THE LADIES' REPOSITORY. JULY, 1855. PENCILINGS AND PORTRAITS OF FEMALE CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES OF LADY HUNTINGDON. BY REV. DANIEL WISE. conversion, Lady Huntingdon replied, "My Lord, mark my words: when you are on your dying bed, that will be one of the few ordinations you will reflect upon with complacence." After this display of firmness, her friends do our sketch of that noble and elect lady, the not appear to have made any attempt to divert her from her chosen course. Her decision was such as to leave them no ground to hope for ber of the Repository-we were unable, for lack of space, to illustrate her characteristics by the numerous anecdotes in which her memoir abounds. We propose to atone for that omission in the present paper. One of the most striking features of Lady Huntingdon's mind was firmness. Once resolved on a question of duty, she was as immovable as "The mountain pine, whose trusting fibers clasp The earth, deep rooted." This decision of character was exhibited very early after her conversion, when she identified herself at once and openly with the then despised evangelical movement, very much to the surprise and mortification of her noble associates. Some of those proud nobles even suggested to Lord Huntingdon the propriety of his interposing authoritatively to check her enthusiasm. But that sensible nobleman wisely declined to interfere with her ladyship's conscience. He only sent for Bishop Benson, begging him to use his influence to persuade her to relax her strictness. That prelate obeyed the summons, and began an attempt to convict her of unnecessary zeal. But her ladyship, undismayed by the dignity of her instructor, replied with such good effect, and so plied him with entreaties to increase the fidelity of his own ministrations, that his temper became ruffled. Rising to depart he said, "I bitterly regret having ordained George Whitefield, whose influence has wrought this strange change in your ladyship." Without stopping to correct his lordship's mistake with respect to Whitefield's share in her VOL. XV.-25 success. A somewhat laughable instance of her powers of perseverance is recorded by her biographer. Her ladyship and some other high-born dames were anxious to hear a certain debate in the house of lords. Their lordships, however, passed an order to exclude ladies from the galleries. Nothing daunted, her ladyship, accompanied by several of the first peeresses of the realm, presented herself at the door of the house of lords at a very early hour and requested admission. "The Chancellor," said the door-keeper, “has left an order forbidding the admission of ladies." "Pish!" exclaimed the Duchess of Queensbury, "the Chancellor is ill-bred. Allow us to pass up stairs." But the keeper's orders were imperious and he stoutly refused. The Duchess said, “We are determined to go in in spite of the Chancellor and the whole house.” This answer, being sent to the peers, they resolved that the doors should be kept closed so long as the ladies remained. Still the peeresses would not yield. They remained thumping at the door from nine in the morning till five in the afternoon. At length they ceased knocking, and the Chancellor, judging from the silence that they were gone, ordered the doors opened. This was no sooner done than their ladyships rushed in, pushed aside their competitors, and took possession of the galleries, where they remained till after eleven o'clock, when the house rose. dies who could thus persist in their purpose, were, beyond all question, amply endowed with La will and perseverance. The indomitable spirit which kept Lady Huntingdon among those coroneted amazons through the long hours of that weary day, when consecrated to the noble purposes of the Gospel, became one of the principal sources of her power. The reader may see it finely illustrated in the following anecdote: Dr. Cornwallis, Archbishop of Canterbury, had outraged the religious sentiment of society by giving several large balls and convivial routs in his palace. His lady, too, had acquired an unenviable celebrity for her gayety, her love of fashionable life, the splendor of her equipage, and the magnificence of her entertainments. These glaring inconsistencies had attracted much notice, and occasioned much scandal. The cause of religion was wounded in the house of its professed friends. Grieved at the conduct of the Archbishop and moved by zeal for God, her ladyship obtained an audience with his grace of Canterbury, and modestly but firmly remonstrated against the fashionable frivolities of himself and his lady. Instead of thanking the Countess for her delicate rebuke, the Archbishop was violently angry. His lady was still more angry, and she avenged herself by casting floods of ridicule upon the Countess in fashionable circles. They continued their follies, and the popularity of the prelate suffered more severely than ever. Having taken the matter in hand her ladyship was not easily foiled. She remonstrated a second time, through a relative of the prelate, but with no better effect. His grace rewarded her endeavors by ungraciously pronouncing her a hypocrite. Still being determined to reach the haughty Archbishop, Lady Huntingdon sought and obtained a private audience with the King of England. She was received at the palace with every mark of respect by King George III and his consort, Queen Charlotte. After hearing her statements respecting his grace of Canterbury, his Majesty, with marked emotion in his words and manner, replied, "Madam, the feelings you have discovered and the conduct you have adopted on this occasion are highly creditable to you. The Archbishop's behavior has been slightly hinted to me already; but now that I have a certainty of his proceedings and most ungracious conduct toward your ladyship, after your trouble in remonstrating with him, I shall interpose my authority and see what that will do toward reforming such indecent practices." The result of this singular interview was an admonitory letter from the King, to which, we presume, the fashionable Archbishop paid more respect than to the remonstrances of the pious Countess. Lady Huntingdon's conversation and manners made a very favorable impression on the royal pair. The King discoursed very familiarly with her for upward of an hour. In the course of conversation he related an anecdote of a certain Church dignitary who had complained of the disturbances created by some of her ladyship's students. "Make bishops of them-make bishops of them," was the King's reply. "That might be done," rejoined the prelate, "but please your Majesty we can not make a bishop of Lady Huntingdon." "Well, well," said the King, "see if you can not imitate the zeal of these men." At this point the Queen interposed and said to the prelate, "As for her ladyship, you can not make a bishop of her 'tis true; it would be a lucky circumstance if you could, for she puts you all to shame." This remark angered the prelate, and he made a reply which so displeased the King that he retorted with warmth, "I wish there was a Lady Huntingdon in every parish." His Majesty then withdrew, and the mortified dignitary never afterward appeared at court. Some time after this affair Lady Huntingdon was made the subject of conversation in a court circle, at which their majesties were present. A certain marchioness described the visit of Lady Huntingdon to the Archbishop's palace, pronounced it an impertinency, and gave it as her opinion that her ladyship was insane. When she had concluded her tirade, the Queen very much astonished her by observing, "I have lately derived much pleasure in the society of Lady Huntingdon. I consider her a very sensible and a very good woman." This encomium from royal lips threw the chagrined marchioness into a very unpleasant position before the court. She became confused and was about to retire when the King, taking her very kindly by the hand, asked her, "Pray, madam, are you acquainted with Lady Huntingdon?" "No, sir," replied the mortified lady. "Have you ever been in company with her?" "Never." "Then," said his Majesty, "never form your opinion of any one from the ill-natured remarks and censures of others. Judge for yourself; and you have my leave to tell every lady how highly I think of Lady Huntingdon." This anecdote illustrates Lady Huntingdon's power to impress other minds, and to attach those who came into her presence to her person. Familiar as were the King and Queen of England with the talents, dignity, and courtly manners of the aristocracy, it was not an easy matter for a plicity disarmed him; her vigorous and intelligent Lady Huntingdon's efforts to win the British The Countess maintained the same superiority over irreligious mind in private personal intercourse, as in social or public gatherings. Among many others Lord Chancellor Thurlow acknowledged the uncommon greatness of her character. Having sought an interview with her ladyship at Bath, he undertook to dazzle and confound her by the splendor of his varied talents. In this he signally failed. Her ladyship's unaffected sim as firm as a rock!" His last words were, "Come, The young Earl, his son, caught the mantle of The humility of this excellent lady was as conspicuous as her zeal. She counted her title, high connections, and wealth as "dross" in comparison with the cross of Christ. She valued persons of low estate and sought their welfare as zealously as she did that of her peers. It was her custom, when in the country, to spend part of every day conversing with the laborers on her estate. She spoke one day with a mason, who was repairing the garden wall, beseeching him to take thought for his soul. Some years afterward she spoke to another workman, saying, "Thomas, I fear you never pray, nor look to Christ for sal vation." "Your ladyship is mistaken," replied the man. "I heard what passed between you and James some years ago, and the word you designed for him took effect on me." "How did you hear it, Thomas?" asked the Countess with pleasing surprise depicted on her countenance. "I heard it on the other side of the garden through a hole in the wall, and shall never forget the impression I received," replied the man. When the weary weight of eighty-four years pressed heavily upon her, this illustrious woman sat pale and tremulous in her easy chair, looking, now at the past of her busy life, and anon at the glorious future which lay before her. Reviewing her labors, sacrifices, gifts, and usefulness, she felt no spirit of self-gratulation stealing into her breast. Not a whisper of self-righteous praise was heard in the chamber of her sanctified mind. Not a thought of meritorious service awoke in her brain. But, bowing with reverential love at her heavenly Father's feet, she remarked, "O who would dare to produce the best works of his best days before God for their own sake? What hope could I entertain if I did not know the efficacy of his blood?" Thus resting on the precious blood of her beloved Redeemer, the Countess of Huntingdon passed away into "the land of souls." CONVERSATION. "I HAVE been dining out," says Mr. Wilberforce, in his diary, "and was then at an assembly at the chief baron's. Alas! how little like a company of Christians!-a sort of hollow cheerfulness on every countenance. I grew out of spirits. I had not been at pains before I went to fit myself for company, by a store of conversation, topics, launchers, etc." "These," his biographer adds, "were certain topics carefully arranged before he entered into company, which might insensibly lead the conversation to useful subjects. His first great object was to make it a direct instrument of good; and he was able to introduce serious subjects with a cheerful gravity, and to pass from them by a natural transition, before attention flagged. He was also watchful to draw forth from all he met their own special information. This desire to make society useful saved him from engrossing the conversation." Good-by, daughter," said the mother, with an unsuccessful effort to steady her voice. "Be a good girl, and don't forget to say your prayers every night. O God!" continued the poor woman, clasping her hands while the tears sprang anew down her faded cheeks, "remember she is fatherless, and deal very tenderly with her!" "Yes, I'll recollect and be a good girl, mother; and now don't feel bad or lonesome when I am gone," and the blue eyes sparkled through tears, which, had you seen them, could have reminded you of nothing in the world but mountain violets filled with morning dew. "It won't be a great while, you know—" "Come, come, ma'am, five minutes behind the time already," called out the rough voice of the stage-driver at the door. "Yes, I'll be there in a moment. Just one kiss, Arty-a good, long one-cause sister's going a great way off," and bending down to the wondering child the young girl laid her last kiss on his forehead and then hurried from the room. Poor child! she had a brave heart, but it gave way just as soon as she took her seat in the corner of the stage, and the driver slammed the door back, as drivers always will, entirely oblivious of one's feelings. She dropped her green vail over her face, and had not the courage to bend forward, though she knew her mother stood there with Arty in her arms waiting for a last look. Mary Crafts was going out from her home for the first time, and she had not realized the mournful meaning of those words till that moment; but now as her thoughts wandered down the sunny quiet of her country life her heart grew very heavy, and the new path she was entering looked cold, and dark, and strange, 0, so very strange. Her history was a common one and so absolved from all startling adventure and denouement that a few words can epitomize it. Mary's father was a New England farmer, not a rich one; but during his life he had filled his cottage home with all the comforts that the delicate health of his wife and their child demanded. At last another one, the little Arthur, with his father's black hair and roguish eyes, came to gladden their dwelling. But it seemed one new |