friends, followed the landau; and this was | again succeeded by a hearse and six, provided for the reception of his body. Thus died one, on whose doom the judgment of the present generation, more lenient than the past, passes this criticism During his imprisonment, Lord Ferrers that the insanity of the culprit was unwrote to the king, praying that he might doubted. How far it might be alleged in suffer where his ancestor the Earl of Essex excuse of a crime so coolly premeditated, had suffered. He reminded his majesty so systematically accomplished, is problemthat he quartered part of the royal arms atical. Doubtless, in our own times, a with his own; but this appeal was fruitless; life-long imprisonment would have been and it was appointed that the earl should substituted for the punishment of death; die where common felons met their doom. when the mind which retained so many of This trait of family pride in one so de- its healthiest powers might have been graded, may appear singular to those who brought to a sense of duty, the heart relook not into the human heart, and do not claimed, the burden of guilt alleviated. know how nearly meanness and loftiness, But George II.'s determination to make an shame and impenitence, unite in the same example of one in so exalted a station, heart. But how can we explain Lord Ferrers' was inexorable; and we cannot but respect religious sentiments, or reconcile them with the firmness which was based upon a prinhis actions? He declared as he went along, ciple so just. The Earl Ferrers was sucamid a mass of human beings whose atten- ceeded by his brother Washington, who tion was fixed on him only," That he had took his seat in the house of Lords-it always adored one God; although he never being established, that an entailed dignity could believe what some sectaries teach, is not forfeited by attainder of felony. that faith alone will save mankind, and that It is a relief to turn to another member if a man, just before his death, say, I be- of the Shirley family, who, whatever might lieve ;' that alone would ensure his salva- have been her errors of judgment, was detion." He blamed Lord Bolingbroke for vout, conscientious, bountiful. Selina, publishing his opinions, and disturbing the countess of Huntingdon, was the aunt of order of society. The melancholy proces- Earl Laurence, being the daughter and one sion was followed all this while by a coach of the co-heiresses of Washington, second containing the unhappy partner of Lord earl Ferrers. She was married when in Ferrers' guilt, Mrs. Clifford. When they her twenty-second year to Theophilus, earl drew near the scaffold, Lord Ferrers told of Huntingdon, whose death at an early the sheriff that he wished to take leave of age is supposed to have first disposed her that person, "for whom he had a very sin-mind to religious impressions. Four sons cere regard." But upon the sheriff object- and three daughters were the issue of this ing, he replied, Sir, if you think I am marriage; and the sorrows attending upon wrong, I submit." He then delivered to the the death of some of these children, and sheriff a purse, a ring, and a pocket-book, the anxieties imparted by the misconduct in which there was a bank-note, and begged of others, co-operated with the endeavors of him to give them "to that individual." that powerful mind which, in the celebrated Whitefield, was destined to control Lady Huntingdon's reason, and prompt her actions. His death was marked by a composure and decorum, and an apparent penitence, which almost cause a regret that a still longer respite had not been afforded to In the spring-time of her life, Lady one who now, for the first time, had met Huntingdon was of a gay disposition and with any opposition to his will, or known fascinating manners. The loss of her the salutary chastisement of adversity. children-for one daughter alone survived The attendants, awe-struck yet gratified, her-and the death of her husband before heard from the lips of the felon the ejacu- the charms of her prosperous life had been lation, "O God, forgive me all my errors-touched by time, destroyed for ever the pardon all my sins!" elasticity of her spirits. She had never The following verses were found in Lord been of a dissipated turn, but was always Ferrers' apartment in the Tower. They pious and benevolent, and, before she bewere attributed to him, but were probably made for him: "In doubt I lived, in doubt I die, 'Yet stand prepared the vast abyss to try; came a proselyte of Whitefield, was a member of the Church of England. No second nuptials ever engaged the affections which were devoted to the dead; and it was thought typical of her coldness to all earthly passions that the widowed countess placed on the tomb of her lost husband a marble bust. "Cold was she," writes one who has drawn her character, as the insensible marble, whose gentle smile, amid the symbols of death, seemed eloquent with immortality." It was during this void of the heart that Lady Huntingdon first heard Whitefield preach. That most remarkable man was at this time in the prime of life and the zenith of his popularity. His person was graceful, his stature above the middle height, his complexion very fair, and his countenance manly. His eyes were of a dark blue; and although disfigured by a squint, lively and expressive. In after life he became corpulent, and a notion of selfindulgence was imparted by that defect, but there was no ground for it. His habits were singularly nice and cleanly, upon the principle that everything about a minister should be "spotless." He was known to say that he could not die easy if his gloves were out of place. He had the gentlemanly love of order, which required his table to be elegantly spread even if only a loaf, or his favorite dish, a cow heel, were to be set upon it. His peer and the peasant went away alike edified and enraptured. The truth is, that, in an age of apathy, he arose a seeming prophet. He was a man of infinite address and of strong sense; and, to use an expression of one of his admirers, he "common-placed the truths of the Reformation;" adapting them, in his peculiar colloquial manner, to every comprehension. His votaries believed him, however, to be half divine; and thought that, like the apocalyptic angel, he was so near the throne of grace that he came down "clothed with its rainbow." The celebrated Howell Harris introduced him to Lady Huntingdon, who sent for Whitefield to her house in Chelsea. He preached to her twice in her drawing-room, in a manner which determined her to send for some of the nobility to hear him. Lord Chesterfield was among the complimentary listeners who wished to please the charming countess, and who were amused, perhaps to some good effect, by the preacher. "Sir," said the great master of politeness to Whitefield, "I shall not tell you what I shall tell others, how I approve of you." Lord Bolingbroke also came, "sat like an archbishop," and observed that Mr. Whitefield had done great justice to the Divine attributes. Then turning to the countess, he said, "You may command my pen when you will, it shall be drawn in your service." Privy councillors and nobles went to dine with him, and Whitefield exclaimed,"Thus the world turns round!" Such were his external graces; his inward gifts were, perhaps, as remarkable as those of any enthusiast of past times. In society he had a ready wit, recalling somewhat his early occupation at the bar of an inn; and in the pulpit this was thought no unbecoming attribute, even when the most serious themes were in question. maxim was "to preach as Apelles painted --for eternity;" yet his sermons scarcely At this time above a thousand commuexcite the passing curiosity of the most nicants thronged every Sabbath to St. enthusiastic at the present day. Never, Bartholomew's, where he preached. He however, did human preacher exercise so lectured at Lady Huntingdon's sometimes powerful an influence over the passions of to sixty persons of rank, Bolingbroke being others. He thought it his duty, indeed, generally among the listeners; and in him "to smite with the hand, stamp with the Whitefield soon felt the deepest interest, foot, and lift up the voice like a trumpet." and expressed the most lively hopes of his He was sometimes the judge putting on his conversion; but although several of the condemning cap, and exclaiming "Sinner, nobility were won over by his persuasions, I must do it! I must proclaim judgment ;" that lofty intellect remained unsubdued. sometimes the humorous retailer of a vast In process of time, Whitefield formed a store of anecdotes; yet always solemn, plan of identifying Lady Huntingdon with always in earnest; every accent of his his religious societies. He saw, he said, voice produced an incredible effect; and "a Dorcas at Ashby Place," and felt that the bolder flight of fancy carried his hearers she ought to be a "Phoebe." He felt that away from the powerful acting of the man he wanted a "leader," and selected this whose art it was to seem natural. His generous, high-born woman for that saintly manners fascinated all ranks; he charmed position. How he disclosed to her his the learned as well as the unlearned; the wishes, what were her first emotions, to what extent vanity aided the work, as well as faith, we have no records. He wrote to her thus: เ "A leader' is wanting. This honor hath been put upon your ladyship by the great Head of the Church; an honor conferred on few, but an earnest of one to be put on your ladyship before men and angels when time shall be no more." Perhaps the secretary might have gone still further. The Christian world was then, as Whitefield expressed it, "in a deep sleep: nothing but a loud voice could awaken it." "I love those," thus was he wont to say, “who thunder out the word.” Another proselyte, one of Queen Caroline's ladies of the bedchamber, declared herself ready to show out," if called upon by Lady Huntingdon was won over by this Whitefield. But the palace was "ringing presumptuous assurance; from henceforth about her," and Mrs. Greenfield was adthe energies of her mind were devoted to vised by the prudent minister to be content plans for the propagation of the Calvinistic without becoming a "glorious martyr," and doctrines; upwards of 100,000l., in addi- to be satisfied with hearing him at Lady tion to a large sum left in her will, were Huntingdon's select and pious assemblies. expended by her in the foundation of cha- In his lectures to these ladies, Whitefield pels, and in aiding the missionaries ap- is admitted to have mingled more complipointed by Whitefield. She reduced her ment and consolation than was consistent style of living; she sold her jewels. In with their condition and his own sincerity. 1768 she founded her college near Tal- On one occasion he made, however, a fatal garth, in South Wales, for the education mistake. The famous Countess of Suffolk of serious and godly young men, and such was brought by Lady Guildford to Lady as she believed had a "Divine call." Not- Huntingdon's evening meetings. Whitewithstanding this very decided line of con- field was ignorant of her presence, and duct, Lady Huntingdon had still not re- drew his bow, and let fly his shafts at a nounced the doctrines of Episcopacy, al-venture. Lady Suffolk felt the wounds of though she sanctioned an independent form conscience or of pride, and believed that of worship. She weighed not, possibly, the the darts were aimed at her. She contrivconsequences of her actions, for she was ed to sit through the service in silence; but now completely the creature of Whitefield's will; no enthusiast of Port Royal ever bowed so completely beneath the intellectual power and firm self-reliance of her superiors. Lady Huntingdon described herself as a ship before the wind, carried on by an impulse she could not resist or describe." when the preacher had retired, she broke out into violent harangues against Lady Huntingdon, and declared that she knew the sermon was intended to insult her. She was, in time, appeased, but returned to those perilous regions no more. Startling as these scenes were, they fell short in excitement and interest of Lady Huntingdon's chapel at Bath, the resort and talk of that thronged watering-place. It was opened in great state by Whitefield, and was in itself very attractive, being of neat architecture, with Gothic windows. "I am glad," said Horace Walpole, see luxury creeping on them before persecution." to Doubtless fashion, that powerful machine for keeping alive the heat of the devotee's imagination, had no small influence in these matters. Even at court, Whitefield's "elect ladies," as they were called, were the objects of notice. It became the elect, they thought, to dress with peculiar simplicity. Lady Chesterfield, one of the leaders of fashion, went to the drawing- At a period when the greatest negligence room in a brown lutestring, embroidered prevailed, the service in this chapel was with silver flowers. George II., diverted rendered seductive at once to the senses at his own powers of wit and observation, and the intellect. It is curious to find absolutely laughed aloud as he said to Lady Huntingdon adopting the practice of Lady Chesterfield,our modern clergy. At the upper end of "I know who chose that gown for you- her chapel was a broad haut pas of four Mr. Whitefield. I hear you have been at- steps, advancing at the middle; at each tending him a year and a half." Lady end of the broadest part were two eagles, Chesterfield confessed she had, and acknow-with red cushions, for the parson and the ledged her admiration of the preacher, clerk. Behind these were three more steps, whilst even the Secretary of State stepped on which stood an eagle for the pulpit, and forward to assure his majesty that no hurt to all three were scarlet arm-chairs. was designed to the State by the Methodists. band of boys and girls, with good voices, A sang hymns in parts; and on either side of the haut pas was a balcony for the "elect ladies." of the funeral the sacrament was adminis tered to the mourning family at the foot of the coffin. The assembled party then reBesides this there was a sly corner for tired to Lady Huntingdon's house, and at the bishops; and this was called by the eleven returned to the chapel, which was witty Lady Betty Cobbe, the "Nicodemite crowded to excess, the congregation being Corner." Into this, that enthusiastic pro-admitted by tickets distributed by the selyte delighted to smuggle bishops to see and hear unseen; and, perchance, to learn, for pulpit eloquence was at its lowest ebb; and the earnest boldness of Whitefield might not be without its fruits. Nor was Whitefield's idea a bad one :-- young Earl of Buchan. During five days this scene was repeated. The "trophies" won by Whitefield and Lady Huntingdon in the Chesterfield family were also remarkable. The Lady Gertrude Hotham, the earl's sister; her "It has long been my judgment," he young, ill-fated daughter; and her son, Sir said, "that it would be best for many of Charles Hotham, were his avowed disciples. the present preachers to have a tutor and The Countess de Litz, the sister of Lady retire for awhile, and be content with Chesterfield, was another proselyte; but, preaching now and then, till they were perhaps, the prize he most gloried in was little more improved ;" nor would the sug- the Countess of Chesterfield herself. The gestion be misplaced even in these enlight-natural daughter of George I., she was as ened days. powerful at court as in the circles of fashTo return to the chapel. Its pulpit wasion. She was foremost in every scene of shared with Whitefield by the famous Ro- dissipation. She met Whitefield at Lady maine; or, to write in the "elect" style, Huntingdon's, and became humble, de"dear Mr. Romaine hath been much own-mure, and "elect." At her ladyship's ed in it." Among the listeners in this tea-table, Pulteney, earl of Bath, laid really beautiful structure were the afflicted aside his politics for a season, and sang Lord and Lady Sutherland, who had re- hymns side by side with Lady Chesterfield. paired to Bath to recover, in the amuse-Lord Dartmouth, the patron of Newton of ments of that place, from the death of their Olney, and the beloved of George III. and eldest daughter. But they found a greater Queen Charlotte, was another star in this solace in the chapel of Lady Huntingdon, singular assemblage, composed, when we where, as it happened, their funeral sermon comprise Chesterfield and Bolingbroke, of was preached before a throng of nobility the subdued scoffer, and the half-admiring, and fashion; for they died in the prime of half-sneering sceptic; of the zealous enlife almost together, whilst their daughter, thusiast, and of the gentle, alarmed, inert the late Duchess-countess of Sutherland, was an infant. The death of Lady Sutherland was concealed from her mother, and that of Lord Sutherland alone disclosed. The unhappy mother set out to Bath to console her daughter. She met on the road from the north two hearses, and heard that they were carrying her son-in-law and daughter to be entombed at Holyrood. believer. Scandal soon found out this capi- Bore the pelting scorn of half an age; The man that mentioned him at once dismissed Another patient, pious listener in this All mercy from his lips, and sneered and hissed." assembly, was Lady Glenorchy; or, as she was afterwards called, "the Selina of And whilst he was thus reviled, the CounScotland." This lady formed her spiritual tess of Moira, Lady Huntingdon's only self upon the model of Lady Huntingdon, surviving daughter, was dismissed from the and received her first spiritual gifts in the office of lady of the bedchamber for refuschapel at Bath. A solemn scene, in which ing to play at cards on Sundays. Every Lady Huntingdon played a conspicuous possible crime was attributed to Whitepart, was enacted when the Earl of Buchan field; perhaps on the strength of his own died, Whitefield attending by his bed-side. confession, that he was at one time "hastDuring a week, the coffin was exhibited in ing to hell." But this acknowledgment, the chapel, where Whitefield preached prompted by the wish to give hope to othtwice a day, and all the rank and fashion ers, could only be turned against him by in the city came to hear. On the morning bad minds. At length, after a life of untold exer- man was disgusted by the excesses of his tions, his health gave way. He became mother's zeal, and the phraseology of the "nervous," the prelude to more serious" elect." She survived him, and, as he maladies. Lady Huntingdon attended up-left no issue, the honors of the Hastings's on him with all the kindliness of a gentle were carried by Lady Moira into the Rawnature, and the zeal of a votary. She took don family. him journeys, and tried to cheer his droop- With Lady Huntingdon expired much of ing spirits, but in vain. It was her lot to the zeal of the fashionable world. Anciens survive him long. He died in 1770, at beauties of the court of George II. returned Newburyport, on his way to Boston, in into the bosom of the Church. The doors. the United States, after preaching two of Tottenham Court Chapel and the Tahours in the open air on the day before bernacle at Moorfields, head-quarters of the his decease. Seven years after his death,"elect ladies," were no longer crowded his body was found perfect, without a trace with coroneted chariots. The "elect" reof decomposition upon it, by an admirer turned into the common herd of men who who inspected it in the coffin. Southey played basset, and women who loved drives was informed that this circumstance was and the Rotunda. owing to the vast quantity of nitre with which the earth abounds at Newburyport; but by the elect this curious fact, for so it seems to be, was deemed a miracle: a belief which shows how completely Superstition justifies her name in every sect, whether among the ardent Calvinist or the dreamy enthusiastic believer in The Lives of the Saints. Thirteen times did White-wards the importance and beauty of such a mission field cross the Atlantic, and he preached more than 18,000 sermons. His noble and sorrowing proselyte survived until 1791. As her last hour approached, the aged lady remarked,"My work is done, and I have nothing now to do but to go to my Father." REFUGE FOR UNFORTUNATE FEMALES.-A quotation which closed the first review in our last Gazdie (p. 651, col. 1) fervently appealed to woman to become the savior and protector of the miserable and sinful of their sex. It is with a strong feeling to that we have heard with intense satisfaction of a design in progress, at the expense of Miss Burdett Coutts, to perform a divinely benevolent act in this cause. As we are informed, Miss Coutts has determined to prepare a domicile at Shepherd's Bush, under judicious and merciful regulations, capable of inmates are to be discharged female prisoners, who lodging a considerable number of inmates. These have been condemned for offences, punished and She desired that her remains might be then thrown upon the world, characterless, tainted, dressed in the white silk garments in which abandoned, and helpless. To these the gates of she had attended the opening of the chapel reformation will be opened. They will be instructin Goodman's Fields; and she expired in and religion. They will be taught the means of ined in the consoling and upholding value of morals that state of ecstatic hope and joy which dustry whereby they can earn their bread. They might be anticipated from the mingled ro- will be rescued from the necessity of guilt; and if mance and earnestness of a character so not doomed to ruin by evil dispositions which canbeautiful, tinged with views which we feel virtuous members to society, instead of being outnot be changed, they will be restored, repentant and to be mistaken, but which we are compelled casts and curses to that and to themselves. The to admire as lofty, disinterested, and de-pattern of this application of wealth let us hope will vout. Her college in South Wales fell not be lost. It is a glorious beginning, and worthy of the most exalted humanity, a sequel to Howard, away after her death, being unendowed; and blessings will follow it. On the face of the and that at Cheshunt has, as far as we are earth there lives not a class of human beings more informed, no further benefit from her in need of succor than the class of which we have bounty than the united names of White-spoken. Unless there is some such feeling and symfiled and Lady Huntingdon. pathy for them they are doomed, without a chance of redemption, to certain wretchedness and crime, early as the consequence of one error. Surely it is time Lady for legislation to mingle philanthrophy with stern justice; and not, under the semblance of a slight life. punishment, doom our fellow creatures to worse im-than transportation or inprisonment for life. We hail the present movement with warm hopes, and it likely to bear. Mr. Chesterton, the experienced shall look with fervent anxiety to the fruits we think and worthy Governor of Coldbathfields, is, we are told, superintending the preparations of The Refuge. A severer affliction than even the death of her children, attended Huntingdon's weary pilgrimage of Her eldest son, the young earl, had bibed the principles of Bolingbroke and Chesterfield. She sorrowed over the young and still loved sceptic; and in vain did Theophilus Lindsay, a preacher, suggest for her relief the notion of temporary hell. It is not impossible that the young noble-J |