To the Reader
Reader, God having called away to his blessed rest and glory the spirit of the most dear companion of these last nineteen years of my life, or near; I found in her last will a request that I should reprint five hundred of her mother’s funeral sermons, written by me in 1661, being now out of print, called The Last Work of a Believer, His Passing Prayer, etc. Not only her very great love and honor of her remembered mother moved her to it, but the apprehension of the usefulness of that subject to dying Christians; a subject about which her soul was awakened the more by the death of many friends and excellent Christians taken away this year. And the day somewhat excited her, for the will was written by her on December 30, 1680, the same day which she kept secretly as an anniversary remembrance of the sentence of death from which she had been delivered;2 and the same day when our dear friend, Mr. Corbet, lay dying. And I find some expectations of her own speedy death had some hand in it.
Being thus obliged by her request, mine own affections urged me to prefix this Breviate of her own life, written, I confess, under the power of melting grief, and therefore perhaps with the less prudent judgment; but not with the less, but the more truth; for passionate weakness poureth out all, which greater prudence may conceal. Conscientious men’s histories are true; but if they be also wise, they tell us but some part of the truth, concealing that which would do harm and which the depraved world cannot bear without abusing it.
But we that are less wise tell all the truth, too little regarding how men will receive it.
That which is left out of the narrative of my wife’s life is the occasions and inducements of our marriage and some passages between some relatives and her, which the world is not concerned (yet at least) to know.3
If this that is written seem useless to any, it will not hurt them, if they leave it to others that find it more suitable to them: All things be not agreeable to all. That may be useful to persons of her own quality, which is not so to many others. To her nephews and nieces and some other kindred, who were also near to her and for whose sake above most others I write it, you cannot think it will be altogether useless. O that they would imitate her in all that is praiseworthy and needful to themselves.
The grand objection I foresee will be that I seem to parade some of mine own good works by praising hers.4 And must I needs bury the memory of them as hers, for fear of the sting of such objectors?
I have told them truly it is not my own acts, but those that were properly hers that I there mention. It is not her giving of my money which I there recite, but that which either was her own and none of mine, or else procured by her for those uses; and the works were of a kind, in which I was but the executor of her will.
She is gone after many of my choicest friends, who within this one year are gone to Christ, and I am following even at the door. Had I been able to enjoy them only here, it would have been but a short comfort, mixed with the many troubles which all our failings and sins, and some degree of unsuitableness between the nearest and dearest, cause. But I am going after them to that blessed society where life, light, and love, and therefore harmony, concord, and joy, are perfect and everlasting.
Reader, while I give thee but the truth, forgive the effects of age, weakness, and grief. The Lord prosper our preparation for our great approaching change. To leave this world forever and enter upon an endless life, where we shall speed according to the preparations of this little inch of time, doth certainly bespeak the most serious thoughts, the wisest and speediest care and diligence, the most patient suffering, the most unwearied labor, the most frugal use of all our time, the most resolute resistance to all temptations, and to the faithful, the most joyful hopes.
RICH. BAXTER
JULY 23, 1681