tirely to meditation, that she seemed scarcely to regard any thing beside. She was then upon the wing. Such was her peace in her latter end, that though the symptoms showed that nature was much oppressed, yet she scarcely felt any uneasiness. It was only from what she perceived was done to her, and from those intimations that were given to her, that she judged her life to be in danger; but she scarcely knew herself to be sick by any thing that she felt at heart. Her bearing so much sickness with so little emotion, was for a while imputed to that undisturbed quiet and patience in which she possessed her soul. But when she repeated it so often, that she felt herself well inwardly, it then appeared that there was a particular blessing in so easy a conclusion of life, that had been led through a great variety of events with a constant equality of temper.

Though from a perusal even of the preceding narrative from Bishop Burnet's essay on her memory, the blessed effect of Christianity will have been seen in framing the mind to a meekness and resignation in the hour of affliction, which reason, unaided by religion, could never have attained unto, yet the following additional particulars of the closing scenes of her life will be not only interesting but also instructive.

When she was first taken ill, the next day her illness seemed to go off. I had the honour to be half an hour with her that day, says Bishop Burnet, and she complained then of nothing. The day following she went abroad, but her illness returned so heavily on her, that she could disguise it no longer, for her indisposition increased upon her, and within two days after, the small pox appeared with very bad symptoms. The king was struck with this beyond

expression. He called me into his closet, and gave a free vent to a most tender passion; he burst out into tears; and cried out that there was no hope of the queen; and that from being the happiest, he was now going to be the miserablest creature upon earth. He said, that during the whole course of his marriage he had never known one single fault in her, there was a worth in her that nobody knew besides himself.

Never was such a universal face of sorrow seen in a court or in a town as at this time; all people, men and women, young and old, could scarce refrain from tears. The new archbishop attended on her; he performed all devotions, and had much private discourse with her: when the desperate condition she was in was evident beyond doubt, he told the king he could not do his duty faithfully unless he acquainted her with the danger she was in the king approved of it, and said, whatever effect it might have, he would not have her deceived in so important a matter. And as the archbishop was preparing the queen with some address, not to surprise her too much with the tidings, she presently apprehended his drift, but showed no fear or disorder upon it. She said, she thanked God "she had always carried this in her mind, that nothing was to be left to the last hour. She had nothing then to do, but to look up to God, and to submit to his will." It went further indeed than submission, for she seemed to desire death rather than life, and she continued to the last minute of her life in that calm and resigned state. She was almost perpetually in prayer; the day before she died she received the sacrament, all the bishops who were attending being admitted to receive it with her we were, God knows, a sorrowful com

pany; for we were losing her who was our chief hope and glory on earth; she followed the whole office, repeating it after the archbishop. After the sacrament was administered, she composed herself solemnly to die. She slumbered sometimes, but said she was not refreshed by it, and said often, that "nothing did her good but prayer." She tried once or twice to have said something to the king, but was not able to go through with it. She ordered the archbishop to be reading to her such passages of Scripture as might fix her attention, and raise her devotion. Several cordials were given, but all was ineffectual. She lay silent for some hours: in conclusion, she died on the 28th of December. She was more generally lamented than perhaps any other princess in our nation and history *.

REFLECTION FROM THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. -"All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field. The grass withereth; the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand for ever "."

599

Bishop Burnet's Essay on the Memory of Queen Mary, and his History of his own Life and Times.

5 Isa. xl. 6. 8.

DR. JOHN TILLOTSON, Archbishop of Canterbury, was an eminent Divine, and exemplary Christian, and the author of many sermons, which have been greatly admired, for their just views and powerful reasonings.

On the 17th day of November, in the year 1694, he was seized with a sudden illness, which proved fatal to him, and mournful to all the friends of true piety. The first attacks came upon him while he was in that employment in which he delighted most, at church, and in the worship of God. He bore them with the usual neglect of himself; and though his countenance showed he was ill, he would neither interrupt nor break off from those sacred exercises, nor make haste to look after his health. Ah! the unhappy neglect of a life that deserved so well to be carefully preserved. The fit came on slowly, but seemed to be fatal. All symptoms were melancholy. It soon turned to a dead palsy. The op

pression was so great, that it became very uneasy for him to speak; but it appeared that his understanding was still clear, though others could not have the advantage of it; he only said that he had no burden on his conscience. All remedies proved ineffectual. He expressed no concern to live, nor fear to die, but patiently bore his burden, till it sunk him on the fifth day, and in the 65th year of his age. I have somewhere read that letters addressed to him by no friendly hands, were found carefully put together and endorsed with the words, "May God forgive them as I do"."

The archbishop was attended the two last nights of his illness by his dear friend Mr. Robert Nelson, in whose arms he expired.

As the oppression which the archbishop suffered was so great, that it became very uneasy for him to speak what would have been, doubtless, worthy of being recorded, I will, instead, insert a letter of his to one Mr. Hunt, for it is suitable to my subject, and may be of use to some of my readers; first explaining, that in the year 1687, his intimate acquaintance, Mr. Nicholas Hunt of Canterbury, lay dangerously ill; and when Dr. Tillotson was informed that he was past recovery, he sent him the following excellent letter of consolation, to comfort and support him under the pressure of his lingering illness. This letter will be the more interesting, because from its contents, it is evident that Dr. Tillotson having just lost an only son, and having also just had a symptom of apo

6 Young.