Evelyn's Diary. 07 Mar 1685. My daughter Mary (age 20) was taken with the smallpox, and there soon was found no hope of her recovery. A very greate affliction to me: but God's holy will be done.

10 Mar 1685. She receiv'd the blessed Sacrament; after which, disposing herselfe to suffer what God should determine to inflict, she bore the remainder of her sicknesse with extraordinary patience and piety, and more than ordinary resignation and blessed frame of mind. She died the 14th, to our unspeakable sorrow and affliction, and not to ours onely, but that of all who knew her, who were many of the best quality, greatest and most virtuous persons. The justnesse of her stature, person, comelinesse of countenance, gracefull nesse of motion, unaffected tho' more than ordinary beautifull, were the least of her ornaments compared with those of her mind. Of early piety, singularly religious, spending a part of every day in private devotion, reading and other vertuous exereises; she had collected and written out many of the most usefull and judicious periods of the books she read in a kind of common-place, as out of Dr. Hammond on the New Testament, and most of the best practical treatises. She had read and digested a considerable deale of history and of places. The French tongue was as familiar to her as English; she understood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreete reflexions upon what she had observed of the conversations among which she had at any time ben, which being continualy of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she play'd a thorough-bass on the harpsichord, in both which she arived to that perfection, that of the schollars of those two famous masters Signors Pietro and Bartholomeo she was esteem'd the best; for the sweetnesse of her voice and management of it added such an agreeablenesse to her countenance, without any constraint or concerne, that when she sung, it was as charming to the eye as to the eare; this I rather note, because it was a universal remarke, and for which so many noble and judicious persons in musiq desired to heare her, the last being at Lord Arundel's of Wardour (see above). What shall 1 say, or rather not say, of the cheerefullness and agreeablenesse of her humour? condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often reade to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved of every body. Piety was so prevalent an ingredient in her constitution (as I may say) that even amongst equals and superiors she no sooner became intimately acquainted, but she would endeavour to improve them, by insinuating something of religious, and that tended to bring them to a love of devotion; she had one or two confidents with whom she used to passe whole dayes In fasting, reading and prayers, especialy before the monethly communion and other solemn occasions. She abhorr'd flattery, and tho' she had aboundance of witt, the raillery was so innocent and ingenuous that it was most agreeable; she sometimes would see a play, but since the stage grew licentious, express'd herselfe weary of them, and the time spent at the theater was an unaccountable vanity. She never play'd at cards without extreame importunity and for the company, but this was so very seldome that I cannot number it among any thing she could name a fault. No one could read prose or verse better or with more judgment; and as she read, so she writ, not only most correct orthography, with that maturitie of judgment and exactnesse of the periods, choice of expressions, and familiarity of stile, that some letters of hers have astonish'd me and others to whom she has occasionally written. She had a talent of rehersing any comical part or poeme, as to them she might be decently free with was more pleasing than heard on yb theater; she daunc'd with the greatest grace I had ever seene, and so would her master say, who was Monsr Isaac; but she seldome shew'd that perfection, save in the gracefullnesse of her carriage, which was with an aire of spritely modestie not easily to be described. Nothing affected, but natural and easy as well in her deportment as in her discourse, which was always materiall, not trifling, and to which the extraordinary sweetnesse of her tone, even in familiar speaking, was very charming. Nothing was so pretty as her descending to play with little children, whom she would caresse and humour with greate delight. But she most affected to be with grave and sober men, of whom she might learne something, and improve herselfe. I have ben assisted by her in reading and praying by me; comprehensive of uncommon notions, curious of knowing every thing to some excesse, had I not sometimes repressed it. Nothing was so delightfull to her as to go into my study, where she would willingly have spent whole dayes, for as I sayd she had read aboundance of history, and all the best poets, even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romances and modern poemes; she could compose happily, and put in pretty symbols, as in the Mundus Mulie bris, wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to the sex; but all these are vaine trifles to the virtues which adorn'd her soule; she was sincerely religious, most dutifull to her parents, whom she lov'd with an affection temper'd with greate esteeme, so as we were easy and free and never were so well pleas'd as when she was with us, nor needed we other conversation; she was kind to her sisters, and was still improving them by her constant course of piety. Oh deare, sweete, and desireable child, how shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without the bittemesse of sorrow and reluctancy of a tender parent! Thy affection, duty, and love to me was that of a friend as well as a child. Nor lesse deare to thy mother, whose example and tender care of thee was unparellel'd, nor was thy returne to her lesse conspicuous; Oh ! how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou left us! To the grave shall we both carry thy memory!