sions of death, but being a little gazed at by his friends and enemies, and a moment's pain. He said that though he had been guilty of many defects and failings, (amongst which he reckoned his seldom receiving the sacrament,) yet he thanked God, he had a clear conscience, not only in relation to the public, (in which he had gone so sincerely, that he was sure he had nothing to answer for, but the sense of ignorance, and some indecent discourses, in which he had been generally more guilty by hearing them, and being pleased with them, than by much speaking,) but in relation to all his other concerns, he had spent much, but it was in no ill way. He could never limit his bounty to his condition; and all the thoughts he had of the great estate that was to descend upon him, was to do more good with it; for he had resolved not to live much above the pitch he was then at. He thanked God, that now for these many years he had made great conscience of all he did; so that the sins of omission were the chief things he had to answer for. God knew the sincerity of his heart, that he could not go into a thing he thought ill, nor could he tell a lie. After an hour's discourse, we prayed together. Then he came to talk of his condition; he then thought the sentence would, perhaps, be executed by hanging; but he said if his friends could bear that as well as he could, it was no matter. of a He next fell to speak paper to be left behind him; he was resolved to say very little on the scaffold, but to leave a larger paper. So he went over the heads he thought fit to speak to, which I perceived he had considered much. He said he had much leisure in the Tower, and had always looked for this; for that he did not doubt but the sheriff would take care to return such a jury as was resolved to condemn him, if the King's council should bid them; so he had been forming in his mind what was fit for him to do in this matter; for in most of the particulars, he expressed himself very near in the same words that are in his paper. So I left him for that night. He desired me to come again the next day at noon; and, in his modest way, desired as much of my time as I could conveniently spare. Next day I came to him, and found him in the same temper I had left him, so sedate, and, upon occasion, so cheerful, that I never saw the like before. He then went again over the heads of his paper, and a minute was made of the points he was to write off, according to their order. I shall not mix in this relation; any thing of what I said to him upon any of them; but this in general, that I discharged my conscience in all respects, both as a faithful subject to the King, and as a sincere minister of the gospel ought to have done. The thing is as it is, and I will neither say what I approved or disapproved; but this I will add, that all the critical and nicer parts were very well weighed, to an exactness in the choice of every word. He thought it was incumbent upon him to write all he had written; but he promised me to consider every thing that I had offered to him. When this was done, he ran out into a long discourse of the providence of God in this matter. Rumsey and Lord Howard were two men he had always a secret horror at. Shepherd he thought better of, till he was told he had betrayed Walcotte. Then he said he wondered not he had sworn falsely of him; but till then he thought he had forgot himself. His coming up to town occasionally; his being called by the Duke of Monmouth with so good an intention; his not going to a formal meeting where Rumsey was not, but to that where he was present; and the fatal melancholy of the Earl of Essex that morning; all had such marks of a providence of God, that he was fully satisfied it was well ordered by God for some good ends, that it should be as it was. After two hours' discourse my Lady came. He dined, ate, and drank as heartily, and did every thing in as cheerful a manner as he used to do. Then he heard (though but doubtfully), that Saturday was the day; so he wished to have two days more, that he might finish his paper. After dinner he called for tea, and talked of the state. of Hungary, and the affairs of Europe, just as he used to do. When my Lady was gone, he expressed great joy in the magnanimity of spirit he saw in her; and said the parting with her was the greatest thing he had to do, for he was afraid she would be hardly able to bear it. The concern about preserving him, filled her mind so now, that it in some measure supported her; but when that would be over, he feared the quickness of her spirits would work all within her. From this he turned to speak of his condition, which he did in the same strain he had done the day before. He said he was still very glad he had not fled, for he could not have lived from his children, and wife, and friends: that was all the happiness he saw in life. He was glad, that some who had not lived so as to be fit to die, had escaped. And a proposition being sent him by one of the most generous and gallant friends in the world, of a design for making his escape, he, in his smiling way, sent his thanks very kindly to him, but said, he would make no escape. But, (now I remember better, this was on Wednesday,) after this we prayed, and I left him. On Wednesday I came to him at noon, (the hour he had appointed,) and found he had written three pages of the eight, of which his paper consisted, but had left some spaces void for some more things; and he drew in other pieces of paper what he had intended to fill them up with; and after dinner, (during which, as in all his meals, he behaved himself in his ordinary manner,) he showed it to my Lady, and after a little discourse, he filled up the void spaces, which he did with that severe strictness, that it was visible he would not say a word but what was exactly according to his conscience. Then upon some discourse upon his writing to the King, he cheerfully resolved on it. For though he always said he never did any thing that he thought contrary to his interest, yet many railleries, and other indecent things had passed, for which he prayed God to forgive him, and resolved to ask the King's pardon. And he said he thought he must likewise let the King know, that he also forgave him; and he himself hit on that expression (of all concerned in his death from the highest to the lowest). After some more discourse, his father and uncle came to see him; and we all prayed again, and I left him for that night. ་ས་ On Thursday I came at noon, and found he had got very near the end of his paper, so that he concluded it before dinner. Only again I saw new void spaces, and saw, on other |