such persons as have leisure and opportunity: but, with Levi, to offer up morning and evening sacrifice every day, this she required from the busiest servant in the house, that at the outgoings of the morning and evening, every one should praise God and call upon his name.

Neither were these holy offices confined to her menial servants: others came freely to join with them, and her oratory was as open to her neighbours as her hall was.

On the Lord's-day, she rose in the morning earlier than ordinarily; yet, enjoined herself so much private duty with her children and servants, examining them in the sermons and catechisings, &c. and with her own soul, that oftentimes the day was too short for her; and then I have known her rise two or three hours before day on the Monday, to supply what was left undone the day before. To dispose herself the better for the religious keeping of the Lord's-day, as well for other spiritual ends, I presume it was, that she so solemnly fasted every Saturday: that day she sequestered herself from company, and from worldly employment, and came seldom out of her closet till towards evening, and then the chaplain must double the sacrifice; prayers she had and catechising both.

And her care to prepare herself for the receiving of the holy Sacrament of our most blessed Lord's Supper, was most commendable and most punctual. Oftentimes, scruples and fears arose in her, tending to keep her back from that heavenly banquet; and she having, upon examination of them, reason enough, as we thought, to conclude that they were temptations from the devil, whom she perceived labouring amain to deprive her of that strength and comfort which she hoped to receive from that sacred ordinance, neglected them all, and presented herself with an humble and trembling heart, at that blessed Sacrament. And these fears and scruples in her

occasioned this peremptory resolution from her, that she would not, by God's help, thenceforth omit any opportunity of communicating.

At home, her servants were all moved to accompany her to the Sacrament; and they who were prevailed with, gave up their names to her two or three days before; and from thence she applied herself to the instructing of them; and she knew well how to administer to every one their particular portion; and several exhortations she had for several persons whom she had power over. Yet, she trusted not in her own instructions of them, but desired the chaplain's help also to examine them, and to instruct them further. And her care was, so to order her domestic affairs, that all those servants who were to receive the Sacrament, should have the day before it free from their ordinary work, that they might have better leisure for that spiritual work of preparing themselves for that Sacrament. And after the holy Sacrament, she called them together again, and gave them such exhortations as were proper for them.

Yet, while she was thus religiously and piously employed in this good proficiency and far progress, going on from grace to grace, from virtue to virtue, God had a further design upon her, another affliction to quicken her yet more. Her young and most dear son, Lorenzo, whom God had endowed with the choicest of natural abilities, and to whom her affections were most tender, by reason of those fair blossoms of piety she perceived in him, God takes away from her. This, added to her former troubles of the loss of her husband, of her crosses in the world, and of her spiritual affliction, which came often upon her, made the burden most heavy. She was bruised with afflictions before, but now, she fears being ground to powder. Now she weeps and mourns all the day long, and at night also waters her couch with tears; and weeping, saith, "Ah!

"this immoderate sorrow must be repented of, "these tears wept over again." And this quick sense of displeasing God, by this deep grief, soon allayed the vehemency of it. And now she retires herself to listen what the Lord God said unto her, in this louder call of affliction; and she seems to think that she was not yet weaned enough from the things of this world, and that it is expedient for her, that some of those worldly comforts she most delighted in, should be taken away from her, that her conversation may be yet more spiritual and heavenly; and therefore this affliction seemed to call her to a greater mortification to the world, and to a nearer conformity to Christ her Lord. Yet, fearing that still her sorrow for her son was somewhat excessive, she again consulted her chaplain, and acquainted him with the violence of those fits of sorrow which of late had seized upon her, for the death of her son; and he with his medicinal counsel and direction, by God's help, cured this her distemper; and antidotes he prescribed too, to prevent a relapse into this malady of excessive grief. Now she confessed that this very affliction was most fit for her, and that it would prove most beneficial to her; and returning home with perfect cheerfulness, every one there observed a most notable though sudden change in her. Sad Hannah's countenance and conversation not more visibly changed upon the good words of Eli the prophet to her, concerning the Samuel she should obtain, than hers now is, after the loss of one. And with this extraordinary cheerfulness, she took up a most firm resolution of a further progress in holiness and piety, and addressed herself to run these latter stages of her Christian race with greater speed than she had shewed in any of the former. But the devil, who before envied her beginning, and her proficiency much more, is now most violent to hinder her perfection; and therefore, upon this her renewed pur

pose of more exact obedience, presently assaults her with fierceness and rage, strongly tempting her to think that she had deceived herself all this while, and that she had mocked God with a counterfeit repentance, which was no way acceptable to him. And an argument was brought to this purpose, which was so fully suitable to the tenderness of her own spirit, that it is hard to say whence it proceeded. And this it was: "My grief for my sins "hath not been so vehement, as that, the other day, "for the death of my son; I wept not so bitterly "for them, as I did for that; and therefore, that my "repentance is not acceptable." And in this anguish of spirit, she hastens to her learned friend again, and begs counsel and direction from him; and after devout prayers and holy conferences, received full comfort and thorough satisfaction, and returns home now as visibly lifted up from the deep pit of anguish and disquiet of spirit, as she was the other day, from the valley of sorrow; and with tranquillity of mind, and joy of heart, shews to her friends, both how she sunk, and how she was raised again.

And now having, by the help of her God, overcome this difficulty, with much cheerfulness of spirit she enters upon the practice of what she had last resolved on. This opposition, though it staid her a while, yet, set an edge upon her resolution, and she soon recovered that whetting time. And she begins, by a most sharp mortification, to obey the call of her last affliction.

and

The vanity of apparel and dress, she had cut off long before; and after her husband's death, the richness of them too. What she spared in these, she bestowed upon the poor members of Christ; now she begins to cut off all worldly pomp also. In her house, in her retinue, and at her table, and otherwise, she denies herself that state which her quality might have excused, that, like Dorcas, the

widow, she might be full of good works; and more delight she takes to see her revenues now spent among a crowd of alms-men and women at her door, than by a throng of servants in her house. It was a greater joy to her, that she could maintain poor children at their books and their work, than to have pages and gentlewomen for her attendants: these expenses, she knew would be better allowed, in her bill of accounts at the general audit, than those other. It was her pomp and joy to mortify all useless pomp of state, and all delight in courtly

vanities.

And now her anger too, which was crushed before, must be wholly subdued; and to that purpose she solicitously avoids all inquiries and all discourse which she feared would provoke her to immoderate anger; and when she feels it struggling to arise in her, then presently, either by silence or by diverting to another matter, she labours to stifle it.

And while she is suppressing the sinfulness of this passion, she undertakes also that most difficult task of taming the tongue; and, as it is necessary with unruly beasts, she begins roughly with it, ties it up with a most strong resolution, and scarce suffers it to speak, lest she should offend with her tongue. Thus, for some while, it was straitened, and then she loosed it a little with these two cautions..

First, that it should never speak evil of any man, though truly, but only upon a design of charity, to reclaim him from that evil. And because it is not ordinary to reclaim any vicious person in his absence, therefore, her charge is peremptory to her tongue, that it never should speak evil of any man, were he most notoriously vicious, if he were absent, and not like to be amended by it. A strict rule this; yet, verily, I persuade myself, that for a long time before her death she most punctually observed it.

The second caution her tongue had, was, that, as