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and turning to me, with a look of disappointment, she said, "O my aunt, I doubt you are not a true prophetess! I doubt I am growing easier!" She took the oppor tunity of this interval of ease, to speak a; good deal. "O, how good, how gracious, is my God to me! In my childhood, and. to this hour, how graciously has he dealt with me! O what mercy, to bring a poor, Indian to this country, that I might learn to know him; and then to give me such a parent O, such a parent!" She clasped my hand in her's, and with an energy and look, of which I can give you no idea, but which I never can forget, repeated—“O, such a parent!" till she was almost exhausted.

"

"One of the servants coming in just then, who had been particularly attentive to her, she said, "If I had breath I would thank you again for all your kind nursing of me; but, dear aunt, you must reward her; and pray remember good old A S then with a sweet smile she said, "How many debts of kindness do I leave you to pay!" She then asked her sister Jane to read a prayer, after which she said, "O how good has God ever been to me, and that when I was not thinking of him! How often have I sinned against him-But; I trust, I am forgiven, and I long to go to flim!" She then prayed for support in her last moments. I said, "You see, my. love, you are supported. The prayer in your favourite hymn you see is answered. You have that overcoming faith that cheers your dying hours." She acknowledged it with a grateful smile, but was not able to speak for some time.

"Soon after, she desired me to lift her out of bed. I did so, and set her upon the bedside, and put my arm round her to

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support her. In an instant she laid her head upon my shoulder, and in about two minutes was in heaven.

"O happy, blessed hour, when she departed, ever to be remembered by me with thankfulness!" W. H.

DEATHS.

On Saturday, the 12th instant, at Howden, in the thirty-fifth year of her age, much and deservedly regretted, after a long and painful illness, which she bore with christian fortitude and resignation, Mrs. LINDow, wife of the Reverend J. Lindow, and daughter of the late Reverend James Godmond, Vicar of Howden. An affectionate wife, a tender mother, and a sincere christian.

Lately, the Reverend WILLIAM JONES, Vicar of Clare, and Rector of Latchingdon, Essex.

April 21. His Serene Highness the reign. ing Duke of SAXE GOTHA.

Lately, aged seventy-five, the Reverend WILLIAM LOBB, Rector of Harpham cum Wilbye and of Moulton, in Norfolk.

April 27. At Epsom, the Reverend JoNATHAN BOUCHER, Vicar of that place.

April 28. The Reverend Mr. HUME, a Prebendary and Precentor of Salisbury Cathedral, and Vicar of Bremhill, Wilts.

April 6. At Valenciennes, in France, the Reverend DANVERS GRAVES, LL. D. late of East Woodby, Berks.

April 22. Mrs. PAICE, of Hartley Waspail, Hants; and on the 4th of May, the Reverend WILLIAM PAICE, husband to the above lady.

May 10. In his fifty-ninth year, the Reverend EDWARD LEIGHTON, Rector of Cardeston, Shropshire.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THE Letter from a Friend at Bridport, we are desired to say, came safe to hand, and its contents were disposed of as directed.

The Second Letter of CHURCHMAN has been received, and will be admitted.

The Exhortation of GENISTA CAPUT will be inserted, whenever a convenient place can be found for it.

Much of the sufferings of PENITENS arise, we apprehend, from bodily indisposition. If he had a judicious and pious friend to whom he could unfold himself freely, it would probably prove beneficial to do so. BAXTER on Religious Melancholy, may be read by him with advantage. We are happy to find that Mr. GISBORNE'S Sermon on Religious Despondency has proved so useful to him.

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W. H.'s Account of C. Y.; and K. S.; will appear in our next.

PALÆMON; C. S. J. P. M., and OENSIS, have been received.

G. W.'s Paper having been acknowledged in our Number for December, we naturally concluded that his Letter of the 10th of March, in which he enquired whether a Paper, with his Signature, had been received by us; referred to a Second Paper. It was not our purpose to insert it.

ERRATA.

Present Number, page 281, col. 1, line 2, for waive read wave.

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THE Character of LADY CARBERY, inserted in your number for April, has been so generally well received, that I deem no apology necessary for transmitting to you a similar delineation of female excellere, drawn by the discriminating hand of BISHOP ATTERBURY. The only liberty I have taken with the original has been to omit a few sentences, in order to bring the account within narrower limits.

S. P.

CHARACTER OF LADY CUTTS. Extracted from her Funeral Sermon. You are now paying the tribute of your tears to the memory of one, whose worth you knew, and whose loss you sensibly feel. All, therefore, I have to do, on this occasion, is, to fall in with your pious grief, already raised, and to bear a part in it, by dwelling together with you a while on the character of that incomparable lady, whose death we lament. It is now a fit time to speak of her in those terms of respect which she deserved: for in her life time she would not sufder it, and took some pains to avoid it; hiding as many of her virtues as she could from public observation, and so behaving herself in the practice of those she could not hide, as shewed, she had no mind to be told of them: discountenancing, as far as lay in her power, that odious and designing flattery, which, through the wicked fashion of an insincere world, is now thought to be a kind of customary debt due to her sex, and almost a necessary part of good breeding.

And now how shall I enter upon this fruitful argument? What particular of her comprehensive character shall I first chuse to insist on? Let us determine ourselves to begin there where she always began, at her de votions, In these she was very punc tual and regular; morning and evenCHRIST. OBSERV. No. 30.

ing came not up 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 desire, delight, and eagerness. She would on no occasion dispense with herself from paying this duty: no business, no common accident of life could divert her from it: she esteemed it her great honour and happiness, to attend upon God; and she resolved to find leisure for that, for whatever else she might want it.

How she behaved herself in these secret transactions, between God and her own soul, is known to him alone whom she worshipped: but, if we may guess at her privacies by what was seen of her in public, we may be sure, that she was full of humility, devotion, and fervency; for so she remarkably was always, during the time of divine service. Her behaviour was then very devout and solemn, and yet the most decent, easy, and unaffected, that could be: 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 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 instructions, by much reading, and meditation, (to which she ap peared from her childhood to be addicted) and, give me leave to add, by a very diligent and exact attendance on the lessons of piety which were uttered 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 om wandering.

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She often expressed her dissatisfac- took notice of were indeed, commontion at that indecency of carriage ly, such as related either to the conwhich universally prevails in our cerns of her spiritual estate, or to churches; and wondered that they matters of prudence: but it appears should be most careless of their beha- also that she spent some time in mediviour towards God, who are most tating on those places where the subscrupulously nice in exacting and pay- limest points of christian doctrine are ing all the little decencies that are in contained, and in possessing herself use among men. with a deep sense of the wonderful love of God towards us, manifested in the mysterious work of our redemption; for she had something more than what, in the language of this loose age, is called, a lady's religion. She endeavoured to understand the great articles of faith, as well as to practise the good rules of life, contained in the gospel; and she sensibly found, that the best way to excite herself to the practice of the one, was to endeavour to understand the other.

When the bread of life was distributed, she was sure to be there, a devout and never-failing communicant; and the strictness of her attention, and the reverence of her behaviour were, if it were possible, raised and improved on those occasions; the lively image of a crucified Saviour, then exhibited, could not but make very moving impressions on a mind that abounded with so much pious warmth and tenderness.

Books she took pleasure in, and made good use of; chiefly books of divinity, and devotion; which she studied, and relished above all others. History too had very often a share in her reflections; and sometimes she looked into pieces of amusement, whenever she found them written in such a way, as to be innocently entertaining. I need not tell you, to how narrow a choice she was, by this means, confined.

But of all books, the Book of God was that, in which she was most delighted and employed; and which was never, for any considerable time, out of her hands. No doubt, she knew, and felt the great use and sweet influence of it, in calming her mind, and regulating her desires, and lifting up her thoughts towards heaven, in feeding and spreading that holy flame, which the love of God had kindled in her heart, and which she took care, by this means, to keep perpetually burning.

When she met with any thing there, or in any other pious book, which 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 lesser moment; but immediately committed it to writing. Many observations of this kind she hath left, 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

sav.

The passages of holy writ which she

And in this Book of God she was more particularly conversant on God'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 both she, and they, were equally bound to obey. There was 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 visible in their looks (at least in her looks there was) as shewed, that they, who were in the house of feasting, were not better satisfied. Thus did she prepare and dispose herself for the enjoyment of that perfect rest, the celebration of that endless sabbath, which she is now entered

upon; thus did she practise beforehand upon earth, the duties, the devotions, the customs, and manners of heaven.

To secure her proficiency in virtue, she kept an exact journal of her life; in which was contained the history of all her spiritual affairs, and of the several turns that happened in her soul.

In this glass she every day dressed her mind, to this faithful monitor she repaired for advice and direction; compared the past with the present; judged of what would be, by what had been; observed nicely the several successive degrees of holiness she got, and of human infirmity she shook

One would have imagined, that so much exactness and severity in private should have affected a little her public actions and discourses, and have slid insensibly into her carriage; and yet nothing could be more free, simple, and natural. She had the reality, without the outside and shew of strictness. All her rules, all her performances sat so well and graceful upon her, that they appeared to be as much her pleasure as her duty. She was, in the midst of them, perfectly easy to herself, and a delight to all that were about her: ever cheerful in her behaviour, but withal ever calm and even, her satisfaction, like a deep untroubled stream, ran on, without any of that violence, or noise, which sometimes the shallowest pleasures do most abound in.

off; and traced every single step she reception! When she opened her lips, took onward in her way towards gracious words always proceeded from heaven. thence, and in her tongue was the law of kindness. Her reservedness, and love of privacy, might possibly be misinterpreted sometimes for an overvalue of herself, by those who did not know her; but the least degree of acquaintance made all those suspi cions 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 over-balance 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 very distinguishing part of her character, that she never studied appearances, nor made any advances towards the opinion of the world; being contented to be whatever was good or deserving, without endeavouring in the 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 eased itself to familiars and friends; and then out of the good treasure of her heart what good things did she bring forth? And with what delight was she listened to by those who had the happiness to converse with her? So that a doubt it is, whether she were most to be admired for what she did, or for what she did not say. It was wonderful that one, who, when she pleased, could discourse so fitly and so freely, should yet chuse 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 that heard her.

However, cheerful and agreeable as she was, yet she never carried her good humour so far, as to smile at a prophane, and ill-natured, or an un-, mannerly jest; on the contrary, in her highest mirth, it made her remarkably grave and serious. She had an extraordinary nicety of temper as to all the least approaches to faults of that kind, and 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 consists chiefly in an humility and submission of mind towards God, is attended always with humility and goodness towards his creatures; and so it was in this excellent lady. Never was there a more deep, and unfeigned, and artless lowliness of mind seen in her rank and station: as far as she was placed above the most of the world, she conversed as it were upon the level with all of them; and yet, when she stooped the lowest towards them, she took care even at that time to preserve the respect that was due to her from them. She had so much true merit, that she was not afraid of being looked into, and therefore durst be familiar: and the effect of that familiarity was, that, by being better known, she was more loved and valued. Not only no one of her inferiors ever came uneasy from her, (as hath been said of some great ones;) but no one ever went uneasy to her; so assured were all beforehand of her sweetness of temper, and obliging

We may be sure, that, whilst she thus commanded her tongue, she kept as strict and watchful a guard upon her passions; those especially of the rough and troublesome kind, with which she was scarce ever seen to be disquieted. She knew not what the disorders of anger were, even on occasions that might seem to justify, if not to require it. As much as she hated vice, she chose rather to look it

out of countenance, than to be severe against it; and to win the bad over to the side of virtue by her example, than by her rebukes.

Her sweet deportment toward 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 character was plainly such, as could have no good colours put upon it, yet she would shew her dislike of it no otherwise than by saying nothing of them. Neither her good-nature, nor her religion, neither her civility, nor her prudence, would suffer her to censure any one: she thought she had enough to do at home, in that way, without looking much abroad; and therefore turned the edge of all her reflections upon herself. Indeed she spared others as much as if she had been afraid of them; and herself as little, as if she had had many faults that wanted mending.

Her conversation might, for this reason, seem to want somewhat of that salt and smartness, which the illnatured part of the world are so fond of; a want, that she could easily have supplied, would her principles have given her leave: but her settled opinion was, that the good name of any one was too nice 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 the subject of it; or, that the pleasure of a visit lay, in giving up the company to one another's sport and malice, by turns. And if these are the chief marks of wit and good-breeding, it must be confessed that she had neither.

With all this goodness, gentleness, and meekness of nature, she had at the same time a degree of spirit and firmness, unusual in her sex; and was particularly observed to have a wonderful presence of mind in any accident of danger: for innocence and courage are nearly allied, and even in the softest tempers, where the one of these is in perfection, there will and must be a good degree of the other.

Shall I say any thing of that innate modesty of temper, and spotless purity of heart, which shone throughout

her whole life and conversation? A quality so strictly required of her sex, that it may be thought not so properly commendable in any of them to have it, as infamous to want it. However, in the most common and ordinary graces, there are uncommon heights and degrees; and it was the particular happiness of this lady remarkably to excel in every virtue that belonged to her; even in those, in which christians of the lowest attainments do in some degree excel.

Shall I add, that this love of purity was the cause, why she banished herself from those public diversions of the town, at which it was scarce possible to be present, without hearing somewhat that wounded chaste ears; and for which, she thought, no amends could be made to virtue by any degree of wit, or humour, with which, perhaps, they might otherwise abound? These good qualities, she knew, served only to recommend the poison, and make it palatable; and, therefore, she thought it a piece of service to other people, (who might perhaps be influenced by her example) to stand off, though she herself were secured from the infection. This, questionless, was one reason of her allowing herself in those dangerous entertainments so sparingly; but it was but one of many. She had really neither relish nor leisure for them, nor for a thousand other things, which the world miscals pleasures. Not that she wanted naturally a taste for any thing of this kind; for her apprehension was fine, and her wit very good, and very ready at command, when ever she pleased to exercise it: but she had turned her thoughts so much towards things of use and importance, 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 in to those vain amusements.

She did not think it (as, I fear, it is too often thought) the peculiar happiness and privilege of the great, tó 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

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