This thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and on so good
authority, that my reading and conversation has not given me anything
like it: it is fit to gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer.
Mrs. Bargrave is the person to whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her
death; she is my intimate friend, and I can avouch for her reputation,
for these last fifteen or sixteen years, on my own knowledge; and I
can confirm the good character she had from her youth, to the time of
my acquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by
some people, that are friends to the brother of this Mrs. Veal, who
appeared; who think the relation of this appearance to be a
reflection, and endeavour what they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave's
reputation, and to laugh the story out of countenance. But by the
circumstances thereof, and the cheerful disposition of Mrs. Bargrave,
notwithstanding the ill-usage of a very wicked husband, there is not
yet the least sign of dejection in her face; nor did I ever hear her
let fall a desponding or murmuring expression; nay, not when actually
under her husband's barbarity; which I have been witness to, and
several other persons of undoubted reputation.
Now you must know, Mrs. Veal was a maiden gentlewoman of about thirty
years of age, and for some years last past had been troubled with
fits; which were perceived coming on her, by her going off from her
discourse very abruptly to some impertinence. She was maintained by an
only brother, and kept his house in Dover. She was a very pious woman,
and her brother a very sober man to all appearance; but now he does
all he can to null or quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately
acquainted with Mrs. Bargrave from her childhood. Mrs. Veal's
circumstances were then mean; her father did not take care of his
children as he ought, so that they were exposed to hardships; and Mrs.
Bargrave, in those days, had as unkind a father, though she wanted
neither for food nor clothing, whilst Mrs. Veal wanted for both;
insomuch that she would often say, Mrs. Bargrave, you are not only the
best, but the only friend I have in the world, and no circumstance of
life shall ever dissolve my friendship. They would often condole each
other's adverse fortunes, and read together Drelincourt upon Death,
and other good books; and so, like two Christian friends, they
comforted each other under their sorrow.
Some time after, Mr. Veal's friends got him a place in the
custom-house at Dover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and
little, to fall off from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there
was never any such thing as a quarrel; but an indifferency came on by
degrees, till at last Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and
a half; though above a twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath been
absent from Dover, and this last half year has been in Canterbury
about two months of the time, dwelling in a house of her own.
In this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, she was sitting alone in
the forenoon, thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing herself
into a due resignation to providence, though her condition seemed
hard. And, said she, I have been provided for hitherto, and doubt not
but I shall be still; and am well satisfied that my afflictions shall
end when it is most fit for me: and then took up her sewing-work,
which she had no sooner done, but she hears a knocking at the door.
She went to see who was there, and this proved to be Mrs. Veal, her
old friend, who was in a riding-habit. At that moment of time the
clock struck twelve at noon.
Madam, says Mrs. Bargrave, I am surprised to see you, you have been so
long a stranger; but told her, she was glad to see her, and offered to
salute her; which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips almost
touched; and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and
said, I am not very well; and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave,
she was going a journey, and had a great mind to see her first. But,
says Mrs. Bargrave, how came you to take a journey alone? I am amazed
at it, because I know you have a fond brother. Oh! says Mrs. Veal, I
gave my brother the slip, and came away because I had so great a
desire to see you before I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave went in
with her, into another room within the first, and Mrs. Veal sat her
down in an elbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she
heard Mrs. Veal knock. Then says Mrs. Veal, My dear friend, I am come
to renew our old friendship again, and beg your pardon for my breach
of it; and if you can forgive me, you are the best of women. O, says
Mrs. Bargrave, do not mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy
thought about it; I can easily forgive it. What did you think of me?
said Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I thought you were like the rest
of the world, and that prosperity had made you forget yourself and me.
Then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she
did her in former days, and much of the conversation they had with
each other in the times of their adversity; what books they read, and
what comfort, in particular, they received from Drelincourt's Book of
Death, which was the best, she said, on that subject ever written. She
also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, the two Dutch books which were
translated, written upon death, and several others. But Drelincourt,
she said, had the clearest notions of death, and of the future state,
of any who had handled that subject. Then she asked Mrs. Bargrave,
whether she had Drelincourt. She said, Yes. Says Mrs. Veal, Fetch it.
And so Mrs. Bargrave goes up stairs and brings it down. Says Mrs.
Veal, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith were as open as the
eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels about us for our
guard. The notions we have of heaven now, are nothing like what it is,
as Drelincourt says; therefore be comforted under your afflictions,
and believe that the Almighty has a particular regard to you; and that
your afflictions are marks of God's favour; and when they have done
the business they are sent for, they shall be removed from you. And,
believe me, my dear friend, believe what I say to you, one minute of
future happiness will infinitely reward you for all your sufferings.
For, I can never believe, (and claps her hand upon her knee with great
earnestness, which indeed ran through most of her discourse,) that
ever God will suffer you to spend all your days in this afflicted
state; but be assured, that your afflictions shall leave you, or you
them, in a short time. She spake in that pathetical and heavenly
manner, that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times, she was so deeply
affected with it.
Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Kenrick's Ascetick, at the end of which
he gives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians. Their
pattern she recommended to our imitation, and said, their conversation
was not like this of our age: For now, says she, there is nothing but
frothy, vain discourse, which is far different from theirs. Theirs was
to edification, and to build one another up in faith; so that they
were not as we are, nor are we as they were: but, says she, we ought
to do as they did. There was an hearty friendship among them; but
where is it now to be found? Says Mrs. Bargrave, It is hard indeed to
find a true friend in these days. Says Mrs. Veal, Mr. Norris has a
fine copy of verses, called Friendship in Perfection, which I
wonderfully admire. Have you seen the book? says Mrs. Veal. No, says
Mrs. Bargrave, but I have the verses of my own writing out. Have you?
says Mrs. Veal, then fetch them. Which she did from above stairs, and
offered them to Mrs. Veal to read, who refused, and waived the thing,
saying, holding down her head would make it ache; and then desired
Mrs. Bargrave to read them to her, which she did. As they were
admiring friendship, Mrs. Veal said, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, I shall love
you for ever. In these verses there is twice used the word Elysian,
Ah! says Mrs. Veal, these poets have such names for heaven. She would
often draw her hand across her own eyes, and say, Mrs. Bargrave, do
not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits? No, says Mrs.
Bargrave, I think you look as well as ever I knew you. After all this
discourse, which the apparition put in much finer words than Mrs.
Bargrave said she could pretend to, and as much more than she can
remember, (for it cannot be thought, that an hour and three quarters'
conversation could all be retained, though the main of it she thinks
she does,) she said to Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a
letter to her brother, and tell him, she would have him give rings to
such and such; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and
that she would have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson.
Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought that a fit was coming upon
her, and so placed herself in a chair just before her knees, to keep
her from falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it: for
the elbow-chair, she thought, would keep her from falling on either
side. And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her
gown-sleeve several times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it
was a scowered silk, and newly made up. But for all this, Mrs. Veal
persisted in her request, and told Mrs. Bargrave, she must not deny
her: and she would have her tell her brother all their conversation,
when she had opportunity. Dear Mrs. Veal, says Mrs. Bargrave, this
seems so impertinent, that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and
what a mortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman?
Why, says Mrs. Bargrave, it is much better, methinks to do it
yourself. No, says Mrs. Veal, though it seems impertinent to you now,
you will see more reason for it hereafter. Mrs. Bargrave then, to
satisfy her importunity, was going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs.
Veal said, Let it alone now, but do it when I am gone; but you must be
sure to do it: which was one of the last things she enjoined her at
parting; and so she promised her.
Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; she said, she was
not at home: But if you have a mind to see her, says Mrs. Bargrave,
I'll send for her. Do, says Mrs. Veal. On which she left her, and went
to a neighbour's to see for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was
returning, Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street, in the
face of the beast-market, on a Saturday, which is market-day, and
stood ready to part, as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked
her, why she was in such haste. She said she must be going, though
perhaps she might not go her journey till Monday; and told Mrs.
Bargrave, she hoped she should see her again at her cousin Watson's,
before she went whither she was going. Then she said, she would take
her leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave in her view, till a
turning interrupted the sight of her, which was three quarters after
one in the afternoon.
Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, at twelve o'clock at noon, of
her fits, and had not above four hours' senses before her death, in
which time she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal's
appearing, being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with a
cold, and a sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but on
Monday morning she sent a person to captain Watson's, to know if Mrs.
Veal was there. They wondered at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry; and sent her
word, that she was not there, nor was expected. At this answer Mrs.
Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name, or made
some blunder. And though she was ill, she put on her hood, and went
herself to captain Watson's though she knew none of the family, to see
if Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said, they wondered at her asking,
for that she had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she
would have been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I am sure she was with me
on Saturday almost two hours. They said, it was impossible; for they
must have seen her if she had. In comes Capt. Watson, while they were
in dispute, and said, that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and her
escutcheons were making. This strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when
she sent to the person immediately who had the care of them, and found
it true. Then she related the whole story to captain Watson's family,
and what gown she had on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal told
her, it was scowered. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, You have seen her
indeed, for none knew, but Mrs. Veal and myself, that the gown was
scowered. And Mrs. Watson owned, that she described the gown exactly:
For, said she, I helped her to make it up. This Mrs. Watson blazed all
about the town, and avouched the demonstration of the truth of Mrs.
Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal's apparition. And captain Watson carried
two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. Bargrave's house, to hear the
relation of her own mouth. And when it spread so fast, that gentlemen
and persons of quality, the judicious and sceptical part of the
world, flocked in upon her, it at last became such a task, that she
was forced to go out of the way. For they were, in general, extremely
satisfied of the truth of the thing, and plainly saw that Mrs.
Bargrave was no hypocondriac; for she always appears with such a
cheerful air, and pleasing mien, that she has gained the favour and
esteem of all the gentry; and it is thought a great favour, if they
can but get the relation from her own mouth. I should have told you
before, that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave, that her sister and
brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. Says Mrs.
Bargrave, How came you to order matters so strangely? It could not be
helped, says Mrs. Veal. And her brother and sister did come to see
her, and entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring.
Mrs. Bargrave, asked her, whether she would drink some tea. Says Mrs.
Veal, I do not care if I do; but I'll warrant you, this mad fellow,
(meaning Mrs. Bargrave's husband,) has broke all your trinkets. But,
says Mrs. Bargrave, I'll get something to drink in for all that; but
Mrs. Veal waived it, and said, It is no matter, let it alone; and so
it passed.
All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was some hours, she
recollected fresh sayings of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing more
she told Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Breton allowed Mrs. Veal ten
pounds a year; which was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave, till
Mrs. Veal told it her.
Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story; which puzzles those who doubt
of the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant in the
neighbour's yard, adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave's house, heard her
talking to somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs.
Bargrave went out to her next neighbour's the very moment she parted
with Mrs. Veal, and told her what ravishing conversation she had with
an old friend, and told the whole of it. Drelincourt's Book of Death
is, since this happened, bought up strangely. And it is to be
observed, that notwithstanding all the trouble and fatigue Mrs.
Bargrave has undergone upon this account, she never took the value of
a farthing, nor suffered her daughter to take anything of anybody, and
therefore can have no interest in telling the story.
But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the matter, and said, he would
see Mrs. Bargrave; but yet it is certain matter of fact that he has
been at captain Watson's since the death of his sister, and yet never
went near Mrs. Bargrave; and some of his friends report her to be a
liar, and that she knew of Mr. Breton's ten pounds a year. But the
person who pretends to say so, has the reputation of a notorious liar,
among persons whom I know to be of undoubted credit. Now Mr. Veal is
more of a gentleman than to say she lies; but says, a bad husband has
crazed her. But she needs only present herself, and it will
effectually confute that pretence. Mr. Veal says, he asked his sister
on her death-bed, whether she had a mind to dispose of anything? And
she said, No. Now, the things which Mrs. Veal's apparition would have
disposed of, were so trifling, and nothing of justice aimed at in
their disposal, that the design of it appears to me to be only in
order to make Mrs. Bargrave so to demonstrate the truth of her
appearance, as to satisfy the world of the reality thereof, as to what
she had seen and heard; and to secure her reputation among the
reasonable and understanding part of mankind. And then again, Mr. Veal
owns, that there was a purse of gold; but it was not found in her
cabinet, but in a comb-box. This looks improbable; for that Mrs.
Watson owned, that Mrs. Veal was so very careful of the key of the
cabinet, that she would trust nobody with it. And if so, no doubt she
would not trust her gold out of it. And Mrs. Veal's often drawing her
hand over her eyes, and asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits had not
impaired her, looks to me as if she did it on purpose to remind Mrs.
Bargrave of her fits, to prepare her not to think it strange that she
should put her upon writing to her brother to dispose of rings and
gold, which looked so much like a dying person's request; and it took
accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave, as the effects of her fits coming upon
her; and was one of the many instances of her wonderful love to her,
and care of her, that she should not be affrighted; which indeed
appears in her whole management, particularly in her coming to her in
the day-time, waiving the salutation, and when she was alone; and then
the manner of her parting, to prevent a second attempt to salute her.
Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation a reflection, as it is
plain he does, by his endeavouring to stifle it, I cannot imagine;
because the generality believe her to be a good spirit, her discourse
was so heavenly. Her two great errands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave
in her affliction, and to ask her forgiveness for the breach of
friendship, and with a pious discourse to encourage her. So that,
after all, to suppose that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such an invention
as this from Friday noon till Saturday noon, supposing that she knew
of Mrs. Veal's death the very first moment, without jumbling
circumstances, and without any interest too; she must be more witty,
fortunate, and wicked too, than any indifferent person, I dare say,
will allow. I asked Mrs. Bargrave several times, if she was sure she
felt the gown? She answered modestly, If my senses be to be relied on,
I am sure of it. I asked her, if she heard a sound when she clapped
her hand upon her knee? She said, she did not remember she did; but
said she appeared to be as much a substance as I did, who talked with
her. And I may, said she, be as soon persuaded, that your apparition
is talking to me now, as that I did not really see her: for I was
under no manner of fear, and received her as a friend, and parted with
her as such. I would not, says she, give one farthing to make any one
believe it: I have no interest in it; nothing but trouble is entailed
upon me for a long time, for aught I know; and had it not come to
light by accident, it would never have been made public. But now, she
says, she will make her own private use of it, and keep herself out of
the way as much as she can; and so she has done since. She says, She
had a gentleman who came thirty miles to her to hear the relation; and
that she had told it to a room full of people at a time. Several
particular gentlemen have had the story from Mrs. Bargrave's own
mouth.
This thing has very much affected me, and I am as well satisfied, as I
am of the best-grounded matter of fact. And why we should dispute
matter of fact, because we cannot solve things of which we can have no
certain or demonstrative notions, seems strange to me. Mrs. Bargrave's
authority and sincerity alone, would have been undoubted in any other
case.