Lady Huntingdon and Her Friends

Mrs Helen C. Knight

“To agree in our sentiments as to every point of doctrine or discipline, or as to the authority or expedieney of every rite of worship that may be in question, is absolutely impossible. The best of men differ — their understandings differ — various associations have been accidentally formed, and different principles have been innocently and perhaps devoutly admitted, which even a course of just and sensible reasoning must necessarily lead to different conclusions. But,” says the excellent man, “where we and our brethren agree in attending to the one thing which Christianity was designed to teach us, surely an agreement in that should unite our hearts, more than any difference consistent with that agreement should divide them. To reverence with filial love the God of heaven, and adore him with integrity of heart; to honor Jesus his Son as the brightest image, subscribing to the truth of all he is known to have revealed, and the authority of all he is apprehended to command; conscientiously to abstain from every known evil, and to practice, as far as human infirmity will admit, the comprehensive precepts of living soberly, righteously, and godly; still looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life, setting the affections on those great objects which the gospel opens to our view, and finally, being habitually ready to sacrifice life and all its enjoyments to that blessed hope — this, this, my brethren, is the essential character of every Christian; and where we see this, shall we esteem it a difficult thing to live peaceably with him? Shall we esteem it a praise that we do not censure, grieve, or injure him, because he follows not us? Is this the man to be hated and suspected? I will add, Can we refuse to embrace and esteem him, merely because he worships in another assembly, or according to a different form because he expresses his apprehensions about some of the doctrines in different words; because he cannot see all we think we discern in some passages of Scripture, or because he imagines he sees something which we discern not? And is it, after all, so great a matter to love a character which, amidst all its imperfections, is in general so justly amiable? Nay, instead of thinking much of any act of kindness, ought we not rather to lament that we can do no more? Ought we not rather to endeavor to supply in our fervent prayers to God the lack of that further service which Christian benevolence dictates, but which the narrow limits of our condition or our nature will not allow us to perform?

“Methinks the matter might be safely rested here.” And yet he finds it good to illustrate and enforce his principles by many winning arguments; and more powerfully still did he commend them by his own example of loving fellowship with Hervey and Romaine, with Whitefield and Ingham, and indeed with all of whatever name who could reciprocate such charity. May not Doddridge thus speak to us? Let us filially contemplate this phase of his character, if haply we may catch his spirit and profit by his teachings.

On being published, this discourse was dedicated to Lady Huntington, “that eminent example of Christian candor here recommended, and of every other virtue and grace which can inspire, support, and adorn it.”

In June we find Doddridge at Ashby, and from a letter written to his beloved pupil and ministerial brother, Rev. Benjamin Fawcett of Kidderminster, we find some notes of pleasant memory.

“Lady Huntington, for whom I desired your prayers, is wonderfully recovered. She walked with me in the garden and park, and almost wearied me, such is her recruit of strength; but the strength of her soul is amazing. I think I never saw so much of the image of God in any woman upon earth. Were I to write what I know of her, it would fill your heart with wonder, joy, and praise. She desired me to educate a lad for the dissenting ministry at her expense, till he be fit to come to my academy; and this is but one of a multitude of good works which she is continually performing I must tell you, however, one observation which struck me much: ‘ None,’ said she, ‘ know how to prize Christ, but those who are zealous in good works. Men know not till they try, what imperfect things these best works are, and how deficient we are in them; and the experience of that sweetness that attends their performance, makes me more sensible of those obligations to Him whose grace is the principle of them in our hearts.’ She has God dwelling in her, and she is ever bearing her testimony to the present salvation he has given us, and to the fountain of living waters which she feels springing up in her soul; so that she knows the divine original of the promises before the performance of them to her as she knows God to be her Creator by the life he has given her.

“As I was setting out on my blessed journey to her, for such indeed it was, yesterday was sevennight, a terrible accident happened to my study, which might have been attended with fatal consequences. I had been sealing a letter with a little roll of wax, and I thought I had blown it out, when fanned by the motion of the air as I arose in haste, it was rekindled it burnt about a quarter of an hour, while we were at prayer, and would have gone on perhaps to have consumed the closet and the house, had not my opposite neighbor seen the flame and given the alarm. When I came up I found my desk, which was, covered with papers, burning like an altar: many letters, papers of memoranda, and schemes of sermons were consumed. My book of accounts was on fire, and a volume of the Family Expositor, the original manuscript from Corinthians to Ephesians, surrounded by flames and drenched with melted wax; and yet, so did God moderate the rage of this element, and determine in his providence the time of our entrance, that not one account is rendered uncertain, nor is one line which had not been transcribed destroyed in the manuscript. Observe, my dear friend, His hand, and magnify the Lord with me.”

In the preface to this volume of the Family Expositor, he writes, “Well may it be said, ‘Is not this a brand plucked out of the burning?’ A fire was kindled among my papers which endangered the utter ruin of my affairs. Every thing must have gone, had it not been for the glance of an eye by which an opposite neighbor discovered it. I desire now to leave it upon record, that I now have received this wonderful mercy from the Lord, and would consider it as an engagement to devote all I have to him with greater zeal.”

In December of this year Lady Huntington had a dangerous illness, which greatly alarmed her friends. She was at Ashby with her daughters and sisters, the Ladies Hastings. This month Dr. Doddridge is also called to St. Albans to preach the funeral-sermon of his almost father, Dr. Samuel Clarke, author of “The Promises,” a man highly venerated by his brethren and gratefully beloved by Doddridge.

“I want to be a minister,” was the chief desire of a young lad, many years before this time. He was an orphan and poor, for all the little patrimony left him by his father was lost by his guardian. He left school and went to his sister, but her income was too small to render him effectual aid. He loved study, and his uppermost wish was to preach the gospel, yet darkness was on the way. A rich lady having learned something of his cleverness, offered to pay his expenses at Oxford, provided he would enter the English church. He was very grateful to this lady, but he felt constrained to refuse the offer, for he revered the faith of his fathers, and chose rather to suffer constraint and reproach with the dissenters, than to dwell in the sumptuous tents of the establishment.

Troubled and anxious, he thought he would venture to call upon a learned minister in the neighborhood, lay his case before him, and ask his advice. The gentleman received the poor lad coolly, and spoke no word of encouragement. He advised him to choose another calling, and think no more of preaching. Disheartened more and more, he turned away from the house sorrowfully. “Try the law,” said some of his friends, and not long afterwards they procured him a suitable situation in an office. There seemed to be nothing else for him to do; but before the final decision, the young man set apart one morning especially to seek the direction of God in this matter.

While engaged in prayer, the postman knocked at the door. He brought the young man a letter it was from an early friend of his father, who having learned his destitute condition, offered, if he were still intent upon the work of the ministry, to take him under his care and assist him in his studies. What a precious letter it was! “This,” he exclaimed with heartfelt gratitude, “I look upon almost as an answer from heaven, and while I live I shall always adore so seasonable an opening of divine providence. I have sought God’s direction in all this matter, and I hope I have had it, and I beg he would make me an instrument of doing much good in the world.”

His desires were gratified, for God enabled him not only to become a useful and beloved minister himself, but to train up many others for the same holy calling. What a blessing waits on those who wait on God.

This young lad was Philip Doddridge, and the timely friend, good Dr. Clarke of St. Albans, whose death he is now called to mourn. An uninterrupted friendship had ever subsisted between them, the elder rejoicing in the ripe and useful manhood of his once orphan charge, and the younger holding in grateful memory the friend who appeared to him in the hour of his need.

On this journey to St. Albans, to officiate at the funeral services, in the raw and chilly weather of an English December, Doddridge took a severe cold, which hung about him all winter.

Lady Huntington continues ill. “I fear we shall soon lose her too,” he says, “but the Lord liveth, and blessed be our Rock.” At the beginning of the new year, 1751, she declined so rapidly that Whitefield was sent for in haste from London. “I rode post to Ashby,” he said, “not knowing whether I should find good Lady Huntington alive. Blessed be God, she is somewhat better, and I trust will not die, but live, and abound more and more in the work of the Lord. Entreat all our friends to pray for her indeed she is worthy.”

A few hours before Whitefield reached Ashby, Lady Frances Hastings was suddenly removed to that “Land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign.”

Her age was fifty-seven. In all things she adorned the doctrine of her Saviour. Her gentleness and sincerity endeared her to a large circle of friends, and heavenly-mindedness made her a choice spirit among the people of God; while a multitude of the neighboring poor attended her funeral, weeping “for the good works and alms-deeds which she had done.”

“She seemed, as it were, to smile at death,” wrote Whitefield to Lady Mary Hamilton, her intimate friend “and may be said, I trust truly, to have fallen asleep in Jesus. Lady Betty is more affected than I ever saw her. Lady Anne bears up pretty well; while Lady Huntington rejoices at the thought of her sister’s being so quickly translated out of this house of bondage into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.”

Every body advises her ladyship to take a journey to Bristol, for the benefit of the waters, which she hopes to do.

After Whitefield left, Dr. Stonehouse came to Ashby, where he remained until the invalid could be removed to Bristol Hot-Wells, whither she went in the beginning of March. Just before going, Doddridge seems to have paid her a visit, for we hear her exclaiming, “How holy, how humble is that excellent man! And what divine words fell from his lips at the last sacramental feast! How close and searching were his addresses! I think I was scarce ever so happy before. He and Dr. Stonehouse have preached alternately every evening I trust my journey to Bristol will be for good. O that my health and strength may be wholly employed, for that blessed Redeemer who has done such great things for me.”

A few weeks find her much recruited in strength, and she is now at Bristol, interesting herself and her friends to procure subscribers for the last three, volumes of “The Family Expositor,” just completed. This Doddridge esteemed his “capital work,” which he began to prepare on his first entrance into the ministry, and always kept in view through all his subsequent studies. On transmitting to him a long list of additional subscribers, “I have the unspeakable pleasure of communicating intelligence that will rejoice my much-esteemed friend,” she says. “Most earnestly do I pray the Lord of all lords to prolong your valuable life, and give you strength and abilities for the publication of a work so calculated to promote the glory of his name, and the everlasting good of mankind.”

Alas, there were symptoms that this valuable life was on its wane. His early winter cold has never left him. Months pass away and there is no abatement of his cough. Anxiety and fear creep into the bosom of his family. The skill of his physician seems baffled. The tenderest nursing loses’ its healing power. Every thing is expected from the benign influences of spring; and while hope alternates with fear in the hearts of his friends, he is urged, as milder weather approaches, to leave his laborious charge at Northampton, and try a change of air and scene.
“Use all means,” wrote one in impassioned accents, “use all means to repair your frame and prolong your usefulness; this is not only needful for Northampton and its adjacent towns and villages, but desirable to us all and beneficial to our whole interests. Stay, Doddridge, O stay and strengthen our hands, whose shadows grow long. Fifty is but the height of usefulness, vigor, and honor. Providence hath not directed thee yet on whom to drop thy mantle. Who shall instruct our youth, Fill our vacant churches, animate our associations, and diffuse a spirit of piety, moderation, candor, and charity throughout our villages and churches, and a spirit of prayer and supplication into our towns and cities, when thou art removed from us? Especially, who shall rescue us from the bondage of systems, party opinions, empty, useless speculations, and fashionable forms and phrases, and point out to us the simple, intelligible, consistent, uniform religion of our Lord and Saviour?”

With the soft influences of the season, and the exhilaration produced by easy journeying through some of the most beautiful parts of the kingdom, the invalid seemed to revive; those less acquainted with the flattering nature of his disease, even looked for recovery, but every auspicious token was speedily dissipated when with the increasing warm weather he grew more languid and feeble. A sea-voyage is now the last sad resort, and his physician advises a trip to Lisbon. The expense being beyond his limited means, Lady Huntington generously contributed one hundred pounds, which, with the aid rendered by Lady Fanny Shirley, Lady Chesterfield, and a few others, was raised to three hundred; “and this,” she says, “with what his friends among the dissenters may collect, will, I hope, be of essential service in procuring him every comfort which his almost helpless state requires.”

Early in September we learn she is at Bath, in devoted attendance upon Dr. Doddridge, who is in a deep-seated consumption, but who is to set out in a few days in order to embark at Falmouth for Lisbon, whence Dr. Oliver thinks “he will never return.”

The tenderest and deepest solicitude is felt by his many friends all over the kingdom; numerous letters daily arrive filled with anxious inquiries after his health; and affection and skill do their utmost to relieve him. “My soul,” he says, “is vigorous and healthy, notwithstanding the hastening decay of this frail and tottering body. It is not for the love of sunshine, or the variety of meats, that I desire life; but if it please God, that I may render him a little more service.” How did he regard the approaching voyage?

“The means I am about pursuing,” he hoarsely whispers, “to save life, so far as I am solely concerned, are to my apprehension worse than death. My profuse night-sweats are very weakening to my material frame; but the most distressing nights to this frail body have been as the beginning of heaven to my soul. God hath, as it were, let heaven down upon me in those nights of weakness and waking. Blessed be his name.”

Yet friends urge it, and he consents. On the morning of his departure, Lady Huntington entered his room and found him weeping over the open Bible lying before him.
“You are in tears, sir,” she said. “I am weeping, madam,” replied the doctor in a faint, yet calm tone, “but they are tears of joy and comfort I can give up my country, my friends, my relatives, into the hands of God; and as to myself, I can as well go to heaven from Lisbon, as from my own study at Northampton.”

“I see indeed no prospect of recovery,” again said the almost dying man, “yet my heart rejoiceth in my God and my Saviour, and I can call him, under this failure of every thing else, its strength and ever-lasting portion. God hath indeed been wonderfully good to me, but I am less than the least of his mercies, less than the least hope of his children adored be his grace for whatever it hath wrought by me.”

After a fatiguing journey of ten days, owing to the wetness of the season and the bad state of the roads, he reached Falmouth, and was hospitably received into the house of Dr. Turner, a clergyman of the English church. On the night before embarking, some of his worst symptoms, which had been for a while checked, returned with great violence, so that his wife entreated that the voyage might be given up. “The die is cast and I will go,” was the quiet answer.

“On the 30th of September,” writes one of him, “accompanied by his anxious wife and servant he sailed from Falmouth; and, revived by the soft breezes and the ship’s stormless progress, he sat in his easy chair in the cabin enjoying the brightest thoughts of all his life. ‘Such transporting views of the heavenly world is my Father now indulging me with, as no words can express,’ was his frequent exclamation to the tender partner of his voyage; and when the ship was gliding up the Tagus, and Lisbon with its groves and gardens and sunny towers stood before them, so animating was the spectacle, that affection hoped he might yet recover. That hope was vain. Bad symptoms soon came on, and the chief advantage of the change was, that it perhaps rendered dissolution more easy. On the 26th of October, 1761, at the age of 50, he ceased from his labors, and soon after was laid in the burying-ground of the English factory.”

“God is all-sufficient, and my only hope,” writes the afflicted wife to her family at Northampton. “Oh, my dear children, help me to praise Him. Such supports, such consolations, such comforts has he granted, that my mind at times is astonished and is ready to burst into songs of praise under its most exquisite distress as to outward comforts, God has withheld no good thing from me but has given me all the assistance and all the supports that the tenderest friendship was capable of affording me and which I think my dear Northampton friends could not have exceeded. Their prayers are not lost. I doubt not I am reaping the benefit of them, and I hope that you will do the same.”

Such is the eloquent utterance of the believer. “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good blessed is the man that trusteth in him. There is no want to them that fear him.”

Nor can we let pass the sound preacher, the successful writer, the beloved pastor, without a grateful tribute to the memory of Doddridge as the sweet lyrist of God’s people. Has he not given a voice to the most cherished emotions of the soul? Has he not been with us on our covenant-day, and with exquisite pathos bid

_____ “ the glowing heart rejoice
And tell its raptures all abroad?”

Beset with foes and ready to faint by the way, world-weary, have not his stirring words come to us like the breath of heaven?

“A cloud of witnesses around,
Hold thee in full survey
Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way.”

Has he not stayed the tear in its fountain by the exhilarating prospect,

“Fast as ye bring the night of death,
Ye bring eternal day?”

And he must ever be a sweet singer to the Isracl of God until the coming of the new Jerusalem, where is no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither any more pain, for the former things have passed away.