242 • Survivinghim since the Restoration, and now the pestilence was in houses on either
side of his rented quarters. Then his brother-in-law died of the sickness in
the city, a devastating blow. Peter Smith had been a pillar of emotional and
financial strength ever since the death of John’s wife. Who would help him
pay for his children’s needs? And what would happen to them if John died?
He had not seen Peter since a bubo appeared under his ear, and John’s de-
tailed knowledge of plague gave him to believe that he might have been in-
fected before then. There was nowhere to go, he wrote in alarm to his friend
Philip Fryth, “none in heaven nor earth to goe unto, but God onely.” He
dipped into the well of his spiritual support: “The Lord lodge mee in the
bosome of his love, and then I shalbee safe whatever betides.”^18
But he could not remain calm. Allin slipped down the slope of doubt and
despair. He became distracted and fatalistic, worrying about his three “dear
babes.” His anxieties brought on severe headaches, which again worried him.
His letters read like a last will and testament, as he ticked off his valuables to
be passed on to his children and his own writings on astrology, alchemy, and
medicine (including plague) to be entrusted to his close friends Jeake and
Fryth.^19
Unexpectedly, a blessing occurred. Allin’s friends in Rye collected money
for his children and himself. The very persons who had so feared receiving
his letters gave generously. Allin was overcome with emotion at this sign of
God’s grace. “To think that He should bee employing the vials of his wrath
upon others, yet heaping coales of love upon my head!” He wondered
whether he was worthy of his good fortune. In a convoluted spasm of ten-
sion, he wrote to his friend Samuel Jeake that this wonderful outpouring of
love could all end in “bitterness.” He must show true gratitude by thought,
word, and deed to merit God’s continued favor.^20
Across the river in Covent Garden, Reverend Patrick spoke of God’s sav-
ing grace in less stringent terms, for he dwelled on the peace of the next life.
Elizabeth Gauden thought he might pay a little more attention to his mate-
rial needs in the present life, but he scarcely listened. Symon had grappled
with these transitory concerns in August as his father lay dying in the Mid-
lands. After working through his grief from the loss of his father and
thoughts on his own mortality, Symon informed Elizabeth that he was no
longer worried about his time on earth. Then came a series of frights in rapid
succession. His brother across the river had a troublesome, lingering illness,
and Symon experienced a worrisome pain in his leg right after a servant
caught the distemper. He confided little of these worries to Elizabeth, re-
serving them for his memoirs. This personal crisis could not have come at a