and ravishing strain does her blessed soul now sing forth the praises of God in heaven, who could tune them so sweetly in the darkest hours of nature, and with the sharpest thorns of affliction at her breast!

She was not entirely free from the assaults of Satan; but he came only to be repulsed with shame, and to add more trophies to all her former victories over him. The last words which were observed to be spoken by her before that fatal lethargy seized upon her weak, worn-out body, which in two days brought on her dissolution, were, "How shall I do "to be thankful? How shall I do to praise my "God?" Thus she closed her life in the exercise of that duty which was to be her constant and endless employment and pleasure, in that better life into which she was then entering; and died in the Lord, December the 25th, 1671, in the ninetieth year of her age, if not, as some of her near relations afterwards said, in the ninety-first. Thus did God give her a remarkable long life, and crown her at last with his salvation.

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

SUSANNA, COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK.

THIS lady was born in or about the year 1627. She was the second daughter of the Earl of Holland, and was married very young to Theophilus, Earl of Suffolk.

Particular notice is taken in the narrative concerning her, of her powers of imagination, judgment, and memory. The last faculty was so eminent in her, that she hath sometimes on the Monday shut herself up in privacy, and, from her remembrance, committed to writing the sermon which she had heard the Lord's-day before; and this with such exactness, as that but little has been wanting of the very words in which the discourse was delivered.

As to morality, she had a perfect government over her passions. She was seldom angry so far as to chide; and when it came to that, she generally checked herself. It was often remarked to her, that she knew to do any thing more skilfully than to chide, especially if it were for any worldly matter. But if any thing that concerned the cause of God awakened her chiding, she would be more serious in it, and often turn her resentment into a warm reprehension and displeasure. An oath, or a scurrilous or profane speech, would bring the blood into her face; and if she had interest in the offenders, they were sure to be reproved: if they were strangers, she would drop some smart check, but yet, such as was perfectly consistent with civility, or would show her dislike by a withdrawment from their

company.

Her behaviour was undissembled towards friends, familiar towards inferiors, affable and accessible to all. She was constant in her friendship, and most

useful in it, being willing to take any pains for the persons for whom she professed an esteem. She was most unapt to admit ill of any of whom she had once conceived well: nothing was so distressing to her as to hear an accusation of those of whom she entertained a good opinion. Her servants fared not the worse for the inferiority of their stations. She was as tender of their errors as she was of those of her friends, and never considered any servant she had, and believed to be faithful and virtuous, but as an humble friend. This disposition, and the kindness she extended to all she knew in affliction, much increased the sorrow at her death. None understood relations better; none could possibly observe them better than she husband, parents, kindred, friends, servants, neighbours, were all witnesses of this truth.

These may seem to be but moral virtues, but there was the utmost reason to think that they were the effects of a gracious disposition in her, and that, flowing from the laver of regeneration, they might well be baptized Christian graces; it being well known that all her actions, in which there was time for deliberation, sprang from a conscience of duty, and were performed as in the sight of God.

Hence her holy fortitude and valour for the truth. She would suffer any inconveniency, rather than she would tell an untruth, or forge an excuse, or permit any of her servants to do it, or by any equivocation deceive, or elude a question. The intrusions of company, when business, and especially the exercises of religion, called her, were no small trouble to her; but she never would be guilty of a lie to get rid of her visitants. Any rock would she venture upon, rather than venture upon an untruth.

Her charity was very great. The poor and distressed, whom her tender heart often relieved, at her death, and long after, bewailed their loss, and thankfully recognised her abundant goodness to them.

She distributed her bounty without the least ostentation. Her soul seemed to be composed of Christian kindness and compassion; and, though she had a perfect government of her passions, yet, her pity always governed her. If any in want, when she was from home, entreated an alms from her, she would not excuse herself by saying, as might sometimes be the case, that she had no money about her, but would borrow from her attendants, to give something for the help of the poor object that solicited her benevolence. But the poor she knew, needed not come to her to implore her aid. She sent clothing, food, physic, and other comforts to their habitations, if they had any, and provided habitations for some, who must otherwise have had no dwellings; and, more than all this, she often condescended to visit them, that she might inform herself of their person and condition. But her charity was not confined to the bodies of the poor. She had a way also of relieving their souls, by the daily prayers she offered up on their behalf, and by instructing the ignorant, and counselling the doubtful and scrupulous.

Another kind of charity also shone in her, that of forgiving injuries, which, whether they arose from mistake and inadvertency, or from wilful malice, were alike pardoned by her. Her memory in other things was very tenacious; but, as to an ill turn, she seemed to have no memory at all. Benefits, kindnesses, good actions, and good speeches, were engraven in her heart, as if written in adamant, never to be effaced; but as to offences, they were only like inscriptions upon sand, which presently vanished. An unkindness, indeed, for the time, might make a deep impression upon her spirit, a great wound upon a heart where all things were so contrary to it; but it never was answered from her with the like unkindness.

She gave the lively signs of her faith and hope, by

which her soul ascended beyond all fears and sorrows into the bosom of Christ. Sometimes, indeed, her fears would be awakened, through the tenderness of her nature; but she would soon recollect herself, and by reason and religious considerations get the victory over them. When she was exercised with sorrows, they yielded to faith and patience, and the comforts which she could readily derive from the Divine storehouse. When her first-born son, then her only child, had the pangs of death upon him, she, after prayers and tears, sat very disconsolate. On the report of his departure, when the floods of grief burst from her eyes, in order to stop their current, she took her Bible, and sang psalms till she had broken the violence of her passion, and brought her soul to a cheerful submission to the will of God.

As to the fine array of her body, she valued it not; but there was a garment in which she delighted, and which was seen above, and invested all the rest, the most lovely garment of humility. This garment clothed her from head to foot, and through this and the veil of modesty, all the other ornaments of her mind shone, if not with a more mollified, yet with a more amiable and divine lustre..

Possessed of these excellent endowments, and graces of the mind, her practice was conformable to them. None of her talents were laid up in a napkin; but, with the utmost diligence and vigour, she improved them for her Master's use, that she might glorify God the giver of them, that she might edify and do good to those to whom she was related, and that she might make her own calling and election sure.

She began the day with God, and as she opened the morning, so, she shut up the evening with prayer. Most commonly, as soon as she could disperse sleep from her eyes, or, because she would not take her full measure of sleep, as soon as others