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cited—the very spirit and essence of gaming thus instilled? She said it was the custom of the school; and she had never thought of any harm there could be in it. I reminded her of the conversation of the preceding evening with her little Julia, and remarked on the inconsistency of her keen perception of danger in the one case, with her blind insensibility to it in the other. For my own part, this system seemed to me such an outrage upon common sense, that on any evidence but fact, I could not have believed that any rational governess could invent, or any careful parent suffer such a practice. When all was over, I made especial enquiry into the results; and I found one girl, whom I knew to be by no means of the best, laden with prizes, exultingly setting off to her home to exhibit proofs of an advancement she had not made, and display her triumph over companions she had by no means equalled. I saw another, an industrious, clever girl, going off, with tearful eyes and saddened spirits, without a single testimony of good conduct or recompence of exertion, though she had been judged worthy of drawing for every prize, and of all the school had best deserved to do so.
We contemn the wisdom of our ancestors, who, when they could not decide the merits of a cause, referred it to the decision of heaven by some superstitious ordeal. Do the ladies who superintend these schools really believe that fortune will respect the merits of their pupils, and do they so intend to teach them? Or-more probable result, and yet more dangerous lesson for their after life-do they mean to teach them that success goes by hap, and not by merit; that it is better to be lucky than wise; that to win a prize is easier than to earn it? We doubt not that many of our readers who are not in these secrets, will think the practice so strange a one, that we need not to have spoken so much about it. I should have thought so too, did I not know that it is practised by some governesses,
and suffered by many parents, who, I believe, are under the influence of the best moral feeling and the purest religious principle, in the management of the children committed to their care, and would by no means suffer them to receive such impressions under any other form.
“The king had left the matters of the church wholly in the queen's hands. He found he could not resist importunities, which were not only vexatious to him, but had drawn preferments from him, which he came soon to see were ill bestowed: so he devolved that care upon the queen, which she managed with strict and religious prudence: she declared openly against the preferring of those who put in for themselves; and took care to inform herself particularly of the merits of such of the clergy as were not so much known at court, nor using any method to get themselves recommended: so that we had reason to hope, that if this course had been continued, it would produce a great change in the church, and in the temper of the clergy."
“Another effect of the queen's pious care of the souls of her people was finished this year, after it had been much opposėd, and long stopped. Mr. Blair, a very worthy man, came from Virginia, with proposals for erecting a college there, and means were suggested for amply endowing it. Those concerned in managing the plantations had made so much advantage of the funds from which the endowment was to be raised, that they strongly opposed the project, as a design that would divert our people from their mechanical employments,
and make them too knowing to be submissive. The queen was so pleased with the design,' as apprehending the very good effects it might have, that no objection against it could move her: she hoped it might be a means of improving her own people, and of preparing some to propagate the gospel among the natives. The endowment was fixed, and the patent passed for the college, called from the founders, the William and Mary College.
In 1694, Mary's biographer thus writes:-“I am now coming to the fatal period of this book. The queen continued still to set a great example to the whole nation, which shined in all parts of it. She used all possible methods for reforming what was amiss: she took ladies off that idleness, which not only wasted their time, but exposed them to many temptations; she engaged many both to read and to work; the female part of the court had been in former reigns subject to much censure, and there was great cause for it; but she freed her court so entirely from all suspicion, that there was not so much as a colour for discourses of that sort; she divided her time so regularly between her closet and 'business, her work and diversion, that every minute seemed to have its proper employment; she expressed a deep sense of religion, with so true a regard for it; she had so much right principle and so just notions; and her deportment was so exact in every part of it, all being natural and unconstrained, and animated with due life and cheerfulness; she considered every thing that was laid before her so carefully, and gave such due encouragement to freedom of speech; she remembered every thing so exactly, observing at the same time the closest reservedness, yet with an open air of frankness;
she was so candid in all she said, and cautious in every promise she made; and notwithstanding her own great capacity, she expressed such distrust of her own thoughts, and was so entirely resigned to the king's judgment, and so completely determined by it, that when I
laid all these things together, which I had large opportunities to observe, it gave a very pleasant prospect to balance the melancholy view that rose from the ill posture of our affairs in all other respects. It gave us a very particular joy when we saw that the person whose condition seemed to mark her out as the defender and perfecter of our Reformation, was such in all respects in her administration, as well as in her private deportment, that she seemed well fitted for accomplishing that work, for which we thought she was born; but we soon saw this hopeful view blasted, and our expectation disappointed in the loss of her.”
Another contemporary writer has said that the Earl of Nottingham, who was much in Mary's confidence, told him, he was very sure if she had outlived her husband, she would have done her utmost to restore her father, but under such restrictions, as should prevent his ever making any attempts upon the religion or liberties of his country, King William, before he went abroad, told the Duke of Leeds, he must be very cautious of saying any thing before the queen that looked like a disrespect for her father, which she never forgave any body; and Lord Halifax, in particular, had lost all manner of credit with her, for some unseasonable jests he had made on this subject. Much as we must love and admire Mary for the desire to restore her father, if such were her design, it was, perhaps, well for England's peace that she did not live to attempt it.
The small-pox, a disease then almost incurable, raged that winter in London, some thousands dying of them, which gave great apprehension with regard to the queen; for she had never had them.” To Mary herself, the apprehension of death could not be terrible, since we are previously told of her, that, “ In all the pleasures of life, she maintained a true indifference for the continu. ance of them; and she seemed to think of parting with them in so easy, a manner, that it plainly appeared how little they had got into her heart. She
She apprehended she
felt once or twice such indisposition, that she concluded nature was working towards some great sickness ; so she set herself to take full and broad views of death, that from thence she might judge how she might be able to encounter it. But she felt so quiet an indifference upon that prospect, leaning rather towards a desire for dissolution, that she said, “Though she did not pray for death, yet she could neither wish nor pray against it. She left that before God, and referred herself entirely to the disposal of Providence. If she did not wish for death, she did not fear it.' As this was her temper when she viewed it at some distance, so she maintained the same calm when in the closest struggle with it.”
“In conclusion, Mary was taken ill, but the next day it seemed to go off. I had the honour to be half an hour with her that day, and she complained of nothing: The day following she went abroad; but her illness returned so heavily on her, that she could disguise it no longer: she shut herself up long in her closet that night, and burnt many papers, and put the rest in order: after that she used some slight remedies, thinking it was only a transient indisposition; but it increased upon her; and within two days after the small-pox appeared, and with very bad symptoms. The physician's part was universally condemned, and her death was imputed to the negligence or unskilfulness of Dr. Ratcliffe. He was called for; and it appeared but too evident that his opinion was chiefly considered, and mostly depended
Other physicians were afterwards called; but not till it was too late. The king was struck with this beyond expression. He called me to his closet,
closet, and gave free vent to a most tender passion; he burst into tears, and cried out that there was no hope for the queen; and that from being the happiest, he was now going to be the miserablest creature upon earth.
He said, during the whole course of their marriage, he had never known one single fault in her; there was a worth in her that nobody knew beside himself; though, he