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HISTORY

AND

HISTORICAL MEMOIRS.

(©itober, 1808.)

Uemoirs of the Life of Colonel Hutchikson, Governor of Nottingham Castle ала Готе, Representative of the County of Nottingham in the Long Parliament, and of tke Toirn of Nottingham in the First Parliament of Charles II. (fc.; urith Original Anecdotes of талу of the most distinguished of his Contemporaries, and a summary Renetc of Public Affairf' Written by his widow, Lucy, daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, Lieutenant of the Toirer. fri. Now first published from the Original Manuscript, by the Rev. Julius Hctchikson, fcc. &c. To which is prefixed, the Life of Mrs. Hutchihson, written by Herself, a Fragment. pp. 446. 4to. London, Longman and Co.: 1806.

We have not often met with any thing more interesting and curious than this volume. In-, dependent of its being a contemporary narrative of by far the most animating and important part of our history, it challenges our attention as containing an accurate and luminous account of military and political affairs from the hand of a woman; as exhibiting the most liberal and enlightened sentiments in the person of a puritan; and sustaining a high tone of aristocratical dignity and pretension, though the work of a decided republican. The views which it opens into the character of the writer, and the manners of the age, will be to many a still more powerful attraction.

Of the times to which this narrative belongs—times to which England owes all her freedom and all her glory—we can never hear too much, or too often: and though their story has been transmitted to us, both with more fulness of detail and more vivacity of colouring than any other portion of our annals, every reflecting reader must be aware that our information is still extremely defective, and exposes us to the hazard of great misconception. The work before Ub, we think, is calculated in a good degree to supply these deficiencies, and to rectify these errors.

By far the most important part of history. as we have formerly endeavoured to explain, ie that which makes us acquainted with the character, dispositions, and opinions of the great and efficient population by whose motion or consent all things are ultimately governed. After a nation has attained to any degree of intelligence, every other principle; of action becomes subordinate; and. with re- | lation to our own country in particular, it may ] be said with safety, that we can know nothing i t»t its past history, or of the applications of {

that history to more recent transaction», if we have not a tolerably correct notion of the character of the people of England in the reign of Charles I., and the momentous periods which ensued. This character depended very much on that of the landed proprietors and resident gentry; and Mrs. Hutchmson з memoirs are chiefly valuable, as containing a picture of that class of the community.

Agriculture was at this period still ibe chief occupation of the people; and the truly governing part of society was consequently the rustic aristocracy. The country penilemen—who have since been worn down by luxury and taxation, superseded by the activity of office, and eclipsed by the opvleicf of trade—were then all and all in Engiai.J; and the nation at large derived from them its habits, prejudices, and opinions. Educate.) almost entirely at home, their manners were not yet accommodated to a general European standard, but retained all those national peculiarities which united and endeared them to the rest of their countrymen. Constitutionally serious, and living much with their families, they had in general more solid learning anJ more steady morality than the gentry of othe/ countries. Exercised in local magistracy and frequently assembled for purposes cl national cooperation, they became conscious of their power, and jealous of their privileges: and having been trained up in a dread &¡J detestation of that popery which had been the recent cause of so many wars and pen*cutions, their religious sentiments had contracted somewhat of an austere and polemical character, and hat! not yet settled from the ferment of reformation into tranquil and reçulated piety. It was upon this side, accordingly, that they were most liable to error:

and the extravagances into which a part of them was actually betrayed, has been the chief cause of the misrepresentations to which they were then exposed, and of the misconception which still prevails as to their character and principles of action.

In the middle of the reign of Charles I. almost the whole nation was serious and devout. Any licence and excess which existed was mostly encouraged and patronised by the Royalists: who made it a point of duty to deride the sanctity and rigid morality of their opponents; and tney again exaggerated, out of part)- hatred, the peculiarities by which they were most obviously distinguished from their antagonists. Thus mutually receding from each other, from feelings of general hostility, they were gradually led to realize the imputations of which they were reciprocally ше subjects. The cavaliers gave way to a certain degree of licentiousness; and the adherents of the parliament became, for the most part, really morose and enthusiastic. At the Restoration, the cavaliers obtained a complete and final triumph over their sanctimonious opponents: and the exiled monarch and his nobles imported from the Continent a taste for dissipation, and a toleration for debauchery, far exceeding any thing that had previously been known in England. It is from the wits of that court, however, and the writers of that party, that the succeeding and the present age have derived their notions of the Puritans. In reducing these notions to the standard of truth, it is not easy to determine how large an allowance ought to be inaJe for the exaggerations of party hatred, lue perversions of witty malice, and the illusions of habitual superiority. It is certain, however, that ridicule, toleration, and luxury gradually annihilated the Puritans in the higher ranks of society : and after-times, seeing ibeir practice? and principles exemplified only ¿rnong the lowest and most illiterate of manimii. readily caught the tone of contempt «Ысп liad been assumed by their triumphant fueraifs: and found no absurdity in believing that the base and contemptible beings who were described under the name of Puritans t_T the courtiers of Charles П., were true representatives of that valiant and conscients/os party which once numbered half the gentry of England among its votaries and adherents.

That the popular conceptions of the austerities and absurdities of me old Roundheads ui'l Presbyterians are greatly exaggerated, will probably be allowed by every one at all CMTer-sint with the subject; but we know it nothing so well calculated to dissipate the exi>tins prejudices on the subject, as this book of Mrs. Hutchinson. Instead of a set of îloomy biarots waging war with all the ^fjincies and safeties of life, we find, in this calumniated order, ladies of the first birth and fashion, at once converting their husbands to Anabaptism, and instructing their children n rnu«ic and dancing,—valiant Presbyterian Horiels refuting the errors of Arminius, collating pictures, and practising, with great

applause, on the violin,—stout esquirefr. at the same time, praying and quaffing Octobei with their godly tenants,—and noble lords disputing with their chaplains on points of theology in the evening, and taking them out a-hunting in the morning. There is nothing, in short, more curious and instructive, than the glimpses which we here catch of the old hospitable and orderly life of the country gentlemen of England!, in those days when the national character was so high and eo peculiar,—when civilization had produced all its effects, but that of corruption,—and when serious studies and dignified pursuits had not yet been abandoned to a paltry and effeminate derision. Undoubtedly, in reviewing the annals of those times, we aré struck with a loftier air of manhood than presents itself in any after era; and recognize the same characters of deep thought and steady enthusiasm, and the same principles of fidelity and selfcommand, which ennobled the better days of the Roman Republic, and have made every thing else appear childish and frivolous in the comparison.

One of the most striking and valuable things in Mrs. Hutchinson's performance, is the information which it affords us as to the manners and condition of women in the period with which she is occupied. This is a point in which all histories of public events are almost necessarily defective; though it is evident that, without attending to it, our notions of the slate and character of any people must be extremely imperfect and erroneous. Mrs. Hutchinson, however, enters into no formal disquisition upon this subject. What we learn from her in relation to it, is learnt incidentally—partly on occasion of some anecdotes which it falls in her way to recite—but chiefly from what she is led to narrate or disclose as to her own education, conduct, or opinions. If it were allowable to take the portrait which she has thus indirectly given of herself, as a just representation of her fair contemporaries, we should form a most exalted notion of the republican matrons of England. Making a slight deduction for a fewtraits of austerity, borrowed from the bigotry of the age, we do not know where to look for a more noble and engaging character than that under which this lady presents herself to her readers: nor do we believe that any age of the world has produced so worthy a counterpart to the Valerias and Portias of antiquity. With a high-minded feeling of patriotism and public honour, she seems to have been possessed by the most dutiful and devoted attachment to her husband; and to have combined a taste for learning and the arts with the most active kindness and munificent hospitality to all who came within the sphere of her bounty. To a quick perception of character, she appears to have united a masculine force of understanding, and a singular capacity for affairs; and to have possessed and exercised all those talents, without affecting any superiority over the rest of her sex, or aban doning for a single instant the delicacy and reserve which were then its most indispensable ornaments. Education, certainly, is far more senerally diffused in our days, and accomplishments infinitely more common; But the perusal of this volume has taught us to doubt, whether the better sort of women were not fashioned of old by a better and more exalted standard, and whether the most eminent female of the present day would not appear to disadvantage by the side of Mrs. Hutehineon. There is, for the most part, something intriguing and profligate and theatrical in the clever women of this generation; and if we are dazxled by their brilliancy, and delighted with their talent, we can scarcely ever guard against some distrust of their judgment or some suspicion of their purity. There is something, in short, in the domestic virtue, and the calm and commanding mind of our English matron, that makes the Corinnes and Heloise* appear small and insignificant.

The admirers of modern talent will not accuse us of choosing an ignoble competitor, if we desire them to weigh the merits of Mrs. Hutchinson against those of Madame Roland. The English revolutionist did not indeed compose weekly pamphlets and addresses to the municipalities ;—because it was not the fashion, in her days, to print everything that entered into the heads of politicians. But she shut herself up with her husband in the garrison with which he was intrusted, and shared his counsels as well as his hazards. She encouraged the troops by her cheerfulness and heroism—ministered to the sick—and dressed v ith her own hands the wounds of the captives, as well as of their victors. When her husband was imprisoned on groundless suspicions, she laboured, without ceasing, for his deliverance—confounded his oppressors by her eloquence and arguments—tended him with unshaken fortitude in sickness and solitude—and, after his decease, dedicated herself to form his children to the example of his virtues; and drew up the memorial which is ПОЛУ before us, of his worth and her own genius and affection. All this, too, she did without stepping beyond the province of a private woman—without hunting after compliments to her own genius or beauty—without sneering at the dulness, or murmuring at the coldness of her husband—without hazarding the late of her country on the dictates of her own enthusiasm, or fancying for a moment that she was bom with talents to enchant and regenerate the world. With equal power of discriminating character, with equal candour and eloquence and zeal for the general good, ihe is elevated beyond her French competitor by superior prudence and modesty, and by a certain simplicity and purity of character, of which, it appears to us, that the other was unable to form a conception.

After detaining the reader so long with these general observations, we shall only withhold him from the quotations which we mean to lay before him, while we announce, that Mrs. Hnlchmson writes in a sort of lofty, classical, translated style; which is occasionally diffuse and pedantic, but often attains to great dignity and vigour, and still more fre

quently charms ns by a sort of antiqne eim plicity and sweetness, admirably in ui i-or, with the sentiments and manners it is employed to represent.

The fragment of her own history, with which the volume opens, is not the least mteresting, and perhaps the most characteristx; part of its contents. The following brief account of her nativity, will at once make the reader acquainted with the pitch of this lady'» sentiments and expressions.

"It was one the 29th day of January, in the jean of our Lord 16¿o, that in the Tower of London, the principall cine of [he English Isle, I «гая about 4 of [he clock in the morning brought fonh ю r<hold the ensuing light. My father was Sr. Ailen Apsley, leifienant of the 'I ower of London; air mother, his third wife, was Lucy, the youngest daughter of Sr. John St. John, of Lidiard Tregoz. in Wiltshire, by his second wife. My father had then living a sonne and a daughter tfy his former wives, ana by my mother three Bonns. I being htr eldest daughter. The land was then att peace i: being towards the latter end of the reicne of King James), if that quiettnesse may be call'd a peace, which was rather like the calme and smooth anrface of the sea, whose darke womb is allready imprrgnaled of a horrid tempest."—pp. 2, 3.

She then draws the character of both her parents in a very graceful and engaging т;»:.ner, but on a scale somewhat too large to admit of their being transferred entire inte our pages. We give the following as a specimen of the style and execution.

"He was a most indulgen! husband, and no Ips*? kind to his children; a most noble master; who thought it not enough to maimaine hi« aervanti honourably while they were with him, but, for г 1 that deserv'd it. provided offices or settlement» » for children. He was a father to all his prisoner« sweetning with such compassionate kindness« ttieir restraint, that the afliction of a prison was not it!: in his dayes. He had a singular kindnesse fjr г. persons lhal were eminent either in learning or armes; and when, through the ingratitude and vk* of thai age, many of the wives and cliilldren <t Queene Elizabeth's glorious captaines were reduc'd to poverty, his purse was their common treasury. and they knew not the inconvenience of decay d fortunes till he was dead: many of those valliwt seamen he maintain'd in prison ; many he redeeni'd out of prison and cherisht wiih an extraordir.ary bounty. He was severe in the ""-^alating of ha famely; especially would not enoure the least immodest behaviour or dresse in any woman under his roofe. There was nothing he hated more tha^ an insignificant gallant, that could ow/v mtrJU bi lepe* and prune himtclf. and court a ladv, but hsà not braines to employ nimselle in things more fuieable to man's nobler sex. Fidelity in his trust, lovt and loyalty to his prince, were not the least of rr.s vertues, but those wher'-in he was not exceli'd by any of his owne or succeeding limes. He gave my mother a noble allowance of 300/. a yeare for her owne private expenre. nnd hnd given her all h<r owne portion to dispose of how she pleas'd. м soone ns she was married; which she sultWd '<' increase in her friend's hands; and what rny tatber allowed her she srfent not in vanities, although fhe hnd what was rieh and requi-ile upon occasion!,but she lay'd most ol it out in pious and charitable Qms. Sr. Walter Rawleigh and Mr. Rut Inn being pn^onr n in the Tower, and addicting themselves to chunistrie, she suffer'd them to make their rare experiments at her cost, partly to comfort and diferí <bc poore prisoners, and partly to gaine the knowlcJî« of their experiments, and the medicines to hel|» auch poore people и were not able to aeeke to phi

litians. By these means she aequir'd a greate deale of skill, which was very profitable lo many all her lite. She was not only to these, bul lo all ihe other prisoners that came into the Tower, as a mother. AU the time she dwelt in the Tower, if any were Mi-k she made them brothaand restoratives with her owne hands, visited and look care of them, and provided them all necessaries: If any were articled she comforted them, eo that they felt not the ¡neonve:tien« ai a prison who were in that place. She was not lesse bouiitit'ull to many poore widdowes ami orphans, whom oflicers of higher and lower rank had lett behind them as objects of charity. Her owne house was fill'd with distressed families of her relations, whom ehe supplied and maintained in a noble way."—pp. 12—15.

For herself, being her mother's first daughter, unusual pains were bestowed on her education; so that, when she was seven years of age, she was attended, she informs us, by no if.vt-r than eiirht several tutors. In conse

r'lioe of all this, she became very grave and uarhtful; and withal very pious. But her early attainments in religion seem to have been by no means answerable to the notions of sanctity which she imbibed in her maturer years. There is something very innocent and natural in the Puritanism of the following passage.

"It pleas'd God that thro1 the good instructions ni my moi her, and the sermons she carried me lo, I *vas convinc'il that the knowledge of God was tlie most excellent study; and accordingly applied my*elfe lo it, and to practise as I was taught. I us'd to exhort my mother's maides much, and to turne their idle discourses to good subjects; but I thought, when 1 had done this on the Lord's day, and every day perform'd my due taskes of reading imii praying, thiu then I was free lo anie thing that »аз not sin; for I was not at that lime convinc'd of ihe vanity of conversation which was not scandalously wicked ; I thought it no sin to learne or heare »¡Hie songa and amorous sonnets or poems, and twenty things of that kind; wherein I was so apt that I became the confident in all the loves that »ere managed among mv mother's young women: and there was none of them but had many lovers "<nd some particular friends bclov'd above the rest; smong these I have ."—p. 17, 18.

Here the same spirit of austerity which dictated the preceding passage, had moved the fair writer, as the editor informs us, to tear away many pages immediately following the words with which it concludes—and thus !» defraud the reader of the only love story \nth which he had any chance of being regaled in the course of this narrative. Although Airs. Hutchinson's abhorrence of any thiiiij like earthly or unsanctified love, jas withheld her on all occasions from the insertion of any thing that related to such Leungs, yet it is not difficult, we think, to perceive that she was originally constituted «ith an extraordinary sensibility to all powerful emotions; and that the suppression of tho«e deep and natural impressions has given s singular warmth and animation to her descriptions of romantic and conjugal affection. In illustration of this, we may refer lo the following story of her husband's grandfather and grandmother, which she recounts with much feeling and credulity. After a very ample account of their mutual love and loveliness, she proceeds—

"But while the incomparable mother ehin'd in all the humane glorie she wisht, and had thecrowne of all outward felicity to the full in the enjoyment of the mutuall love of her most beloved husband, God in one moment tooke it away, and alienated her most excellent understanding in a difficult childbirth, wherein she brought forth two daughter! which liv'd to be married, and one more that died, I think assoone or before it was borne. But after that, all the art of the best physitians in England could never restore her understanding. Yet she wan not fmmick, but had such a pretty deliration, that her ravings were more delightful than other > weomen's most rationall conversations. Upon this occasion her husband gave himselfe up to live retired with her, as became her condition. The daughters and the rest of the children as soon as they grew up were married and disperst. I think I have heard she had some children after that childbirth which distemper'd her; and then my lady Hutchinson must have bene one of them. I have heard her servants say, that even alter her marriage, she would steale many melancholy honres to sin and wecpe in remembrance of her. Meanewhile her parents were driving on their age, in no léese constancy of love to each other, when even that distemper which had estrang'd her. mind in all things elce, had left her love and obedience entire to her husband, and he retein'd the same fondnesseand respect for her, after she was distemper'd, as when she was the glory of her age! He had two beds in one chamber, and she being a little sick, two weomen watchl by her, some lime before she died. It was his cusióme, ая soon as ever he unclos'd his eies, to aske how she did ; but one night, he being as they thought in a deepe slcepe, she quietly departed towards the morning. He was mat clay lo have gone a hunting, his usuall exercise for his health; and it was his cusióme lo have his chaplaine pray with him before he went out: the weomen, fearfull to surprise him with the ill newes, knowing his deare affection to her, had Stollen out and acquainted the chaplaine, desiring him to informe him of it. Sr. John waking, did not that day, as was his cusióme, ask for her; bat 1'iill'd the chaplaine to prayers, and ioyning with him, in the middst of me prayer, expir'd !—and both of them were buried together in the same grave. Whether he perceiv d her death and would not take notice, or whether some strange sympathy in love or nature tied up their lives m one, or whether God was pleased to exercise an unusuall providence towards them, preventing them both from that bitter sorrow which euen separations cause, it can be but conjectur'd," &c. —p. 2G—28.

The same romantic and suppressed sensibility is discernible, we think, in her whole account of the origin and progress of her husband's attachment to her. As the story is in many respects extremely characteristic of the times as well as the persons to which it relates, we shall make a pretty large extract from it. Mr. Hutchinson had learned, it seems, to "dance and vault" with great agility, and also attained to "great mastery on the violl" at the University; and, upon his return to Nottingham, in the twentieth year of his age. spent much of his time with a licentious but most accomplished gentleman, a witty but profane physician, and a pleasant but cynical old schoolmaster. In spite of these worldly associations, however, we are assured that he was a most godly and incorruptible person; and, in parlicular, proof against all the allurements of the fair sex, whom he frequently "reproved, but in a handsome way of raillery, for their pride and vanity." In this hopeful frame of mind, it was proposed to him to spend a few summer months at Richmond, where the young princes then held their court.

"Mr. Hutchineon considering this, rcsolv'd to accept his offer; and that day telling a gentleman of the house whither he was going, the gentleman bid him take heed of the place, for it was so latall for love, that never any young disengag'd person went thither, who retum'd again free. Mr. Hutchinson laught at him; bul h«, to confirme 'it, told him a very true story of a gentleman, who not long before had come tor some time to lodge there, and found all (he people he came in company with, bewailing the death of a gentlewoman that had lived there. Hearing her eo much deplor'd, he made enquiry after her, and grew so in love with the description, that no other discourse ceald at first please him, nor could he at last endure any ether; he grew desperately melancholly, and would goe to a mount where the print of her toóte was cult, and lie there pining and kissing of it all the day long, till alt length death in some months •pace concluded his languishment. This story was very true; but Mr. Hutchinson was neither easie to believe it, nor frighted at the example; thinking bimseltè not likely to make another."—p. 37, 33.

He goes accordingly to Richmond, and boards with his music-master; in whose house a younger sister of his future wife happened then to be placed,—she herself having gone into Wiltshire with her mother, with some expectations of being married before her return.

"This gentlewoman, that was left in the house with Mr. Hutchineon, was a very child, her elder Bieter being at that time scarcely past it; but a child of such pleasantnesse and vivacity of spirit!, and ingenuity in the quallity she practis d, that Mr. Hulchinaon tooke pleasure in hearing her praciise, and would fall in discourse with her. She having the keyes of her mother's house, some hälfe a mile distant, would some times aske Mr. Hutchineon, when ehe went over, to walk along with her: one day when he was there, looking upon an odde byshelf, in her sister's closelt, he found a few batine bookes; asking whose they were, he was told they were her elder sister's; whereupon, enquiring more «fier her, he began first to be eorrie she was gone, before he had eeene her. and gone upon such an account, that he was not likely to see her; then he grew to love to heare mention of her; and the other gentleweomen who had bene her companions, used to talke much to him of her, telling him how reserv'dand sludioue ehe wae, and other things which they esicem'd no advantage: but it so much influm'd Mr. Hutchinson's desire of seeing her. that he began to wonder at himselfe, that his heart, which had ever had such an indifierency for the most excellent of weomenkind, should have so strong impulses towards a stranger he never saw."—" While he was exercis'd in this, many davs past not, but a foote-boy of my lady her mothers came to young Mrs. Apsley as they were at dinner, bringing newts that her mother and sister would in few dives return; and when they enquir'd of him, whether Mrs. Apeley was married, having before bene instructed to make them believe it, he smiled, and pull'd out some bride laces, which were given at a wedding in the house where she was, and gave them to ihe yonne gentlewoman and the gentleman's daughter of the ho'ise, and told them Mrs. Apsley bade him tell no news, but give them those tokens, and carried the matter so, that all the companie believ'd she had bene married. Mr. Hutchmson immediately turned pale as ashes, and felt a fainting to seize bis spiritts, in that extraordinary manner, that himselfe ready to sinke alt table, he woe

faine to pretend something had offended his stomach, and to retire from the table into the garden, where the gentleman of the bouse goinc with him. it was not necessary for him to Ceigne «ok ne«, for the distemper of his mind had infected bis body w;:h a cold sweate and such a dispersion of spirit!, thai all the courage he could at present recollect was little enough to keep him allive. While she w ran in his thoughts, meeting the boy againe, he found out, upon a little stricter examination oi him, that she was not married, and pleas'd himselfe in the hopes of her speedy returne, when one day, having bene invited by one of the ladies of that neighbourhood, to a noble treatment sr Sion Garden, which a courtier, (Aal tea« Arr tirvunl, had made for her and whom she would bring, Mr. Hutchinson, Mrs. Apsley, and Mr. Coleman's daughter were of the partie, and having spent the day m several! pleasant divertisements, att evening they were att supper, when a messenger carae 10 tell Mrs. Apsley her mother was come. She would immediately have gone; but Mr. Hutchinson, pretending civility to conduct her home, made her slay 'till the supper was ended, of which he cate no more, now only longing for that sieht. which he had with such perplexity expected. This at length he obteined; but his heart being prepotseast with his owne fancy, was not free to discerne how little there was in her to answer so greaie an expectation. She was not ugly—in a carelesse riding-habitt, she had a melancholly negligence both of herselfe and others, as if she neither affected lo please others, nor tooke notice of an« thing before her; yet epile of all her indtfferencr, she was eurpns'd with some unusual liking in her soule, when she saw this gentleman, who had haire, eies, shape, and countenance enough lo begeti lore in any one at the first, and these sett off with а graceful! and a generous mine, which promis'd an extraordinary person. Although he had but ал evening sight of her he had so long desir'd, and that at disadvantage enough for her, yett the prevailing sympathie of his soule. made him thinke su his paynes well pay'd, and this first did when hu desire to a second sight, which he had by accident the next day, and to his ioy found she was wholly disengaged from that treaty which he so muco fear'tf had been accomplish!; he found withall, that though she was modest, she was accosiahte. ard willing to entertaine his acquaintance. This soow past into a mutual! friendship betweene them, ard though ehe innocently thought nothing of love, yd was she glad to have acquir'd such a friend, who had wieebome and venue enough to be trusted with her councelle. Mr. Hulchinson, on ihe oihcr side, having bene told, and seeing how she phunn'd all other men, and how civilly she entertain'd him. believ'd that a secret power had wrought a mutual! inclination betweene them, and dayly frequented her mother's house, and had the opportunitie of conversing with her in those pleasant walket. which, at that sweete season of the spring, invited all the neighbouring inhabitants lo seeke their ioys; where, though they were never alone, уй they had every day opportunity for converse wiih each other, which the rest ehar'd not m, »bu« everyone minded their own delights."—pp.3?—H

Here the lady breaks off her account of th¡5 romantic courtship, as of "matters that are to be forgotten as the vanities of youth. an<l not worthy mention among the greater tran^ actions of their lives." The consent of parents having been obtained on both siJfS? she was married at the age of eighteen.

"That day that the friends on both sides met '» conclude the marriage, she fell eick of the smallpox, which was many ways a greaie trial! upon him; first her lile was allmost in desperate hazard, and then the disease, for the present, made her ihe moat deformed person that could be seene, for >

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