as whosoever could draw out a rule of honour, kindness, and religion to be practised in that estate, need no more but exactly draw out his example. Never had man a greater passion for a woman, and a more just esteem of a wife, yet he was not uxorious, nor remitted he that just rule which it was her honour to obey, but managed the reins of government with such prudence and affection, that she who would not delight in such an honourable and advantageable subjection must have wanted a reasonable soul. He governed by persuasion, which he never employed but to things honourable and profitable for herself. He loved her soul and her honour more than her outside. If he esteemed her at a higher rate than she in herself could have deserved, he was the author of that virtue he doated on, while she only reflected his own glories upon him: all that she was, was him, while he was here; and all that she is now is at best but his pale shade.

"He was so truly magnanimous, that prosperity could never lift him up in the least, nor give him any tincture of vain glory, nor diminish a general affability, courtesy, and civility, that he always showed to all persons. When he was most exalted, he was most merciful and compassionate to those that were humbled. At the same time that he vanquished any enemy, he cast away all his ill-will to him, and entertained thoughts of love and kindness as soon as he ceased to be in a posture of opposition. He was as far from meanness as from pride, as truly generous as humble, and showed his noble spirit more in his adversity than in his prosperous condition: he vanquished all the spite of his enemies by his manly suffering, and all the contempts they could cast at him were their shame, not his."

This extract, abridged as it is, we may regard as the noblest monument the true-hearted wife

could rear to her husband. No brass or marble could so keep his memory and her affection alive to all generations as these glowing and thoughtful passages.

The comprehensive brevity of her style is well shown in the following eulogy on England, her laws, and people.

"Better laws and a happier constitution of government no nation ever enjoyed, it being a mixture of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, with suflicient fences against. the pest of every one of those forms, tyranny, faction, and confusion. Yet it is not possible for man to devise such just and excellent bounds, as will keep in wild ambition when prince's flatterers encourage that beast to break his fence, which it hath often done with miserable consequences both to the prince and people; but could never in any age so tread down popular liberty but that it arose again with renewed vigour, till at length it trod on those that trampled it before. And in the just bounds wherein our kings were so well hedged in, the surrounding princes have with terror seen the reproof of their usurpations over their free brethren, whom they rule rather as slaves than subjects, and are only served for fear, but not for love; whereas this people have ever been as affectionate to good, as unpliable to bad sovereigns. Nor is it only valour and generosity that renown this nation; in arts we have advanced equal to our neighbours, and in those that are most excellent, exceeded them. The world hath not yielded men more famous in navigation, nor ships better built or furnished. Agricul ture is as ingeniously practised. The English archers were the terror of Christendom, and their clothes the ornament. But these low things bounded not their great spirits; in all ages it hath yielded men as famous in all kinds of learning

as Greece or Italy can boast of. And to complete the crown of all their glory reflected from the lustre of their ingenuity, valour, wit, learning, justice, wealth, and bounty, their piety and devotion to God and his worship hath made them one of the most truly noble nations in the Christian world; God having, as it were, enclosed a people here out of the waste common of the world, to serve him with a pure and undefiled worship. Lucius, the British king, was one of the first monarchs of the earth that received the faith of Christ into his heart and kingdom; Henry the Eighth, the first prince that broke the antichristian yoke off from his own and his subjects' necks. Here it was that the first Christian emperor received his crown; here began the early dawn of gospel light by Wickliffe and other faithful witnesses, whom God raised up after the black and horrid midnight of antichristianism. And a more plentiful harvest of devout confessors, constant martyrs, and holy worshippers of God, hath not grown in any field of the church throughout all ages, than those whom God hath here glorified his name and gospel by; yet hath not this wheat been without its tares. God, in comparison with other countries, hath made this as a paradise, so, to complete the parallel, the serpent hath in all times been busy to seduce, and not unsuccessful, ever stirring up opposers to the infant truths of Christ. *

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"When the dawn of the gospel began to break upon this isle after the dark midnight of papacy, the morning was more cloudy here than in other places, by reason of the state interest which was mixing and working itself into the interest of religion, and which in the end quite wrought it out. King Henry the Eighth, who by his royal authority cast out the Pope, did not intend the people of the land should have any ease of oppression, but only changed their foreign yoke for home-bred fetters, dividing the pope's spoils between himself and his bishops, who cared not for

their father at Rome so long as they enjoyed their patrimony and their honours here under another head; so that I cannot subscribe to those who entitle that king to the honour of the Reformation. But even then there wanted not many who discerned the corruptions that were retained in the church, and eagerly applied their endeavours to obtain a purer reformation; against whom, those who saw no need of further reformation, either through excess of joy for that which was already brought forth, or else, through a secret love of superstition rooted in their hearts, thought this too much—were bitterly incensed, and hating that light which reproved their darkness, everywhere stirred up spirits of envy and persecution against them. Upon the great revolution which took place at the accession of Queen Elizabeth to the crown, the nation became divided into three great factions, the papists, the state protestants, and the more religious zealots, who afterwards were branded with the name of puritans. In vain it was for these to address the queen and the parliament, for the bishops, under the specious pretences of uniformity and obedience, procured severe punishments to be inflicted on such as durst gainsay their determinations in all things concerning worship, whereupon some, even in those godly days, lost their lives."

Though Colonel Hutchinson had fought for the republic, he disliked the turn affairs took when Cromwell was raised to the supreme power, and, true to the principles of integrity lauded by his wife, he refused office during the Protectorate, and retired to his country house, lived in the intellectual companionship he loved, until the Restoration, when the share he had taken in the condemnation of King Charles exposed him to

danger. He was imprisoned in an unwholesome place (Deal Castle), and there died, leaving his noble wife to embalm his name in one of the most admirable biographies of that or any age.

Lady Fanshawe was truly a womanly woman. Incidentally, as matters of course, she relates some instances of her devoted love to her husband that are full of the most tender and genuine heroism. Sir Richard, like many royalists, had perilled his life and impoverished his family in the service of the King. During the Protectorate he was taken prisoner after the battle of Worcester, and in dread of death was confined in a small room at Whitehall. Lady Fanshawe in great distress came to London, and thus describes her trials:

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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, all alone and on foot, from my lodging in Chancery Lane at my cousin Young's, to Whitehall, in at the entry that went out of King Street into the Bowling Green. There I would go under his window and softly call him. He, after the first time excepted, never failed to put out his head at the first call. Thus we talked together, and sometimes I was so wet with rain that it went in at my neck and out at my heels. He directed me how I should make my addresses, which I did

*The battle of Worcester was fought the 3rd of September; consequently, as some time had elapsed before the prisoners came to London, it must have been the depth of winter.