The several pedigrees of the preceding family do not correspond in placing the children.

EIGHTEENTH GENERATION.

Rev. Gloster Ridley18 (1), D. D., grandson of Thomas16 (9), was born at sea in 1702, on board the "Gloster," Indiaman, from which circumstance he received his name. He was educated at Winchester School and became Fellow of New College, Oxford, where he took his degree of B. C. L. in 1739. He manifested a great partiality for the stage in early life, and to this preference may be attributed the eloquence and graceful delivery which he afterwards displayed in the pulpit. He obtained the living of Westow, Norfolk, and the donation of Poplar, in Middlesex; and after some years spent in the peaceful obscurity of a country curacy, he was at last presented to a golden prebend in Salisbury, by Archbishop Secker, who also conferred upon him the degree of LL. D. He was an eminent scholar and divine. His publications were not numerous; he wrote a tragedy in four parts in early life, and afterwards a life of his kinsman, Bishop Nicholas Ridley. He died Nov. 3, 1774, and had his virtues recorded in an epitaph by the learned Dr. Lowth. His widow died at Hingham, in 1837, aged 91 years; they had a family of six children, of whom hereafter. The following verses indicate his style of composition:

VERSES ON PRAYER.

"Prayer is the manna, the celestial bread,
By which our hungry souls are daily fed.

Through life's wild wilderness by this sustained,
We reach the heavenly Canaan's promised land.
Bring then thy choicest lays, inspiring muse,
This glorious subject of my verse I chuse :
The various motions of the mind declare

How Heaven itself is stormed by fervent prayer,
And all the artillery of that peaceful war.

And first Contrition does the soul employ,
That pleasurable pain, that grief of joy;
Affliction's waters are of bitter kind,

And grate the palate of the mind;

But when God's grace, that Tree of Life, is cast
Therein, the streams forget their nauceous taste.
First on his knees the humble sinner falls,

And to the Lord for gracious succor calls;

He prays his God to melt his frozen soul,

To break his heart, and make, by breaking whole.

He prays his God to strike the friendly blow,

That from the rock once more the streams may flow.
The volume of his life is now displayed,

And every page impartially surveyed;

And now upon the ground behold him roll,

Expressing thus the posture of his soul;

Shame o'er his face her scarlet mantle spreads,
And his torn heart with inward anguish bleads;
His eyes of tears a grateful tribute bring,

"H. S. E. Glosterus Ridley, vir optimus integerrimus: Verbi Divini peritus fidelis indefensus: Ab Academia Oxoniensi pro meritus, et praeter ordinem, in Sacrâ Theologia Doctorate insignitus. Poeta natus, Oratoriæ facultati impensius studuit Quam fuerat in concionando fecundus, plurimonum animus diei insidebit; quam varia eruditione instructus. Scripta ipsius semper testabunter. Obiit tertia die mensis Novembris, A. D. 1774."

From sweet Sincerity's pure crystal spring;

Deep from his heart the struggling groans arise,
And ardently he breathes the insence of his sighs.
The whole man labors in this heavenly war,
And every look and gesture is a prayer;
God's grace he still continues to implore,
Still he receives, yet still he sues for more;
Still meekly fervent is his prayer address't,
He asks for pardon for the cold request;
With tears he mourns the dryness of his eyes,
And, sighing deep, laments the want of sighs.
His grief is with an eye of pitty seen,

And sweet-tongued Mercy speaks the leeper clean.
The native pureness of his soul returns,

The Angels triumph, the Apostate mourns.

And now for praise he does his soul prepare, Seraphic praise, that heaven of heavens is prayer! Great God! what holy raptures does he prove! How melt before the sacred fire of love!

'T was thus, the wondering gratitude oppres't, He would have spoke the fulness of his breast. "Oh righteous Lord! who sit'st enthroned on high, Look down and view me with a gracious eye;

Accept the mighty tribute that I bring,

A mite of praise to Heaven's eternal King.

Greatly I long and ardently I burn,

To make a nobler and more large return;

But hence each thought of retribution's rain,

That thou art God, and I ignoble man:

But oh! what bright ideas shall I find

To represent thy image to my mind!

Can thought concieve the King of heaven and earth

That has in matter its plebeian birth?

And shall a word, a trancient sound, proclaim

The everlasting greatness of thy name?

Thou art, Oh Lord-O teach me what to say

A flood, an ocean of excessive day

A glorious sun unutterably bright,

That sheds on vast immensity its light.
Creation is contained and filled by thee,
Thou fill'st thyself, thou art immensity.

Thou wast before - Eternity 's thy name,

How great thy power! thou will'st; and strait became

A beauteous world from nothing's barren womb.

Thou frown'st, and hell and misery appear;

Thou smil'st, and heaven and happiness are there.
How boundless is thy knowledge! - thou can't see
The perfect state of them before they be,

And the world was before it was, in thee.
To thee Time stops his never-wearied haste,

To thee is perfect still the future and the past.
But one step further does my knowledge go;
I know that thou art more than I can know;
Whene'er I tread this dark, uncertain coast,
In thy perfections mighty, vast, I'm lost.
In vain I strive the feable hymn to raise -
Hyperbole is meanness in thy praise.

But Goodness, that fair virgin, ever blest,
Nearest and dearest to thy sacred breast,
Who with her soft enchanting voice can charm
Justice herself, and stop her lifted arm,
Demands thy praise

An age ago, my soul, what wast thou? where?

Wast thou a lump of clay or blast of air?

Where, in the world's wide circuit did'st thou dwell?

On earth, in heaven, or in the depth of hell?

What part of vast INANE did'st thou fill?
No, then in Fate's firm fetters I was kept,
In the dark womb of non-existance slept.
In my creation thy first love began,
It gave me being, willed me into man.
In thee I think, I speak, I move, I live;
Myself from thee each moment I receive.
But here's the life of goodness, here we prove
The full protection of all-perfect love;
That he who in the world of glory shone,
The bright Paretius of the Eternal sun,
Was pleased to leave his dignity on high,
For us to live in man, for us to die.
See on the cross his bleeding body hung!
His flesh with pain, his mind with sorrow stung!
The sad, yet joyful minutes now begin,
Of Jesus' death, and of the death of sin.

In every groan he utters we revive;

He faints, we quicken; he expires, we live.
By love like this my soul is quite o'ercome;
And gratitude and wonder strike me dumb;
A theme like this requires a seraph's lays;

Give me new powers, great God, and then I'll sing thy praise."

INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.

"Now, waiting on the Spring, soft gales
Smothe the rough waves and fill the sails.
The flelds are green; the river flows,
Disburdened of its ice and snows.

"Now does the nightingale return,
In sadly pleasing notes to mourn
The unhappy boy too rashly slain!
And wakens all her grief again.

"The shepherds stretch the grass along,
Indulge the cheerful pipe and song;
Pan, patron of Arcadian swains,
Well-pleased, might listen to their strains.

"Heat brings on drought; yet, friend, scot-free
Think not to quench your thirst with me.
You are so used with Lords to dine!
-I can't afford it: earn your wine.

"Clap in your pocket prose or verse,
And freely then my hogshead pierce;
Drink till new warmpth inspire our hopes
To laugh at Grand Monarchs and Popes.

"On termes like these if you consent,
Haste here and bring the equivalent:
I am no Lord; nor think it fit
To sell my wines for less than wit.

"Come, let the press stand still to-day;
True wisdom must have some allay.
To make it stirling; tune and place
Give Folly's self a pleasing grace."

SELFISHNESS.

"Self spoils the sence of all mankind,

And casts a mist before the mind;
Whate'r 's the intrinsic of the coin,

Yours always will be worse than mine.

Each grovelling, despicable elf

Damns all the world besides and deifies himself."

John Ridley18 (12), eldest son of Nicholas (10), died unmarried in 1716, and was buried in St. Nicholas' Church, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

Richard Ridley's (4), second son of Nicholas (10), was born at Newcastle-on-Tyne; married Margaret, daughter of another eminent Newcastle merchant, Alderman Matthew White, and his wife Jane, daughter of Alderman Nicholas Fenwick, at Stannington, in 1707, and had issue, of whom hereafter. He was alderman, mayor of Newcastle in 1713 and 1732, and Governor of the Merchants' Company. He purchased the estate of Heaton, and built for his country-residence a large brick house. named Heaton Hall (see plate in this book), on the steep and woody banks of the Ouseburn, in the neighborhood of extensive collieries owned by him. Mr. Ridley died at Heaton, Nov. 2, 1739. The following account of his funeral will be of interest here:

"On the 5th, in the evening, his corpse was interred in St. Nicholas' Church. The hearse, covered with escutcheons, and drawn by six horses, was preceded by eighty-six of the deceased's tenants and agents on horseback, two and two, with mourning gloves, and three servants; the hearse was followed by a retinue of mourning and other coaches. In this manner the corpse was conveyed from Heaton to Mr. Ridley's house on the quay, Newcastle, where the company were invited, and where the corpse was taken out of the hearse and from thence carried to the church, the pall being covered with escutcheons, and supported by eight gentlemen of note. The master of the charity school, with a scarf, leading the charity boys of St. Nicholas, went foremost in the procession; after whom came five beadles, who were followed by twenty men in cloaks, walking two and two; betwixt these and the corpse walked three couples of servants in mourning; behind the corpse walked twenty-four chief mourners, two and two; these were succeeded by the regalia of the town in mourning, borne by the proper officers, who were followed by the mayor and aldermen, with scarfs and black gloves; next to these walked the clergy, with scarfs, who were followed by the relations of the deceased, in scarfs; to these succeeded the wardens and secretary of the Merchants' Company, with gloves, two and two, and closed with a beadle in a scarf. Then followed a multitude of gentlemen and tradesmen, in gloves; after these came the eighty-six tenants and agents on horseback, as before. During the procession through the town half-minute guns were fired, and a solemn silence was observed by the vast crowd of spectators. When the corpse entered in at the west door of the church, a piece of solemn music was performed upon the organ. After the funeral ceremony was over the bells rung a mourning peal, which closed the solemnities of the day."

Nicholas Ridley18 (11), third son of Nicholas (10).
Edward Ridley18 (2), fourth son of Nicholas17 (10).
John Ridley18 (13), was the fifth son of Nicholas (10).

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