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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, tlus 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.
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 papers, blotted draughts of what he designed to put in them. And he likewise filled them up before he dined; so that he was at great ease. Upon this my Lady came in, and told him the respite till Monday was denied. This touched him a little; but I perceived it only in his looks: but he said nothing, but that he thought such a thing was never denied to common felons. Yet, when he considered that he had done with his papers, he was presently very well satisfied; and said afterwards, he was glad it was not granted, for all that he desired it for was, that he might have one whole day for the concerns of his soul, and have nothing to mix with them. So he dined, and, after dinner, he wrote his letter to the King. Then he wrote his speech he intended to make to the sherifls ; only, upon report of what Captain Walcott had said of him, he added those words relating to that on Friday. Then he was more composed than ever, for all was done that could have given him any uneasy work to his thoughts. He spake of all people that had appeared against him, particularly of the Lord Howard, with great pity, but with no resentment. He said, he had been well enough known before, but now it was so much better, that he could betray nobody any more. When my Lady went, he said, he wished she would give over beating
every bush, and running so about for his preservation. But, when he considered that it would be some mitigation of her sorrow afterwards, that she left nothing undone that could have given any probable hopes, he acquiesced: and, indeed I never saw his heart so near failing him, as when he spake of her. Sometimes I saw a tear in his eye, and he would turn about, and presently change the discourse. He resolved to receive the Sacrament on Friday, and so resolved to spend that day as he intended to have done the Lord's day, had he lived so long. The sacrament was to be given him early in the morning, because of Captain Richardson's attendance on the other executions that day. So the Dean of Canterbury, who was with him every day, except Thursday (in which he was engaged), came in the morning, and gave it him according to the common prayer; which he received with that grave and sedate devotion, that still appeared in him. His man desired to receive with him; so the Captain took our promise that there should be nothing done, while his man was in the room, but the giving of the sacrament; and therefore, till it was over, the Dean spake nothing to him: but, after that, the Dean asked him of his believing all the Articles of Christian Religion, which were, indeed, the doctrine of this Church. He said he did believe them truly. Then he asked him of his forgiving all persons. That, he said, he did from his heart. And, in the last place, he told him, he hoped he would discharge his conscience in full and free confession. He assured him he had done it; so the Dean left him. None but my Lady and I staid; and that morning I preached two sermons to him: the first was on Rev. xiv. 13, the second on Psalm xxiii. 4. They were about half an hour in length; and there was an interval of about two hours between. He was pleased to tell me, at night, that what I spake came into his heart; and he believed it was sent to him from God. In the interval, he told me he could not pretend to such high joys and longings, but on entire resignation of himself to the will of God, and a perfect serenity of his mind. He said he once had some trouble, because he found not those longings Mr. Hampden the younger had, of whom he spake often with great kindness and esteem. He had, a few days before his commitment, given him, from Mr. Baxter, his late book of " Dying Thoughts and he found many things in that so pat to his own condition, that he blessed God for the comforts of that book. He dined as he used to do. After dinner, he signed the copies of his papers, and wished it might be that night sent to the press, which my Lady ordered by his directions. After dinner, bis children were