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regicides as it was resolved to bring to trial. The Inglesby who is commemorated in the preceding extract, is known to have been the chief informer on that occasion; and Colonel Hutchinson understood, that it was by his instigation that he also had been called as a witness. His deportment, when privately examined by the Attorney-General, is extremely characteristic, and includes a very fine and bitter piece of irony on his base associate, who did not disdain to save himself by falsehood and treachery. When pressed to specify some overt acts against the prisoners,
—"the collonell answered him, that in a busincsse transacted so many years agoe, wherein life was concerned, he durst not beare a testimony; having at that time bene so little an observer, that he could not remember the least title of that most eminent circumstance, of Cromwell1 s forcing Collonell Inglesby to sett to hie unwilling hand, which, if his life had depended on that circumstance, he could not have affirm'd! 'And then, sir,' sayd he, 'if I have lost so great a thing as that, it cannot be expected lease eminent passages remaine with me.'"
It was not thought proper to examine him on the trial; and he was allowed, for about a year, to pursue his innocent occupations in the retirement of a country life. At last he was seized, upon suspicion of being concerned in some treasonable conspiracy; and, though no formal accusation was ever exhibited against him. and no sort of evidence specified as the ground of his detention, was conveyed to London, and committed a close prisoner to the Tower. In this situation, he was treated with the most brutal harshness; all which he bore with great meekness of spirit, and consoled himself in the constant study of the Scriptures, and the society of his magnanimous consort, who. by the powerful intercession of her brother, was at last admitted to his presence. After an imprisonment of ten months, during which the most urgent solicitations could neither obtain his deliverance, nor the specification of the charges against him. he was suddenly ordered down to Sandown castle in Kent, and found, upon his arrival, that he was to be closely confined in a damp and unwholesome apartment, in which another prisoner, of the meanest rank and most brutal manners, was already established. This aggravated oppression and indignity, however, he endured with a cheerful magnanimity; and conversed with his wife and daughter, as she expresses it, "with as pleasant and contented a spirit as ever in his whole life. Sir Allen Apsley at last procured an order for peimitting him to walk a certain
time every day on the beach ; but this mitigation came too late. A sort of aguish fevet. brought on by damp and confinement, iui^ settled on his constitution ; and, in little more than a month after his removal from the Tower, he was delivered by death from the mean and cowardly oppression of those whom he had always disdained either to flatter 01 betray.
England should be proud, we think, ol having given birth to Mrs. Hutchiiison and her husband; and chiefly because their characteis are truly and peculiarly English; according to the standard of those times in which national characters were most distincuishab.e. Not exempt, certainly, from errors and defec'.s, they yet seem to us to hold out a lofty example of substantial dignity and virtue ; and" to pos«*« most of those talents and principles by which public life is made honourable, and privat) delightful. Bigotry must at all times debase, and civil dissension embitter our existence; but, in the ordinary course of events, лте may safely venture to assert, that a nation whicu produces many such wives and mothers ;-.Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, must be both great and happy.
For the Reverend Julius Hutchineon, the editor of these Memoirs, it is easy 10 see that he is considerably perplexed and distracted between a natural desire to extol those illustrious ancestors, and a fear of being himeeif mistaken for a republican. So he give? u? alternate notes in laud of the English levellers. and in vituperation of the atheists and jacobins of France. From all this, our charily leads us to infer, that the said Reverend Julius Huichinson has not yet obtained that preferment hi the church which it would be convenient for him to possess; and that, when he is promoted according to his merits, he \v i.. speak more uniformly in a manner becoming his descent. In the mean time, we are vt-n much obliged to him for this book, and for ü¿ pains he has taken to satisfy us of iteautbenticity, and of the accuracy of its publicat;^;;. We do not object to the old spelling, -wli^h occasions no perplexity; but wnen the \vor» comes to another edition, we would recommend it to him to add a few dates on the margin, to break his pages into more paragraphs, and to revise nis punctuation. lie would make the book infinitely more saleable. too, if, without making the slightest rariatic:; in what is retained, he would omit about two hundred pages of the siege of Nottingham, and other parish business; especially as ;ht. whole is now put beyond the reach of lose 01 corruption by the present full publication.
Memoirs of Lap г Fanshawe, Wife of the Right Honourable Sir Richard Fanshawe, Baronet, Ambassador from Charles the Second to the Court of Madrid in 1665. Written by herself. Tn K-AicA are added, Extracts from the Correspondente of Sir Richard Fanshawe. 8vo. pp. 360. London: 1829.
This с is not much in this book, either of individual character, or public story. It is, indeed, but a small affair—any way; but yet pleasing, and not altogether without interest or infraction. Though it presents us with no traits of historical importance, and but few of personal passion or adventure, it still gives us я jK'ep at a scene of surpassing interest from a new qaarter; and at all events adds one other item to the great and growing store of ihose contemporary notices which are every •Jay familiarizing us more and more with the uving character of by-gone ages; and without which we begin, at last, to be sensible, that we can neither enter into their spirit, nor even understand their public transactions. Writings not meant for publication, nor prepared for purposes of vanity or contention, are the only memorials in which the true 1! form and pressurtf:i of the ages which produce them are ever completely preserved; and, indeed, the only documents from which the great events which are blazoned on their records can ever De satisfactorily explained. It is in such «Tilings alone,—confidential letters—private Juries—family anecdotes—and personal remonstrances, apologies, or explanations.—that the true springs of action are disclosed—as •fell as the obstructions and impediments, vhether in the scruples of individuals or the general temper of society, by which their Mperation is so capriciously, and, but for these revelations, во unaccountably controlled.— They are the true key to the cipher in which public annals are almost necessarily written; and their disclosure, after long intervals of time, is almost as good as the revocation of tJHr writers from the dead—to abide our interrogatories, and to act over again, before us, in the тегу dress and accents of the time, a portion of the scenes which they once guided ч; adorned. IÍ is not a very striking portion, ¡•••гплря, that is thus recalled by the publicaron before us; but whatever interest it pos»•••«sea is mainly of this character. It belongs to an era. to which, of all others in our history.
• •uriosity will always be most eagerly directed; a;..l it constantly rivets our attention, by ex
• tuic expectations which it ought, in truth, '•) have fulfilled; and suggesting how much "•.'/re interesting and instructive it might ю easily have been made.
Lady Fanshawe was, as is generally known, the wife of a distinguished cavalier, in the Heroic Age of the civil wars and the Protectorate; and survived till long after the Res!o-ation. Her husband was a person of no rn<-an figure in those great transactions; and A*, who adhered to him with the most de
voted attachment, and participated not unworthily in all his fortunes and designs, was, consequently, in continual contact with the movements which then agitated society; and had her full share of the troubles and triumphs which belonged to such an existence. Her memoirs might, therefore, to have formed an interesting counterpart to those of Mrs. Hutchinson; and to have recalled to us, with equal force and vivacity, the aspect under which those great events presented themselves to a female spectatress and sufferer, of the opposite faction. But, though the title of the book, and the announcements of the editor, hold out this promise, we must say that the body of it falls far short of performance: and, whether it be that her side of the question did not admit of the same force of delineation or loftiness of sentiment; or, that the individual chronicler has been less fortunately selected, it is certain that, in point both of interest and instruction; in traits of character, \rarmth of colouring, or exaltation of feeling, there is no sort of comparison between these gossiping, and, though affectionate, yet relatively cold and feeble. memoranda, and the earnest, eloquent, and graphic representations of the puritan heroine. Nor should it be forgotten, even in hinting at such a parallel, that, in one important respect, the royalist cause also must be allowed to have been singularly happy in its female representative. Since, if it may be said with some show of reason, that Lucy Hutchinson and her husband had too many elegant tastes and accomplishments to be taken as fair specimens of the austere and godly republicans; it certainly may be retorted, with at least equal justice, that the chaste and decorous Lady Fanshawe, and her sober diplomatic low. shadow out rather too favourably the general manners and morals of the cavaliers.
After all, perhaps, the true secret of her inferiority, in all at least that relates to political interest, may be found in the fact, that the fair writer, though born and bred a royalist, and faithfully adhering to her husband in hie efforts and sufferings in the cause, was not naturally, or of herself, particularly studious of such matters; or disposed to occupy herself more than was necessary with any publicconcern. She seems to have followed, like a good wife and daughter, where her parents or her husband led her; and to have adopter» their opinions with a dutiful and implicit confidence, but without being very deeply moved by the principles or passions which actuated those from wnom they were derived; while Lucy Hutchinson not only threw her whole heart and soul into the cause of her party
but, like Lady Macbeth or Madame Roland, imparted her own fire to her more phlegmatic helpmate,— "chastised him," when necessary, "with the valour of her tongue," and cheered him on, by the encouragement of her high example, to all the ventures and sacrifices, the triumphs or the martyrdoms, that lay visibly across her daring and lofty course. The Lady Fanshawe, we take it, was of a less passionate temperament; and her book, accordingly, is more like that of an ordinary woman, though living in extraordinary tunes. She begins, no doubt, with a good deal of love and domestic devotion, and even echoes, from that sanctuary; certain notes of loyalty; but, in very truth, is chiefly occupied, for the best part of her life, with the sage and serious business of some nineteen or twenty accouchemens, which are happily accomplished in different parts of Europe; and seems, at last, to be wholly engrossed in the ceremonial of diplomatic presentations,—the description of court dresses, state coaches, liveries, and jewellery,—the solemnity of processions, and receptions by sovereign princes,—and the due interchange of presents and compliments with persons of worship and dignity. Fully onethird of her book is taken up with such goodly matter; and nearly as much with the genealogy of her kindred, and a faithful record of their marriages, deaths, and burials. From the remainder, however, some curious things may be gathered; and we shall try to extract what strikes us as most characteristic. We may begin with something that preceded her own recollection. The following singular legend relates to her mother; and is given, it will be observed, on very venerable authority:
"Dr. Howlsworth preached her funeral sermon, in which, upon his own knowledge, he told, before many hundreds of people, this accident following: That my mother, being sick to death of a fever three months after I was born, which was the occasion •he gave me suck no longer, her friends and servants thought, to all outward appearance, that she was dead, and so lay almost two days and a night: but Dr. Winston, coming to comfort my father, went into my mother's room, and looking earnestly on her face, said ehe was so handsome, and now looks so lovely, I cannot think she is dead; and suddenly look a lancet out of his pocket, and with R cut the sole ot her foot, which bled. Upon this, he immediately caused her to be laid upon the bed again, and to be rubbed, and such means, as she came to life, and opening her eyes, saw two of her kinswomen stand by her, my Lady Knollys and my Lady Russell, both with great wide sleeves, as the fashion then was, and said. Did not you promise me fifteen years, and are you come again already? which they not understanding, persuaded her to keep her spirit я quiet in that great weakness wherein she then was; but, some hours after, she desired my father and Dr. Howlsworih might be left alone with her, to whom she said, I will acquaint you. that, during the time of my trance, I was in great quiet, but in a place I could neither distinguish nor describe; but the sense of leaving my girl, who is dearer to me ihnn all my children, remained a trouble upon my spirits. Suddenly I •aw two by me, cloathed in long white garments, and methought I fell down with my face in the dust; and they asked me why I was troubled in so gnat happiness. I replied, О let roe have the name (rant given to Heiekiah, that I may live fifteen
years, to see my daughter a woman: to which they answered, It is done: and then, at that instant, I awoke out of my trance; and Dr. Howlawonh did there affirm, that that day she died made jus: fifteen year« from that time."—pp. 26—28.
This gift of dreaming dreams, or seeing visions, seems, indeed, to have been hereditary in the family; for the following is givea or. the credit of the fair writer's own experience When she and her husband went to Ireland. on their way to Portugal, they were honourably entertained by all the distinguished royalists who came in their way. Among others. she has recorded that,
"We went to the Lady Honor O'Brien's, a lady that went for a maid, but few believed it! She was the youngest daughter of the Earl of Tnomond. There we staid three nights. The first ol winch I was surprised by being laid in a chamber, where. about one o'clock, I heard a voice that wakened me. I drew the curtain, and, in the casement o! the window, I saw, by the light of the moon. « woman leaning into the window, through the osement, in white, with red hair, and pale and ghasiir complexion. She spoke loud, and in a tone I had never heard, thrice, ' A horse'.' and then, wi'.hi sigh more like the wind than breath, she vanished, and, to me, her body looked more like a thick cloud than substance. 1 wae so much frightened, ibu my hair stood on end, and my night-clothes feil oti. I pulled and pinched your father, who never wote during the disorder I was in; but at last was mu. h surprised to see me in this fright, and more so when I related the story and showed him the window opened. Neither of us slept any more that night. but he entertained me with telling me bow œuch more these apparitions were usual in this country than in England '. and we concluded the cause м be the great superstition of the Irish, and the »>в: of that knowing faith, which should defend them from the power of the devil, which he eiercw» among them very much."
Ingenious and orthodox as this solution of the mystery must be allowed to be, we confess we should have been inclined to préfet that of the fair sleeper having had a fit ot' nightmare; had it not been for the conclusive testimony of the putative virgin of the hou^ of Thomond, who supplies the following astonishing confirmation; and leads us »Лет to suspect that the whole might have been s trick, to rid herself the sooner of their »crapulous and decorous company.
"About five o'clock," continues Lady F«nshawe, "the lady of the house came to see u< saying she had not been in bed all night, becau^ a cousin O'Brien of hers, whose ancestors had owned that house, had desired her to stay »i'b him in his chamber, and that he died at two o'clock. and she raid, 'I wish you to have had no disturbance, for 'tis the custom of the place, th»-'. when any of the family are dying, the shape ot i woman appears in the window every night till they be dead. This woman was many ages ago got with child by the owner of this place, who murdered her in his garden, and flung her into ibe river under the window, but truly 1 thought not ol it when I lodged you here, it being the best room in the house.' We made little reply to her speech, but disposed ourselves to be gone suddenly."
We shall close this chapter, of the «ip?fDatural, with the following rather reroarkabl'' ghost story, which is calculated, we think, to make a strong impression on the imaginationOur diligent chronicler picked it up, it вест*, im her way tnrough Canterbury in the year 1663: aad it is thus nonourably attested:
"And here I cannot omit reinling the ensuing йогу, confirmed by Sir Thomas Ballen, Sir Arnold Breames. ihe Dean of Canterbury, with many mure gentlemen and persons of this town.
"There lives not far from Canterbury a gentlenun, ailed Colonel Colcpeper, whose mother was widow unto the Lord S t ran» ford: this gentleman had a sister, who Lived with him, as the world Süd, in too much love. She married Mr. Porter. This brother and sister being both atheists and livinj a life according to their profession, went in a iroEck into a Tault of their ancestors, where, before they returned, they pulled some of their father's and mother's hairs! Within a very few days after, Mrs. Porter fell sick and died. Her brother kept her body in a coffin set up in his buttery, saying it would not be long before he died, and then they would be both buned together; but from the night afier her death, until the lime that we were told the ноту, which was three months, they say that a head, is cold as death, with curled hair like his sister's, did ever lie by him wherever he slept, noiwithf rinding he removed to several places and countries toaroiait; and several persons told us they also had felt this apparition."
We may no w go back a little to the affairs of this world. Deep and devoted attachments are more frequently conceived in circumstances oí distress and danger than in any other: and. accordingly, the love and marriage of Sr Richard Fanshawe and his lady befel durШ2 their anxious and perilous residence with the court at Oxford, in 1644. The following liitle sketch of the life they passed there is enrióos and interesting:
"My rather commanded my sister and myself to come to him to Oxford, where the Court then was; bur. we, that had till that hour lived in great plenty aM great order, found ourselves like fishes out of rie water, and the scene so changed, that we knew not at all bow to act any part but obedience; for, from as good a house as any gentleman of England hid, we came to a baker's house in an obscure street; and from rooms well furnished, to lie in a tery bad bed in a garret, to one dish of meat, and that not the best ordered, no money, for we were i* poor as Job, nor clothes more than a man or two brought in their cloak batís: we had the perpetual '¡¡«опте of toeing and gamine towns and men: at "w windows the sad spectacle of war, sometimes flaues, во men mes sicknesses of other kind, by r'.aaon of so many people being packed together, X-. I believe, there never was before of that quality; always in want, yet I must needs say, that most tore u with a martyr-like cheerfulness. For my t'*n part, I liegan to think we should all, like Abraham, live in tente all the days of our lives. II« king sent my father a warrant for a baronet, bu; he returned it with thanks, saying he had too ni'K-'n honour of hie knighthood, which his majesty iud honoured him with some years before, for the x*nur¡e he now possessed."—pp. 35—37.
They were married very privately the year after: and certainly entered upon life with lilil? but iheir mutual love to cheer and support than; but it seems to have been sufficient.
"Both his fortune and my promised portion, « h -h wa« made 10.000Í , were both at that time in expectation; and we might truly be called merchant •dienmrera, for the slock we set up our trading with did not amount to twenty pounds betwixt us; bat. however, it was to us asa 111 lie piece of armour г.- acainst a bullet, which, if it be right placed, •b«M2h no bieser than a shilling, serves as well as a whale suit of armour; so our stock bought pen,
ink. and paper, which was your father's trade, and by it, I assure you. we lived better than those who were bom to 20002. a year, as long as he had his liberty."—pp. 37, 38.
The next scene presents both of them in so amiable and respectable a light, that we think it but justice to extract it, though rather long, without any abridgment. It is, indeed, one of the most pleasing and interesting passages in the book. They had now gone to Bristol, in 1645.
"My husband had provided very good lodgings for us, and as soon as he could come home from the council, where he was at my arrival, he with all expressions of joy received me in his arms, and gave me a hundred pieces of gold, saying, ' I know tbou that keeps my heart so well, will keep my fortune, which from this time I will ever put into thy hands as God shall bless me with increase;' and now I thought myself a perfect queen, and my husband so glorious a crown, that I more valued myself to be called by his name than born a princess; for I knew him very wise and very good, and his soul doated on me,—upon which confidence I will tell you what happened. My Lady Rivers, s brave woman, and one that had suffered many thousand pounds loss for the king, and whom I had a great reverence for, and she a kindness for me as a kinswoman, in discourse she tacitly commended the knowledge of state affairs; and that some women were very happy in a good understanding thereof, as my Lady Aubigny, Lady Isabel Thynne, and divers others, and yet none was at first more capable than I; that in the night she knew there came a post from Paris from the queen, and that she would be extremely glad to hear what the queen commanded the king in order to his affairs; saying, if I would ask my husband privately, he would tell me what he found in the packet, and I might tell her. I, that was young and innocent, and to that day had never in my mouth ' What news T' began to think there was more in inquiring into public affairs than I thought of; and that it being a fashionable thing would make me more beloved of my husband, if that had been possible, than I was. When my husband returned home from council, after welcoming him, as his custom ever was, he went with his handful of papers into his study for an hour or more; I followed him ; he turned hastily, and said, 'What wouldst thou have, my life I' I told him, I heard ihe prince had received a packet from thequcen, and I guessed it was that in his hand, ала I desired to know what was in it ; he smilingly replied, 'My love, I will immediately come to thee; pray thce go, for I am very busy:' when he came out of his closet I revived my suit; he kissed me, and talked of other things. At supper I would eat nothing; he as usual sat by me, and drank often to me, which was his custom, and was full of discourse to company lhat was at table. Going to bed I asked again; and said I could not believe he loved me if he refused to tell me all he knew; but he answered nothing, but slopped my mouth with kisses. So we went to bed; I cried, and he went to sleep! Next morning early, as his custom was, he called to rise, hut began to discourse with me first, to which I made no reply ; he rose, come on the olher side of the bed and kissed me, and drew the curtains softly, and went to court. When he came home to dinner, he presently came to me as was usual, and when I had him by the hand, I said, 'Thou dost not care 10 see me troubled;' to which be, taking me in his arms, answered, ' My dearest soul, nothing upon earth can afflict me like lhat: But when you asked me of my business, it was wholly out of my power to satisfy thee ; for my life and (online shall be thine, and every thought of my heart in which the trusi I am in may not b« revealed: But my honour is my own; which 1 cannot preserve if I communicate the prince's affairs; and, pray thee, with this answer rest satisfied.' So great was his reason and goodness, that, upon consideration, it made my folly appear to me so vile, that from that day until the day of his death, I never thought fit to ask him any business, but what he communicated freely to me, in order to his estate or family.”
After the ill success of the royal arms had made it necessary for the Prince to retire beyond seas, Lady Fanshawe and her husband attended him to the Scilly Islands. We give this natural and simple picture of their discomforts on that expedition:—
“The next day, after having been pillaged, and extremely sick and big with child, I was set on shore, almost dead, in the island of Scilly ; when we had got to our quarters near the castle, where the prince lay, I went immediately to bed, which was so vile that my footman ever lay in a better, and we had but three in the whole house, which consisted of four rooms, or rather partitions, two low rooms, and two little lofts, with a ladder to go up: in one of these they kept dried fish, which was his trade, and in this my husband's two clerks lay; one there was for my sister, and one for myself, and one amongst the rest of the servants; but when I waked in the morning, I was so cold I knew not what to do; but the daylight discovered that my bed was near swimming with the sea, which the owner told us afterwards it never did— but at spring tides.”
We must not omit her last interview with her unfortunate Sovereign, which took place at Hampton Court, when his star washastening to its setting! It is the only interview with that unhappy Prince of which she has left any notice; and is, undoubtedly, very touching and amiable.
“During his stay at Hampton Court, my husband was with him; to whom he was pleased to talk much of his concerns, and gave him three credentials for Spain, with private instructions, and letters for his service : But God, for our sins, disposed his Majesty's affairs otherwise. I went three times to pay my duty to him, both as 1 was the daughter of his servant, and wife of his servant. The last time I ever saw him, when I took my leave, I could not refrain from weeping, When he had saluted me, I prayed to God to preserve his majesty with long life and happy years; he stroked me on the cheek, and said, ‘Child, if God pleaseth it shall be so! both you and I must submit to God's will, and you know in what hands I am in ;' then turning to your father, he said, ‘Be sure, Dick, to tell my son all that I have said, and deliver those letters to my wife; pray God bless her: I hope I shall do well;' and taking him in his arms, said, ‘Thou hast ever been an honest man, and I hope God will bless thee, and make thee a happy ser. want to my son, whom I have charged in my letter to continue his love, and trust to you;' adding, “I do promise you, that if ever I am restored to my dignity, I will bountifully reward you for both your service and sufferings.' Thus did we part from that glorious sun, that within a few months after was murdered, to the grief of all Christians that were not forsaken by God.”
darings of Mrs. Hutchinson, though we cannot say that the occasion called so clearly for their display. During their voyage to Portu gal, and—
“When we had just passed the Straits, we saw coming towards us, with full sails, a Turkish galley, well manned, and we believed we should be all carried away slaves, for this man had so laden his ship with goods for Spain, that his guns were useless, though the ship carried sixty guns. He called for brandy, and after he had well drunken, and all his men, which were near two hundred, he called for arms, and cleared the deck as well as he could, resolving to fight rather than lose his ship, which was worth 30,000l. This was sad for us passengers: but my husband bid us be sure to keep in the cabin, and not appear, the women, which would make the Turks think that we were a man-of-war, but if they saw women, they would take us for merchants, and board us. He went upon the deck, and took a gun and bandoliers, and sword, and, with the rest of the ship's company, stood upon deck expecting the arrival of the Turkish man-of-war. This beast, the captain, had locked me up in the cabin; I knocked . called long to no purpose, until at length the cabin-boy came and opened the door. I, all in tears, desired him to be so good as to give me his blue thrum cap he wore, of his tarred coat, which he did, and I gave him half-a-crown, and puttin them on, and flinging away my .."; crept up softly and stood upon the deck by m husband's side, as free from sickness and fear as, confess, from discretion; but it was the effect of that passion which I could never master.
“By this time the two vessels were engaged in parley, and so well satisfied with speech and sight of each other's forces, that the Turks' man-of-war tacked about, and we continued our course. But when your father saw it convenient to retreat, looking upon me, he blessed himself, and snatched me up in his arms, saying, ‘Good God, that love can make this change!' and though he seemingly chid me, he would laugh at it as often as he remembered that voyage.”
What follows is almost as strong a proof of that “love which casteth out fear;” while it is more unexceptionable on the score of prudence. Sir Richard, being in arms for the King at the fatal battle of Worcester, was afterwards taken prisoner, and brought to London; to which place his faithful consort immediately repaired, where, in the midst of her anxieties,
“I met a messenger from him with a letter, which advised me of his condition, and told me he was very civilly used, and said little more, but that I o in some room at Charing Cross, where he had promise from his keeper that he should rest there in my company at dinner-time; this was meant to him as a great favour. I expected him with impatience, and on the day appointed provided a dinner and room, as ordered, in which I was with my father and some more of our friends, where, about eleven of the clock, we saw hundreds of poor soldiers, both English and Scotch, march all naked on foot, and many with your father, who was very cheerful in appearance; who, after he had spoken and saluted me and his friends there, said, Pray let us not lose time, for I know not how little I have to spare; this is the chance of war; nothing venture, nothing have; so let us sit down and be merry whilst we may ;' then taking my hand in his, and kissing me, “Cease weeping, no other thing upon earth can move me; remember we are all at God's disposal.'
“During the time of his imprisonment, I failed not constantly to go, when the clock struck four in the morning, with a dark lantern in my hand al.