathless clay?
I should have staid, aud wept my life away.
Yet, gentle shade, whether thou now dost rove
Through some blest vale, or ever-verdant grove>
One moment listen to my grief, and take
The softest vows that constant love can make.
For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego,
For thee my tears shall never cease to flow;
For thee at once I from the world retire
To feed in silent shades an hopeless fire:
My bosom all thine image shall retain,
The full impression there shall still remain:
As thou hast taught my constant heart to prove
The noblest height and elegance of love,
That sacred passion I to thee confine;
My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.
Mrs. Rowe continued to the last moments of
her life to express the highest veneration and af
fection to the memory of her husband, and shewed
a particular regard and esteem for his relations*,
* The Letter she left behind her to be delivered after her decease
to Mrs. Sarah Rove is begun thus.
MRS. M7ABTH ROWE. 431
several of whom she honoured with a long and
most intimate friendship. But a short time before
her death she discovered how incapable she was
of forgetting him by shedding fresh tears on oc j
casion of the mention of his name, so that the
lines she wrote on the anniversary return of the
day on which Mr. RozcC died might in some de
gree express the habitual, uninterrupted sorrow
she felt every day of her life for the loss of a com
panion that had been so dear and delightful to her.
Her lines are as follow :
Unhappy day! with what a dismal light
Dost thou appear to my afflicted sight?
In vain the cheerful spring returns with tbee*j
There is no future cheerful spring for me.
While my sllexis withers in the tomb,
Untimely cropt, nor sees a second bloom,
The fairest season of the changing year
A wild and wintry aspect seems to wear;
The flow rs no more their former beauty boast,
Their painted hue, and fragrant scents are lost,
The joyous birds their harmony prolong,
But oh! I find no music, in their song.
Ye mossy caves, ye groves, aiid silver streams,
The muses lov d retreats, and gentle themes,
Ye verdant fields, no more your landscapes please,
Nor give my soul one interval of ease:
Tranquillity and pleasure flv your shades,
And restless care your solitude iuvudcs.
My dear Mother,
I am now taking my final adieu of this world, in
certain hopes of meeting you in the next. I carry to my grave
my affection and gratitude to your family, and leave you with the
sincerest concern for your own happiness, and the welfare of your
family. May my prayers be answered, when I am sleeping in the
dust ! O may the angels of God conduct you in the paths of im
mortal glory and pleasure ! I would collect thfe powers of my soul,
and ask blessings for you with all the holy violence of prayer.
God Almighty, the God of your ancestors, who has been your
dwelling-place for many generations, bless you !
* Mr. Rove died as hus been mentioned before ia the spring o.f
the year 1715.
432 MEMOIRS OF
Nor the still ev ning, nor the rosy dawn,,
Nor moon-light glimm ring o er the dewy
Nor stars, nor sun my gloomy fancy chear,
But heav n and earth a dismal prospect wear:
That hour, that snatch d Alexis from my arms,
Rent from the face of nature all its charms.
Unhappy day, he sacred still to grief,
A grief too obstinate for all relief!
On thee my face shall never wear a smile,
No joy on thee shall e er my heart beguile:
Why cloes thy light again my eyes molest?
Why am I not with thee, dear youth, at rest ?
When shall I stretch d upon my dusty bed
Forget the toils of life, and mingle with the dead?
It was only out of regard to Mr. Rowe that
with his society Mrs. Rowe was willing to reside
at London during the winter-season. Accord
ingly as soon after his decease as her affairs would
permit she indulged her invincible inclinations to
solitude by removing toFrome, in Somersetshire,
in the neighbourhood of which place the greater
part of her estate lay. When she left the town
she determined to return to it no more, but to
spend the remainder of her life in an absolute re
tirement, yet on some few occasions she thought
it her duty to violate her resolution. In compli
ance with the importunate requests of the honor
able Mrs. Thynne she passed some months with
her at London after the death of her daughter the
lady Brooke, and on the melancholy occasion of
the decease of Mrs. Thynne herself, she could
not dispute the solicitations of the countess of
Hertford, afterwards the duchess of Somerset,
who earnestly desired her to reside some time with
her at Maryborough, to soften by her conversa
tion and friendship her severe affliction in the loss
of her excellent mother; and once or twice more
it is apprehended the power this last lady had
over Mrs. Rowe drew her by an obliging kind of
violence to spend a few months at this or some
other of her ladyship s country-seats. Yet even
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 433
tin these occasions Mrs. Rowe never quitted her
silent retreat without very sincere regret, and al
ways returned to it, as soon as ever she could with
decency disengage herself from the importunity
of her nohle friends.
In this recess she composed her pieces intitled,
Friendship in Death, and the several parts of the
Letters Moral and Entertaining*. The drift of
the Letters from the dead is, as the ingenious au-
thorf of the preface expresses it, " to impress the
" notion of the soul s immortality, without which
" all virtue and religion with their temporal and
" eternal good consequences must fall to the
" ground, and to make the mind contract, as it
" were, unawares an habitual persuasion of our
" future existence by writings built on that foun
" dation." It may be added also, that the design
both of these, and the Letters Moral and Enter
taining, is, by fictitious examples of heroic vir
tue, and the most generous benevolence to allure
the reader to the practice of every thing that en
nobles human nature, and benefits the world, and
by the just and lively images of the remorse and
misery attendant on vice to warn the young and
unthinking from being seduced to ruin by the
enchanting name of pleasure ; the piety of which
intention is the more worthy of the highest
panegyric, as it is so uncommon in witty and po
lite writers.
In the year 1736 the importunity of some of
Mrs. Rowe s acquaintance, \\lio had seen the His
tory of Joseph in manuscript, prevailed on her,
* The dates of these several pieces are as follow :
Friendship in Death, in Twenty Letters from the Dead to the
Living, 1728.
Letters Moral and Entertaining, in Prose and Verse, Part 1.
172f). PartS. 173!. Part 3. 1733
These works of Mrs. Rove were translated into French, and
published at Amsterdam in the year 1740, in two volumes, 12mo,
t Dr. Yonns.
VOL. !<. F f
434 MEMOIRS OF
though not without real reluctance, to suffer the
poem to be made public. She wrote this piece in
her younger years, and when first printed had
carried it no farther than the marriage of the hero
of the poem, but, at the request of her friends,
particularly of an illustrious lady*, to whom she
could scarce refuse any thing, she added two
books to include the relation of Joseph s disco
very of himself to his brethren, the composing
of which, as it is said, was no more than the em
ployment of three or four days. This additional
part, which was her last work, was published but
a few weeks before her death.
This grand event, the preparation for which
she had made so much the business of her life, be-
fel her, according to her wish, in her beloved re
cess. She enjoyed an uncommon strength of con
stitution, and had passed a long series of years
with scarce any indisposition severe enough to
confine her to her bed. But about half a year
before her decease she was attacked with a dis
temper which seemed to herself as well as to others
attended with danger. Though this disorder, as
she expressed herself to one of her most intimate
friends, found her mind not quite so serene and
prepared to meet death as usual, yet, when by
devout contemplations on the atonement and me
diation of our blessed Redeemer, she had forti
fied herself against that fear and diffidence, from
which the most eminent piety may not always be
secure in that most solemn hour, she experienced
such divine satisfaction and transport, that she
said with tears of joy, " that she knew not that
" she had ever felt the like in all her life," and
she repeated on this occasion Mr. Popes verses,
intitled, The Dying Christian to his Soul, with
an air of such intense pleasure as evidenced that
she really felt all the elevated sentiments of pious
* The duchess of Somerset,
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE, 435
ecstasy and triumph, which breathe in that beau
tiful piece of sacred poetry *. After this threat
ening illness Mrs. Roicc recovered her usual good
state of health, and, though at the time she was
somewhat advanced in age, yet her exact tem
perance, and the calmness of her mind undisturbed
with uneasy cares and passions, encouraged her
friends to flatter themselves with a much longer
enjoyment of so valuable a life than it pleased
heaven to allow them. On the day in which she
was seized with that distemper, which in a few
hours proved mortal, she seemed to those about
her to be in perfect health and vigour, and in the
evening about eight of the clock she conversed
with a friend with all her wonted vivacity, after
which she retired to her chamber. At about ten
her servant, hearing some noise in her mistress s
Though the Ode is so well known, yet it may be acceptable
to our readers to have it in immediate sight on this remarkable
gccasion.
1.
Vital spark of he.av nly flame,
Quit, O quit, this mortal frame !
Trembling, hoping, ling ring, flying;
O the pain, the bliss of dying !
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife >
And let me languish into lite.
Hark ! they whisper : Angels say,
Sister-spirit, come away."
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ?
3.
The world recedes ; it disappears :
Heav n opens on my eyes, my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings. 1 mount, I fly*
O grave, where is thy victory ?
O death, where is thy sting ?
F fa
436 MEMOIRS OP
room, ran instantly into it, and found her fallen
off her chair on the floor speechless, and in the
agonies of death. She had the immediate assist
ance of a physician and surgeon, but all the
means used were without success, and after hav
ing given one groan she expired a few minutes
heforc two of the clock on Lord s day morning,
Feb. 20, 1736-7, in the sixty-third year of her
age, her disease being judged to be an apoplexy.
A pious book * was found lying open by her, as
also some loose papers on which she had written
the following unconnected sentences*
O guide, and counsel, and protect my soul from sin !
O speak, and let me know thy heav nly will;
Speak evidently to my listening soul !
O nil my soul with love, with light, and peace,
And whisper heav nly comforts to my soul!
O speak, celestial Spirit in the strain
Of love and heav nly pleasure to my soul !
Thus it appeared that in reading pious
tions, or forming devout ejaculations for the di
vine favour and assistance, Mrs. Rowe made the
last use of the powers of her reason below the
skies, though little, it may be, did she think in
these her last moments how near she was to that
blissful hour when all her prayers would be com
pletely answered, and be exchanged for eternal
enjoyment and praise.
As she was greatly apprehensive that the vio
lence of pain, or the languors of a sick bed might
occasion some depression of spirits, and melan
choly fears unsuitable to the character and ex
pectations of a Christian, it was her earnest and
daily prayer to heaven, as appeared from her ma
nuscript-book of devotion, that she might not in
this manner dishonour her profession ; and sheof-
* It contained some meditations on religious subjects, but the
book is lost, and the title of it cannot be exactly remembered by
those who were about Mrs. jRowf at the time of her death,
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 437
ten expressed to her friends her desires of a sud
den removal to the skies, as it must necessarily
prevent any sucli improper behaviour in her last
moments, so that as the suddenness of Mrs.
Howe s death must he numbered among the feli
cities with which she was favoured by Providence,
it may be interpreted also as a reward of her sin
gular piety, and a token of the Divine Favour in
answer to her prayers.
Mrs. Rowc seemed by the gaiety and cheerful
ness of her temper to be peculiarly adapted to
enjoy life, and ail its innocent satisfactions, yet,
instead of any excessive fondness for things pre
sent and visible, her contempt for what she used
to term a low state of existence, and a dull round
of insipid pleasures, and the desires with which
she breathed after the enjoyments of the heavenly
world, were great beyond conception. When her
acquaintance expressed to her the joy they felt at
seeing her look so well, am) possessed of so much
health as promised many years to corne, she was
wont to reply, " that it was the same as telling a
" slave his fetters were like to be lasting, or com-
plimenting him on the strength of the walls of
" jijs dungeon," and indeed the fervour of her
wishes to eomnienrc the life of angels irresistibly
broke from her lips in numberless other instances.
She Avas buried according to her request under
the same stone with her father in the meeting-
place at Frome, on which occasion her funeral
sermon was preached to a very crowded auditory
by the Rev. Mr. Bowclen, her minister. Her
death was lamented with very uncommon sorrow
by all who had heard of her virtue and merit, but,
particularly by those qf the tqwn where she had
so long resided, and her most intimate acquain
tance. Above all, the news of her death struck
the poor and distressed with inexpressible afflic
tion, and at her doors, and over her grave they
bewailed the loss of their benefactress, poured
438 MEMOIRS OF
blessings on her memory, and recounted to each
other the gentle and condescending manner with
which she heard their requests, and the numerous
instances in which they had experienced her good
ness and hounty.
In her cahinet were found letters to several of
her friends, for whom she had an high esteem and
affection, namely, the Countess of Hertford, the
Earl of Orrery, Mr. James Theobald, and Mrs.
Sarah Rozve. These letters Mrs. Rozve had or
dered to he delivered to the persons to whom they
were directed immediately after her decease. They
are published in her life, drawn up by Mr. Theo-
phdus Rowe, and prefixed to her Miscellaneous
Works in Prose and Verse, and discover a most
pious spirit, a most tender and affectionate friend
ship, and, were it not that they would carry us
beyond our proposed limits, we might lay them
before our readers.
Besides these letters, she wrote also another to
Dr. JVatts, accompanying her papers, containing
the devout Exercises of her Heart in Meditation,
Soliloquy, Prayer, and Praise, which the Doctor,
according to her desire, soon after her decease
communicated to the world. The letter to the
doctor, and two or three of her Devotional Exer
cises, we shall take leave to ingraft into our Me
moirs, as they will afford the lively proofs of Mrs.
R owe*s eminent piety, and where her hope rested
in the views of a blessed immortality with the
Lord.
To the Rev. Dr. Watts, at
SIR,
THE opinion I have of your piety and
judgment is the reason of my giving you the
trouble of looking over these papers in order to
publish them, which I desire you to do as soon as
you can conveniently, only you have full liberty
|o suppress what you think proper,
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 439
I think there can be no vanity in this design,
for I am sensible that such thoughts as these -will
not be for the taste of the modish part of the world,
and before they appear I shall be entirely disin
terested in the censure or applause of mortals.
The reflections were occasionally written and
only for my own improvement, but I am not
without hopes that they may have the same effect
on some pious minds, as the reading the expe
riences of others have had on my soul. The ex
perimental part of religion has generally a greater
influence than its theory, and if, when I am sleep
ing in the dust, these soliloquies should kindle a
flame of divine love in the heart of the lowest
and most despised Christian, be the glory given
to the great spring of all grace and benignity.
I have now done with mortal things, and all to
come is vast eternity eternity how transporting
is the sound ! As long as God exists, my being
and happiness are secure. These unbounded de
sires which the wide creation cannot limit, shall
be satisfied for ever. I shall drink at the fountain-
head of pleasure, and be refreshed with the ema
nations of original life and joy. I shall hear the
voice of uncreated harmony speaking peace and
ineffable consolation to my soul.
I expect eternal life not as a reward (of merit)
but a pure act of bounty. Detesting myself in
every view I can take, I fly to the righteousness
and atonement of my great Redeemer for pardon
and salvation. This is my only consolation and
hope. Enter not into judgment, O Lord, with
tliy .servant, jor in thy sight shall no flesh be
justified !
Through the blood of the lamb I hope for an
entire victory over the last enemy, and that be
fore this comes to you I shall have readied the
celestial heights, and, while you arc reading these
lines, I shall be adoring before the throne of God,
where faith shall be turned into vision, and these
440 MEMOIRS OF
languishing desires satisfied with the full fruition
of immortal love. Adieu.
ELIZABETPI
The cleyout exercises of her soul, which we.
have thought proper to select from a very con
siderable number, no less than thirty-six, are the
three that follow :
Glory to God for Salvation by Jesus and his
Shod.
Let me give glory to God before I die, and
take shame and confusion to myself. I ascribe,
rny salvation to the free and absolute goodness of
God. Not by the strength of reason, or any
natural inclination to virtue, but by the grace of
God I am what I am. O my Redeemer, be the
victory, be the glory thine ! I expect eternal life
and happiness from thee not as a debt, but a free,
gift, a promised act of bounty. How poor would
rny expectation be, if I only looked to be re
warded according to those works which my own
vanity, or the partiality of others have called
good, but which, if examined by the divine
furity, would prove but specious sins ? As such
renounce them. Pardon them^ gracious Lord,
and I ask no more, nor can hope for that but
through the satisfaction which hath been made
to divine justice for the sins of the world.
O Jesus, my Saviour 1 what harmony dwells in,
thy name ! celestial joy, and immortal life are in
the sound.
Let the angels set this name to their golden
harps ! Let the redeemed of the Lord for ever
magnify it !
O my propitious Saviour, where were my hopes
but for thee? How desperate, how undone were
my circumstances? I look on myself in every
view I can tnke with horror and contempt. I
was born in a state of sin and misery, and in my
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 441
best estate am altogether vanity. With the utmost
advantages I can boast I shrink back, I tremble
to approach before unblemished majesty. O thou
in whose name the Gentiles trust, be my refuge
in that awful hour ! To thee I come, my only
confidence and hope. Let the blood of sprink
ling, let the blood of the covenant be on me !
Cleanse me from my original stain, and my con
tracted impurity, and adorn me with the robes
of thy righteousness, by which alone I expect to
stand justified before infinite justice and purity !
O enter not into judgment with me, for the
best actions of my life cannot bear thy scrutiny !
Some secret blemish has stained all my glory.
My devotion to God has been mingled with levity
and irreverence ; my charity to man with vanity
and ostentation. Some latent defect has attended
my best actions, and those very things, which
perhaps have been highly esteemed by men, have
deserved contempt in the sight of God.
When T survey the wondVous cross
On which the Prince of Glory dy d,
My richest gain i count but loss/
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the cross of Christ my God :
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to thy blood.
A Prayer for speedy Sanctification.
O Lord God, great and holy, all-sufficient,
and full of grace, if thou shouldest bid me form
a wish, and take whatsoever I had in heaven or
earth to ask, it should not be the kingdoms of
this world, nor the crowns of princes; no, nor
should it be the wreaths of martyrs, nor the thrones
of archangels. My first request is to be made
holy. This is my highest concern. Rectify the
disorders sin has made in my soul, and renew
thine image there. Let me be satisfied with thy
442 MEMOIRS OF
likeness. Thou hast compassed my paths with
mercy in all other respects, and I am discontented
with nothing but my own heart, because it is so
unlike the image of thy holiness, and so unfit for
thy immediate presence.
Permit me to be importunate here, O blessed
God, and grant the importunity of my wishes.
Let me be favoured with a gracious and speedy
answer, for I am dying while I am speaking. The
very breath with which I am calling upon thee is
carrying away a part of my life. This tongue
that is now invoking thee must shortly be silent
in the grave. These knees that are bent to pay
thee homage, and these hands that are now lifted
up to the Most High God for mercy must shortly
be mouldering in their original dust. These eyes
will soon be closed in death, which are now look
ing up to thy throne for a blessing. O prevent
the flying hours with thy mercy and let thy fa
vour outstrip the hasty moments !
Thou art unchanged while rolling ages pass
along, but I am decaying with every breath I
draw. My whole allotted time to prepare for
heaven is but a point compared with thy infinite
duration. The shortness and vanity of my present
being, and the importance of my eternal concerns
join together to demand my utmost solicitude,
and give wings to my warmest wishes. Before I
can utter all my present desires, the hasty oppor
tunity perhaps is gone, the golden minute vanish
ed, and the season of mercy has taken its ever
lasting flight.
O God of ages, hear me speedily, and grant
my request while I am yet speaking. My frail
existence will admit of no delay ; answer me ac
cording to the shortness of my duration, and the
exigence of my circumstances. My business of
high importance as it is, yet is limited to the
present NOW, the passing moment, for all the
powers of earth cannot promise me the next.
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE, 443
Let not. my pressing importunity therefore of
fend thee. My happiness, my everlasting happi
ness, my whole heing are concerned in my suc
cess. As much as the enjoyment of God himself
is worth is at stake.
Thou knowest, Lord, what qualifications AVI 11
fit me to behold thee. Thou knowest in what I
am defective. Thou canst prepare my soul in an
instant to enter into thy holy habitation, ";1
breathe now, but the next moment may be death.
Let not that fatal moment come before I am pre
pared. The same creating voice, that said, Let
there be light, and there was light, can in the
same manner purify and adorn my soul, and make
me fit for thy presence, and my soul longs to be
thus purified and adorned. O Lord, delay not,
for every moment s interval is a loss to me, and
may be a loss unspeakable and irreparable. Thy
delay cannot be the least advantage to thee. Thy
power and clemency are as full this present instant
as they will be the next, and my time as fleeting,
and my wants as pressing.
Remember, O eternal God, my lost time is for
ever lost, and my wasted hours will never return.
My neglected opportunities can never be recalled.
To me they are gone for ever, and cannot be im
proved, but thou canst change my sinful soul into
holiness by a word, and set me now in the way to
everlasting improvement.
O let not the Spirit of God restrain itself, but
bless me according to the fulness of thine own
being, according to the riches of thy grace in
Christ Jesus, according to thy infinite inconceiv
able love manifested in that glorious gift of thy
beloved Son, in whom the fulness of the God-
bead was contained. It is through his merit and
mediation I wait for all the unbounded blessings
J want, and ask for.
444 MEMOIRS OF
for the coming of Christ.
Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. O come
lest my expectation faint, let I grow weary, and
murmur at thy long delay ! I am tired with these
vanities, and the world grows every day more un-
entertaining, and insipid. It has now lost its
charms, and finds my heart insensible to all its
allurements. Wjth coldness and contempt I view
these transitory glories, inspired with nobler pros
pects, anfl vaster expectations by faith. I see
the promised land, and every day brings me nearer
the possession of my heavenly inheritance. Then
shall I see God, and live, and face to face beho!4
my triumphant Ilecleemer ?
And in his favour find immortal light.
Ye hours,, and days, cut short jour tedious flight;
Ye months, and years, if such allotted be
In this detested barren world for me,
With hasty revolution roll along:
I languish with impatience to be gone.
I have nothing here to linger for. My hopes,
my rest, my treasure, and my joys are all above.
My soul faints for the courts of the Lord in a dry
and thirsty land, where there is no refreshment.
How long shall I dwell in Mescch, and sojourn
in the tents of Kedar ? When will the weari-
,some journey of life be finished ? When shall I
reach my everlasting home, and arrive at my
celestial country ? My heart, my wishes are already
there. I have no engagements to delay my fare-
wel; nothing to detain me here; but I wander
an unacquainted pilgrim, a stranger and desolate,
far from my native regions.
My friends are gone before, and are now tri
umphing in the skies, secure of the conquest,
possessed of the rewards of victory. They survey
the field of battle, and look back with pleasure
on the distant danger. Death and hell for ever
vanquished leave them in the possession of end-
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 445
less tranquillity and joy, while I, beset with a
thousand snares, and tired with continual toil,
unsteadily maintain the field, till active faith steps
in, assures me of the conquest, and shews me thef
immortal crown. It is faith tells me that light
is sown for the righteous, and gladness for tlic
upright in heart. It assures me that my Re-
deemer lives, and that he shall stand at the last
day upon the earth, and that, though after my
skin worms destroy this body, yet that in my
fiesh I shall see God ; whom I shall see for my
self, and not another, and these eyes shall be
hold, though my reins be consumed within me.
Amen, even so come, Lord Jesus. This must he
the language till thou dost appear, and these my
impatient breathings after tliee. Till I see thy
salvation, my heart and my flesh will pine for the
living God.
Grant me, O God, to fulfil as an hireling my
days. Shorten the space, and let it be full of
action. It is of small importance how few there
are of these little circles of days and hours, so
that they are but well filled up with devotion and
all proper duty.
Besides the compositions of Mrs. Rowe which
have been already mentioned, namely, Friendship
in Death, Letters Moral and Entertaining,
The History of Joseph, and the Dcxout Exer
cises of the Heart, there are also two more
volumes that go under the name of her j\Iiscel-
laneous works, the first of which is a collection
of her poems written at various times, and on
various occasions, and the other a long series, to
the number of 167, of her familiar letters to her
friends. To the last volume are added, according
to Mrs. Rozce s order that these poems of her
husband s should be joined with her own, several
essays in poetry of Mr. Rowe s, which, "though,"
as the writer of her life observes, " they were de-
" prived by the immature death of the author of
446 MEMOIRS OP
" his corrections, yet shew so much strength of
" genius as will easily atone for any slight inac-
" curacies." " She had no other view," says the
editor of her miscellaneous poems, Mr. Theo-
philus Rozue, her brother-in-law, " in their pub-
" lication, to use the words of the letter in which
" she intrusted them to my care, hut the profit or
" innocent entertainment of the reader. I hope,
" continues she, all my present design is ab-
" stractedly the interest of virtue, for a reputation
" among mortals is a very insignificant thing to
" me, who hope, before these papers are published,
" to be above their censure or applause, and to
" receive the approbation of the Supreme Judge :
ft but if they may be any advantage to the cause
" of virtue it will be a great satisfaction to me."
These volumes, with the compositions just recited,
may be reckoned to complete her works, in which
we may venture to say, a pious and polite reader
-will not seek in vain for instruction and entertain-
1 ment. " The softness of her sex, and the fine-
" ness of her genius," says the ingenious Mr.
Matthew Prior*, " conspire to give her a very
"distinguishing character;" and this character
is still more distinguishing, as it is mingled with
such uncommon piety and virtue, as we have
seen in part, but as will be more conspicuously
shewn, while we communicate the picture, if we
may so style it, of the amiable excellencies of
her mind, as drawn by the just-mentioned writer
of her Life, as well as editor of her Miscellanies.
She had the happiest command over her pas
sions, and maintained a constantserenity of temper,
and sweetness of disposition, that could not be
ruffled with adverse occurrences, nor soured by
the approaches of old age itself It has been
questioned whether she was ever angry in her
whole life, at least with those little infelicities,
* See his Preface to his Teems.
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 447
and displeasing incidents that fell out in common
life, which, though really of a trivial nature, fre
quently prove too powerful temptations to in
decencies of passion, but with her they were rather
the subjects of mirth and agreeable raillery. It
ought also to be observed, as persons are apt to
be least on their guard against excesses of this
kind towards inferiors and domestics, that her
servant, Avho lived with her near twenty years,
scarce ever discovered in her mistress any ten
dency to anger towards herself, or any warmth of
resentment against others, except in the cause of
heaven against impiety and flagrant crimes ; on
which occasions some degree of indignation is not
only irreproachable, but truly deserving the name
of commendable and virtuous zeal.
Together with the most manly elevation of ge
nius Mrs. Rowe possessed all that gentleness and
softness of disposition which are so peculiarly the
ornaments of her sex, and was entirely free from
that severity of temper which has made the cha
racter of a wit unamiable, if not quite infamous.
Next to impure and profane writings she expressed
the strongest aversion against satire, as it is usually
so replete with personal malice and invective.
No strokes of this kind can be found in her works,
and her conversation was no less innocent of every
appearance of ill-nature than her writings. She
fortified her resolutions against evil-speaking by
particular and solemn vows, as appears by the
following sacred engagement transcribed from her
manuscript.
October 6, 172G.
O let me once again bind myself to the Lord,
never, by thy grace, to speak evil of any person.
O help me to govern my tongue by the strictest
rules of charity and truth, and never to utter any
evil surmises, or make the least reflection to the
dishonour of my neighbour. Let me in the mi-
448 MEMOIRS OF
nutest circumstance clo to others as I would they
should act to me. Let me hope, let me helieve
all things to the advantage of others. Give me
thy divine assistance to perform this great duty,
and set thou a watch on my words, and keep, O
strictly keep the door of my lips, that I offend
not with my tongue. Now let thy grace he suf
ficient for me, and thy strength he manifest in
my weakness. In thy strength, in the name of
the Lord my Redeemer, let me engage with all
my future temptations. Look graciously on this
petition, and remember me when I am in any sus-^
pense, any exigence, and am ready to forget my
engagements. In the moment that I shall waver
strengthen me, restrain me when the malignant
thought arises ; and, while the yet unuttered
words are ready to issue from my lips, set thou
thy bridle there, and govern my rebellious faculty,
Mrs. Rowe strictly regulated her conduct by
the solemn vow, and could hardly think any oc
casion would justify the report of what was pre
judicial to the reputation of another. " I can
" appeal/ says she in a letter to a lady with whom
she had lived in a long and most intimate friend
ship, " if you ever knew me make an envious, or
" an ill-natured reflection on any person upon
" earth. Indeed the follies of mankind would
" aiford a wide and various scene, but charity
" would draw a veil of darkness here, and choose
" to be for ever silent rather than expatiate on
" the melancholy theme." Scandal and detrac
tion appeared to her such extreme inhumanity as
no charms of wit and politeness could make tole
rable. If she was forced to be present at such
kind of conversation, she had sometimes, when
the freedom might be decently used, the courage
openly to condemn it, " and, says her biographer,
" I believe always the generosity to undertake the
" defence of the absent, when unjustly accused,
" and to extenuate even theirrealfaults and errors."
HRS. ELIZABETH ROWF. 449
She was as much a stranger to envy as if it bad
been impossible for so base a passion to enter into
tbe human heart, and was always forward to do
justice to every fine writer, and illustrious cha
racter of the age. Sbe exceedingly loved to praise,
and never failed to observe and applaud every ap
pearance of merit in those with whom she was
acquainted, at the same time overlooking all their
frailties with more than even the usual partiality
of friendship. Yet, though she could have wished
to have made no other use of speech than to
commend worth and goodness, a sense of duty
on some occasions compelled her to reprove, but
tbe seeming severity of this virtue was tempered
by the softest arts of gentleness and love. In
proof of which it may not be improper to add, as
an instance of the honest artifice she used to dis
guise her admonitions, that she has been frequently
observed to commend persons of distinguished
eminence for one kind of moral worth before some
of her friends who were deficient in that particular
virtue, in hopes that they might be struck with
the beauty of the example, which she proposed to
their imitation in a manner so little liable to give
offence.
She had few equals in her excellent turn for
conversation. Pier wit was inexhaustible, and
she expressed her thoughts in the most beautiful
and flowing language, and as these uncommon
advantages were accompanied with an easy good
ness and unaffected openness of behaviour, she
powerfully charmed all who conversed with her.
A peculiar elevation of understanding made her
despise those trifles which so frequently dwell on
the lips of the fair sex, and she would always
have chosen to talk on important and instructive
themes, yet, lest constant discourse of a serious
kind should prove distasteful and wearisome, she
sometimes entertained her friends on more gay
and indifferent subjects. But, as soon as a trail-
VOL. i. G g-
450 MEMOIRS OF
sition could be made without the appearance of
affectation, she returned to her favourite topics,
on which she exerted all her exquisite talents to
recommend the most exact morality and sublime
piety, so that it seemed impossible to be in her
company without growing wiser and better, or to
leave it without regret.
Mrs. Rowe s wit, beauty*, and merit, had even
from her youth conciliated to her much compli
ment and praise, and these from such judges of
worth as might have given some tincture of vanity
to her mind. Yet amidst all these temptation*
to pride she retained all the humility of .the
meanest and most obscure person of the human
race. She rarely mentioned any of her writings,
even to her most intimate friends, nor ever dis
covered the least elation of mind at their great
success, and the approbation they received from
some of the finest writers of the age. The praises
with which her works were honoured only led her
to ascribe the glory to the original of all perfec
tion, on whose power she maintained a constant
sense of her dependence, and with the most grate
ful piety owned her obligations to his goodness.
" It is but for heaven," said she, " to give a turn to
" one of my nerves, and I should be an ideot."
She assumed no indecent share in conversation,
and has been frequently known to be silent on
* Her person is thus described by the writer of her life.
* Though she was not a regular beauty, yet she. possessed a large
6< measure of the charms of her sex. She was of a moderate sta-
** ture, her hair of a fine auburn colour, and her eyes of a darkish
" grey, inclinable to blue, and full of (ire. Her complexion was
61 exquisitely fair, and a natural rosy blush glowed in her checks.
" She spoke gracefully, and her voice was exceeding sweet and
" harmonious, and perfectly suited to that gentle language which
" always flowed from her lips. But the softness and benevolence
48 of her aspect were beyond all description. They inspired irre-
** sistible love, yet not without some mixture of that awe and ve-
** neration which distinguished sense and virtue apparent in the
6 f countenance are wont to create."
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 451
Subjects she well understood, and on which she
could have displayed her capacity to great ad
vantage. Her friends could not fail to observe
the modest care she took in avoiding the mention
of any thing that could tend to her own honour,
" Nor can I remember," says her historian, the
above-mentioned Mr. Theophilus Howe, her hus
band s brother, " during the long intimacy with
" which she favoured me, one expression of va-
" nity, or sense of her own worth that might in
" the least stain her humility. She never dictated
" to others, nor arrogated any respect and defe-
<4 rence to her own sentiments, but, in conversing
" with persons of parts and abilities far beneath
" her own, seemed to study to make the supe*
" riority of her genius easy to them by the most
" obliging goodness, and condescension of he-
" haviour : nor were her affability and readiness
" of access to those of the lowest rank less re-
" markable and exemplary. It was impossible
" for her to treat any one with insolence or con-
* tempt. On the contrary, as she infinitely loved
" and reverenced true goodness, I have been wit-
" ness of the real and peculiar respect she paid to
" sincere piety, when great degrees of ignorance
" and extremely mean circumstances might have
" quite obscured it to less humble and generous
" minds/
She was perfectly untainted with the love of
pleasure, which is so inimical to religion and
virtue. She was ignorant of every polite and
fashionable game. Play she believed at best was
but an art of losing time, and forgetting to think,
but, when she reflected on the fatal consequences
that attend a fond attachment to cards and dice,
she had even an horror of them. Her taste was
too just to relish those insipid trifles called Novels
and Romances, and which not infrequently are
worse than insipid, being filled with indecent
images, which pollute the imagination, and shock
G gg
452 MEMOIRS OF
every chaste mind. She would indeed have
esteemed the diversions of the English theatre,
especially those of the tragic kind, capable of
affording the most noble and rational pleasure, if
she could have believed them innocent, but so
few of them appeared to her inoffensive to virtue
that she thought it fit to abstain from those en-
O
tertainments, which in her opinion generally
tended to promote impurity of manners, and ex
pose piety to scorn and ridicule* The grandeur
of her soul preserved her from any fondness for
luxury in food, judging it much beneath the dig
nity of a being possessed of reason, and born for
immortality. She was always pleased with what*
ever she found on her table, and neither the kind
of her food, nor the manner of dressing it, gave
her any uneasiness, for, if in either of these re
spects it was not perfectly agreeable, it only af
forded her a subject of wit and pleasantry, instead
of occasioning any disgust, or serious resentment.
She mixed in no parties of pleasure, and extremely
despised the trivial and uninstructive conver
sation of formal visits, which she avoided at least
as much as decency would allow; and indeed (ex
cept drawing) she had almost an equal contempt
for every thing that bears the name of diversion
and amusement, even of the most innocent kind.
" But I confess," says her historian, " this part
" of the character of this excellent lady may not
" be so fit for general imitation, for though the
" constant vivacity and cheerfulness of Mrs.
" Rowc s natural temper might possibly seem to
" set her above the necessity of allowing herself
" some intervals of amusement to relax the mind,
" yet such great abstinence from every kind of
( recreation might in some persons tend to sour
" the mind with austere and nnamiable dispo-
" sitions, or at least to depress the spirits to such
" a degree of melancholy as would unfit them for
" the necessary duties and offices of life/
MRS. ELIZABETH KOWE. 453
She had a contempt of riches that has been
rarely equalled. As she expressed herself much
pleased with the moderate fortune allotted her by
the Divine Providence, which afforded her ease
and plenty to the extent of her wishes, so she
never pursued any designs to advance her circum
stances in life. She could not be persuaded to
publish her works by subscription, or even to
accept the advantageous terms of the bookseller,
if she would permit her scattered pieces to be col
lected and published together. She never saw a
court ; and if she has occasionally mentioned with
honour some of the princes under whose reigns
she lived, it M r as only from a sincere veneration
for them as the supporters of liberty, which in
estimable blessing she justly valued, and without
the least expectation of any reward beyond the
pleasure of shewing her gratitude to those who ap
peared to her public blessings to their country.
The high esteem she expressed for some of her
friends of distinguished rank was equally free
from the suspicion of interested views, for, as
she gained nothing by their friendship but the
pleasures of their conversation, and an acquaint
ance with their virtues, the praises she gave them
ought only to be considered as the incense due to
merit. The love of money she thought the most
sordid and ignoble of passions, and frequently
lamented its too general prevalence over the
human mind. She did not know her own estates
from others till some motives of prudence obliged
her to inform herself when she apprehended she
was soon to leave them, and she was so far from
that rigour in exacting her due which approaches
to inhumanity, that her neglect of her interest
may rather be censured as carried to an extreme.
She let her estates below their intrinsic value, as
appeared by the considerable advance of their
rents after her decease, and she was so gentle to
tenants, that she not only had no law-suit
454- MEMOIRS OF
with any of them, but would not so much as
suffer them to be threatened with the seizure of
their goods on the neglect of the payment of their
rents. Several instances might be adduced in
which she voluntarily departed from her right,
when she had the strongest claim of equity. She
could scarce bear the mention of injustice without
trembling, and the tenderness and delicacy of her
conscience with regard to this sin were so great
that she hardly could keep far enough from it,
" I can appeal to thee," says she, in an address
to God, " how scrupulously I have acted in mat-
" ters of equity, and how willingly I have in-
" jured myself to right others/ She spoke with
much emotion of the extreme danger of any dis
honest and fraudulent practice, and expressed her
wonder how persons could die with any tranquil
lity of mind under the least degree of such kind
of guilt.
Mrs. Rowe s indifference to glory was very re-
tnarkable. As she seemed to shun fame by con
cealing herself, during almost the whole of her
life, in an obscure solitude, so she practised no
arts to promote her reputation. She would not
so much as allow her name to be prefixed to any
of her works, excepting perhaps some few poems,
in the earlier part of life, and though this oc
casioned several of her works to be ascribed to
other hands, she did not alter the modesty of her
conduct. When she intended to communicate
to the world Friendship in Death she shewed the
manuscript to no more than one person, on whose
secrecy she could rely, and after he had by her
order copied it in his own hand, she sent it to
Dr. Young, only knowing him by his works, and
inscribed his name to the dedication, in hopes that
being published by him, and appearing under the
patronage of his name, all her acquaintance would
imagine this piece to be written by some friend
of that eminent poet: and when the inimitable
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE.
455
beauties of Mrs. Rove s manner of writing dis
covered the true author, and the performance
began to be universally admired, she still con
tinued to avoid owning it as far as was consistent
with the strictest truth. She even declined the
honour due to her ashes and memory after death,
tor, when she selected from her manuscript vo
lume of devotions some exercises of piety with a
view to their publication after her decease, she
studiously omitted those parts that would have
discovered her unexampled chanty, and other
virtues, which most conciliate the esteem and ve
neration of the world ; nor could any thing, per
haps, says her biographer, " but the suddenness
" of her death, have prevented her committing
" to the flames her manuscript volume of de-
" votions which has so often assisted me in my
" attempt to do justice to her character. And as
66 she intrusted the care of her posthumous pieces
" to one, (meaning himself) who, she could not
" be insensible, Had never entertained a thought
" of being an author, and whose incurable want
" of health must render him peculiarly unfit to
" compose any tiling for public view, it is more
" than probable that it was her intention that
" this collection of her remains should be com-
" municated to the world without any account
" of her life and character, which, through ex-
4 treme humility, she judged unworthy the know-
" ledge and imitation of posterity." The same
modest disposition of mind appears in the orders
she left in writing to her servant, in which, after
having desired that her funeral might be by night,
and attended only by a small number of friends,
she adds, " Charge Mr. Bow den not to say one
" word of me in the sermon. I would lie in my
" father s grave, arid have no stone nor inscrip-
" tion over my vile dust, which I gladly leave to
" corruption and oblivion, till it rise to a glorious
" immortality."
4.56
MEMOIRS OF
Mrs. Rowe was exemplary for every relative
duty. Filial piety was a remarkable part of her
character. She loved the best of fathers as she
ought, and repaid his uncommon care and ten
derness bv all just returns of duty and affection.
She has often been heard to say, " That she could
" die rather than do any thing to displease him;"
and the anguish she felt at seeing him in pain in
his last sickness was so great that it occasioned
some kind of convulsion, a disorder from which
she was wholly free in every other part of her
1 C i
life.
When she was entered into the marriage-state
the highest esteem and most tender affection ap*
peared in all her conduct to Mr. Rowe, and by
the most gentle and obliging manners, and the
exercise of every social virtue she confirmed the
empire she had gained over his heart. She made
it her study to soften the anxieties, and heighten
all the satisfactions of his life. Her capacity for
superior things did not tempt her to neglect the
less honourable cares which the laws of custom
and decency impose on the female sex in the con
nubial state, and much less was she led by a sense
of her own merit to assume any thing to herself
inconsistent with that duty and submission which
the precepts of Christian piety so expressly en
join. Mr. Rowe had some mixture of natural
warmth in his temper, of which he had not always
a perfect command. If at any time this broke
out into some little excesses of anger it never
awakened any passion of the like kind in Mrs.
Rowe, but on the contrary she always remained
mistress of herself, and studied by the gentlest
language, and tenderest endearment to restore
Mr. Rowes mind to that calmness which reason
approves; and she equally endeavoured in every
other instance by the softest arts of persuasion,
and in a manner remote from all airs of superiority
to lead him on towards that perfection of virtue,
MRS. ELIZABETH ROVE. 457
to which she herself aspired with the truest Chris
tian zeal. During the long* illness which ended
in his death she scarce ever stirred from him a
moment, and alleviated his severe affliction by
performing with inconceivable tenderness and as
siduity alt the offices of compassion suited to his
melancholy situation. She partook of his sleep
less nights, and never quitted his bed unless to
serve him, or watch by him ; and, as she could
scarce be persuaded to forsake even his breathless
clay, so she consecrated her future years to his
memory with resolutions of perpetual widowhood
which she inviolably maintained. Her conduct
}n this last instance on the review of it, after an
interval of several years, and in the near prospect
of death, afforded her great satisfaction, for she
thus expresses herself in a letter intended after
her own decease to be delivered to Mrs. Arabella
Marrow, if that lady had survived her. " The
" solitude in which I have spent my time, since
" Mr. Rowe s death, has given me leisure to make
* the darkness of the grave, and the solemnity
" of dying familiar scenes to my imagination.
* Whatever such distinguished sense aiul merit
" could claim I have endeavoured to pay my much-
" loved husband s memory. I reflect with plea-
" sure on my conduct on this occasion, not only
" from a principle of justice and gratitude to him,
" but from a conscious sense of honour, and love
" of a virtuous reputation after death but if the
" soul ill a separate state should be insensible of
" human censure or applause, yet there is a dis-
" interested homage due to the sacred name of
virtue."
She mourned over the deaths, first of her hus
band, and afterwards of her father, with all that
becoming tenderness and sensibility which ought
to touch every human and generous heart at the
Joss of tl)e dearest persons on earth, yet her sub-
jnission to the determinations of Divine Provi-
458 MEMOIRS OF
clence was exemplary, and she never presumed to
breathe any criminal murmurs against the will of
Heaven, which is ever just and good, or behaved
in these dark hours of distress and temptation in
a manner unsuitable to that eminent piety which
appeared in every other part of her life.
She was a gentle and kind mistress, treating
her servants with great condescension and good
ness, and almost Math the affability of a friend
and equal. She caused due care to be taken of
them whenever they were ill, and did not think
it misbecame her to sit by the bed of a sick ser
vant to read to her books of piety.
The tenderness of her humanity would not
suffer her to be offeuded with light faults, and
as she never dismissed any one from her family,
" so," says her biographer, " I think none of her
" servants ever left her, but with a view to the
" changing their condition by marriage." She
knew when she was well served, and reposed so
much trust in those whose fidelity she had ex
perienced that it might verge to excess, " yet
" even such great confidence," continues her his
torian, " was due to that servant who was with
" Mrs. Rowe at the time of her death, whose
" long and faithful duty to her mistress, and re-
" markable sorrow for her loss deserve to be men^
" tioned with honour."
Mrs. Roive was a warm and generous friend,
just, if not partial to the merit of those whom
she loved, and most gentle and candid to their
errors. She was always forward to do them good
offices, but in a distinguished manner she studied
with infinite art and zeal to insinuate the love of
virtue into all her acquaintance, and to promote
their most important interest by inciting them to
the practice of whatever was pleasing in the sight
of Cod, and would be crowned with his peculiar
favour. This she proposed as the best end of
friendship.
MRS. EtIZABATII EOWI% 459
She was not entirely free from the attacks of
malice, that she might not be without the op
portunity of excrcisng the divine spirit of for
giveness, yet one could scarce learn from her dis
course that she had an enemy, for she wasjiot
wont to complain of any indecent conduct or
injuries done to herself. So that it was apparent
that such treatment, made light impressions on her
mind, or that she had endeavoured to suppress
them with the happiest success.
Her charities were so great, if we consider the
mediocrity of her fortune, that they can scarce
be parallelled. They were indeed only limited by
the utmost extent of her power, for she devoted
the whole of her income, besides what was barely
sufficient for the necessities of life, to the relief
of the indigent and distressed. This her manu
script acquaints us with in the following vo\r,
which, as it evinces a heart glowing with the love
of God and mankind, is worthy of the highest
praise, but as this solemn engagement involved
Mrs. Rozce in some perplexities, it seems pecu
liarly fit to add that her example ought not to in
fluence pious minds to fetter themselves in things
not absolutely commanded, since the observation
of such vovs may be attended with unforeseen
difficulties injurious to the future peace of their
lives.
I consecrate, says Mrs, Rowc in this her solemn
vow, half my yearly income to charitable uses.
And though by this, according to human appear
ances, I have reduced myself to some necessity,
I cast all my care on that gracious God to whom
I am devoted, and to whose truth I subscribe with
my hand. I attest his faithfulness, and bring in
my testimony to the veracity of his word. I set
to my seal that God is true, and, O ! by the God
of truth I swear to perform this, and beyond this,
for if thou will indeed bless me, and enlarge my
coast, all that I have beyond the bare convenience
and necessity of life shall be the Lord s; and, O 1
450 MEMOIRS OP
grant me sufficiency that I may abound in every
good work ! O let me be the messenger of con
solation to the poor ! Here am I, Lord, send me.
Let me have the honour to administer to the ne-
cessities of my brethren. I am indeed unworthy
to wipe the feet of the least of the servants of
my Lord, much more unworthy of this glorious
commission, and yet, O, sencl me, for thy good
ness is free 1 send whom thou wilt on embassies
to the kings and rulers of the earth, but let me
be a servant to the servants of my Lord. Let me
administer consolation and relief to the afflicted
members of my exalted and glorious Redeemer.
Let this be my lot, and I give the glories of the
world to the wind,
Pursuant to this sacred vow, " which, as she
" expresses herself in another place of her manu-
" script, was not made in an hour of fear and
? distress, but in the joy and gratitude of her
" soul," she not only avoided all superfluous ex-
pences in dress and luxury, but through an ex-?
cess of benevolence, if there can be any excess
in such a godlike disposition, to enlarge her abili^
ties of doing good to her fellow creatures, she
denied herself what might in some sense be called
the necessaries of life.
Misery and indigence were a sufficient recom
mendation to her compassionate regard and assist
ance, yet she shewed a distinguished readiness to
alleviate the afflictions of persons of merit and
virtue; and one, who had the best opportunity
of making the observation, declared, that she
never knew any such apply to Mrs. Roicc without
success. The first time she accepted of an ac
knowledgment from the bookseller for any of her
works she bestowed the whole sum on a family
in distress, and there is great reason to believe
that she employed all the money that she ever re
ceived on such an account in as generous a man
ner ; and once, when she had not by her a sum
MRS. ELIZABETH fcOWK. 4Gl
large enough to supply the like necessities of
another family, she readily sold a piece of plate
for this purpose. It was her custom on going
abroad to furnish herself with pieces of money of
different value that she might relieve any objects
of compassion who should fall in her way, ac
cording to their several degrees of merit or indi
gence. Nor was her munificence confined to the
neighbourhood of the place where she lived, but,
during her residence in the country, she sent large
sums to London, and other distant parts. She
contributed to some designs that had the appear
ance of charity, though she could not approve
of them in every respect, observing that it was
fit some times to give for the credit of religion,
when other inducements were wanting, that the
professors of Christianity might not be charged
with covetousness ; a vice which she so much ab
horred that scarce any grosser kind of immorality
could more effectually exclude a person from her
friendship. " I never," said she, " grudge any
" money, but when it is laid out upon myself, for
" I consider how much it would buy for the poor."
Besides the sums which she gave away, and the
distribution of books on practical subjects, she
employed her own hands in labours of charity to
clothe the necessitous. This she did not only for
the natives of the Lower Palatinate, when they
were driven from their country by the rage of
war, which appeared a calamity peculiarly worthy
of compassion, but it was her frequent employ
ment to make garments of almost every kind, and
bestow them on those who wanted them. She
discovered a strong sense of humanity, and often
shewed her exquisite concern for the unhappy, by
weeping over their distresses. These were the
generous tears of virtue, and not of any feminine
weakness, for she was rarely observed to weep at
afflictions that befel herself. She was indeed so
sensibly affected with the miseries of tfye poor,
2 MEMOIRS OF
as not only to send her servants to examine what
they stood in need of when they were sick, but
often visited them in person., when they were so
wretched that their houses were not fit for her to
enter into, and even when their distempers were
highly malignant and contagious. One kind of
munificence in which she greatly delighted was
causing children to be taught to read and work.
These she furnished with supplies of clothing, as
well as bibles, and other necessary books of in
struction. This she did not only at Frome, but
also at a neighbouring village, where part of her
estate lay : and when she met in the streets with
children of promising countenances who were
perfectly unknown to her, if upon inquiry it ap
peared that through the poverty of their parents
they were not put to school, she added them to
the number of those who were taught at her own
expence. She condescended herself to instruct
them in the plain and necessary principles and
duties of religion, and the grief she felt when
any of them did not answer the hopes she had
entertained was equal to the great satisfaction she
received, when it appeared that her care and
bounty had been well-placed. She was also a
contributor to a charitable institution of this
kind at Frome, of a more public nature, though,
according to the general custom of such schoolsj
all who were educated in it were obliged to wor-^
ship God in that one particular form from which
she herself took the liberty to dissent. In truth,
her charities were not confined to those of her
own party or sentiments, but bestowed on indi
gent persons of almost all the sects into which
Christianity is divided, and even those whose re
ligious opinions seemed to her of the most dan
gerous consequence were large recipients of her
bounty. Nor was her beneficence limited to those
only who in strict terms might be called poor, for,
as she was wont to sav, u It was one of the
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 4G3
" greatest benefits that could be done to mankind
" to free them from the cares and anxieties that
"attend a narrow fortune;" in pursuance of
which generous sentiments she has been often
known to, make large presents to persons who were
not in the last extremes of indigence. With re
gard to those whose circumstances were such that
the acceptance of alms might have put their
modesty to some pain, she studied to spare their
blushes, while she relieved their wants. When
one such person of her acquaintance was in some
distress, she contrived to lose at play a sum of
money sufficient to supply the necessity of the
case, which was perhaps the only time she touched
a card in her whole life. She possessed in an emi
nent degree the art of giving, for she knew how
to heighten every favour by the ready and oblig
ing manner in which she conferred it. Indeed to
the poor she seemed a ministering angel. Her
goodness prevented their requests*, and smiles,
gentle: language, and the warmest expressions of
s;ood-will always accompanied her substantial acts
of mercy. The distressed were encouraged to
disclose all their wants by the kindest assurances
of relief, and she treated them with the sweetness
and easy goodness of a friend rather than the su
periority of a benefactress, nor was she inclined
to take offence at the appearance of ingratitude
in her dependents. When she chanced to over
hear some unthankful poor, who sat down at her
servant s table, murmur at their food, though she
had fed upon the same herself, she only put this
gentle construction on their behaviour, fc " That
* " These hands will shortly be stiff and useless in the grave,
" that are now capable of distributing to the necessities of the poor
" and afflicted, if thou wouldst give me the glad commission. O
* send me the ready messenger of consolation to their wants and
<s distress ! Hear their blessings and praveis for me ! Before they
" asked I have heard their wants. " A passage in her manuscript
Devotions.
464 MEMOIRS OF
" they expected something better than ordinary
" at her table :" and she was so far from resent
ing this indecent delicacy of appetite, that she
did not even at that time omit the alms she
usually gave when indigent persons were enter
tained at her house.
It is truly astonishing how the moderate estate
Mrs. Rowe possessed could supply such various
and extensive benefactions, and her own sense of
this once broke out to an intimate friend. " I
" am surprized," said she to her, " how it is pos-
" sible my estate should answer all these things,
" when I consider what I do, and yet I never
" want money. " This she only spoke to give
honour to the divine blessing, which, as she was
wont to acknowledge with great piety, protected
her from losses^ and succeeded all her affairs, for
it would be extreme injustice to interpret her ex
pressions of gratitude to the goodness of Provi
dence in a different manner, since her great care
to conceal her charities from the observation of
mortals gives the highest evidence that no love of
human applause tainted the purity of her benevo
lent dispositions.
Mrs. Roives writings give a faithful picture of
her soul. Her profound humility, and supreme
affection to God, her faith in his promises, and
dependence on his providence, her zeal for his
glory, and love to the holiness of his laws appear
in the strongest light in her works. But as it
would too much swell these Memoirs to transcribe
her sentiments on these heads, we shall only re
late the means she made use of to cultivate these
divine graces with the addition of some passages
from her manuscripts that bear the amplest testi
mony to the truth and vigour of her piety, and
the connection and communion of her soul with
her God.
She devoted herself to the service of heaven
in a solemn covenant, which has a place among
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE. 465
the devout exercises of her heart, and is thus
intitled, , u .
A Covenant with God.
Incomprehensible Being, who searchest the
hearts, and triest the reins of the children of
men, thou knowest my sincerity, and my thoughts
are all unveiled to thee. I am surrounded with
thine immensity. Thou art a present, though in
visible witness of the solemn affair in which I am
now engaged. I am now taking hold of thy
strength that I may make peace with thee, and
entering into articles with the Almighty God.
These are the happy days long since predicted,
when one shall say, I am the Lord s, and another
shall call himself by the name of Israel, and ano
ther shall subscribe with his hand to the Lord:
and I will be their God, and they shall be my
people, saith the Lord Jehovah.
With the most thankful sincerity I take hold
on this covenant, as it is more fully manifested
and explained in the gospel by Jesus Christ, and,
humbly accepting thy proposals, I bind myself to
thee by a sacred and everlasting obligation. By
a free and deliberate action I do here ratify the
articles which were made for me in baptism into
the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost. I religiously devote myself to thy ser
vice, and entirely submit to thy conduct. I re
nounce the g lories and vanities of the world, and
choose thee as my happiness, my supreme felicity,
and everlasting portion. I make no article with
thee for any thing besides. Deny or give me
what thou "wilt, I will never repine while my
principal treasure is sure. This is my deliberate,
my free and sincere determination; a determina
tion which by thy grace I will never retract.
O thou, by whose power alone I shall be able
to stand, put thy fear in my heart, that I may
never depart from thee". Let not the world with
all its flatteries, nor death nor hell with all their
VOL. i. H h
466 MEMOIRS OP
terrors, force me to violate this sacred vow. O
let me never live to abandon thee, nor draw the
impious breath that would deny thee !
And now let surrounding angels witness for me
that I solemnly devote all the powers and fa
culties of my soul to thy service; and when I
presumptuously employ any of the advantages
thou hast given me to thy dishonour, let them
testify against me, and let my own words con
demn me. ELIZABETH HOWE.
Thus have I subscribed to thy gracious pro
posals, and engaged myself to be the Lord s.
And now let the malice of men, and the rage of
devils combine against me, I can defy all their
stratagems, for God himself has become my friend,
Jesus is my all-sufficient Saviour, and the Spirit
of God I trust will be my Sanctifier and my Com
forter.
O happy clay ! transporting moment ! the bright
est period of my life! heaven with all its light
smiles upon me. What glorious mortal can now
excite my envy ? what scene to tempt my ambi
tion could the whole creation display? let glory
call me with her exalted voice; let pleasure with
a softer eloquence allure me; the world in all its
splendor appears but a trifle; while the infinite
God is my portion. He is mine by as sure a title
as eternal veracity can confer. The right is un
questionable; the conveyance unalterable. The
mountains shall be removed, and the hills dis
solved, before the everlasting obligation shall be
cancelled,
" In this covenanting with God," says the
writer of her life, " Mrs. Rowe imitated the ex-
" ample of her pious mother, to whose- sacred
" engagement of this kind she made the follow-
" ing addition, which evidently appears by the
" hand to b? written in her younger years.
u Mv Go.!, and my father s God, who keepest
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 467
" covenant and mercy to a thousand generations,
" I call thee to witness that with all the sincerity
" of my soul I consent to this covenant, and
" stand to the solemn dedication made of me in
" baptism; and to this
" I God s high name my awful witness make:
" and thus with the utmost willingness and joy
" I subscribe with my hand to the Lord,
" E. SINGER.
And beneath in the same paper she writes thus,
" Renewed Sept. 1728, when I am standing be-
" fore the Judge of all the earth to be sentenced
" for all eternity, let this contract be an evidence
" that I renounce the world, and take the su-
" preme God for my portion and happiness,"
But her manuscript, of which Mr. Rowe has
made such excellent use in the Life he has given
of her, affords the following larger renewal of
this sacred covenant, which, long as it is, is too
valuable to be withheld from our readers, espe
cially as it shews the interior, if we may so speak,
of Mrs. Rowe s soul in respect of its holy and
happy temper and state towards God.
Let me renew my vows, O God, to thee. Let
me repeat the sacred obligation. Let my soul
collect its powers. Let me, if possible, make
my ties more strong more entirely devote my
self to thee. With what pleasure do I reflect on
the obligations I am under to be thine ! I bless
the sacred engagement, and would not be free
for ten thousand worlds. I never knew an happy
moment till I was thine. All my joys are dated
from that blessed period. Thence they took their
.pring, and thence they will for ever flow, O
herefore let me joyfully renew my vows to thee.
~-et angels instruct me how to confirm them,
-etthem teach me their forms, and give me their
lames. Let all be noble, and pathetic, and so-
emn as their immortal vows, I would bind my-
u h 2
468 MEMOIRS OF
self beyond the ties that mortals know. But I
cannot speak with the ardor I wish. I cannot find
words to express the vehemence of my soul. But
O thou, who canst understand those desires which
language fails me to utter, accept the sincerity of
my heart, regard and accept my vows, and O let
them be confirmed for ever!
Attend, ye angels ! let heaven and earth hear
me! let the most high God, the possessor of hea
ven and earth, himself be my witness! for even
to him dare I appeal, from whom no disguise can
vail my thoughts, even thy sacred name I dare
attest, whose favour is my hope, and whose frown
is the only thing I can fear. Yet my words are
not the effect of terror and distress, but of reason
and love. No action of my life was ever more
deliberate and voluntary. My soul gives its en
tire assent, and offers up all its powers. I make
no reserve. Thou hast my whole, my undivided
heart,
O thou that lookest down from the exaltations
of thy Majesty, that ritlest upon the heavens in
thine excellency, and thence dost not disdain to
be a Father to the fatherless, and the Judge of
the widow, I come to thee destitute, forlorn,
abandoned of every name of joy or confidence on
earth. I have found all the specious titles and rela
tions among men to be vanity and a lie. but I rejoice
in the conviction, I bless the happy circumstance
that has thrown a reproach on all human trust, that
has broken my engagements with every thing be
low, and forced me friendless and defenceless to
fly to thee. O receive me with the affection of a
Father; take me into thy tenderest care and pro
tection ! O remember thy covenant with my pious
ancestors to be a God to them, and their seed
after them, by an everlasting covenant! Thy
compassions exceed those of the tenderest rela
tion on earth. Thou dost delight to exercise
loving-kindness and truth in the earth. Thou art
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 469
the God of all grace and consolation. These are
thy free, thy natural operations: fury is not in
thee: thy name, thy boasted name is LOVE, and
thou dost never deviate from its gentle dictates.
It is the beginning and end of all thy works; the
glorious end thou hadst from all eternity in view.
Thou dost not withdraw thine eyes from this de
sign, but hast set thine heart upon it from ever
lasting to everlasting. Goodness and compassion
for ever flow from thee. Thou canst not restrain
those glorious emanations. They will, and must
for ever stream from thee, the infinite abyss, the
spring of goodness, the sum, the plenitude of
joy, its never-failing source.
thou that hast purchased my soul with thine
own blood, before God and angels I put it into
thy custody! with thee I solemnly deposit the
sacred pledge. Into thy hand I commit the pre
cious treasure. It is my all, my very being. O,
form it after thy pleasure, arid secure it from the
stratagems of hell! I am surrounded with danger,
and a thousand unseen snares attend me. I have
but one cast for eternity. Look with eyes of pity
on my impotence and distress. I fly to thee; let
me find an hiding-place from the wind, and a co
vert from the tempest.
1 am not, I cannot be my own keeper. Flesh
and blood are too weak to struggle with princi
palities and powers, and the rulers of darkness in
high places. The combination is too strong for
unassisted nature to conquer. Thou knowest my
strength is but weakness, my wisdom folly, my
natural light all darkness I know not the next
step before me, and, if I stumble, it will bring
reproach on thine holy ways.
I am of the Lord s side. I am in league with
thee against the confederacy of hell, f list my
self under thy banners to oppose the kingdom of
darkness. Give me strength and wisdom to en
counter all opposition. Let me never be left to
470 MEMOIRS OF
niy own conduct, or dishonour thy cause by any
weakness or inadvertency. O thou who dost jiot
slumber nor sleep, watch my goings, and let none
of my footsteps slide! O fountain of love and
grace, let me feel thy present influence! There is
no relation in all nature so near as that between
God and a virtuous mind; and \yilt thou not
adorn it with those graces which are capable of
being improved for ever?
In the name of the Lord God of Hosts, the
God of the armies of Israel, let me conquer the
principalities and powers of darkness. I have
taken thy word for my defence. I have fled to
the name of the Lord for safety. Let me rejoice,
let me triumph in that sanctuary, nor know a
thought of diffidence or fear. Let me hope against
hope, believe above belief with confidence worthy
of that power on which I trust, and of that vera
city which is engaged to protect me. Be the
powers of hell confounded while I make my boast
in the Lord, and rejoice in thy salvation.
I can, I must, I dare set to my seal, that God
is true. I need not scruple to affirm what thou
hast attested. I may without hesitation give my
assent to the word of the living God. Let not
my footsteps slide, keep me in the ways of life
and salvation, direct every motion, for thou art
my only counsellor. Leave me not to choose for
myself. Give me no advantage but what I may
employ for thy glory. Cancel every prayer that
has not been agreeable to thy will. 1 retract every
petition whose success will not centre in thine in
terest. It is thee, and not myself, that I would
honour. It is thee I would live and die for. Make
thine own terms, let them be what they will, I
take thee for my only portion for this life, and for
all eternity, and with full consent I subscribe
with my hand to the Lord,
E. ROWE,
Sept. 11, 1/25 S Mrs. Roice s birth-day.
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 471
This excellent woman practised secret prayer
three times a day, as appears by this resolution
taken from her manuscript. " At morning, at
" noon, and at night I will praise thee, and pay
" my homage to the supreme and independent
" Being." And as she was wont to say, " that
" we ought to consecrate our brightest intervals
" to the service of heaven," agreeably to these
just sentiments she employed those parts of the
day in which she believed the powers of the mind
more free and active as seasons of holy retirement.
But it was judged by one who was well acquainted
with her, that her devotions were rather frequent
than protracted to such an undue length as might
tend to distract the attention, and fatigue and
exhaust the spirits.
She had an high veneration and love for the
Lord s day, which, abstaining from worldly af
fairs and pleasures, she wholly consecrated to the
service of religion. No slight indisposition, nor
seventy of weather prevented her constant attend
ance on public worship, at which her attention
and reverent behaviour shewed the utmost com
posure and elevation of soul. She also, in imita
tion of our blessed Saviour s example of doing
good on the sabbath, sanctified the Lord s day by
entertaining a number of poor people at her house,
and by an abundant distribution of her charity.
But her devout regard to the public worship of
God will best appear by the following passage
extracted from the manuscript volume of her de
votions.
I solemnly, says she, set apart one day in the
week, if possible, Saturday, for my retired devo
tions to prepare myself for the noble employment
of public worship; and then let all the powers of
my soul be exercised in love and humble adora
tion. Let me make more sensible approaches to
the propitious Being whom unseen I love, and let
him iill me with the ineffable delights his presence
4-72 MEMOIRS OF
affords, and make roe joyful in the house of
prayer. Let me be abundantly satisfied with the
fatness of his house, and drink of the rivers of
his pleasure.
She never neglected any opportunity of partak
ing of the Holy Communion, for which she had
the highest affection and reverence, and the same
manuscript that has been so often cited will shew
what devout and virtuous resolutions she made at
such sacred seasons.
With every sacrament let me renew my strength,
and with the bread of life receive immortal vi
gour. Let me remember thy vows, O God, and
at my return to the world let me commit my
ways to thee. Let me be absolutely resigned to
thy Providence, nor once distrust thy goodness
and fidelity. Let me be careful for nothing, but
with prayer and supplication make my wants
known to thee. Let the most awful sense of thy
presence dwell on my heart, and always keep me
in a serious disposition. Let me be merciful and
just in my actions, calm and regular in my
thoughts, and, O, do thou set a watch on my
mouth, and keep the door of my lips ! let me
speak evil of no man; let me advance the reputa
tion of the virtuous, and never be silent in the
praise of merit. Let my tongue speak the lan
guage of my heart, and be guided by exact truth,
and perfect sincerity. Let me open my hands
wide to the wants of the poor, in full confidence
that my heavenly Father will supply mine, and
that the high possessor of heaven and earth will
not fail to restore, in the hour of my distress,
what I have parted with for his sake.
O let thy grace be sufficient for me, and thy
strength be manifest in weakness. Be present
with me in the hour of temptation, and confirm
the pious resolutions thou hast enabled me to
form.
She had an inexpressible love and veneration
MRS. ELIZABETH ROWE. 473
for the holy Scriptures, and was assiduous in read
ing them, particularly the New Testament, the
Psalm^ and those parts of the Prophetical Writ
ings which relate to our blessed Saviour. For
some time before her death she scarce read any
thing besides these sacred books, and practical
treatises on religious subjects. She was also wont
to assist her improvement in holiness, and the
Christian life by frequent meditations on the bless
edness of a future state, the perfections of God,
particularly his infinite goodness and mercy in the
redemption of the world by Jesus Christ, and on
other important articles or religion which ap
peared best suited to promote devout and holy
dispositions. Besides these her usual -exercises of
piety, she observed some stated seasons of absti
nence and extraordinary devotion.
The fervor of her zeal in the cause of godliness
was beyond the rate of common examples. As
she could not command her tears of transport,
when she was witness to any eminent instance of
piety, so the declining state of religion rent her
very soul, and as she saw with inexpressible grief
th/ fatal advances of infidelity in this nation, she
spoke with the highest esteem and gratitude of
those excellent persons, who in the present age
have defended Christianity by their learned writ
ings, and truly venerated them as public bene
factors to mankind.
Mrs. Roice seemed to be peculiarly formed for
the practice of sublime and ardent piety. It was
the supreme pleasure of her life; yet her own words
assure us, that she did not set too high a value on
strong emotions of the passions, and religious fer
vors, and her love of devotion was joined with the
utmost regard to social virtue; for thus she ex
presses herself in a letter to a noble friend. I have
written no pious meditations of late. The warmth
of devotion, perhaps, as well as that of the other
passions, declines with life, but I hope the calm,
VOL. i. i i
474 MEMOIRS OF
the reasonable, and solid part of religion will be
still improved. She affected no kind of singu
larity, or appearance of severity, nor presumed
to censure those who came not up to that strict
ness to which she obliged herself: and she was so
far from imposing any methods of devout life
on others, to whom, on account of their differ
ence of temper, and deeper engagements in the
business of the world, they might be inexpedi
ent, that she did not recommend them, " or I
" think," says Mr. Rozve, " so much as mention
" them to her most intimate friends, but, on the
" contrary? studied concealment so much, that
"it is only from her manuscript, and the in-
" formation of her servant, from whom they
" could not be hid, that I have arrived at the
" knowledge of the greater part of them since her
"death."
She possessed a large measure of serenity and
cheerfulness of temper, This happy disposition
of mind, which is more than once recommended
in the sacred writings, and is so great an orna
ment to true piety, continued with her to her last
moments, so that, excepting some intervals of
generous grief occasioned by her devout and so
cial affections, her whole life seemed not only a
constant calm, but a perpetual sunshine.
Mrs. Rowes friendships were founded on vir
tue, but not a perfect agreement in those smaller
matters which divide us as Christians and Eii^-
O
lishmen. She was favoured with the esteem and
acquaintance of the countess of Winchelsea, the
viscountess Weymouth, the viscountess Sciida-
more, the lady Cartaret, the lady Brooke, the
honourable Mrs. Thynne, the earl of Orrery, Dr.
Ken, bishop of Bath and JVells, sir Richard
Blackmore, Dr. Watts, Mr. Prior, Mr. Grove,
&c. " But above all/" says the writer of her
life, " she possessed the highest degree of friend-
" ship with another illustrious ornament of the
MRS. ELIZABETH HOWE.
..
age, which, as it began as soon as ever her la
dyship was capable of this generous passion, so
:i it continued without the least interruption to
" the last moments of Mrs. Rowes life: and it
k< gives me great pleasure that I can conclude
the character of a lady, whose memory ought
to be most dear to me, with this testimony to
" her virtue and merit, that her life was ho-
" noured with the friendship, and her death la-
" mented with the tears of the countess of Hert-
" ford*."
A large Collection of Poems by several hands
in honour of Mrs. Roice is prefixed to her Alis-
ccllancous ll orks. We shall select only one of
distinguished excellence.
* She was the daughter of the honourrble Mr. Thynne, bro
ther to the lord viscount Wtiftnouth. She married Algernon^ earl
of Hertford, son of Charles Seymour Duke of Somerset, who suc
ceeded to the honour and estate of his father on his demise, De
cember 2, 1748, by which event she became duchess of Somerset.
His grace, her husband, died Feb. 9, 1/50, and she survived him
only till July 1754, leaving an only daughter, married to sir Hugh
Smitkson, bart. who succeeded his father-in-law as duke of North-
umbcrland, while sir Edward Seymour, bart. succeeded him as
duke ot Somerset. This daughter died towards the latter end of
the last year.
The duchess of Somerset, Mrs. Rove s intimate friend, not only
lamented the death of Mrs Howe, but wrote an elegy upon her,
which it seems Dr. Watts had a sight of, and upon which he
composed the following commendatory lines :
On an Elegy written by the right honourable the countess of
Hertford on the death of Mrs Rove.
Struck with the sight of Philomela s urn
Eusebia weeps, and calls her muse to mourn :
\\ bile from her lips the tuneful sorrows fell,
The groves confess a rising Pudvmd \.
t Remnants &f time employed in [rose and verse.
476 MEMO ins, c.
To Mrs. Elizabeth Singer, on the sight of some
of her divine Poems, never printed.
J- July 19, 1706.
On the fair banks of gentle Thames
I tun d my harp; nor did celestial themes
Refuse to dance upon my strings:
There beneath the evening sky
I sung my cares asleep, and rais d my wishes high
To everlasting things.
Sudden from Albion a western coast
Harmonious notes come gliding by:
The neigh u ring shepherds knew the silver sound,
" ?T& Philomela 9 ** voice/ theneighb ring shepherds cry:
At once my strings all silent lie,
At once iny fainting muse was lost
In the superior sweetness drown d.
In vain I bid my tuneful pow rs unite;
My soul rctir d, and left my tongue ,
I was all ear, and Philomela s song
Was all divine delight.
it
Now be my harp for ever dumb.
My muse attempt no more. Twas long ago
I bid adieu to mortal tilings,
To Grecian tales, and wars of Rome;
Twas long ago I broke all but th immortal strings.
Now those immortal strings have no employ
Since a fair angel dwells below,
To tune the notes of heav n, and propagate the joy.
Let all my pow rs with awe profound,
While Philomela sings,
Attend the rapture of the sound,
And my devotion rise on her seraphic wings.
ISAAC WATTS.
* Mr, Grove cannot certainly say whether Mrs. Rove s poetical
name, Philomela, by which she was early known, was assumed
by herself, or was a compliment to her by her friends. The lat
ter, says he, is most probable, and that it w r as given her at the
publication of her poems, in 1696, before which, her modesty
not consenting that her own name should appear, this was substi
tuted in the room of it, as bearing a very easy allusion to it (that
of Singer] and happily expressing the softness and harmony of her
verses, not less soothing and melodious than the strains of the
nightingale, when from some shady covert she fills the woods with
the rich music of her lays.
END OF VOL I.
[Nicholson, Printer, Warner Street.
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CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY
BR Gibbons, Thomas
768 Memoirs of eminently pious
G5 women
1804
v.l
