CHAP. V.

Her temper, occasioning these troubles of mind.

§.1. THE soul while in the body, works much according1
to the bodies disposition. 1. She2
was of an extraordinary sharp and piercing Wit.3
2. She had a natural reservedness, and secrecy, increased4
by thinking it necessary prudence not to be5
open; by which means she was oft mis-understood6
by her nearest friends, and consequently often crost7
and disappointed by those that would have pleased8
her. And as she could understand men much by9
their looks and hints, so she expected all should10
know her mind without her expressing it, which11

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bred her frustrations and discontents. 3. And she12
had a natural tenderness, and troubledness of mind,13
upon the crossing of her just desires: too quick, and14
ungovernable a sense of displeasing words or deeds.15
4. She had a diseased unresistible fearfulness; her16
quick, and too sensible nature was over-timerous:17
and to increase it, she said she was four times, before18
I knew her, in danger of death of which,19
one was by the Small-Pox: And more to increase20
it, her Mothers house Apply-Castle, near Wellington,21
being a Garison, it was stormed while she was22
in it, and part of the housing about it burnt, and23
men lay killed before her face, and all of them24
threatened, and stript of their cloathing, so that25
they were fain to borrow cloaths. 5. And the great26
work upon her soul, in her coversion, moved all her27
passions. 6. And then her dangerous sickness, and28
the sentence of death to so young a Convert, must29
needs be a very awaking thing; and coming on her30
before she had any assurance of her justification, did31
increase her fear. 7. And in this case she lived in32
the Church-Yard side, where she saw all the Burials33
of the dead, and kept a deaths head a skull in34
her Closet still before her. And other such mortifying35
spectacles increased her sad disposition.36
§.2. And the excessive love which she had to her37
Mother, did much increase her grief when she expected38
death.39
§.3. Though she called it melancholly, that by40
all this she was cast into, yet it rather seemed a partly41
natural, and partly an adventitious diseased fearfulness42
in a tender over-passionate nature, that had43
no power to quiet her own fears, without any other44
cloud on her understanding.45
§.4. And all was much encreased by her wisdom,46
so stifling all the appearances of it, that it all inwardly47
wrought, and had no ease by vent.48
§.5. And having keen spirits, and thin sharp49
blood, she had a strong Hemicrania or Head-ake once50
a month, and oft once a fortnight, or more, from the51
age of fifteen or sixteen years. All these together52
much tended to hinder her from a quiet and comfortable53
temper.54
§.6. And in a word, all the operations of her55
soul were very intense and strong; strong wit, and56
strong love, and strong displeasure. And when God57
shewed her what Holiness was, she thought she must58
presently have it in so great a degree as the ripest59
Saints do here attain; and that because she had not60
as much heavenly life, and sense, and delight in God61
as she knew she should have and desired, she concluded62
of it that she had none that was sincere.63
§.7. One of the first things by which her change64
was discovered to her Mother and Friends, was her65
fervent secret prayers: for living in a great house, of66
which the middle part was ruined in the Wars, she67
chose a Closet in the further end, where she thought68
none heard her: But some that over-heard her, said,69
they never heard so fervent prayers from any person.70
§.8. Yet she desired me to draw up a form suited71
to her own condition; which I did, and find it now72
reserved among her Papers; but I cannot tell whether73
she ever used it, having affections and freedom74
of expression without it. I had thought to have annexed75
it for the use of afflicted Penitents: But it76
will be but a digression in this Narrative.77

CHAP. VI.

Of our Marriage, and our Habitations.

§.1. THE unsuitableness of our age, and my78
former known purposes against Marriage,79
and against the conveniency of Ministers Marriage,80
who have no sort of necessity, made our marriage81
the matter of much publick talk and wonder:82
And the true opening of her case and mine, and the83
many strange occurrences which brought it to pass,84
would take away the wonder of her friends and85
mine that knew us; and the notice of it would86
much conduce to the understanding of some other87
passages of our lives: Yet wise Friends, by whom88
I am advised, think it better to omit such personal89
particularities, at least at this time. Both90
in her case and mine, there was much extraordinary,91
which it doth not much concern the world to92
be acquainted with. From the first thoughts of it,93
many changes and stoppages intervened, and long delays,94
till I was silenced and ejected with many hundreds95
more; and so being separated from my old96
Pastoral Charge, which was enough to take up all97
my time and labour, some of my disswading Reasons98
were then over. And at last, on Septemb. 10.99
1662. we were married in Bennet-Fink Church by100
Mr. Samuel Clerk yet living, having been before101
Contracted by Mr. Simeon Ash, both in the presence102
of Mr. Henry Ashurst and Mrs. Ash.103
§.2. She consented to these Conditions of our104
Marriage: 1. That I would have nothing that before105
our Marriage was hers; that I who wanted no106
outward supplies might not seem to marry her for107
covetousness. 2. That she would so alter her affairs,108
that I might be intangled in no Law-suits.109
3. That she would expect none of my time which110
my Ministerial work should require.111
§.3. When we were married, her sadness and melancholy112
vanished; counsel did something to it, and113
contentment something; and being taken up with114
our houshold affairs, did somewhat. And we lived115
in inviolated love, and mutual complacency, sensible116
of the benefit of mutual help. These near nineteen117
years I know not that ever we had any breach118
in point of love, or point of interest, save only119
that she somewhat grudged that I had persuaded120
her for my quietness to surrender so much of her Estate,121
to a disabling her from helping others so much122
as she earnestly desired.123
§.4. But that even this was not from a covetous124
mind, is evident by these instances. 1. Though her125
Portion which was 2000 l. besides that given up126
aforesaid was by ill debtors 200 l. lost in her127
Mothers time, and 200 l. after, before her Marriage;128
and all she had reduced to almost 1650 l. yet129
she never grudged at any thing that the poverty of130
Debtors deprived her of.131
2. She had before been acquainted with the Lord132
Chancellor's offering me a Bishoprick; and though133
it might have taken off the censure of those Relations134
that thought she debased her self in marrying135
me, and also might have seemed desirable to her for136
the Wealth as well as the Honour; she was so far137
from desiring my accepting it, that I am persuaded138
had I done it, it would have alienated her much139
from me in point of esteem and love. Not that she140
had any opinion against Episcopacy then that ever141
I could perceive but that she abhorred a worldly142
mercenary mind in a Minister of Christ, and was a143
sharp Censurer of all that for gain, or honour, or144
worldly ends, would stretch their consciences to any145
thing that they thought God forbad. And I am assured146
though towards her end she wisht she had147
been abler to relieve the needy, and do more good;148
yet she lived a far more contented life in our mean149
condition, even when she stoopt to receive from others150
that had been strangers to her, than she would151
have done had I been a Bishop, and she had had many152
thousand pounds more at her dispose; yea I am persuaded153
she would not easily have endured it.154
3. Another tryal of her as to Wealth and Honour,155
was when I, and all such others, were cast out156
of all possession, and hope of all Ecclesiastical maintenance;157
she was not ignorant of the scorn and the158
jealousies, and wrath and prosecutions that I was159
like to be exposed to; yea, she had heard and seen it160
already begun by Bishop Morley's forbidding me to161
preach before, and preaching himself, and his Dean,162
and many others, fiercely against me in Kederminster163
Pulpit; she had quickly heard them that were cast164
out and silenced, deeply accused as if they had deserved165
it. To chuse a participation of such a life166
that had no encouragement from any worldly167
Wealth or Honour, yea, that was exposed to such168
certain suffering which had no end in prospect on169
this side death, did shew that she was far from covetousness.170
Much more evidence of this I shall shew you171
as it falls in its place.172
§.5. Among other troubles that her Marriage exposed173
her to, one was our oft necessitated removals;174
which to those that must take Houses, and bind themselves175
to Landlords, and fit and furnish them, is more176
than for single persons that have no such clogs or177
cares. First, We took a House in Moorefields, after178
at Acton; next that, another at Acton; and after179
that, another there; and after that, we were put to180
remove to one of the former again; and after that,181
to divers others in another place and County, as followeth;182
and the women have most of that sort of183
trouble. But she easily bare it all.184
And I know not that ever she came to any place185
where she did not extraordinarily win the love of186
the inhabitants unless in any street where she staid187
so short a time, as not to be known to them: Had188
she had but the riches of the world to have done189
the good that she had a heart to do, how much190

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would she have been loved, who in her mean and191
low condition won so much?192
And her carriage won more love than her liberality;193
she could not endure to hear one give another194
any sowr, rough, or hasty word; her speech195
and countenance was always kind and civil, whether196
she had any thing to give or not.197
And all her kindness tended to some better end,198
than barely to relieve peoples bodily wants; even199
to oblige them to some duty that tended to the good200
of their souls, or to deliver them from some straits201
which fill'd them with hurtful care, and became a202
matter of great temptation to them. If she could203
hire the poor to hear Gods word, from Conformist204
or Nonconformist, or to read good serious practical205
Books, whether written by Conformists or Nonconformists,206
it answered her end and desire: and many207
an hundred books hath she given to those ends. But208
of these things more hereafter. This is here but to209
answer to foresaid objection, and to lead on to the210
following particular passages of her life.211
§.6. While I was at Acton, her carriage and charity212
so won the people there, that all that I ever213
heard of, greatly esteemed and loved her. And she214
being earnestly desirous of doing good, prepared215
her house for the reception of those that would216
come in, to be instructed by me, between the morning217
and evening publick Assemblies, and after: And218
the people that had never been used to such things,219
accounted worldly ignorant persons, gave us great220
hopes of their edification, and reformation, and filled221
the Room, and went with me also into the222
Church which was at my door: And when I was223
after removed, the people hearing that I again224
wanted a house being ten miles off, they unanimously225
subscribed a request to me, to return to my226
old house with them, and offered to pay my house-rent;227
which I took kindly: and it was much her228
winning conversation which thus won their love.229
§.7. When I was carried thence to the common230
Goal, for teaching them, as aforesaid, I never perceived231
her troubled at it: she cheerfully went232
with me into Prison; she brought her best bed thither,233
and did much to remove the removable inconveniencies234
of the Prison. I think she had scarce ever a235
pleasanter time in her life than while she was with236
me there. And whereas people upon such occasions237
were not unapt to be liberal, it was against her mind238
to receive more than necessity required. Only three239
persons gave me just as much as paid Lawyers and240
prison-charges, and when one offered me more, she241
would not receive it: But all was far short of the242
great charges of our removal to another habitation .243
§.8. The Parliament making a new sharper Law244
against us, I was forced to remove into another245
Country; thither she went with me, and removed246
her Goods that were movable, from Acton to Totteridge,247
being engaged for the Rent of the house we248
left: At Totteridge, the first year, few poor people249
are put to the hardness that she was put to; we250
could have no house but part of a poor Farmers,251
where the Chimneys so extreamly smoak't, as greatly252

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annoyed her health; for it was a very hard Winter,253
and the Coal-smoak so filled the Room that we254
all day sate in, that it was as a cloud, and we were255
even suffocated with the stink. And she had ever a256
great straitness of the Lungs, and could not bear257
smoak or closeness. This was the greatest bodily258
suffering that her outward condition put her to;259
which was increased by my continual pain there. But260
her charity to her poor Landlady, set her Son Apprentice,261
who now liveth well.262
§.9. Thence we removed to a house; which we263
took to our selves, which required so great alterations264
and amendment, as took her up much time and265
labour: and, to her great comfort, she got Mr. Corbet266
and his Wife to dwell with us. And in all these267
changes and troubles she lived in great peace.268
§.10. When the Kings Declarations and Licenses269
gave Nonconformists leave to build Meeting-places,270
and Preach, she was against going to London, till271
others were there setled, lest I should anticipate272
them, and gather any Auditors, who would else go273
to others, especially their old ejected Pastors; but274
when others were setled, she was earnest with me to275
go, for the exercise of my Ministry.276
§.11. Upon our remove to London, out of tender277
regard to my health, which she thought the situation278
might contribute much unto, she chose, and279
took for us the most pleasant and convenient house280
in Southampton-Square, where she died. These281
were our removes.282

§.9. The nature of true Religion, Holiness, Obedience,283
and all Duty to God and man, was printed284
in her conceptions, in so distinct and clear a Character,285
as made her endeavours and expectations still286
look at greater exactness, than I and such as I could287
reach. She was very desirous that we should all288
have lived in a constancy of Devotion, and a blameless289
Innocency: And in this respect she was the290
meetest helper that I could have had in the world291
that ever I was acquainted with: For I was apt292
to be over-careless in my Speech, and too backward293
to my Duty; And she was still endeavouring to294
bring me to greater wariness and strictness in both:295
If I spake rashly or sharply, it offended her: If I296
carried it as I was apt with too much neglect of297
Ceremony, or humble Complement to any, she would298
modestly tell me of it: If my very Looks seemed not299
pleasant, she would have had me amend them which300
my weak pained state of Body undisposed me to do:301
If I forgat any Week to Catechise my Servants, and302
familiarly instruct them personally besides my ordinary303
Family-Duties she was troubled at my remisness.304
And whereas of late years my decay of Spirits,305
and diseased heaviness and pain, made me much more306
seldom and cold in profitable Conference and Discourse307
in my house, that I had been when I was308
younger, and had more Ease, and Spirits, and natural309
Vigour, she much blamed me, and was troubled310
at it, as a wrong to her self and others: Though311
yet her judgment agreed with mine, that too much312
and often Table-talk of the best things, doth but313
tend to dull the common hearers, and harden them314
under it as a customary thing: And that too much315
good talk may bring it into contempt, or make it316
ineffectual.317
And of late years, my constant weakness and pain318
made me unable to speak much in my ordinary319
course of Duty; and my Writings, Preachings and320
other publick Duty which I ever thought I was321
bound to prefer before lesser did so wholly take up322
those few hours of the day, which I had out of my323
Bed, that I was seldomer in secret Prayer with my324
Wife than she desired.325
§.10. Indeed it troubleth me to think how oft I326
told her, That I never understood Solomon's words,327
Eccles. 7.16. but by the Exposition of her case, Be328
not righteous overmuch, neither make thy self overwise:329
Why shouldst thou destroy thy self? I doubt not but330
Solomon spake of Humane Civil Righteousness and331
Wisdom, as a means respecting Temporal Prosperity332
or Adversity, rather than Spiritual, holy Righteousness,333
respecting God's everlasting Reward: Or if it334
were extended to Religious Righteousness, it can335
be but against Superstition, falsly called Righteousness.336
But as to our present case, I must thus resolve the337
Question, Whether one can be religiously wise and righteous338
overmuch? And I Answer, That we must distinguish339
between, 1. Material and Formal Righteousness.340
2. Between Objective and Subjective measures of341
it. 3. Of the good and bad consequents and effects. And342
1. no man can be formally and properly too wise or343
too righteous. Else it would charge God with Errour:344
For formal proper Righteousness is nothing345
but our Conformity to God's governing Will. And346
if our Obedience were too much, and to be blamed,347
God's commands were to be blamed, that required348
it. But very strict actions are commonly called Righteousness,349
as a written Prayer or words are called a350
Prayer, though properly wanting the Form, it is351
not so. And not only a good Object, but a right352
End, Principle, and Mode, and Circumstances, go353
to make an Action righteous. 2. That Action which354
compared with the Object cannot possibly be overwise355
and righteous, yet as compared with the Agent,356
or Subject, may be too much: No man can know,357
believe, or love God too much, nor answerable to358
his Perfections. But one may possibly be transported359
with so earnest a desire of God, Christ, Christian360
Society, Holiness and Heaven, as may be more than361
Head and Health can bear: And so it may be too362
much for the subject. 3. Therefore the probable363
effects must be weighed. He that should meditate,364
read, yea love God so intensly as to distract him,365
would do it overmuch. He that would do a good366
work precisely, when the exactness would hinder367
the substance of another, perhaps a better, would368
be righteous overmuch. And I thought this the case369
sometime of my dear Wife; 1. She set her Head370
and Heart so intensly upon doing good, that her371
Head and Body would hardly bear it. As holy set372
Meditation is no Duty to a Melancholy person that373
cannot do it without confusion and danger of distraction;374
so many other Duties are no Duties, when375
they will do more harm than good. 2. And a man376
is limited in his Capacity and his Time: No man377
can do all the good he would; and to omit a378
greater for the better doing of a lesser, or to omit379
the substance of the one for exacter doing of another,380
I thought was to be unrighteous by being381
righteous overmuch. She and some others thought382
I had done better to have written fewer Books, and383
to have done those few better. I thought, while384
I wrote none needlesly, the modall imperfection of385
two was less evil than the total omission of one:386
She thought I should have spent more time in Religious387
exercise with her, my Family, and my Neighbours,388
though I had written less. I thought there389
were many to do such work, that would not do mine;390
and that I chose the greatest, which I durst not omit,391
and could not do both in the measure that I desired392
else to have done.393
§.11. As she saith before cited her self, that394
if she was but in a condition, in which Gods service395
was costly to her, it would make her know whether she396
were sincere or not; so she had her wish, and proved397
her sincerity by her costliest obedience: It cost her398
not only her labour and Estate, but somewhat of399
her trouble of body and mind; For her knife was400
too keen, and cut the sheath. Her desires were401
more earnestly set on doing good, than her tender402
mind and head could well bear; for indeed her great403
infirmity was the four Passions of Love, Desire,404
Fear, and Trouble of Mind. Anger she either had very405
little, next none, or little made it known. She rarely406
ever spake in an angry manner: She could not well407
bear to hear one speak loud, or hastily, or eagerly,408
or angrily, even to those that deserved it: My409

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temper in this she blamed, as too quick and earnest:410
When her servants did any fault unwillingly, she411
scarce ever told them of it; when one lost Ten412
Pounds worth of Linnen in carriage carelesly, and413
another Ten Pounds worth of Plate by negligence,414
she shewed no anger at any such thing. If servants415
had done amiss, and we could not prove it, or knew416
not which did it, she would never ask them her self,417
nor suffer others, lest it should tempt them to hide it418
by a lye unless it were a servant that feared God,419
and would not lye.420
I took her deep and long sense of the faults of421
over-loved and obliged persons, to be one of her422
greatest faults. But no one was ever readier to forgive423
a fault confessed, or which weakness and religious424
differences caused. I will give but one instance:425
The good woman whom she used to hire the Rooms426
over St. Jameses Market-house, was greatly against427
the Common-prayer, and first made my Wife feel428
whether I meant to use it, before she would take it.429
I told her I intended not to use it, but would not promise430
her. Upon that my Wife told her that I would431
not. After this I caused the Reader to read the432
Psalms, Chapters, Creed, Decalogue, and I used the433
Lords Prayer; and I openly told them, that we met not434
as a Separated distinct Church, but for the time to435
supply the notorious necessities of the people, and436
as helpers of the allowed Ministry. The good woman437
thought this had been reading the Common-Prayer,438
and in a Letter which I now find, accused439
my Wife with five or six vehement charges, for telling440
her I would not read the Common-Prayer. My441
Wife was of my mind for the442
Matter; but greatly443
offended with me for seeming to do it for the avoiding444
of danger; and was so far from not pardoning445
these false smart accusations, that she never once446
blamed the good woman, but loved her, tendered447
her, and relieved her in sickness to the death, but448
hardly forgave me; and yet drew me from all other449
places, if the Ministers were not of my mind by450
prudent diversity.451
Much less did her sufferings from the times distemper452
her. She hath blamed me for naming in print453
my Losses, Imprisonment, and other sufferings by the454
Bishops, as being over selfish queralousness, when I455
should rather with wonder be thankful for the great456
mercy we yet enjoyed. Though I think I never457
mentioned them as over-sensible of the sufferings,458
but as a necessary evincing of the nature of the459
cause, and as part of the necessary history or matter460
of fact in order to decide it. She as much disliked the461
silencing of the Ministers, as any; but she did not462
love to hear it much complained of, save as the publick463
loss; nor to hear Conformists talkt against as a464
Party; nor the faults of the conscientious sort of465
them aggravated in a siding factious manner.466
But 1. she was prone to over-love her Relations,467
and those good people poor as much as rich468
whom she thought most upright. The love was469
good, but the degree was too passionate.470
2. She over-earnestly desired their spiritual welfare.471
If these whom she over-loved, had not been as472
good, and done as well as she would have them, in473
innocent behaviour, in piety, and if rich in liberality,474
it over-troubled her, and she could not bear475
it.476

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3. She was apt when she set her mind and heart477
upon some good work which she counted great, or478
the welfare of some dear Friend, to be too much479
pleased in her expectations and self-made promises of480
the success; and then almost overturned with trouble481
when they disappointed her. And she too impatiently482
bore unkindnesses from the friends that were483
most dear to her, or whom she had much obliged.484
Her will was set upon good, but her weakness could485
not bear the crossing or frustration of it.486
§.12. But the great infirmity which tyrannized487
over her, was a diseased fearfulness, against which she488
had little more free will or power, than a man in an489
Ague or Frost, against shaking cold. Her nature was490
prone to it; and I said before, abundance of sad491
accidents made that, and trouble of mind, her malady.492
Besides as she said four times in danger of death.493
2. And the storming of her Mothers house by Soldiers,494
firing part, killing, plundering, and threatning495
the rest. 3. The awakenings of her conversion.496
4. The sentence of death by sickness presently, before497
her peace was setled. 5. The fire next her498
Lodgings in Sweetings-Alley. 6. The burning of a499
Merchant, his Wife and Family, in Lothbury, overagainst500
her Brother Upton's door. 7. The common501
terror and confusion at Dunstans Church in Fleetstreet,502
when they thought the Church was falling on503
their heads while I was preaching, and the people504
cast themselves down from the Galleries. 8. Her505
Mothers death. 9. The friendless state she thought506
she was then left in. 10. The great Plague. 11. The507
Burning of London. 12. The crack and danger of508
her Chamber in Aldersgate street. 13. The crack509
and confusion at St. Jameses Market-house. 14. The510
many Fires and talk of firing since. 15. The common511
rumours of Murderings and Massacres. 16. The512
death and dangers of many of her friends, and my513
own illness. More than all these concurred to make514
fear and aptness to be troubled, to be her disease: so515
that she much dreamed of fire and murderers; and516
her own dreams workt half as dangerously on her517
as realities; so that she could not bear the clapping518
of a door, or any thing that had suddenness, noise,519
or fierceness in it. But all this was more the malady520
of her body than of her soul; and I accounted had521
little moral guilt: and I took it for an evidence of522
the power of grace, that so timerous a person 1. had523
overcome most of her fears of Hell and Gods desertion.524
2. And was more fearless of persecution, imprisonment,525
or losses and poverty thereby, than I or526
any that I remember to have known.527
§.13. And though her spirits were so quick, and528
she so apt to be troubled at mens sin whom she much529
loved, she greatly differed from me in her bearing530
with them, and carriage towards them. My temper531
and judgment much led me to use my dependents,532
servants and friends, according to the rules of Church-discipline;533
and if they heard not loving, private admonitions534
once, twice, and thrice, to speak to them535
more sharply, and then before others, and to turn536
them off if yet they would not amend. But her way537
was to oblige them by all the love, kindness and538
bounty that she was able, and to bear with them year539
after year while there was hope, and at last not to desert540
them, but still use them so as she though was likest541
at least to keep them in a state of hope from the542
badness which displicency might cause. I could not543
have born with a Son, I think, as she could do where544
her kindness was at her own choice; and yet she545
more disliked the least fault than I did, and was546
more desirous of their greatest innocency and exactness.547
§.14. Indeed she was so much for calmness, deliberation,548
and doing nothing rashly, and in haste,549
and my condition and business, as well as temper550
made me do, and speak much so suddenly, that she551
principally differed from me, and blamed me in this;552
every considerable case and business she would have553
me take time to think much of before I did it, or554
speak, or resolved of any thing. I knew the counsel555
was good for one that could stay, but not for one556
that must ride Post: I thought still I had but a little557
time to live; I thought some considerable work still558
called for haste: I have these Forty years been559
sensible of the sin of losing time: I could not560
spare an hour: I thought I could understand the561
matters in question as well at a few thoughts as in562
many days: and yet she that had less work and563
more leisure, but a far quicker apprehension than564
mine, was all for staying to consider, and against565
haste and eagerness in almost every thing; and566
notwithstanding her over quick, and feeling temper,567
was all for mildness, calmness, gentleness, pleasingness568
and serenity.569
§.15. She had an earnest desire of the conversion570
and salvation of her servants, and was greatly571
troubled that so many of them though tollerable572
in their work went away ignorant, or573
strange to true godliness, as they came: And such574
as were truly converted with us she loved as children.575
§.16. One infirmity made her faulty in the omission576
of much of her duty: She was wont to577
say, that she had from her childhood Imprinted a578
deep fear and hatred of hypocrisie on her mind,579
that she could never do the outside of her duty,580
as to the speaking part, for fear of hypocrisie: I581
scarce ever met with a person that was abler to582
speak long, for matter and good language, without583
repetitions, even about Religious things; and584
few that had more desire that it were well done;585
and yet she could not do it her self for fear of586
seeming to be guilty of ostentation. In good company587
she would speak little of that which she most588
desired to hear. When I was at any time from589
home, she would not pray in the Family, though590
she could not endure to be without it. She would591
privately talk to the servants, and read good books to592
them. Most of the open speaking part of Religion she593
omitted, through a diseased enmity to ostentation and594
hypocrisie. But of late years, when she saw me and595
others too sparing in profitable speech to young596
and ignorant people, she confest that she saw her597
error, and that even an hypocrite, using but598
the words and outside of Religion, was better599
to others than silence and unprofitable omission600
was.601