CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 STEPHEN E. WHICHER 
 MEMORIAL BOOK COLLECTION 
 
 Gift of 
 MRS. ELIZABE'^fi T. WHICHER 
 
^lllMimiiiX,,?,'.,!,!'* '"^ °* Thomas Ellwoo 
 
 3 1924 013 181 726 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013181726 
 
THE HISTORY 
 
 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 
 
THE HISTORY 
 
 OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD 
 
 OR AN ACCOUNT OF HIS BIRTH, EDUCATION, ETC., WITH 
 
 DIVERS OBSERVATIONS ON HIS LIFE AND MANNERS WHEN 
 
 A YOUTH ,• AND HOW HE CAME TO BE CONVINCED OF THE 
 
 TRUTH ,• WITH HIS MANY SUFFERINGS AND SERVICES FOR 
 
 THE SAME ,• ALSO SEVERAL OTHER REMARKABLE 
 
 PASSAGES AND OCCURRENCES WRITTEN 
 
 BY HIS OWN HAND 
 
 EDITED 
 BY 
 
 C. G. CRUMP 
 
 BY FAITH THE ELDERS OBTAINED A GOOD BBPORT. 
 HEB. Xi. 2 
 
 MBTHUBN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1900 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 In the heart of every man there exists some belief in 
 religion, or at least a desire for such a belief. It would be 
 pleasant even to the sternest sceptic to believe that the 
 talisman could somewhere be discovered, which other men 
 have rejoiced to possess ; for if that were in his possession, 
 he might throw off his armour of stoical endurance. No 
 longer need he vex himself over the gulf between his 
 morality and his conduct, |no longer need he helplessly 
 watch the evil of the world impatient of slow remedies, 
 eager to anticipate the cure men scarcely dare to hope for. 
 Indeed, if one consider the temptation offered to the 
 sceptic, it is surprising that any one can resist it. Man- 
 kind engaged in a slow and doubtful struggle with its own 
 passions, its own ignorance, and with the forces of natm-e, 
 may well desire an omnipotent ally ; and when most have 
 attained a belief in such a helper, it is strange to find here 
 and there a solitary man who, armoured in his own mind, 
 rejects the watchword of his fellows. It is when this 
 temper has grown common to many, that new religions 
 arise. The death of the old-established creeds is the 
 signal for the birth of new. The mind of man admits but 
 a short season of fallow after such harvests. 
 
 The history of English religions during the fifteenth 
 and sixteenth centuries is the history of the successive 
 rejection of belief. From Catholic the nation became 
 Protestant and Episcopal ; but the active spirits could not 
 stop there. They drifted from one phase of belief to 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 another, seeking the religion they desired and never finding 
 it. Some became Presbyterians ; some Baptists and Inde- 
 pendents of various types ; some fell into the extravagances 
 of the Ranters ; and some became, as they said themselves, 
 " Seekers ". The people who went by this name are known 
 to have existed in England as early as 1617)' and their 
 numbers gradually increased during the following years. 
 To their minds the power of Antichrist had so prevailed 
 in the world that no true Christianity was left in it ; the 
 spirit that spoke from the lips of the Apostles was silent ; 
 the Churches were the mere creation of man. All that the 
 faithful followers of Christ could do was to meet together 
 without forms or ceremonies, and hope for a new revelation 
 to lift mankind again. They used no sacraments, neither 
 baptism nor any form of communion, thinking that both 
 were useless and possibly might be the work of Satan. 
 
 To this sect the spiritually discontented turned from all 
 sides. Ceremonies had lost their attraction, and the 
 priesthood its authority. It seemed best to those bent 
 upon finding a religious life to meet each other quietly, 
 and sit in silence expecting the spirit to move them to 
 some good word.. It was the prevalence of this temper 
 that gave George Fox his opportunity, and that did much 
 to determine that England was not to be a Presbyterian 
 country. 
 
 At first sight it might seem that in rejecting Presby- 
 terianism, the religious minds of England were straying 
 from the right patn. The Scotch creed and discipline 
 have, at first sight, so much to offer ; the one provides an 
 intellectual training coupled with possibilities for enthu- 
 siasm, a combination rare in the history of religions ; the 
 other supplies a moral force acting so powerfully on the 
 
 ' [Barclay, Inner Life of the Religious Societies of the Commonwealth 
 p. 173, etc.] 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 individual, that a permanent 'imotive against misconduct 
 must be always before him. Between them these two 
 forces were building up an organisation of thought and 
 order thi'oughout the Lowlands of Scotland. The only 
 things lacking were liberty of thought and liberty of 
 conduct. These, however, were the very things for which 
 the English nation had been striving for some time. A 
 few extreme men may have been ready to struggle against 
 ceremonies and doctrines ; but many more were ready 
 to fight to throw off the domination of the ecclesiastical 
 courts, and the moral and religious censorship exercised 
 by them. The censorship of the Presbytery was likely to 
 be more inquisitive than the coiu't of the bishop, and its 
 penalties were not less severe. Liberty of thought and 
 liberty of conduct were endangered ; and the mass of the 
 nation drifted slowly into opposition to the Presbyterian 
 creed and discipline. 
 
 So far as the Quakers were concerned, the rejection of 
 Presbyterianism gave them a great opportunity. It left a 
 gap that needed filling up. Their organisation soon grew 
 as complete and extensive as any Presbyterian Church 
 could have provided; and the flexibility of their creed 
 saved them from the perilous accusation of tyranny. The 
 chiu'ch of the Commonwealth was in no condition to offer 
 much resistance. Its ministers were drawn from such 
 various sources, and appointed in such various ways, that 
 no common creed or principle of action could be found to 
 unite them. Moreover, the Quakers had an obvious line of 
 attack upon them. In common with many others, they 
 had made up their minds that they would receive no man 
 for a Christian, unless he gave proof that the spirit was in 
 him, and would have no man for a minister unless he had 
 some proof to give that he was the successor of the 
 Apostles. Accordingly, in the many controversies which 
 
viii INTEODUCTION 
 
 took place between the Quakers and bhe ministers of the 
 State Church, the regular question put to the minister 
 was: "Where is your commission to teach?" It was not 
 every man who knew what to reply. Baxter, too shrewd 
 to entangle himself in such a controversy, retorted by 
 putting the same question to his questioner. But even he 
 condescended to prove that he made no profit from his 
 lectureship of Kidderminster. 
 
 The controversy between him and James Naylor and 
 Thomas Goodair is curious reading. Baxter had the 
 better of the argument, but it is easy to see why the 
 Quakers prevailed over the Presbyterians in their teaching. 
 If one may generalise on national character, it is possible 
 to express briefly one characteristic of English religion. 
 An Englishman learns religion first and theology after- 
 wards, if at all. To an Englishman religion is a state 
 of mind, the reward of faith, not a science leading to 
 knowledge of the meaning of the universe. Baxter's 
 learning was a reproach to him in Naylor's eyes ; for 
 James Naylor knew that he had within himself the spirit 
 of Christ, which was more than any human learning could 
 give. A desire for religion, a distrust of learning, are the 
 keynotes of early Quaker thought. 
 
 An outbreak of religion is the severest test of the wisdom 
 of a government ; especially if the government be one with 
 religious convictions of its own. The men who surrounded 
 Cromwell were for the most part religious men, but they 
 were men of diverse •opinions. There was no likelihood 
 of their finding union enough to persecute, even if as 
 individuals they had desired to do so.^ The sufferings of 
 the Quakers under the Commonwealth were, with a few 
 
 ' [Some of the major-generals seem to have regarded the Quakers as a 
 source of disorder; and Henry Cromwell speaks of them in Ireland as his 
 chief enemies. See Thurloe's papers. But tliis seems exceptional.] 
 
INTEODUCTION ix 
 
 exceptions, the work of the country clergy and the country 
 justices of the peace. When the Quaker stood up in the 
 steeple-house to denounce the priest to his parishioners, it 
 was not unlikely that the people should be moved to 
 disorder, and the Quaker arrested for brawling in the 
 church. The next step brought the prisoner into the 
 presence of la country gentleman, perhaps no friend to 
 sectaries and proud of his office. The fact that the 
 prisoner refused to remove his hat was a fresh insult. 
 Moreover, there was a ready means of punishing such 
 contumacy. The oath of abjuration was tendered to him, 
 and on his refusal to take an oath, he came within the 
 penalties of an Act, framed against Roman Catholics, and 
 passed just after the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot. 
 
 In 1656-7, seven Quakers, prisoners in Horsham gaol, 
 petitioned the Council to inquire into their case. A 
 report 1 on the matter states that the committals are 
 irregular and bad in law ; and that the crimes alleged are 
 matters of opinion in worship. The pretext under which 
 most of the prisoners were committed was that they had 
 refused to find sureties for their good behaviour. In 
 November, 1657,^ special instructions were sent to the 
 magistrates in various counties to release any Quakers who 
 might be in prison only for refusing to take off" their hats, 
 or for not giving sureties. 
 
 While in this way the Council endeavoured to secure 
 fair treatment for the Quakers, the Quakers on their side 
 were busy in endeavouring to secure some representation 
 among the county magistrates. The State Papers of the 
 Protectorate contain many letters showing the attempts 
 made by them in this direction, and on the death of 
 Oliver Cromwell the whole body seems to have made an 
 
 ' [State Papers, Domestic, 6th January, 1656-7.] 
 ^ [Ibid., loth November, 1657.] 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 organised effort to secure that the new commissions signed 
 by Richard Cromwell should exclude the more prominent 
 of their enemies, and include some, at least, of their own 
 way of thinking. There is no reason to believe that 
 this attempt succeeded. It was difficult enough for the 
 Republican party to find persons well affected to the 
 Commonwealth fit to serve as county justices. It must 
 have been almost impossible to find persons of sufficient 
 standing and repute among the Quakers. 
 
 It has been said that Cromwell and the Council were on 
 the whole disposed to treat the Quakers with respect. 
 The chief causes of complaint against them were not, in 
 fact, matters to concern the central authority. In a 
 petition^ dated 30th September, 1658, John Fielder sums 
 up the charges usually brought against himself and his 
 fellows thus : " They are common disturbers of ministers ; 
 they will not pay tithes; they will not swear; they will 
 not put off their hats ; they travel up and down from one 
 country to another without a magistrate pass ; and on the 
 first days to meetings at great distances; they will not 
 pay fees when they are brought into court, nor plead in 
 the form there used, nor give security to keep the peace, 
 or to be of good behaviour, when the justices require it, 
 and we have laws and customs that require that these 
 things should be done". The biography of any Quaker 
 will afford sufficient proof of the accuracy of this statement 
 of the case for the persecution. 
 
 There were howSver other charges of a more dangerous 
 kind. An Act of Parliament passed in 1650 against 
 blasphemy had enacted penalties against persons affirming 
 that any person was God or a manifestation of God. 
 Certain expressions of Quaker doctrine were susceptible of 
 
 ' [State Papers, Domestic] 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 an interpretation of this kind ; and the Act was occasion- 
 ally used against them. In the case of James Naylor the 
 penalties of the Act seem to have been thought insufficient, 
 and the House of Commons '^ took upon itself to intervene 
 directly. A letter of Cromwell's expresses a doubt of the 
 legality or wisdom of their action ; and of the cruelty of 
 the punishment devised by them there can be no doubt. 
 But it must be noted that this is the only occasion during 
 the Commonwealth on which the central government 
 attacked the Quakers ; and, as will be seen, Naylor was 
 scarcely a Quaker at the time, and his behaviour was an 
 extreme case. 
 
 James Naylor, who is mentioned by Ellwood as one of 
 the agents in his conversion, was one of George Fox's 
 earliest converts. He was born at Wakefield, in Yorkshire, 
 and seems to have been a man of little learning and a mind 
 with a turn for mystical religion.^ He is described by an 
 unfriendly writer as " a man of ruddy complexion, brown 
 hair and slank, hanging a little below his jaw-bones ; of 
 an indifferent height; not very long visage, nor very 
 round ; close shaven, a sad down look, and melancholy 
 countenance ; a little band close to his collar with no 
 band strings ; his hat hanging over his brows ; his nose 
 neither high nor low, but rising a little in the middle "- 
 We know from Ellwood's account and from other sources 
 that his manner of speech was plain and rough, but that 
 his words had great power over his hearers. 
 
 One of the most important of the Quaker doctrines was 
 the doctrine of the inner light, or the belief that in each 
 believer the spirit of Christ was present and working. To 
 an imaginative mind this belief gave a clear opening to 
 
 ' [This is the Parliament of 1656. For Cromwell's letter see Carlyle, 
 letter ccxvii. See also Burton's Diary, vol. i., for the debates to which 
 Cromwell's action gave rise.] 
 
 '[Harleian Miscellany, vi., 456.] 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 extravagance. It was also readily misunderstood by critics, 
 and to the ears of such sounded like blasphemy. James 
 Naylor at an early period began to give to the doctrine a 
 dangerous extension. His immediate followers did not 
 restrain him, and it is clear from his answers to his judges 
 that he believed that the spirit of Christ was in him in a 
 pre-eminent degree, and that in his less sane moments he 
 may even have taken himself for a re-incarnation, as his 
 followers certainly believed him to be. The pamphlet in 
 the Harleian Miscellanies, already quoted, shows clearly a 
 frame of mind which, at the time of his arrest, had passed 
 into religious mania. 
 
 It must be understood that George Fox and the regular 
 Quakers had cast him off before that time. In October, 
 1656, his extravagance reached its height. He rode into 
 Bristol with a young man, walking bare-headed, leading 
 his horse. Another young man went before him, and two 
 men followed riding, each having a woman behind him on 
 his horse. Another woman followed walking. On their 
 way they sang aloud, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of 
 Sabaoth ! " They had come in this strange fashion from 
 Wells and Glastonbury, sometimes casting down their 
 garments before Naylor as he rode among them, sometimes 
 chanting, " with a buzzing, melodious noise," as one witness 
 affirms. The whole party was arrested and brought before 
 a magistrate at Bristol, and upon his report the Parliament 
 proceeded to invent for Naylor a punishment declared to 
 be due to a man wno had blasphemously asserted himself 
 to be the Son of God. It is easy to see that Naylor in 
 his sane days meant nothing of the sort. To his mind 
 every devout Christian was a temple wherein Christ was 
 present; anything beyond this was nothing but the ex- 
 travagance of a disordered mind. He was sentenced to 
 have his tongue pierced with a hot iron, to be brutally 
 
INTKODUCTION xiii 
 
 whipped, and to be imprisoned. He underwent the whole 
 penalty, and while he lay in prison his sanity returned to 
 him. He asked pardon of his old fidends for his extrava- 
 gances and for the charges which he had brought against 
 them, and was re-admitted into their Society. In 1658 
 or 1659 he crossed EUwood's path, and two years later he 
 died at Abott's Ripton in Huntingdonshire on his way 
 northward, his death being due to cold and exposure. 
 The spirit had called him northward to preach, and he 
 had not strength for the journey. 
 
 When the theological zeal of the Parliament did not 
 interfere, the Government of the Commonwealth was not 
 specially unfavourable to the Quakers. With the Restora- 
 tion, however, things altered very much for the worse. 
 The men who came into power with Charles II. lived at 
 first in constant dread of counterplots, and for some reason 
 they greatly dreaded the Quakers as plotters. It would 
 he mistaken to suppose that they were at all conscious of 
 the absurdity of this belief. There were in fact some 
 grounds for entertaining it. Among the State Papers 
 there is a letter (28th April, 1657) signed P. W., which 
 assigns to the Anabaptists and Quakers a leading part in 
 Venner's plot against Cromwell. Still more curious is a 
 letter of Desborough's, dated 8th April, 1660, written on 
 the eve of the Restoration, to a certain Livewell Chapman, 
 containing a proposal for an armed resistance to General 
 Monk. "Let the Quakers," he says, "have the knottiest 
 piece, for they are resolute in performing, though not rash 
 in advising." When we find men of his way of thinking 
 speaking in this manner, it is not surprising that Secretary 
 Nicholas ^ should be convinced that the rebels were raising 
 in London three regiments of Quakers, Anabaptists and 
 
 ' [State Papers, Domestic, 27th August, 1659.] 
 
xiv INTEODUCTION 
 
 Brownists, to be under Sir Harry Vane,^ Major-General 
 Skippon, and White, a famous Quaker from New England. 
 The new Government came into power with a prejudice 
 against the Friends, and saw with some terror the numbers 
 and the organisation possessed by them. 
 
 Against the leaders of the Quakers no charges of con- 
 spiracy can be entertained. Men like Fox and Burrough 
 had no temptations in that direction ; and of the great 
 mass of their followers this is equally true. In all the 
 State trials of the reign of Charles there is no instance in 
 which a leading Quaker was even indicted for treason. 
 But it must be remembered that Quakerism was to many 
 only the final stage of religious evolution. Men who had 
 believed in a Fifth Monarchy, or who had been Ranters, 
 may have plotted in their time. Even when they became 
 Quakers, they may have had links with old conspiracies; 
 and a Government which dreaded conspiracies, and knew 
 little of Quaker life and thought, may have found occasion 
 for suspicion among such cases. Nothing very certain can 
 be said on this matter. But the fact remains that the 
 Restoration Government suspected the Quaker body of 
 engaging in plots, and that there is no proof that these 
 suspicions were in any case correct. There were few 
 Royalists capable of writing like Lord Langdale ; ^ " There 
 is a sect of persons called Quakers, who hold meetings in 
 several parts and lead exemplary lives, accounting persecu- 
 tion an honour". A more usual style is that employed 
 by Mr. Richard Elsworth,^ who describes the Quakers of 
 Bristol as monsters, who meet in large numbers, to the 
 great alarm of the city, and who refuse to take the oath 
 of allegiance. 
 
 1 [Vane was never a QuaJcer, but Bishop Burnet calls him a Seeker.] 
 ^[State Papers, Domestic, nth January, 1661.] 
 ' [Ibid., 20th November, 1660.] 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 The declaration of Breda had indeed promised toleration 
 and freedom of religious worship, and it is possible that 
 Charles intended to keep his promise. But an event which 
 happened early in his reign put the Quakers and the 
 Government at once into sharp opposition. On the 7th 
 of January, 1661, a band of Fifth Monarchy men, under 
 Venner, broke into open rebellion in London. The in- 
 smrection, which was of an absiu-dly desperate character, 
 was speedily suppressed, and Venner and his confederates 
 arrested and eventually put to death. But the outbreak 
 was made the occasion for a series of proclamations direct- 
 ing, among other matters, that no man was to live in the 
 city without taking the oath of allegiance, nor to exercise 
 religious services out of his own house, or to admit others 
 into such services upon penalties for riot. As Sir John 
 Finch remarks in a letter to Lord Conway,^ " This troubles 
 the Quakers and Anabaptists, who had nothing to do with 
 the business ". 
 
 It did indeed trouble the Quakers. They could not take 
 the oath, nor could they refrain from meetings. A general 
 storm of imprisonment fell upon them all over England. 
 A foolish plot, with which they had no concern, was the 
 beginning of legislation directed specially against them. 
 Their resistance to the legislation identified them with the 
 plot, and a few years later an opponent may be noticed 
 speaking of Venner's outbreak as the Quaker rebellion. 
 The absolute innocence of their leaders may be gathered 
 from the fact that George Fox, who was in London at the 
 time, was arrested by mistake and almost immediately 
 liberated. 
 
 Under the Commonwealth the sufferings of the Quakers 
 had been local and individual. From this date the persecu- 
 tion became general, and only ceased when, from time to 
 ^ [State Papers, Domestic, nth January, 1660-1.] 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 time, the arm of the law became weary. It may be useful 
 briefly to sum up the various ways in which the Quakers 
 were exposed to the law, though it is difficult to do so with 
 great clearness or conciseness. They themselves had a deep 
 impression that much of the punishment inflicted on them 
 was not only oppressive but illegal. It is a favourite 
 expression in their writings, that the Friends suffered more 
 than the early Christians, whose sufferings were according 
 to law. But in truth the law was so complex and the 
 penalties so wide, that it was scarcely possible to imprison a 
 Quaker illegally, except through an error in form ; and for 
 such errors the superior courts could speedily grant relief. 
 It will perhaps make the confused subject a little clearer, 
 if we take the offences likely to be committed by a Quaker 
 in order and show the penalties provided by law. 
 
 In the first place then, a Quaker would absolutely refuse 
 to pay tithes. The parson, or tithe-owner, had several 
 remedies at his disposal. He might, under 27 Henry VIII., 
 c. 20, proceed in the ecclesiastical court, and invoke the very 
 large powers possessed by that body ; but this course was 
 not often adopted. He might, as he usually did, simply 
 levy a distress ; or, if he were vindictively inclined, he could 
 begin an action against the Quaker in the Exchequer. If 
 he adopted this course, the nature of the law would pro- 
 bably result in the imprisonment of the Quaker for an 
 indefinite period. The defendant in an Exchequer action 
 was obliged to employ counsel to sign his answer to the 
 plaintiff's bill, a couKe very repugnant to Quaker doctrines. 
 Accordingly it usually happened that the defendant did 
 refuse to comply with the rules of the court, and was in 
 consequence imprisoned for contempt of coiu-t. The 
 autobiography of the Berkshire Quaker, Oliver Sansom, 
 contains many allusions to the troubles endured by the 
 Quakers on this score. 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 Even more serious were the consequences of the Quaker 
 aversion to oaths. This aversion they were not alone in 
 feeling, as it was one of the many points in which Quakers 
 and Baptists agreed. But the former adhered to their 
 principles with a firmness not always to be discovered in 
 the latter. The first statute concerning the taking of 
 oaths is the act of 3 James I., c. 4, which was passed 
 expressly against the Ropian Catholics. This act gave 
 power to arrest any person passing through the country 
 and unknown in it; to inquire whether he had received 
 the Sacrament within the year, and if he had not done so, 
 the oath of abjuration and allegiance were to be tendered 
 to him. If the oath were refused the prisoner was to be 
 committed to the next assize without bail, and the oath 
 tendered to him then. If he again refused, he incurred 
 the penalties of premunire, under which his goods were 
 forfeited and he himself imprisoned at the King's pleasure. 
 This Act was an Act directed against Roman Catholics, 
 but one consequence of Venner's outbreak was to produce 
 an Act of Parliament specially directed against the Quakers. 
 The leaders of the body determined to protest against the 
 action of the government, and Edward Burrough, EUwood's 
 friend, was charged to endeavour to prevent the passing of 
 the Act. 
 
 On the third reading he appeared at the bar of the 
 House of Commons to explain the Quaker position, and 
 addressed the House on the Bill.' He told the House 
 quite plainly that the Friends would not obey the law, 
 especially that part of it which forbade them to meet for 
 religious purposes. "If this Bill now under debate is 
 finished into an Act to be executed, I am so far from 
 yielding conformity thereunto, that I shall, through the 
 
 ' [He was accompanied by Richard Hubbertliorn, George Whitehead, 
 and Edward Pyot. Common yournah, igth July, 1661.] 
 
 b 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 strength of Christ, meet among the people of God to 
 worship Him, and not only so, but I shall make it my 
 business to exhort all God's people everywhere to meet 
 together, notwithstanding the law and its penalties." The 
 penalties were severe. Under the Act as passed, any persons 
 refusing to take an oath lawfully tendered to them, or 
 meeting together as Quakers to the number of more than 
 five, were to be fined for the first offence £5, and ^£"10 
 for the second. If their goods were not of sufficient value 
 to furnish such sums — and this was often the case — they 
 were to suffer imprisonment for three or six months ; and 
 on the third conviction, they were to abjiu-e the realm, or 
 be transported at the King's pleasure. 
 
 This Act, or the former one, was very often used against 
 the Quakers, and in some cases the procedure of both was 
 directed against them. In other ways also they suffered 
 for their refusal to sweai\ It made them incapable of 
 giving testimony in any court of justice, and therefore of 
 prosecuting persons guilty of offences against them, except 
 in cases where their own evidence was not important. A 
 Chancery action against a Quaker meant ruin to him, for 
 he could not file and answer on oath; and in this way 
 Isaac Penington lost his property at Chalfont St. Peters, 
 under an unjust claim prosecuted against him in Chancery 
 by some of his relatives. If we may trust the veracity of 
 the Court of Chancery, some Quakers found a more ingeni- 
 ous than creditable way out of the difficulty; these men 
 would draw up thei» answer and employ another person, 
 not a Quaker, to personate them, and swear to the answer 
 in their place. It is not likely that such frauds were ever 
 common, but there exists an order made by Sir Heneage 
 Finch describing this as a Quaker practice and establishing 
 a procedure against it. 
 
 Another head of the Quaker offences was their reluctance 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 to attend church. This brought them under the provisions 
 of the Act of Uniformity, 29 Eliz., c. 6, and a following 
 Act, 35 Eliz., c. 1. The result of these two Acts was to 
 render any person so offending liable to a series of fines ; 
 and, what was far worse, liable to be arrested and sent to 
 prison, without bail, until they should conform. After 
 three months ' imprisonment the offenders were to abjure 
 the realm, or incur the penalties of felony. 
 
 The law in force up to the year 1665 has now been 
 described : in that year a new form of attack was devised 
 on all Nonconformists alike. The Government had grown 
 tired of prosecuting the members of the Dissenting bodies, 
 and determined to attack the leaders. The Five Mile Act, 
 17 Charles II., c. 2, and the following Conventicle Acts, 16 
 Charles II., c. 4, and 22 Charles II., c. 1, were designed to 
 separate their preachers from Nonconformist meetings, and 
 to put down the meetings themselves. Against the Quakers 
 the Five Mile Act was, on the whole, inoperative. There 
 were in fact no persons in that body who could exactly be 
 called preachers. Certain men like Fox, Burrough, and 
 others, occupied indeed a peculiar position, but they were 
 in no sense the head of any local bodies. They were simply 
 men whom the Friends recognised as those who had given 
 up their lives to teaching religion ; and wherever they 
 came they were sure of attention and respect. Fox indeed 
 looked upon himself as something more, but of Fox and 
 his position it will be easier to speak in connection with 
 the Story and Wilkinson controversy. Here it is sufficient 
 to say that local preachers attached to a particular meeting 
 formed no part of the Quaker organisation. For this reason 
 the Five Mile Act was, in most cases, difficult of application, 
 and it does not seem to have borne heavily upon the body. 
 
 The Conventicle Acts, especially that of 1670, were more 
 serious in their results. Under the last of these Acts any 
 
XX INTEODUCTION 
 
 person attending a conventicle could be fined five shillings 
 for the first ofifence, and ten shillings for the next. The 
 preacher was to be fined £^0 for the first offence, and J'4'0 
 for the next ; and, if the preacher could not be found, that 
 amount was to be levied on those found at the meeting. 
 The owner of the house where the meeting took place was 
 to be fined £20. It has been said that at the regular 
 Quaker meeting there was no person who could properly be 
 called a preacher. The result therefore of the clause against 
 preachers was twofold. The person breaking up the con- 
 venticle, for which object doors might be broken open and 
 troops employed, either selected some prominent person 
 and called him the preacher, or failing to discover the 
 preacher's name, left the penalty to fall on the whole 
 congregation. In either case the result was sufficiently 
 tyrannical ; but it never seems to have crossed the minds 
 of the men deahng with the question that in most 
 Quaker communities there was simply no preacher at all. 
 So far only statutes affecting the Friends have been 
 mentioned. The ways in which they ran counter to social 
 prejudice exposed them however in some cases to legal 
 censiu-e. In many cases it is clear that the refusal to remove 
 the hat, and the use of the second person singular, at least 
 aggravated the penalties to which they were subjected. 
 For other less obvious reasons the whole body incurred in 
 some places great unpopularity. Under the Commonwealth 
 this was especially the case. The persecution which followed 
 upon the Restoration «put an end to one source of this 
 disHke. Few things are more remarkable in the history of 
 the Quakers than the passionate aversion with which they 
 were regarded by the Independents and Presbyterians, an 
 aversion due chiefly to theological causes. The Presby- 
 terians and most of the Independents were Calvinists ; that 
 is to say, they held that saving grace was only given to some 
 
INTEODUCTION xxi 
 
 men, and could not be attained by those to whom it was 
 not given. The Quakers held that there was no such 
 limitation, and that all men might receive grace and be 
 saved. At this point they nearly touched the Jesuit views, 
 and probably it was partly owing to this, that the reproach 
 of concealed Romanism was so often brought against them. 
 Barclay in the Apology takes some pains to distinguish 
 between the Quaker view and that of the Jesuits, but it 
 cannot be said that he makes out a very clear case. This, 
 however, and other differences in organisation and creed 
 seem to have been the principal causes of the sharp 
 antagonism between the pacific Friends and the other two 
 sects. In New England this quarrel had well-known results. 
 In England itself it was responsible in part for the bitterness 
 with which the Quakers were treated in London after the 
 Restoration. In particular it caused the death of Edward 
 Burrough. 
 
 The name of Burrough is mentioned so often by EUwood 
 that it is needful to give some account of his life. He was 
 bom in 1634 at Underbarrow near Kendal, and received a 
 better education than most of the Quaker leaders. When 
 he was eighteen years of age, he heard George Fox preach, 
 and at once gave up the Presbyterian creed and joined 
 himself to Fox. For some years he travelled about 
 England preaching the new faith, and in 1654 he came 
 to London to begin a mission there, preaching in season 
 and out of season. Once he came upon a wrestling match, 
 where a victorious champion was ^.waiting a fresh antag- 
 onist. Burrough stepped into the ring to confront him 
 with an exhortation to repentance, and the whole assembly 
 were soon listening to his words. From England he turned 
 to Ireland, but was almost at once arrested and expelled 
 from that country as a vagabond. Coming back to London 
 he got into conflict with one Mayo, then rector of Kingston, 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 who challenged him to a public disputation. Burrough 
 accepted the challenge and accused the priest of heresy. 
 Mayo retorted with an action for slander, and Burrough 
 in vain pleaded that this was matter for an ecclesiastical 
 court. The jury gave the plaintiff ^£"100 damages, but for 
 some reason the judgment was never executed. His life 
 was one of struggle and controversy, and by his own body 
 he was called the Son of Thunder. 
 
 From an acrimonious dispute with Bunyan, he turned 
 to face Cromwell himself to demand rest for the Quakers ; 
 and to Richard Cromwell he sent a solemn warning of the 
 judgment that was to come on himself and his adherents. 
 At first the Restoration seemed not unlikely to enable him 
 to do something to help his fellow-believers. He was 
 favourably received by Charles, and at his intercession the 
 king promised to stop " the vein of innocent blood," which 
 the Independents had opened in America. But Venner's 
 insurrection, and the passing of the Act of 1662, proved 
 fatal obstacles to any good that he might have been able 
 to effect. His protest to that Act has already been de- 
 scribed, and soon after it became law Edward Burrough 
 told the Quakers of Bristol that he must leave them to 
 go to London to die for his faith. His words were pro- 
 phetic. He went to London and found the persecution in 
 full activity. He was arrested at a meeting at the Bull 
 and Mouth, and taken to Newgate shortly before the 
 date of EUwood's own arrest. Most of the prisoners were 
 liberated after a few months' imprisonment, and this might 
 also have been the case with Burrough, had it not been 
 for the interference of Sir Richard Browne, an old Round- 
 head and a leader of the Presbyterians. 
 
 Sir Richard Browne had been a man of importance in 
 the civil war. He had served under Waller, and in 1644 
 was Major-General of the forces in Berkshire, Buckingham- 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 shire and Oxfordshire. If we may trust an anecdote in 
 Sewell's History of the Quakers, he had used his position 
 there with some harshness. It is said, that in 1662, while 
 he was engaged in actively persecuting the Quakers in 
 London, one of them " seeing how Browne smote a Quaker 
 with his fist on the face . . . said, 'What, Richard, wilt 
 thou turn murderer? Thou didst not so when I was a 
 soldier under thy command at Abingdon, and thou com- 
 mandest me and others to search people's houses for pies 
 and roast meat, because they kept Christmas as a holy 
 time, and we brought the persons prisoners to the guard 
 for observing the same '. For such a precise one the said 
 Browne was at that time, that he pretended to root out that 
 superstitious custom, though there is reason to question 
 whether his heart were sincere in that respect." The 
 charge contained in the last sentence is certainly false, 
 Browne's political course was like that of other Presby- 
 terians. In 1648 ^ he opposed the army and was imprisoned 
 on a charge of conspiracy with the Scots. He was in 
 prison for five years, used worse than if he had been in 
 Newgate, by his own account; an experience which might 
 have made him deal more gently with the Quakers, when his 
 time of power retm-ned. This came with the Restoration, 
 in which he played a considerable part. His influence in 
 the city, where he carried on the trade of a wood merchant, 
 and the favour of the King, made him Lord Mayor in 
 1660. He showed great activity in crushing Venner, and 
 his conduct at that time and his subsequent dealings with 
 the Quakers won him an annuity of =£'500 from the city 
 and a baronetcy from the King. 
 
 How harshly he used his power against the Quakers in 
 the evil times which came on them in 1662 can be learned 
 
 '[He was arrested after Pride's Purge. See Gardiner's Civil War 
 (1894), iv., 275. 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 from the pages of Basse. Making all allowance for ex- 
 aggeration, it is clear that Browne was a man of harsh and 
 brutal temper and conduct. The exact part played by 
 him in the tragedy of the death of Edward Burrough I 
 have not been able to discover. But it seems clear that 
 he used his position in the city to prolong an imprisonment 
 which had already told on the health of the prisoner, in 
 spite of an order for his release. There were several means 
 at his disposal for doing this, and which of them was used 
 does not appear. The Quakers in prison with Burrough were 
 released, but he himself remained in confinement; and it 
 was freely suggested by the Quakers that this was due to 
 special malice on Browne's part. But it is useless to 
 attribute to the " old Oliverian wood monger " any special 
 malignity. He was a harsh, soured man of mingled Presby- 
 terian and Royalist principles. In his eyes Biurough was 
 a Quaker, a fanatic, and probably a traitor, and so Sir 
 Richard Browne did his best to keep him in Newgate till 
 he should die, and succeeded in his endeavour. 
 
 So far I have aimed principally at explaining the attitude 
 of the Government towards the Quakers. To trace the 
 history of their opinions and organisation would have 
 needed a larger space than can be given. Moreover, a 
 book already quoted, Barclay's Imier Life of the Quaker 
 Communities of the Commonwealth, contains a fuller and 
 more accurate history of the Quaker body at this time than 
 any writer, lacking both years to give to research, and the 
 advantage of being himeelf a Quaker, can hope to give. 
 Those who are curious for knowledge on these points must 
 turn to that volume. 
 
 There are, however, two incidents in Quaker history 
 which cannot be passed over, for both affected Ellwood's 
 life in some measure. These two incidents are the quarrel 
 within the Quaker body originated by John Perrott, and 
 
INTEODUCTION xxv 
 
 the more serious rebellion of Story, Wilkinson and Rogers. 
 EUwood has himself given some account of Perrott and his 
 heresies. In need only be added to this account that, 
 according to Sewell, " he not only insisted on retaining his 
 hat in the meeting while prayer was being made, but 
 made another extravagant step and let his beard grow." ^ 
 But these were only the lighter and less important matters ; 
 the real question at issue lay deeper. To Fox, and the 
 Quaker preachers like Burrough and his friend Howgill, 
 the duty of the Friends was to be a missionary body. All 
 the world, if possible, was to be included in one fold, and 
 brought to understand the Quaker creed, and follow the 
 Quaker life. There was, however, another party who did 
 not share these views, and Perrott was only its first 
 spokesman. His manifesto was published in 1663, at a 
 time when many of the foremost Quakers were in prison,^ 
 and other pamphlets on the same side followed. Doubt- 
 less some werej weary of enduring, and thought that this 
 weariness was prompted by the Spirit. That sense of the 
 uselessness of human effort, which the Quietists of all ages 
 have felt, that dislike to all religious forms and governance, 
 which the most religious men have often known, came 
 upon many; and upon EUwood among them. 
 
 EUwood himself retraced his steps and joined Fox again 
 and the band of missionaries ; but many remained behind, 
 thinking that the one thing needful to a man was to 
 follow the Spirit, whithersoever it should lead, in great 
 things and in small, among the eddies of private imaginings 
 or down the stream of the world's progress, as chance 
 should dictate. Books like those of Molinos' began to 
 form part of Quaker libraries, and to be sold by Quaker 
 booksellers ; on the cover of the first edition of EUwood's 
 
 ^[Sewell, History of the Quakers (1834), i., 374.] 
 2 [Barclay, i., 430.] 
 
xxvi INTKODUCTION 
 
 Life is an advertisement of The Spiritual Guide, trans- 
 lated from the Italian of that author. The growth of 
 such opinions was the most striking result that the 
 persecution produced ; and they were accompanied by 
 another step, which was to separate the Friends from all 
 other large religious bodies. 
 
 A knotty point in all organisations for religious purposes 
 has been the question of the payment of ministers. All 
 manner of schemes have been tried, and none have succeeded 
 completely. But the Quakers are perhaps almost the only 
 large body who have not paid their ministers at all. The 
 result has not been wholly fortunate. It has been one of 
 the minor causes which have reduced the Quakers from one 
 of the most important of the Nonconformist bodies to the 
 position they now hold. The movement within the body, 
 which Perrott and his fellows began, Story and Wilkinson 
 carried on. There were other small issues round which the 
 controversy raged, but the main question was that of the 
 existence of the ministers and their payment. Men like 
 John Raunce and Thomas Curtis were taken by the new 
 views ; the meetings were torn asunder, and the Separatists 
 in some cases seized the meeting-houses, expelling the other 
 party. William Rogers, a Bristol merchant, used his 
 position as one of the trustees of the meeting-house there 
 to exclude the followers of Fox for no less than five years. 
 Much strong language was used on both sides, and Thomas 
 Ellwood, who bore the brunt of the controversy for Fox, 
 was no laggard in the*fight. There is a curious instance 
 of this bitterness in the controversy between him and John 
 Raunce. Raunce charges Ellwood with letting his father 
 be buried in an improper fashion, and with undutiful and 
 ungrateful behaviour towards him. Ellwood replies by a 
 complete denial of the accusation, but he had already made 
 against his antagonist a charge so scandalous, that it is 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 hard to believe either in its truth or falsehood.^ The 
 bitterness gradually died away, and the Separatists slowly 
 came back to the main body. But their revolt had done 
 much to frustrate the policy of Fox. The organised Church 
 he had dreamed of, with its missionary preachers going 
 from meeting to meeting, never came into existence. 
 Instead there arose a system of separate meetings, like 
 independent congregations, lacking however the minister, 
 and lacking therefore the stimulus to activity and work 
 that a minister's position gives him. The result may be 
 good, but it is not the result at which Fox aimed. 
 
 The part EUwood took in this controversy has been 
 shortly described here, and will be found at length in his 
 life and in the continuation of it which Joseph Wyeth 
 wrote. Here we need only note that his poem upon 
 Rogers, the Bristol merchant, entitled " Rogeromastix," is 
 perhaps the least unreadable of his essays in verse. 
 
 There is still another subject too closely connected with 
 EUwood's life to be omitted, though it has no relation 
 to the general history of the body to which he belonged. 
 The whole of his private history is so closely bound up with 
 that of Isaac Penington and his wife and family, that a 
 few details concerning them, which EUwood has not given, 
 must be added here. Of Isaac Penington little need be 
 said, or indeed of Guli Springett, his step-daughter ; but of 
 his wife something must be added. She has left behind 
 her a very brief autobiography in the form of three letters 
 to her children, which is a very charming work. She was 
 the daughter and heiress of Sir John Proude^ of Goodneston 
 Court in Kent, and was married to Sir William Springett, 
 
 ' [" News from Wiccomb," i6go. See also Joseph Wyeth's Continuation 
 of the Life of EUwood.'] 
 
 '[He was killed while serving in Flanders, leaving one son, Edward, 
 who died a minor. The Kent property remained for some generations in 
 the Penington family.] 
 
xxviii INTEODUCTION 
 
 a man of the best Puritan type. Neither she nor her first 
 husband ' was ever able to discover any creed to which 
 they could adhere. All his life he remained a "Seeker," 
 believing in religion and hoping some day to discover it. 
 He died of fever while in command of the Parliamentary 
 troops besieging Arundel, and she, hearing that he was iU 
 and not likely to recover, journeyed down from London, 
 in ill condition for a journey, over rough roads and flooded 
 country to see him. She reached Arundel the day before 
 he died, in time to cool his fevered lips with the touch of 
 her own. Not long after his death her daughter was bom, 
 Guli or Gulielma, called after her father. For some time 
 Lady Springett remained a widow, but in 1656 she man-ied 
 Isaac Penington, the son pf Alderman Penington, Member 
 of Parliament for the city of London, and one of the 
 King's judges.^ Neither she nor her new husband was well 
 content with Presbyterianism, or even with the doctrines 
 of the Independents. But in 1658, as they were riding 
 together, they met Thomas Curtis of Reading, a Quaker 
 whose name has once before been mentioned. The Pen- 
 ingtons fell into talk with him, and gradually both joined 
 themselves to the new religion. They had some opposition 
 to endure from their friends, and especially from Alderman 
 Penington ; but it seems to have affected them little, and 
 there is nothing to suggest that either of them ever re- 
 gretted their conversion, despite all the losses and troubles 
 it brought them. 
 
 In this same year, "1658, they came to Chalfont St. 
 Peters, and for some time lived there in peace and quiet- 
 ness. At the Restoration, however, their troubles began. 
 Alderman Penington was arrested with the regicides, and, 
 more fortunate than they, died in Newgate. A suit in 
 
 ' [He did not sign the Death-warrant.] 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 Chancery was begun against Isaac and his wife, to deprive 
 them of their property at Chalfont St. Peter's. The son 
 of a regicide could expect no favour from the Government ; 
 a Quaker could not defend a suit in Chancery. In 1665, 
 while Isaac Penington was himself in prison, judgment was 
 given against him, and his house at Chalfont taken from 
 him. His wife, after doubting for some time what to do, 
 raised money on her own property and purchased a house 
 near Amersham, where they remained for the remainder 
 of their lives. These few details are almost all that are 
 needed by way of addition to Ellwood's own account. If 
 we add that Isaac Penington died in 1679, it is only because 
 Ellwood does not mention his death in the book. 
 
 The testimony written by Ellwood on his friend's death 
 makes amends, however, for this accident. If any are 
 curious to learn further of a man of whom Ellwood says : 
 " In his family he was a true pattern of goodness and piety ; 
 to his wife he was a most affectionate husband ; to his 
 children a loving and tender father; to his servants a 
 mild and gentle master; to his friends a firm and fast 
 friend ; to the poor compassionate and open-hearted ; and 
 to all courteous and kind," they may turn to the letters 
 of Mary Penington and the rest of Ellwood's testimony. 
 Nor ought they to forget that Isaac Penington is one of 
 the fortunate adventurers who have gone out to seek a 
 religion, and found one ; and this discovery made his life 
 intelUgible to him, and taught him how to live it success- 
 fully in his own eyes. 
 
 The first edition of Ellwood's Autobiography was published in 
 1714, and another edition followed in the same year. In 1765 a 
 third edition was published, from which the present text is taken. 
 These three editions are all alike. In 1791 a fourth appeared 
 with several omissions; and none of the subsequent editions 
 contain the complete text, and in many there are very long 
 
XXX INTEODUCTION 
 
 omissions. Even that published in Philadelphia at the Friend's 
 Library (1837) is not a complete reprint. In the notes to this 
 edition, where no reference is given, the information is derived 
 from Besse's Sufferings of the Quakers. 
 
THE PREFACE 
 
 " Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be 
 lost" (John vi. 12), was the direction of our Saviour to His 
 Disciples, after He had fed the multitude, which may well 
 and usefully be applied to the collecting and preserving the 
 accounts of the lives of good men ; men who in their day 
 have been eminently useful in those stations of life wherein 
 God by His good providence hath placed them. And this 
 preserving, by publication, is the rather to be done when 
 themselves do leave behind them in writing an account of 
 their lives and of the signal mercies of God to them therein. 
 For from such accounts may best be gathered by the reader 
 the man's particular state, exercise and growth in the work 
 of restoration, out of the fall of degeneracy, and in the 
 reading thereof be not only excited to bless the name of 
 the Lord on his behalf, but also gain some direction from 
 the path so fairly tracked out and ground of hope ; that by 
 being faithful they may likewise attain to the same good 
 experience. 
 
 There is not with me any doubt, but something of this 
 kind may be the lot of many, into whose hands this treatise 
 may happen to come ; for that they will herein meet with 
 variety of exercises, and the providences of God therein all 
 related with great strength and plainness of speech : our 
 deceased friend Thomas Ellwood having been a man whom 
 God had endued with singular abilities, both as a man 
 and as a Christian; which is evident not only from this 
 short account of his life which was written by himself, and 
 
xxxii THE PEEFACE 
 
 by the supplement added thereunto ; but more largely from 
 his many useful labours and services in the many books 
 which he writ in the defence of Truth and the Friends 
 thereof. For which service he was in a particular manner 
 qualified by spiritual wisdom and Christian obedience to 
 which in him was added great strength and depth of 
 judgement wherein he could discern the spirits of others 
 and was very much the master of his own, as did appear 
 to such as knew him, not only by the soundness of his 
 reasoning and the seasonableness of his words ; but also by 
 his great and exemplary modesty, in that he was not 
 hasty to propose nor i-udely tenacious to insist on what 
 he had proposed, if anything, though not well expressed, 
 yet well intended, was offered by any one much weaker, 
 nay, though but a babe in Christ. 
 
 His countenance was manly and cheerful ; his deport- 
 ment grave, yet affable and courteous even to the meanest 
 person ; his conversation innocent, pleasant and instructive, 
 yet severe against anything that was beyond the liberty 
 of truth. These, with his other qualifications of body and 
 mind did render him both very acceptable as a friend, as a 
 neighbour, and as a member and elder in the Church of 
 Christ ; and the more for that his time was chiefly employed 
 in being serviceable in one or other of these capacities. 
 
 I might here particularly mention the several labours of 
 our deceased friend, according to their respective times, 
 and the nature of their several subjects ; but much of this 
 being already done in th^ ensuing pages, I choose to remit 
 the reader thither ; by which possibly he may be excited 
 to the perusal of them, and shall only say concerning them 
 that the judicious reader will easily observe that his 
 method and style do denote him to have been a scholar; 
 and yet not farther so than the simplicity and purity of 
 the truth whereof he made profession would permit him. 
 
THE PEEFACE xxxiii 
 
 I was with our friend Thomas Ellwood the greater part 
 of his sickness, in which he was also very frequently visited 
 by our friend George Bowles, who was his neighbour; to 
 whom therefore I refer for the account which he may give 
 of his sickness and dying words. 
 
 As it was my good lot to be well acquainted with him, 
 though only in the latter years of his life, and know that 
 he did neither use nor encourage the bestowing elaborate 
 enconiums upon persons deceased; so neither shall I add 
 further concerning him, than to say with the Apostle 
 concerning the faithful "that he was righteous, God 
 testifying to his gifts ; and by it, being dead, yet speaketh " 
 
 (Heb. xi. 4). 
 
 J. W. 
 London, the twelfth of the second month, 1714. 
 
 George Bowles his Testimony Concerning Thomas 
 Ellwood. 
 "Dear Friends, 
 
 "It is in my heart, briefly on this occasion, to 
 commemorate the tender dealings of the Lord with His 
 people in this latter age of the world, when it hath pleased 
 Him, in love to poor lost man, graciously to appear by the 
 breaking forth of His glorious Gospel Day. And by the 
 secret Divine reaches of the Hand of God, which hath been 
 felt and seen in the light of it, many have been drawn in 
 their spirits to seek after the Lord, and to enquire after 
 the knowledge of the way of life and salvation ; and blessed 
 be His holy Name who was graciously pleased, by the 
 inshinings of this Divine Light in the hearts of many to 
 expel the darkness and rend the vail. And then was the 
 arm of His mighty power made bare, for the fathering 
 many thousands to the saving knowledge of Himself. 
 And in that day was the Lord pleased, according to His 
 
ixxiv THE PEEFACE 
 
 promise, to pour forth of His spirit upon sons and upon 
 daughters ; yea upon servants and upon handmaids, and 
 many were made to prophesy ; and being qualified by the 
 Holy Spirit which they received, and were baptized by it 
 into His Holy Name, became willing and were freely given 
 up in obedience to the Lord and in bowels of tender love 
 to the souls of mankind, in his power to preach the Gospel 
 of life and salvation to those to whom they were sent, and 
 many were turned from the darkness to light, and from 
 the power of Satan unto God, by their ministry. Amongst 
 whom our dear deceased friend, Thomas Ellwood, was one, 
 -whose conscience was reached and awakened by the power- 
 ful ministry of dear Edward Burrough, as I have heard 
 him relate, and as by the following sheets will more 
 plainly appear. And of that day and time, and the 
 worthy instrument by whose ministry he was convinced 
 and turned unto God and made sensible of the Divine 
 principle of life and light in his own heart, have I heard him 
 speak with great regard ; and also of the sufferings which 
 did attend him, after he received the truth, in his Father's 
 family for the truth's sake ; and how the Lord preserved 
 him in that time, under the various exercises which he 
 passed through for truth's testimony; which for Christ's 
 sake he was conscientiously concerned to stand in, according 
 to that plainess and symplicity which truth then led, and 
 still continues to lead the sincere disciples of Christ into, 
 by which they were distinguished from the world. Such 
 was the plain language of thmt to one, and refusing the 
 hat-honour, for which dear T. Ellwood suffered not a 
 little in that day, as, by the following account of his 
 life more fully appears. And it were well if all who come 
 up in a profession of the blessed truth in this time were 
 faithful in these and in the other branches of its testimony. 
 And let all consider, that the neglecting thereof is, in a 
 
THE PREFACE xxxv 
 
 degree, a making void the sufferings of the faithful, and 
 strengthening the hands of evil doers, who for the sake of 
 their testimony loved not their lives to the death; but 
 underwent cruel mockings, buffetings, stonings, whippings, 
 stockings, revilings, imprisonments, and spoilings of goods ; 
 rejoicing in the Lord, that they were counted worthy to 
 suffer, either less or more, for His Name's sake. In respect 
 of which this my dear friend was a good example, he being 
 a man of a steady mind and very patient in suffering, as 
 well as faithful in his testimony for truth, and took joyfully 
 the spoiling of his goods, wherein he was tried but a few 
 years before his death. He was often concerned in defence 
 of Truth's testimony, both against our professed adversaries, 
 and also against the libertine spirit which appeared in 
 some, professing the same truth with us, who opposed 
 themselves against the good order and discipline which 
 the Truth led Friends into. All which will abundantly 
 appear from the books themselves which are in print, 
 which he writ upon various occasions, and upon divers 
 subjects, and let not his great labour and industry be 
 forgotten in his writing those two historical volumes, 
 relating to the Old and New Testament; a work truly 
 great, and is, and may be of great use and service. By 
 all which his many labours it may be perceived by the 
 wary and enlightened reader that the Lord had endowed 
 him with an excellent gift, and qualified him for the 
 service of Truth, His Church and People; in which he 
 imployed the talent which the bountiful Lord had given 
 him, to the honour of the great Giver, and to the comfort 
 and edification of the Church of Christ. But more especially 
 were his services known to the brethren in this county of 
 Bucks; most of which are fallen asleep, and but few 
 remaining here who knew him in his beginning, or his 
 first services for the Lord, His Church and People; 
 
xxxvi THE PREFACE 
 
 amongst whom he was a zealous asserter of that excellent 
 discipline the Lord had opened in, and led His people to, 
 for the preserving His Church as a garden enclosed. For 
 which cause how did many of these libertines set themselves 
 fiercely against them and shot their arrows at him; but 
 the Lord defended him and covered his head in the day of 
 battle and his bow abode in strength, and his bough spread 
 over the wall and continued fresh and green. But a blast 
 from the Lord came upon their evil work ; and how have 
 they melted away-f" And how is their strength failed and 
 their work brought to naught.'' But the blessing of the 
 Lord is with His people, even with the Faithful, to this day 
 whom He hath preserved as a peculiar treasure to Himself : 
 Blessedlbe His Holy Name for ever more. And furthermore 
 it may be be truly said of this our dear friend that as the 
 Lord fitted him for His service so was he eminently service- 
 able in His Hand, in the Church of Christ, particularly in 
 these parts, of which there are many living witnesses, in 
 this and the adjacent counties, of His great labour of love, 
 having served the Church freely, with great diligence and 
 faithfulness; the true sense of which toucheth me and 
 others with the deeper sense of the great loss the Church 
 hath by his removal ; but being also sensible through the 
 Lord's goodness that our loss is his eternal gain I feel in 
 my heart an humble submission to the will of Him who 
 doth whatsoever pleaseth Him, both in heaven and in 
 earth ; and who shall say to Him, what doest Thou .'' And 
 it is the tender breafhing of my spirit to the God and 
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that He would be 
 graciously pleased, in pity and compassion to His poor 
 people, to raise up, fit and furnish more faithful servants 
 for His work and service, and make them zealous for His 
 Name and Truth upon the earth, that the place of this my 
 dear friend and other faithful servants of the Lord and His 
 
THE PEEFACE xxxvii 
 
 people of late removed from amongst us in these parts 
 may be supplied; and that the Spouse of Christ may, 
 amidst all her tribulations, afflictions and sore exercises be 
 made to praise the Lord and bless His Holy Name, who 
 taketh away one and raiseth up another and blesseth His 
 children with His goodness according to His promise 
 made of old by the holy prophet (Isa. xliv. 3) saying, 'I 
 will pour My spirit upon thy seed, and My blessing upon 
 thine offspring '. And thus the Lord preserved Zion from 
 age to age. And I doubt not, but am fuUy persuaded 
 that He will still bless His people, and preserve Zion and 
 deliver her from all her enemies. 
 
 " And my dear friends, brethren and sisters, although it 
 be matter of sorrow to us to part with our dear friends, 
 especially such as have been serviceable in their day, and 
 have faithfully served the Lord and His people in their 
 generation, as it may, I hope, without just occasion of 
 offence to any, be said of dear T. EUwood, that he was a 
 man who served the Lord in faithfulness and His people 
 with cheerfulness and his neighbours with uprightness and 
 integrity. And therefore both they and we have the 
 greater loss ; yet may we not sorrow unseasonably as those 
 which sorrow without hope, but believing that the Lord 
 hath taken him to Himself in mercy, though it may be in 
 judgement to some who were unworthy, let us all learn 
 resignation to His blessed will, and say with holy Job, ' the 
 Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the 
 Name of the Lord '. And, dear friends, I may farther signify 
 unto you, that it being my lot to be with this our dear 
 friend, of whom I am speaking, almost every day of his 
 last illness, I did observe in him, to my great comfort and 
 satisfaction, a quiet composed frame of mind and spirit 
 and resignation to the will of God. When I first came to 
 him, which was soon after I heard of his being taken ill. 
 
xxxviii THE PREFACE 
 
 which was the 24th of the second month, I found him very 
 much disabled by the distemper, which was thought to be 
 a palsy, that had seized him, especially on his right side, 
 so that he could not stand alone, nor help himself but 
 a little with his left hand, and his speech was also very 
 much interrupted, insomuch that it was with great diffi- 
 culty for the most part that he expressed himself so as to 
 be understood. Some time after I came to him, there 
 being also other friends with him, we sate down together 
 under a weighty exercise of spirit, waiting upon the 
 Lord in deep silence, with our eye to Him ; it pleased 
 the Lord eminently to appear amongst us, and to fill 
 our hearts with the refreshing streams of His Divine 
 Love, and to open the mouth of one of us in prayer and 
 supplication ; and the Lord was graciously pleased abund- 
 antly to refresh our spirits, to our mutual comfort in a 
 living sense of Divine goodness ; and this our dear friend 
 expressed himself in great tenderness and brokeness of 
 spirit, on this wise : ' I am sensibly comforted and refreshed 
 in this visit '. And that afternoon he, fixing his eyes upon 
 me, with great earnestness of spirit expressed, as well as he 
 could at that time, a great concern that was upon his mind 
 for Truth, and the friends of it in divers particulars; 
 especially in relation to our own monthly and quarterly 
 meetings, the writings of both which had been under his 
 care for more than forty years. After which he was much 
 eased in his spirit, and so continued to the last, so far as 
 I perceived ; often saying when asked how he did : ' I am 
 easy, I am quiet'. And he was often very tender in his 
 spirit, expressing his resignation to the Will of God, 
 whether in life or death, saying, ' If the Lord hath no more 
 work for me to do, I am content and resigned to His 
 Will ; and my hearty farewell to all my brethren ". And 
 at another time, nearer his end, he said to us present, 
 
THE PEEFACE xxxix 
 
 in much brokeness of heart, 'I am full of joy and peace, 
 my spirit is filled with joy;' or to this effect. For by 
 reason that his speech was so weakened, several things 
 could not be so well collected which he at times spake, 
 in a tender sense of the Lord's goodness ; the sense which 
 deeply affected some of us who were with them. And 
 my heart is sorrowfully afflicted at this time, in a sense 
 of the great loss which the Church of Christ, in these 
 parts especially, hath by his removal. But in this I am 
 comforted, in a living sense of the Lord's mercy and good- 
 ness towards him, in carrying him through his affliction in 
 great patience and quietness ; under which he was sweetly 
 refreshed by the streams of Divine Love, and his cup was 
 often made to overflow. And we, who were present, being 
 touched with a sense thereof were comforted therein, being 
 in a travail of spirit for him, and did in our measures truly 
 sympathise with him under his affliction. And I am fully 
 satisfied he laid down his head in peace with the Lord and 
 is gathered to his everlasting rest. He departed this life 
 the 1st of the third month, 1713, about the second hour 
 in the morning, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. He 
 received the Truth in the year 1659, and lived in fellowship 
 with the friends of it about fifty-three years. And I think 
 it may be truly said of him that as he lived so he died, the 
 servant of the Lord and His people, and hath left a sweet 
 savour behind him, and his memory is blessed with the 
 
 righteous for ever. Amen. 
 
 "George Bowles. 
 
 " Tht eighth month, 1713." 
 
xl THE PEEFACE 
 
 "A TESTIMONY FROM THE MONTHLY MEETING AT HuNGER- 
 HILL, THE 7th OF THE FOURTH MONTH, 1713, CONCERNING 
 OUR DEAR AND WELL-BELOVED FRIEND AND BROTHER IN 
 
 THE Truth, Thomas Ellwood, deceased. 
 
 That the dead which die in the Lord are blessed of Him, 
 we have great assurance of from John the divine, his 
 writing to the seven churches (Rev. xiv. 13), where he tells 
 them that he heard a voice from heaven, saying, ' Write, 
 Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from hence- 
 forth : Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their 
 labours ; and their works do follow them,' of which number 
 we have no cause to doubt but this our dear friend is one ; 
 who was eminently serviceable in the Church of Christ. 
 A man to whom the Lord had given a large capacity 
 beyond many, and furnished him with an excellent gift, 
 whereby he was qualified for those services in the Church 
 in the performance of which he did shine as a star, which 
 received its luster and brightness from the glorious Son of 
 Righteousness. He was wise but humble; condescending 
 to the weak and ready to help where he saw and felt 
 sincerity ; but sharp to that which he apprehended to be 
 insincere and deceitful ; for which cause he was not accept- 
 able to hypocrites and disorderly walkers. Yet he was a 
 man of very acceptable and agreeable conversation, as well 
 as sober and religious, both in the Church and in the world, 
 being of a free and affable temper and disposition, far from 
 affectation, but of a courteous behaviour and graceful 
 carriage to all, and very serviceable to and amongst his 
 neighbours. He was very near and dear to many of us, 
 who were most intimately acquainted with him and his 
 memorial is sweet to us. His services in our meetings and 
 in the quarterly meeting for the county of Bucks were 
 very great, and of many years' continuance ; in which he 
 
THE PREFACE xli 
 
 showed great diligence, being of a ready mind, willing to 
 serve the Church according to that ability which the 
 Lord had given him ; and his heart and house were open 
 to his friends, and the monthly meeting was kept there 
 more than forty years, and remains there to this day. 
 Our loss is great by his removal. But in this we are 
 satisfied, that it is his everlasting gain ; being gathered, as 
 we have good cause to believe, to his eternal rest. The 
 knowledge we had of him, and the good account which we 
 have received of him, in the time of his last illness, by those 
 who were most constantly with him, and of his quiet and 
 peaceable departure, doth sensibly engage our hearts to 
 acquiesce in the will of the Lord ; and therein we have 
 peace and comfort. He departed this life, the 1st of the 
 third month, 1713, and was honourably buried in Friends 
 burying-place at New Jourdans, in the parish of Giles 
 Chalfont, in the county of Bucks, the 4th day of the same 
 month. 
 
 "Signed by the appointment of the monthly meeting 
 by us. 
 
 " Geoege Bowles. Daniel Roberts. 
 
 William Grinsdall. Abraham Barber. 
 
 James Smith. Thomas Olliffe." 
 Daniel Warley. 
 
 "A TESTIMONY FROM THE WOMEN's MEETING CONCERNING 
 
 Thomas Ellwood. 
 
 "A concern is upon our spirits to write somewhat concern- 
 ing our dear deceased friend and elder, Thomas Ellwood, 
 who was highly valued by us for that wisdom and counsel 
 which were with him ; and being of a free and affable 
 temper, ready to assist those which stood in need thereof, 
 encouraged many to apply to him for advice under the 
 
xlii THE PEEFACE 
 
 divers circumstances and various exercises which this un- 
 certain world affords, which we have found to be for our 
 good as we followed it. He was an early comer to meet- 
 ings, seldom hindered by weather, though he lived three 
 miles distant, when bodily weakness did not hinder of late 
 years, being oft indisposed as to his health. The monthly 
 meeting was held at his house about forty years, and he 
 always looked very kind and courteous on Friends when 
 they came there, and took care and notice of the meanest, 
 who came in sincerity. He was zealous for good order, 
 and against such who, being in an apostatized spirit, 
 opposed it; and may well be numbered amongst the 
 worthies whose names are upon record for their valour; 
 so is this our friend worthy to be, who never turned his 
 back on such who opposed the Truth ; but stood his 
 ground, as his printed sheets on such occasions do show. 
 As also his other works of several kinds do manifest how 
 great endowments God had bestowed on him, yet we, who 
 knew him in his conversation, are engaged to set forth 
 how kind and condescending he was to the weakest 
 capacity, and would help out when they wanted a word, 
 that generations to come may learn how good it is to 
 forsake all and follow Christ Jesus, as this our friend did, 
 and the account of his life following shows ; who not only 
 gives wisdom, but teacheth humanity also. 
 
 "He was greatly respected by his neighbours for his 
 services amongst them; his heart and doors were open to 
 the poor, both sick and lame, who wanted help, and had 
 it freely, taking care to provide things useful for such 
 occasions, blest also with good success, often saying, he 
 mattered not what cost he was at to do good. Such 
 lament their loss ; what then may we do who miss him in 
 an higher station, in his great service in the Church of 
 Christ, but ever desire to be resigned to the will of the 
 
THE PEEFACE xliii 
 
 Lord ? who preserved him, through all his hardships, to a 
 dominion over false brethren, and is now out of their reach, 
 and of temptation too ; on whose head the blessing ask'd 
 for Joseph rests ; who as a fruitful bough his branch spreads 
 over the wall of opposition and his bow abode in strength ; 
 the hands of whose arms were made strong by the help of 
 the mighty God of Jacob, to whom be the glory for what 
 He hath wrought in our day, whose own works praise Him 
 for ever more. And the tears of sorrow that we shed, for 
 the loss of this our deceased friend, let them be remembered 
 to bow our spirits, each of us into a Godly care, that we 
 may come up according to our several capacities, to follow 
 the Lord faithfully, in a goodly zeal for His honour ; and 
 so come to lay down our heads in joy and peace, as this 
 our friend expressed he did. 
 
 " This eminent servant of Christ was early convinced of 
 the way of Truth, wherein he continued to the finishing of 
 his days ; for the sake of which he soon became a sufferer, 
 not only by imprisonment, for worshipping God in the 
 assemblies of His people, but also from his father, by 
 whom he was made an outcast for no other cause but for 
 his faithful testimony in taking up the cross to the world's 
 behaviour and language : whereupon he was invited by his 
 much valued friend Isaac Penington to his house, where 
 he abode several years until he married. He was a 
 blessing in, as well as a great comfort and help to, that 
 family; and by his wise conduct therein gained much 
 esteem, not only from the elders but the youth whom he 
 instructed in learning ; and though most of them are by 
 death removed yet one still remains who from certain and 
 experimental knowledge can commemorate his worth, being 
 engaged thereto from a sense of the benefit of his good and 
 wholesome advice, given at sundry times and divers occa- 
 sions. Which friendship continued firm to the last. 
 
xliv THE PEEFACE 
 
 "His natural capacity was large and his understanding in 
 the things of God very deep ; which excellent qualifications 
 meeting in one rendered him useful beyond many to his 
 country as well as very serviceable in the Church ; by both 
 which he is, and will be, greatly missed. But he is gone 
 to his grave in a fuU age, and gathered as a shock of com 
 in its season, having done his day's work faithfully. So 
 that saying may be verified in him : the end crowns all. 
 
 " His sickness was sudden, which soon deprived him 
 of the use of his limbs ; yet he retained the faculties of 
 his inward and outward senses clear aU along ; and not- 
 withstanding at times his pains were great, his exemplary 
 patience and composed resignation was remarkably apparent 
 to those that visited and attended him ; so that their sorrow 
 in parting with so dear a friend was intermixed with comfort 
 in beholding the heavenly frame of mind wherewith he 
 was adorned. 
 
 " Thus after all his labours he entered into everlasting 
 rest, and left many behind weeping, though not without 
 hope that they shall again meet at the general assembly 
 of saints, where the redeemed shall sing praises to their 
 blessed Redeemer whose right it is to reign for ever. 
 
 " We have this further to add, namely, that our esteem of 
 him was great because of that real worth that was in him 
 through the operation of the mighty power of the Lord 
 that separated him from the love of the world : so that he 
 chose, with Moses, rather to suffer affiiction with the 
 people of God, than ta» enjoy the pleasures of sin for a 
 season, and it pleased the Lord to fit him with wisdom and 
 counsel so that he was able to give judgement in difficult 
 cases, wherein many of us have particularly received benefit, 
 and therefore have cause to lament the loss we have by his 
 removal. And, oh ! say our souls, that the Lord would 
 raise up many more in his room to the praise and honour 
 
THE PEEFACE xlv 
 
 of the good husbandman. And it is our desire that we who 
 are yet behind, may be made able so to steer our course 
 through this troublesome world, that when our end comes 
 we may lay down our heads in peace with the Lord and 
 leave a good savour behind us as this our friend hath done. 
 " This is written in true love and respect to the memory 
 of our deceased friend as it pleased the Lord to move upon 
 our hearts. And being read and approved in our women's 
 meeting at Hunger-hill the 4th of the eleventh month 
 1713, was subscribed on behalf of the said meeting by us. 
 
 "Maky Baker, 
 Mary Whaeley, 
 Mary Laecum." 
 
 " Concerning our Dear Friend Thomas Ellwood of 
 Hunger-hill. 
 
 "He was much esteemed among good men. Good men 
 in their day and station upon earth represent Him who 
 made all things good in the beginning, who said (Gen. i. 3), 
 ' Let there be light : and there was light '. And also said 
 (ver. 26), 'Let us make man in our image, after our likeness'. 
 Oh, high favour ! ' So God created man in His own image, 
 in the image of God created He him, (ver. 27), and blessed 
 them and gave them dominion under Himself.' For He 
 was chief commander then, and so He is witnessed to be now 
 where His heavenly image is come into again and men 
 live in it as did this our dear friend, who did good in his 
 day and generation : counsel was with him, to give to such 
 as needed and did apply to him. He was of a tender spirit 
 and had dominion over passion, over pride and over covet- 
 ousness : so he was comfortable to and in his family. He 
 was amiable in the Church of Christ, and a doer of good 
 among his neighbours And being an elder amongst and 
 
xlvi THE PREFACE 
 
 with the elders, he hath not only gained a good report, but 
 also the blessing in the promised seed, which bruise the 
 serpent's head. He was valiant in suiFering for his 
 testimony which he held in the Truth ; and may not I say 
 unwearied in his labours in the setting forth the fame and 
 excellency of it ? whereby we see what the truth makes men 
 to be who do come under the conduct of it ; even as fixed 
 stars in the firmament of His Divine power, who has 
 caused the morning of his glorious Gospel day to break 
 forth ; and as with the day that springs from high in 
 tender mercy hath he visited many souls. And early did 
 this our worthy deceased friend embrace it, as it appears 
 by his testimony concerning that eminent and blessed 
 messenger and minister of the Gospel, George Fox. 
 
 " And now he, having endured the times of proving, and 
 the days of tribulation and suffering, together with the perils 
 and slights, and undervaluings of false brethren against 
 whose ungodly work he was engaged to stand as a noble 
 warrior in the defence of and for the glorious Gospel of 
 Christ, not admiring men's persons but the worth of the 
 Gospel power. And although he was endowed with parts 
 and accomplishments above many, he was humble and grave ; 
 not self-seeking, but esteeming the power of Truth, though 
 it did appear through mean instruments. He was honour- 
 able and honoured for that he sought not his own honour, 
 but the honour of Truth ; not only by his sufferings for it 
 and labours in it, but also, in standing firmly against the 
 loose libertine ones, whai would have thrust in amongst the 
 lambs and flocks of Christ, in an unclean adulterating 
 spirit, from the life of the true Shepherd and true Husband 
 Christ Jesus. But to the tender hearted and sincere 
 minded he was strengthening and comfortable. I knew 
 him when I was but young, and I can truly say my heart 
 has often been affected on his behalf, with thankfulness to 
 
THE PEEFACE xlvii 
 
 the Lord, who made him as a strong pillar in His spiritual 
 house, with many more of His dear servants and children 
 who shall no more go out. His memory is in my heart 
 esteemed beyond what I can write. Oh, surely! 'The 
 righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance (Psal. 
 cxii. 6). ' And they that be wise shall shine as the bright- 
 ness of the firmament; and they that turn many to 
 righteousness as the stars for ever and ever (Dan. xii. 3). 
 
 "Eliz. Richardson. 
 " Hunger-hill the $th of the seventh month, 1713." 
 
 "Richard Vivers his testimony concerning Thomas 
 Ellwood 
 
 " He was a man of great wisdom and understanding, and 
 the Lord, the Giver of it, being pleased to visit him in his 
 early days, made choice of him, and, by the sanctification 
 of His Holy Spirit, fitted and prepared him for His work 
 and service, whereunto he was called. And altho' he did 
 not often appear as a minister, yet in those meetings set 
 apart for the affairs of Truth he often appeared in great 
 wisdom, having an extraordinary talent given of the Lord 
 for that work, more than many other brethren ; and faithful 
 he was in waiting for instruction from God to improve 
 the same to His glory and the Church's advantage; for 
 nothing was more desirable to him than to be employed 
 in the Lord's service : so it pleased the Almighty to furnish 
 him vdth understanding and strength faithfully to do his 
 day's work. And now He hath taken him to Himself, 
 where his soul is at rest ; and although our loss be his 
 gain, therein I with many more am greatly comforted, for 
 I can truly say I loved him in the Truth from the first of 
 my acquaintance with him, and so it remained to the end 
 of his course, being near forty years since we knew each 
 
xlviii THE PEEFACE 
 
 other. And whenever we conversed together our discourse 
 was chiefly concerning heavenly things and the affairs of 
 the Church ; and I always thought my time well spent 
 with him, although opportunity would not serve for so 
 much of it as I desired, had it been the will of God. 
 
 " And this I can say, according to my observation, he was 
 a man true to his friend, and deliberate in the choice of 
 his acquaintance, to whom he shewed real love and sincerity 
 of heart. And he was one of a steady and sound judge- 
 ment as to the things of God ; often desiring that those who 
 came amongst us, especially children of believing parents, 
 might not settle down only in a form of godliness without 
 the power, at which door the Apostacy entered, but that 
 they might be raised up to walk in that, wherein the saints' 
 fellowship doth stand, which is the Light of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, enlightening every man that cometh into the world. 
 And then the ancient testimony of Truth will be more and 
 more raised up in their hearts, and they being preserved of 
 the Lord in it, it will more be maintained in its several 
 branches, as in former days. Blessed be the name of the 
 Lord, who hath a people in these latter ages of the world, 
 to whom He hath given power to stand for His truth 
 whilst on earth and to be tender of the honour of His 
 name; of the number of whom this our deceased friend 
 and brother was ; who although dead his memory liveth 
 and will be preserved amongst the righteous in generations 
 yet to come. 
 
 * "Richard Vivees 
 
 " Bamburt, the thirtieth of the eleventh month, 1714." 
 
THE HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF 
 
 ALTHOUGH my station, not being so eminent either in 
 the Church of Christ or in the world as others who have 
 moved in higher orbs, may not afford such considerable remarks 
 as theirs, yet inasmuch as in the coiu-se of my travels through 
 this vale of tears I have passed through various and some 
 uncommon exercises, which the Lord hath been graciously 
 pleased to support me under and conduct me through, I hold 
 it a matter excusable at least, if not commendable, to give 
 the world some little account of my life, that in recounting 
 the many deliverances and preservations which the Lord hath 
 vouchsafed to work for me, both I, by a grateful acknowledg- 
 ment thereof and return of thanksgivings unto Him therefor, 
 may in some measure set forth His abundant goodness to me, 
 and others, whose lot it may be to tread the same path and 
 fall into the same or like exercises, may be encouraged to 
 persevere in the way of holiness, and with full assurance of 
 mind to trust in the Lord, whatsoever trials may befall them. 
 
 To begin therefore with mine own beginning. I was bom 
 in the year of our Lord I639, about the beginning of the 
 eighth month, so far as I have been able to inform myself, for 
 the parish register, which relates to the time not of birth but 
 of baptism, as they call it, is not to be relied on. 
 
 The place of my birth was a little country town called 
 Crowell, situate in the upper side of Oxfordshire, three miles 
 eastward from Thame, the nearest market town. 
 
 My father's name was Walter EUwood, and my mother's 
 maiden name was Elizabeth Potman, both well descended, 
 1 
 
2 THE HISTORY OF [i64i 
 
 but of declining families. So that what my father possessed, 
 which was a pretty estate in lands, and more as I have heard 
 in monies, he received, as he had done his name Walter, 
 from his grandfather Walter Gray, whose daughter and only 
 child was his mother. 
 
 In my very infancy, when I was but about two years old, I 
 was carried to London ; for the civil war between King and 
 Parliament breaking then forth, my father, who favoured 
 the Parliament side, though he took not arms, not holding 
 himself safe at his country habitation, which lay too near some 
 garrisons of the King's, betook himself to London, that city 
 then holding for the Parliament. 
 
 There was I bred up, though not without much difficulty, 
 the city air not agreeing with my tender constitution, and 
 there continued until Oxford was surrendered, and the war 
 in appearance ended. 
 
 In this time my parents contracted an acquaintance and 
 intimate friendship with the Lady Springett,i who being then 
 the widow of Sir William Springett, who died in the Parliament 
 service, was afterwards the wife of Isaac Penington, eldest son 
 of Alderman Penington, of London. And this friendship 
 devolving from the parents to the children, I became an early 
 and particular playfellow to her daughter Gulielma ; being 
 admitted, as such, to ride with her in her little coach, drawn 
 by her footman about Lincoln's Inn Fields. I mention this 
 in this place because the continuation of that acquaintance 
 and friendship, having been an occasional means of my being 
 afterwards brought to the knowledge of the blessed Truth, I 
 shall have frequent cause, in the course of the following 
 discourse, to make honourable mention of that family, to 
 which I am under so Aany and great obligations. 
 
 Soon after the surrender of Oxford my father returned to 
 his estate at Crowell, which by that time he might have need 
 enough to look after, having spent, I suppose, the greatest 
 part of the monies which had been left him by his grandfather 
 
 ' [See introduction for some account of Lady Springett.] 
 
1646] THOMAS ELLWOOD 3 
 
 in maintaining himself and his family at an high rate in 
 London. 
 
 My elder brother (for 1 had one brother and two sisters, all 
 eider than myself) was, while we lived in London, boarded at 
 a private school, in the house of one Francis Atkinson, at a 
 place called Hadley, near Barnet, in Hertfordshire, where he 
 had made some good proficiency in the Latin and French 
 tongues. But after we had left the city, and were re-settled 
 in the country, he was taken from that private school and 
 sent to the free school at Thame, in Oxfordshire. 
 
 Thither also was I sent as soon as my tender age would 
 permit ; for I was indeed but young when I went, and yet 
 seemed younger than I was, by reason of my low and little 
 stature. For it was held for some years a doubtful point 
 whether I should not have proved a dwarf. But after I was 
 arrived at the fifteenth year of my age, or thereabouts, I began 
 to shoot up, and gave not over growing till I had attained the 
 middle size and stature of men. 
 
 At this school, which at that time was in good reputation, 
 I profited apace, having then a natural propensity to learning ; 
 so that at the first reading over of my lesson I commonly 
 made myself master of it ; and yet, which is strange to think 
 of, few boys in the school wore out more birch than I. For 
 though I was never, that I rememiber, whipt upon the score 
 of not having my lesson ready, or of not saying it well, yet 
 being a little busy boy, full of spirit, of a working head and 
 active hand, I could not easily conform myself to the grave 
 and sober rules, and, as I then thought, severe orders of the 
 school ; but was often playing one waggish prank or other 
 among my fellow-scholars, which subjected me to correction, 
 so that I have come under the discipline of the rod twice in 
 a forenoon ; which yet brake no bones. 
 
 Had I been continued at this school, and in due time pre- 
 ferred to a higher, I might in likelihood have been a scholar, 
 for I was observed to have a genius apt to learn. But ray 
 father having, so soon as the republican government began 
 to settle, accepted the office of a justice of the peace (which 
 
4 THE HISTOEY OF 
 
 was no way beneficial, but merely honorary, and every way 
 expensive), and put himself into a port and course of living 
 agreeable thereunto, and having also removed my brother 
 from Thame school to Merton ^ College in Oxford, and entered 
 him there in the highest and most chargeable condition of 
 a Fellow Commoner, he found it needful to retrench his 
 expenses elsewhere, the hurt of which fell upon me. For 
 he thereupon took me from school, to save the charge of 
 maintaining me there ; which was somewhat like plucking 
 green fruit from the tree, and laying it by before it was 
 come to its due ripeness, which will thenceforth shrink and 
 wither, and lose that little juice and relish which it began to 
 have. 
 
 Even so it fared with me. For being taken home when 
 I was but young, and before I was well settled in my studies 
 (though I had made a good progress in the Latin tongue, and 
 was entered in the Greek) being left too much to myself, to 
 ply or play with my books, or without them, as I pleased, I 
 soon shook hands with my books by shaking my books out 
 of my hands, and laying them by degrees quite aside, and 
 addicted myself to such youthful sports and pleasures as the 
 place afforded and my condition could reach unto. 
 
 By this means, in a little time I began to lose that little 
 learning I had acquired at school, and by a continued disuse 
 of my books became at length so utterly a stranger to learn- 
 ing, that I could not have read, far less have understood, a 
 sentence in Latin : which I was so sensible of that I warily 
 avoided reading to others, even in an English book, lest, if I 
 should meet with a Latin word, I should shame myself by 
 mispronouncing it. 
 
 Thus I went on, takiftg my swing in such vain courses as 
 were accounted harmless recreations, entertaining my com- 
 panions and familiar acquaintance with pleasant discourses 
 in our conversations, by the mere force of mother-wit and 
 
 ^ [Walter Elwood, armigeri filius natu maximus, matriculated at Merton 
 College, 25th November, 1653. There is no other mention of him in the 
 University Records. Alumni Oxonienses.] 
 
1657] THOMAS ELLWOOD 5 
 
 natural parts, without the help of school cultivation ; and was 
 accounted good company too. 
 
 But I always sorted myself with persons of ingenuity, 
 temperance and sobriety ; for I loathed scurrilities in con- 
 versation, and had a natural aversion to immoderate drinking. 
 So that in the time of my greatest vanity I was preserved 
 from profaneness and the grosser evils of the world, which 
 rendered me acceptable to persons of the best note in that 
 country then. I often waited on the Lord Wenman ^ at his 
 house, Thame Park, about two miles from Crowell, where I 
 lived ; to whose favour I held myself intituled in a twofold 
 respect, both as my mother was nearly related to his lady, 
 and as he had been pleased to bestow his name upon me, 
 when he made large promises for me at the font. He was 
 a person of great honour and virtue, and always gave me a 
 kind reception at his table how often soever I came. And 
 I have cause to think I should have received from this lord 
 some advantageous preferment ia this world as soon as he 
 had found me capable of it (though betwixt him and my 
 &ther there was not then so good an understanding as might 
 have been wished), had I not been, in a little time after, 
 called into the service of the best and highest Lord, and 
 thereby lost the favour of all my friends, relations and ac- 
 quaintance of this world. To the account of which most 
 happy exchange I hasten, and therefore willingly pass over 
 many particularities of ray youthful life. Yet one passage I 
 am willing to mention, for the effect it had upon me after- 
 wards, which was thus : 
 
 My father being then in the Commission of the Peace, and 
 going to a Petty Sessions at Watlington, I waited on him 
 
 1 [Thomas, Viscount Wenman, unlike his father, the first viscount, was 
 on the side of the ParHament in the Civil War. For a time he was a 
 man of some importance, and took part in the attempted negotiations with 
 the King at Oxford, Uxbridge and Newport. In 1648, however, he was one 
 of the members arrested by Cromwell's orders when Cromwell determined 
 to put an end to the negotiations for the Treaty of Newport. After this 
 Lord Wenman seems to have taken little further part in public affairs. But 
 he might possibly have been able to help EUwood had it not been for his 
 change of religion.] 
 
6 THE HISTORY OF [1657 
 
 thither. And when we came near the town the coachman, 
 seeing a nearer and easier way (than the common road) through 
 a cornfield, and that it was wide enough for the wheels to 
 run without endamaging the corn, turned down there ; which 
 being observed by an husbandman who was at plow not far 
 off, he ran to us, and stopping the coach, poured forth a 
 mouthful of complaints, in none of the best language, for 
 driving over the com. My father mildly answered him, 
 " That if there was an offence committed, he must rather 
 impute it to his servant than himself, since he neither directed 
 him to drive that way, nor knew which way he drove ". Yet 
 added, "That he was going to such an inn at the town, 
 whither if he came he would make him full satisfaction for 
 whatsoever damage he had sustained thereby ". And so on 
 we went, the man venting his discontent, as he went back, in 
 angry accents. At the town, upon inquiry, we understood 
 that it was a way often used, and without damage, being 
 broad enough ; but that it was not the common road, which 
 yet lay not far from it, and was also good enough ; wherefore 
 my father bid his man drive home that way. 
 
 It was late in the evening when we returned, and very 
 dark ; and this quarrelsome man, who had troubled himself 
 and us in the morning, having gotten another lusty fellow 
 like himself to assist him, waylaid us in the night, expecting 
 we would return the same way we came. But when they 
 found we did not, but took the common way, they, angry 
 that they were disappointed, and loth to lose their purpose 
 (which was to put an abuse upon us), coasted over to us in 
 the dark, and laying hold on the horses' bridles, stopt them 
 from going on. My farther, asking his man what the reason 
 was that he went not on, was answered, "That there were 
 two men at the horses' heads, who held them back, and 
 would not suffer them to go forward ". Whereupon my 
 father, opening the boot, stepped out, and I followed close at 
 ])is heels. Going up to the place where the men stood, he 
 demanded of them the reason of this assault. They said, 
 "We were upon the corn". We knew by the ruts we were 
 
1657] THOMAS ELLWOOD 7 
 
 not on the corn, but in the common way, and told them so ; 
 but they told us, " They were resolved they would not let us 
 go on any farther, but would make us go back again ". My 
 father endeavoured by gentle reasoning to perswade them to 
 forbear, and not run themselves farther into the danger of 
 the law, which they were run too far into already ; but they 
 rather derided him for it. Seeing therefore fair means would 
 not work upon them, he spake more roughly to them, charging 
 them to deliver their clubs (for each of them had a great club 
 in his hand, somewhat like those which are called quarter- 
 staves) : they thereupon, laughing, told him, " They did not 
 bring them thither for that end ". Thereupon my father, 
 turning his head to me, said, "Tom, disarm them". 
 
 I stood ready at his elbow, waiting only for the word of 
 command. For being naturally of a bold spirit, full then of 
 youthful heat, and that, too, heightened by the sense I had, 
 not only of the abuse, but insolent behaviour of those rude 
 fellows, my blood began to boil, and my fingers itched, as the 
 saying is, to be dealing with them. Wherefore, stepping 
 boldly forward to lay hold on the staff of him that was 
 nearest to me, I said, " Sirrah, deliver your weapon ". He 
 thereupon raised his club, which was big enough to have 
 knockt down an ox, intending no doubt to have knockt me 
 down with it, as probably he would have done, had I not, 
 in the twinkling of an eye, whipt out my rapier, and made 
 a pass upon him. I could not have failed running of him 
 through up to the hilt had he stood his ground, but the 
 sudden and unexpected sight of my bright blade glistering 
 in the dark night, did so amaze and terrify the man, that, 
 slipping aside, he avoided my thrust, and, letting his staff 
 sink, betook himself to his heels for safety ; which his com- 
 panion seeing, fled also. I followed the former as fast as I 
 could, but Timor addidit alas, Fear gave him wings, and made 
 him swiftly fly ; so that, although I was accounted very 
 nimble, yet the farther we ran the more ground he gain'd 
 on me ; so that I could not overtake him ; which made me 
 think he took shelter under some bush, which he knew where 
 
8 THE HISTOEY OF [i658 
 
 to find, though I did not. Meanwhile, the coachman, who 
 had sufficiently the outside of a man, excus'd himself from 
 intermeddling under pretence that he durst not leave his 
 horses, and so left me to shift for myself; and I was gone 
 so far beyond my knowledge, that I understood not which 
 way I was to go, till by hollowing, and being hollowed to 
 again, I was directed where to find my company. 
 
 We had easy means to have found out who these men 
 were (the principal of them having been in the daytime at the 
 inn, and both quarrelled with the coachman, and threatened 
 to be even with him when he went back) ; but since they 
 came off no better in their attempt, my father thought it 
 better not to know them, than to oblige himself to a pro- 
 secution of them. 
 
 At that time, and for a good while after, I had no regret 
 upon my mind for what I had done, and designed to have 
 done, in this case ; but went on in a sort of bravery, resolving 
 to kill, if I could, any man that should make the like attempt 
 or put any affront on us ; and for that reason seldom went 
 afterwards upon those public services without a loaded pistol 
 in my pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in His infinite 
 goodness, to call me out of the spirit and ways of the world, 
 and give me the knowledge of His saving truth, whereby the 
 actions of my fore-past life were set in order before me, a 
 sort of horror seized on me, when I considered how near I 
 had been to the staining of my hands with human blood. 
 And whensoever afterwards I went that way, and indeed as 
 often since as the matter has come into my remembrance, 
 my soul has blessed the Lord for my deliverance, and thanks- 
 givings and praises have arisen in my heart (as now at the 
 relating of it, they do) t8 Him who preserved and withheld 
 me from shedding man's blood. Which is the reason for 
 which I have given this account of that action, that others 
 may be warned by it. 
 
 About this time my dear and honoured mother, who was 
 indeed a woman of singular worth and virtue, departed this 
 life, having a little before heard of the death of her eldest 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 9 
 
 son, who (falling under the displeasure of my father for 
 refusing to resign his interest in an estate which my father 
 sold, and thereupon desiring that he might have leave to 
 travel, in hopes that time and absence might work a recon- 
 ciliation) went into Ireland with a person powerful there in 
 those times, by whose means he was quickly preferred to a 
 place of trust and profit, but lived not long to enjoy it. 
 
 I mentioned before, that during my father's abode in 
 London, in the time of the civil wars, he contracted a 
 friendship with the Lady Springett, then a widow, and 
 afterwards married to Isaac Penington, Esq. ; to continue 
 which he sometimes visited them at their country lodgings, 
 as at Datchet, and at Causham i Lodge, near Reading. And 
 having heard that they were come to live upon their own 
 estate at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, about fifteen miles 
 from Crowell, he went one day to visit them there, and to 
 return at night, taking me with him. 
 
 But very much surprised we were when, being come 
 thither, we first heard, then found, they had become Quakers ; 
 a people we had no knowledge of, and a name we had till 
 then scarce heard of 
 
 So great a change, from a free, debonair, and courtly sort 
 of behaviour, which we formerly had found them in, to so 
 strict a gravity as they now received us with did not a little 
 amuse us, and disappoint our expectation of such a pleasant 
 visit as we used to have, and had now promised ourselves. 
 Nor could my father have any opportunity, by a private 
 conference with them, to understand the ground or occasion 
 of this change, there being some other strangers with them 
 (related to Isaac Penington), who came that morning from 
 London to visit them also. 
 
 For my part I sought and at length found means to cast 
 myself into the company of the daughter, whom I found 
 gathering some flowers in the garden, attended by her maid, 
 who was also a Quaker. But when I addressed myself to 
 
 ^ [Probably Caversham. The Peningtons came to Chalfont St. Peter 
 in 1658.] 
 
10 THE HISTOEY OF [1659 
 
 her after my accustomed manner, with intention to engage 
 her in some discourse which might introduce conversation 
 on the foot of our former acquaintance ; though she treated 
 me with a courteous mien, yet, as young as she was, the 
 gravity of her look and behaviour struck such an awe upon 
 me, that I found myself not so much master of myself as to 
 pursue any further converse with her. Wherefore, asking 
 pardon for my boldness in having intruded myself into her 
 private walks, I withdrew, not without some disorder (as I 
 thought at least) of mind. 
 
 We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and lacked 
 nothing to recommend it to me but the want of mirth and 
 pleasant discourse, which we could neither have with them, 
 nor by reason of them with one another amongst ourselves ; 
 the weightiness that was upon their spirits and countenances 
 keeping down the lightness that would have been up in us. 
 We stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company 
 took leave of them, and then we also, doing the same 
 returned, not greatly satisfied with our journey, nor knowing 
 what in particular to find fault with. 
 
 Yet this good effect that visit had upon my father, who 
 was then in the Commission of the Peace, that it disposed 
 him to a more favourable opinion of and carriage towards 
 those people when they came in his way, as not long after 
 one of them did. For a young man who lived in Buckingham- 
 shire, came on a first-day to the church (so called) at a town 
 called Chinner, a mile from Crowell, having, it seems, a 
 pressure on his mind to say something to the minister of 
 that parish. He being an acquaintance of mine, drew me 
 sometimes to hear him, as it did then. The young man 
 stood in the aisle beft)re the pulpit all the time of the 
 sermon, not speaking a word till the sermon and prayer after 
 it was ended,! gu,j then spake a few words to the priest. Of 
 
 ' [Here Ellwood introduces his account of a common Quaker practice 
 in the early days of the movement, and carefully states the case in such 
 a way as to show that no offence against the law was committed. It 
 must be noticed that this scene took place during the Commonwealth, 
 when it was by no means unusual for persons other than the clergyman 
 
1659] THOMAS ELLWOOD 11 
 
 which all that I could hear was, "That the prayer of the 
 wicked is abomination to the Lord, and that God heareth 
 not sinners ". 
 
 Somewhat more, I think, he did say, which I could not 
 distinctly hear for the noise the people made ; and more 
 probably he would have said, had he not been interrupted 
 by the officers, who took him into custody, and led him out 
 in order to carry him before my father. 
 
 When I understood that, I hastened home, that I might give 
 my father a fair account of the matter before they came. I 
 told him the young man behaved himself quietly and peaceably, 
 spake not a word till the minister had quite done his service, 
 and that what he then spake was but shorty and was delivered 
 without passion or ill language. This I knew would furnish 
 my father with a fair ground whereon to discharge the man 
 if he would. 
 
 And accordingly when they came, and made an high 
 
 to speak in the Church after the sermon was over, and that under the 
 Presbyterian discipline this irregular preaching or prophesying was a 
 regular part of the service. But in England by the Act i Mary, c. 6, persons 
 were forbidden to interrupt the service or sermon under various penalties ; 
 and under the Commonwealth this rule was maintained. There were 
 also in existence stringent laws enacted by the Commonwealth govern- 
 ment against heresies. Some propositions included in these ordinances 
 are definite parts of the Quaker creed ; the ordinance of 1646 mentions as 
 heresies the propositions, " That man hath free will to turn to God," " That 
 the two sacraments of Baptism and the Lord's Supper are not ordinances 
 of God," " That the use of arms for public defence is unlawful," " That the 
 observation of the Lord's Day is not according to the Word of God". These 
 are all definite Quaker doctrines. The Quaker, therefore, who ventured 
 to speak in Church was exposed to several perils. He might be carried 
 away by zeal to interrupt the preacher before the service was over, as 
 George Fox did at Nottingham in 1649 (see Fox's jfournal, i., 117). He 
 might use railing words against the preacher, as Anne Blacklyn did at 
 Haverhill in Essex on 6th March, 1656-7 {State Papers, Domestic), who 
 for doing so was ordered to be imprisoned until she paid a fine of twenty 
 nobles. Or, again, he might fall into heresy and be indicted for that. If 
 he escaped these snares, he might easily find himself imprisoned without 
 any legal cause by the arbitrary action of a prejudiced country justice, 
 and might eventually need the intervention of the Council of State to 
 obtain his release. See for instance the case of the Quakers confined in 
 Horsham Goal (State Papers, Domestic, 1656-7, 6th January) ; in these 
 cases the Committee appointed to investigate the matter reported that the 
 committals were illegal and that the prisoners appeared to be guilty of 
 no crime.] 
 
12 THE HISTOEY OF [1659 
 
 complaint against the man (who said little for himself), my 
 father, having examined the officers who brought him — what 
 the words that he spoke were (which they did not well agree 
 in), and at what time he spake them (which they all agreed 
 to be after the minister had done), and then, whether he 
 gave the minister any reviling language, or endeavoured to 
 raise a tumult among the people (which they could not charge 
 him with) ; not finding that he had broken the law, he coun- 
 selled the young man to be careful that he did not make or 
 occasion any public disturbance, and so dismissed him. Which 
 I was glad of. 
 
 Some time after this, my father, having gotten some further 
 account of the people called Quakers, and being desirous to 
 be informed concerning their principles, made another visit 
 to Isaac Penington and his wife, at their house called the 
 Grange, in Peter's Chalfont, and took both my sisters and 
 me with him. 
 
 It was in the tenth month, in the year l659, that we went 
 thither, where we found a very kind reception, and tarried 
 some days ; one day at least the longer, for that while we 
 were there a meeting was appointed at a place about a mile 
 from thence, to which we were invited to go, and willingly 
 went. 
 
 It was held in a farm-house called the Grove, which having 
 formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a very large hall, and 
 that well filled. 
 
 To this meeting came Edward Burrough, besides other 
 preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Naylor, but none 
 spoke there at that time but Edward BuiTough,! next to 
 whom, as it were under him, it was my lot to sit on a stool 
 by the side of a long table on which he sat, and I drank in 
 his words with desire ; for they not only answered my under- 
 standing, but warmed my heart with a certain heat, which I 
 had not till then felt from the ministry of any man. 
 
 When the meeting was ended our friends took us home 
 
 '[See introduction for some account of these men.] 
 
1659] THOMAS ELLWOOD 13 
 
 with them agam ; and after supper, the evenings being long, 
 the servants of the family (who were Quakers) were called in, 
 and we all sat down in silence. But long we had not so sat 
 before Edward Burrough began to speak among us. And 
 although he spoke not long, yet what he said did touch, as I 
 suppose, my father's (religious) copyhold, as the phrase is. 
 And he having been from his youth a professor, though not 
 joined in that which is called close communion with any one 
 sort, and valuing himself upon the knowledge he esteemed 
 himself to have in the various notions of each profession, 
 thought he had now a fair opportunity to display his know- 
 ledge, and thereupon began to make objections against what 
 had been delivered. 
 
 The subject of the discourse was, "The universal free grace 
 of God to all mankind/' to which he opposed the Calvinistic 
 tenet of particular and personal predestination ; in defence of 
 which indefensible notion he found himself more at a loss 
 than he expected. Edward Burrough said not much to him 
 upon it, though what he said was close and cogent ; but James 
 Naylor interposing, handled the subject with so much per- 
 spicuity and clear demonstration, that his reasoning seemed 
 to be irresistible ; and so I suppose my father found it, which 
 made him willing to drop the discourse. 
 
 As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young man, of a 
 ready tongue, and might have been, for aught I then knew, a 
 scholar, which made me the less to admire his way of reasoning. 
 But what dropt from James Naylor had the greater force upon 
 me, because he looked but like a plain simple countryman, 
 having the appearance of a husbandman or a shepherd. 
 
 As my father was not able to maintain the argument on his 
 side, so neither did they seem willing to drive it to an ex- 
 tremity on their side ; but treating him in a soft and gentle 
 manner, did after a while let fall the discourse, and then we 
 withdrew to our respective chambers. 
 
 The next morning we prepared to return home (that is, my 
 father, my younger sister and myself, for my elder sister was 
 gone before by the stage-coach to London), and when, having 
 
14 THE HISTORY OF [16.59 
 
 taken our leaves of our friends, we went forth, they, with 
 Edward Burrough, accompanying us to the gate, he there 
 directed his speech in a few words to each of us severally, 
 according to the sense he had of our several conditions. And 
 when we were gone off, and they gone in again, they asking 
 him what he thought of us, he answered them, as they after- 
 wards told me, to this effect : " As for the old man, he is 
 settled on his lees, and the young woman is light and airy ; 
 but the young man is reached, and may do well if he don't 
 lose it ". And surely that which he said to me, or rather that 
 spirit in which he spake it, took such fast hold on me, that I 
 felt sadness and trouble come over me, though I did not 
 distinctly understand what I was troubled for. I knew not 
 what I ailed, but I knew I ailed something more than ordinary 
 and my heart was very heavy. 
 
 I found it was not so with my father and sister ; for as I 
 rode after the coach I could hear them talk pleasantly one to 
 the other ; but they could not discern how it was with me, 
 because I, riding on horseback, kept much out of sight. 
 
 By the time we got home it was night ; and the next day, 
 being the first day of the week, I went in the afternoon to hear 
 the minister of Chinner, and this was the last time I ever went 
 to hear any of that function. After the sermon I went with him 
 to his house, and in a freedom of discourse, which, from a certain 
 intimacy that was between us, I commonly used with him, told 
 him where I had been, what company I had met there, and what 
 observations I had made to myself thereupon. He seemed 
 to understand as little of them as I had done before, and 
 civilly abstained from casting any unhandsome reflections on 
 them. 
 
 I had a desire to go (b another meeting of the Quakers, 
 and bade my father's man inquire if there was any in the 
 country thereabouts. He thereupon told me he had heard at 
 Isaac Penington's that there was to be a meeting at High 
 Wiccomb on Thursday next. 
 
 Thither therefore I went, though it was seven miles from 
 me, and that I might be rather thought to go out a-coursing 
 
1659] THOMAS ELLWOOD 15 
 
 than to a meeting, I let my greyhound run by my horse- 
 side. 
 
 When I came there, and had set up my horse at an inn, I 
 was at a loss how to find the house where the meeting was to 
 be. I knew it not, and was ashamed to ask after it ; where- 
 fore, having order'd the ostler to take care of my dog, I went 
 into the street and stood at the inn gate, musing with myself 
 what course to take. But I had not stood long ere I saw a 
 horseman riding along the street, whom I remember'd I had 
 seen before at Isaac Penington's and he put up his horse at 
 the same inn. Him therefore I resolved to follow, supposing 
 he was going to the meeting, as indeed he was. 
 
 Being come to the house, which proved to be John Raunce's,i 
 I saw the people sitting together in an outer room ; wherefore 
 I stept in and sat down on the first void seat, the end of a 
 bench just within the door, having my sword by my side and 
 black clothes on, which drew some eyes upon me. It was not 
 long ere one stood up and spoke, whom I was afterwards well 
 acquainted with ; his name was Samuel Thornton,^ and what 
 
 ' [John Raunce or Ranee was a doctor of medicine at Wycombe. He 
 was one of those arrested at Edward Perrot's funeral at Amersham on 
 ist July, 1665, and was then imprisoned for a month. In 1671 he was 
 committed to prison for refusing to swear, he incurred a premunire, and 
 was only liberated in 1672 by the King's proclamation. He wrote two 
 Latin pamphlets in condemnation of the science of judicial astrology and 
 a pamphlet called " News from Wickham," to which EUwood replied. 
 John Raunce was one of those who followed Story and Wilkinson, in 
 their opposition to George Fox, while EUwood was a strong adherent 
 of Fox. Ellwood's pamphlet accuses J. Raunce of bringing Story to 
 Wycombe to the meeting there, and of consenting to be a party to a most 
 improper marriage at Wycombe. For details as to the secession started 
 by Story and Wilkinson see below, and the introduction. Besse mentions 
 a London Quaker named John Raunce who was transported to the 
 Barbadoes in 1664 for seven years. I do not think this is the same man.] 
 
 ^[Samuel Thornton is first mentioned as one of those arrested in 
 London in 1660 after Venner's insurrection. In the same year he was 
 again arrested in Southwark. In 1664 he was at Harwich, a town which 
 seems to have been especially hostile to the Quakers, and was there 
 arrested by Thomas Garrod, the mayor, for being at a meeting. In 1670 
 he was arrested at the Gracechurch Street meeting, while preaching, and 
 committed to Newgate, and finally consigned to the new prison for 
 refusing to give securities for being of good behaviour. He is probably 
 the same as the Samuel Thornton who incurred a premunire at Wakefield 
 
16 THE HISTOEY OF [1659 
 
 he said was very suitable and of good service to me, for it 
 reached home as if it had been directed to me. 
 
 As soon as ever the meeting was ended and the people 
 began to rise, I, being next the door, stepped out quickly, 
 and hastening to my inn, took horse immediately homewards, 
 and (so far as I remember) my having been gone was not 
 taken notice of by my father. 
 
 This latter meeting was like the clinching of a nail, con- 
 firming and fastening in my mind those good principles which 
 had sunk into me at the former. My understanding began 
 to open, and I felt some stirrings in my breast, tending to 
 the work of a new creation in me. The general trouble and 
 confusion of mind, which had for some days lain heavy upon 
 me and pressed me down, without a distinct discovery of the 
 particular cause for which it came, began now to wear off, 
 and some glimmerings of light began to break forth in me, 
 which let me see my inward state and condition towards God. 
 The light, which before had shone in my darkness, and the 
 darkness could not comprehend it, began now to shine out of 
 darkness, and in some measure discovered to me what it was 
 that had before clouded me and brought that sadness and 
 trouble upon me. And now I saw that although I had been 
 in a great degree preserved from the common immoralities 
 and gross pollutions of the world, yet the spirit of the world 
 had hitherto ruled in me, and led me into pride, flattery, 
 vanity, and superfluity, all which was naught. I found there 
 were many plants growing in me which were not of the 
 heavenly Father's planting, and that all these, of whatever 
 sort or kind they were, or how specious soever they might 
 appear, must be plucked up. 
 
 Now was all my fornffer life ripped up, and my sins by 
 degrees were set in order before me. And though they 
 looked not with so black a hue and so deep a dye as those of 
 
 in 1662, and who was again arrested at Askwith in Yorkshire in 1683. 
 He may also be the same as the Samuel Thornton who was arrested at 
 Cork in 1670 and committed to Cork gaol. While he was there imprisoned 
 many of his friends came to visit him, whereupon the gaoler locked them 
 also into the prison and kept them there for twenty-four hours without food.] 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 17 
 
 the lewdest sort of people did, yet I found that all sin (even 
 that which had the fairest or finest shew, as well as that 
 which was more course and foul) brought guilt, and with and 
 for guilt, condemnation on the soul that sinned. This I felt, 
 and was greatly bowed down under the sense thereof. 
 
 Now also did I receive a new law — an inward law super- 
 added to the outward — the law of the spirit of life in Christ 
 Jesus, which wrought in me against all evil, not only in deed 
 and in word, but even in thought also ; so that everything 
 was brought to judgment, and judgment passed upon all. 
 So that I could not any longer go on in my former ways and 
 course of life, for when I did, judgment took hold upon me 
 for it. 
 
 Thus the Lord was graciously pleased to deal with me in 
 somewhat like manner as he had dealt with His people Israel 
 of old when they had transgressed His righteous law, whom 
 by His prophet He called back, required to put away the evil 
 of their doings, bidding them first cease to do evil, then learn 
 to do well, before He would admit them to reason with Him, 
 and before He would impart to them the effects of His free 
 mercy (Isaiah i i. l6, 17, 18). 
 
 I was now required by this inward and spiritual law (the 
 law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus) to put away the evil 
 of my doings, and to cease to do evil ; and what in particular 
 the evil was which I was required to put away and to cease 
 from, that measure of the Divine Light which was now 
 manifested in me discovered to me, and what the light made 
 manifest to be evilj judgment passed upon. 
 
 So that here began to be a way cast up before me for me 
 to walk in — a direct and plain way, so plain that a wayfaring 
 man, how weak and simple soever (though a fool to the 
 wisdom and in the judgment of the world) could not err 
 
 ' [" Wash you, make you clean ; put away the evil of your doings from 
 before Mine eyes ; cease to do evil ; 
 
 Learn to do well ; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the 
 fatherless, plead for the widow. 
 
 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord ; though your 
 sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."] 
 
 2 
 
18 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 while he continued to walk in it, the error coming in by his 
 going out of it. And this way with respect to me I saw was 
 that measure of Divine Light which was manifested in me, by 
 which the evil of my doings which I was to put away and to 
 cease from was discovered to me. 
 
 By this Divine Light, then, I saw that though I had not the 
 evil of the common uncleanness, debauchery, profaneness, and 
 pollutions of the world to put away, because I had, through the 
 great goodness of God and a civil education, been preserved 
 out of those grosser evils, yet I had many other evils to put 
 away and to cease from ; some of which were not by the 
 world, which lies in wickedness (1 John^ v. 19), accounted 
 evils ; but by the light of Christ were made manifest to me 
 to be evils, and as such condemned in me. 
 
 As particularly those fruits and effects of pride that discover 
 themselves in the vanity and superfluity of apparel ; which I, 
 as far as my ability would extend to, took, alas ! too much 
 delight in. This evil of my doings I was required to put 
 away and cease from ; and judgment lay upon me till I did 
 so. Wherefore, in obedience to the inward law, which agreed 
 with the outward (1 Tim. ^ ii. 9 ; 1 Pet. iii. 3 ; 1 Tim. vi. 8 ; 
 James i. 21), I took off from my apparel those unnecessary 
 trimmings of lace, ribbons, and useless buttons, which had no 
 real service, but were set on only for that which was by 
 mistake called ornament ; and I ceased to wear rings. 
 
 Again, the giving of flattering titles to men between whom 
 
 ' [" And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in 
 wickedness."] 
 
 ^ [The texts cited are as follow : — 
 
 I Tim. ii. g. " In like manner also [I will] that women adorn themselves 
 in modest apparel, with sname-facedness and sobriety ; not with broided 
 hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array." 
 
 I Pet. iii. 3. " Whose adorning [i.e., wives'] let it not be that outward 
 adorning of plaiting the hair, or of wearing of gold, or of putting on of 
 apparel." 
 
 I Tim. vi. 8. "And having food and raiment let us be therewith 
 content." 
 
 James i. 21. " Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of 
 naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is 
 able to save your souls." It will be seen that the first two texts are 
 limited to feminine attire.] 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 19 
 
 and me there was not any relation to which such titles could 
 be pretended to belong. This was an evil I had been much 
 addicted to, and was accounted a ready artist in ; therefore 
 this evil also was I required to put away and cease from. So 
 that thenceforward I durst not say. Sir, Master, My Lord, 
 Madam (or My Dame) ; or say Your Servant to any one to 
 whom I did not stand in the real relation of a servant, which 
 I had never done to any. 
 
 Again, respect of persons, in uncovering the head and 
 bowing the knee or body in salutation, was a practice I had 
 been much in the use of; and this, being one of the vain 
 customs of the world, introduced by the spirit of the world, 
 instead of the true honour which this is a false representation 
 of, and used in deceit as a token of respect by persons one to 
 another, who bear no real respect one to another ; and, besides, 
 this being a type and proper emblem of that divine honour 
 which all ought to pay to Almighty God, and which all of all 
 sorts, who take upon them the Christian name, appear in 
 when they oiTer their prayers to Him, and therefore should 
 not be given to men. I found this to be one of those evils 
 which I had been too long doing ; therefore I was now 
 required to put it away and cease from it. 
 
 Again, the corrupt and unsound form of speaking in the 
 plural number to a single person, you to one, instead of thou, 
 contrary to the pure, plain, and single language of truth, thou 
 to one, and you to more than one, which had always been used 
 by God to men, and men to God, as well as one to another, 
 from the oldest record of time till corrupt men, for corrupt 
 ends, in later and corrupt times, to flatter, fawn, and work 
 upon the corrupt nature in men, brought in that false and 
 senseless way of speaking you to one ; which has since 
 corrupted the modem languages, and hath greatly debased 
 the spirits and depraved the manners of men ; this evil 
 custom I had been as forward in as others, and this I was 
 now called out of and required to cease from. 
 
 These and many more evil customs which had sprung up 
 in the night of darkness and general apostacy from the truth 
 
20 THE HISTORY OF [i659 
 
 and true religion, were now, by the inshining of this pure ray 
 of Divine Light in my conscience, gradually discovered to me 
 to be what I ought to cease from, shun, and stand a witness 
 against. 
 
 But so subtly and withal so powerfully did the Enemy work 
 upon the weak part in me, as to persuade me that in these 
 things I ought to make a difference between my father and 
 all other men ; and that therefore, though I did disuse these 
 tokens of respect to others, yet I ought still to use them 
 towards him, as he was my father. And so far did this wile 
 of his prevail upon me, through a fear lest I should do amiss 
 in withdrawing any sort of respect or honour from my father 
 which was due unto him, that being thereby beguiled, I con- 
 tinued for a while to demean myself in the same mianner 
 towards him, with respect both to language and gesture, as I 
 had always done before. And so long as I did so (standing 
 bare before him, and giving him the accustomed language) 
 he did not express — whatever he thought — any dislike of me. 
 
 But as to myself and the work begun in me, I found it was 
 not enough for me to cease to do evil, though that was a 
 good and a great step. I had another lesson before me, 
 which was to learn to do well ; which I could by no means 
 do till I had given up with full purpose of mind to cease 
 from doing evil. And when I had done that, the Enemy 
 took advantage of my weakness to mislead me again. 
 
 For whereas I ought to have waited in the light for direc- 
 tion and guidance into and in the way of well-doing, and not 
 to have moved till the Divine Spirit (a manifestation of which 
 the Lord has been pleased to give unto me for me to profit 
 with or by), the Enemy, transforming himself into the appear- 
 ance of an angel of light, offered himself in that appearance 
 to be my guide and leader into the performance of religious 
 exercises. And I not then knowing the wiles of Satan, and 
 being eager to be doing some acceptable service to God, too 
 readily yielded myself to the conduct of my enemy instead of 
 my friend. 
 
 He thereupon, humouring the warmth and zeal of my 
 
1659] THOMAS ELLWOOD 21 
 
 spirit, put me upon religious performances in my own will, 
 in my own time, and in my own strength ; which in them- 
 selves were good, and would have been profitable unto me 
 and acceptable unto the Lord, if they had been performed in 
 His will, in His time, and in the ability which He gives. But 
 being wrought in the will of man and at the prompting of 
 the evil one, no wonder that it did me hurt instead of good. 
 
 I read abundantly in the Bible, and would set myself tasks 
 in reading, enjoining myself to read so many chapters, 
 sometimes a whole book or long epistle, at a time. And I 
 thought that time well spent, though I was not much the 
 wiser for what I had read, reading it too cursorily, and with- 
 out the true Guide, the Holy Spirit, which alone could open 
 the understanding and give the true sense of what was read. 
 
 I prayed often, and drew out my prayers to a great length, 
 and appointed unto myself certain set times to pray at, and a 
 certain number of prayers to say in a day ; yet knew not 
 meanwhile what true prayer was, which stands not in words, 
 though the words which are uttered in the movings of the 
 Holy Spirit are very available, but in the breathing of the 
 soul to the heavenly Father through the operation of the Holy 
 Spirit, who maketh intercession sometimes in words and 
 sometimes with sighs and groans only, which the Lord 
 vouchsafes to hear and answer. 
 
 This will-worship, which all is that is performed in the 
 will of man and not in the movings of the Holy Spirit, was 
 a great hurt to me, and hindrance of my spiritual growth in 
 the way of truth. But my heavenly Father, who knew the 
 sincerity of my soul to Him and the hearty desire I had to 
 serve Him, had compassion on me, and in due time was 
 graciously pleased to illuminate my understanding further, 
 and to open in me an eye to discern the false spirit, and its 
 way of working from the true, and to reject the former and 
 cleave to the latter. 
 
 But though the Enemy had by his subtlety gained such 
 advantages over me, yet I went on notwithstanding, and 
 firmly persisted in my godly resolution of ceasing from and 
 
22 THE HISTOEY OF [1659 
 
 denying those things which I was now convinced in my 
 conscience were evil. And on this account a great trial came 
 quickly on me ; for the general Quarter Sessions for the Peace 
 coming on, my father, willing to excuse himself from a dirty 
 journey, commanded me to get up betimes and go to Oxford, 
 and deliver in the recognisances he had taken, and bring him 
 an account what justices were on the bench, and what 
 principal pleas were before 'em : which he knew I knew how 
 to do, having often attended him on those services. 
 
 I, who knew how it stood with me better than he did, felt 
 a weight come over me as soon as he had spoken the word ; 
 for I presently saw it would bring a very great exercise upon 
 me. But having never resisted his will in anything that was 
 lawful, as this was, I attempted not to make any excuse, but 
 ordering a horse to be ready for me early in the morning, I 
 went to bed, having great struggles in my breast. 
 
 For the Enemy came in upon me like a flood, and set many 
 difficulties before me, swelling them up to the highest pitch, 
 by representing them as mountains which I should never be 
 able to get over ; and, alas ! that faith which could remove 
 such mountains, and cast them into the sea, was but very 
 small and weak in me. 
 
 He cast into my mind not only how I should behave myself 
 in court and dispatch the business I was sent about, but how 
 I should demean myself towards my acquaintance, of which I 
 had many in that city, with whom I was wont to be jolly ; 
 whereas now I could not put off my hat, nor bow to any of 
 them, nor give them their honorary titles (as they are called), 
 nor use the corrupt language of ymi to any one of them, but 
 must keep to the plain and true language of thou and thee. 
 
 Much of this nature revolved in my mind, thrown in by 
 the Enemy to discourage and cast me down. And I had 
 none to have recourse to for counsel or help, but the Lord 
 alone ; to whom therefore I poured forth my supplications, 
 with earnest cries and breathings of soul, that He, in whom 
 all power was, would enable me to go through this great 
 exercise, and keep me faithful to Himself therein. And 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 23 
 
 after some time He was pleased to compose my mind to 
 stilness, and I went to rest. 
 
 Early next morning I got up, and found my spirit pretty 
 calm and quiet, yet not without a fear upon me lest I should 
 slip and let fall the testimony which I had to bear. And 
 as I rode a frequent cry ran through me to the Lord, in this 
 wise : " Oh, my God, preserve me faithful, whatever befalls 
 me : suffer me not to be drawn into evil, how much scorn and 
 contempt soever may be cast upon me ". 
 
 Thus was my spirit exercised on the way almost continually ; 
 and when I was come within a mile or two of the city, whom 
 should I meet upon the way coming from thence but Edward 
 Burrough. I rode in a mountier-cap ^ (a dress more used then 
 than now), and so did he ; and because the weather was 
 exceeding sharp, we both had drawn our caps down, to shelter 
 our faces from the cold, and by that means neither of us knew 
 the other, but passed by without taking notice one of the 
 other ; till a few days after, meeting again, and observing 
 each other's dress, we recollected where we had so lately met. 
 Then thought I with myself, oh, how glad should I have been 
 of a word of encouragement and counsel from himi when I 
 was under that weighty exercise of mind ! But the Lord saw 
 it was not good for me, that my reliance might be wholly 
 upon Him, and not on man. 
 
 When I had set up my horse I went directly to the hall 
 where the sessions were held, where I had been but a very 
 little while before a knot of my old acquaintances, espying me, 
 came to me. One of these was a scholar in his gown, another 
 a surgeon of that city (both my school-fellows and fellow- 
 boarders at Thame school), and the third a country gentleman 
 with whom I had long been familiar. 
 
 When they were come up to me they all saluted me after 
 the usual manner, pulling oiF their hats and bowing, and say- 
 ing, "Your humble servant, sir," expecting no doubt the like 
 
 ^ [Montero-cap is a cap with a round crown and flaps to draw down 
 over the ears and cheeks, which thus would conceal the face. It was 
 chiefly used when riding.] 
 
24 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 from me. But when they saw me stand still, not moving my 
 cap, nor bowing my knee in way of congee to them, they 
 were amazed, and looked first one upon another, then upon 
 me, and then one upon another again, for a while, without 
 speaking a word. 
 
 At length the surgeon, a brisk young man, who stood 
 nearest to me, clapping his hand in a familiar way upon my 
 shoulder, and smiling on me, said, " What, Tom ! a Quaker ? " 
 To which I readily and cheerfully answered, "Yes, a Quaker ". 
 And as the words passed out of my mouth I felt joy spring in 
 my heart ; for I rejoiced that I had not been drawn out by 
 them into a compliance with them, and that I had strength 
 and boldness given me to confess myself to be one of that 
 despised people. 
 
 They stayed not long with me nor said any more, that I 
 remember to me ; but looking somewhat confusedly one upon 
 another, after a while took their leave of me, going off in the 
 same ceremonious manner as they came on. 
 
 After they were gone I walked a while about the hall, and 
 went up nearer to the court, to observe both what justices 
 were on the bench and what business they had before them. 
 And I went in fear, not of what they could or would have 
 done to me if they should have taken notice of me, but lest I 
 should be surprised, and drawn unwarily into that which I 
 was to keep out of. 
 
 It was not long before the court adjourned to go to dinner, 
 and that time I took to go to the Clerk of the Peace at his 
 house, whom I was well acquainted with. So soon as I came 
 into the room where he was he came and met me, and saluted 
 me after his manner ; for he had a great respect for my father 
 and a kind regard for me. And though he was at first some- 
 what startled at my carriage and language, yet he treated me 
 very civilly, without any reflection or show of lightness. I 
 delivered him the recognisances which my father had sent, 
 and having done the business I came upon, withdrew, and 
 went to my inn to refresh myself, and then to return home. 
 
 But when I was ready to take horse, looking out into the 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 25 
 
 street, I saw two or three justices standing just in the way 
 where I was to ride. This brought a fresh concern upon me. 
 I knew if they saw me they would know me ; and I concluded 
 if they knew me, they would stop me and inquire after my 
 father, and I doubted how I should come off with them. 
 
 This doubting brought weakness on me, and that weakness 
 led to contrivance how I might avoid this trial. I knew the 
 city pretty well, and remembered there was a back way, which 
 though somewhat about, would bring me out of town without 
 passing by those justices ; yet loth I was to go that way. 
 Wherefore I stayed a pretty time, in hopes they would have 
 parted company, or removed to some other place out of my 
 way. But when I had waited until I was uneasy for losing 
 so much time, having entered into reasonings with flesh and 
 blood, the weakness prevailed over me, and away I went the 
 back way, which brought trouble and grief upon my spirit for 
 having shunned the cross. 
 
 But the Lord looked on me with a tender eye, and seeing 
 my heart was right to Him, and that what I had done was 
 merely through weakness and fear of falling, and that I was 
 sensible of my failing therein, and sorry for it, He was 
 graciously pleased to pass it by, and speak peace to me again. 
 So that before I got home, as when I went in the morning, 
 my heart was full of breathing prayer to the Lord, that He 
 would vouchsafe to be with me, and uphold and carry me 
 through that day's exercise ; so now at my return in the 
 evening, my heart was full of thankful acknowledgments and 
 praises unto Him for His great goodness and favour to me, in 
 having thus fer preserved and kept me from falling into any 
 thing that might have brought dishonour to His holy name, 
 which I had now taken on me. 
 
 But notwithstanding that it was thus with me, and that I 
 found peace and acceptance with the Lord in some good 
 degree, according to my obedience to the convictions I had 
 received by His holy Spirit in me, yet was not the veil so 
 done away, or fully rent, but that there still remained a cloud 
 upon my understanding with respect to my carriage towards 
 
26 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 my father. And that notion which the Enemy had brought 
 into my mind, that I ought to put such a difference between 
 him and all others as that, on account of the paternal relation, 
 I should still deport myself towards him, both in gesture and 
 language, as I had always heretofore done, did yet avail with 
 me. So that when I came home I went to my father bare- 
 headed, as I used to do, and gave him a particular account of 
 the business he had given me in command, in such manner 
 that he, observing no alteration in my carriage towards him, 
 found no cause to take offence at me. 
 
 I had felt for some time before an earnest desire of mind to 
 go again to Isaac Penington's, and I began to question 
 whether, when my father should come (as I concluded ere 
 long he would) to understand I inclined to settle among the 
 people called Quakers, he would permit me the command of 
 his horses, as before. Wherefore, in the morning when I went 
 to Oxford I gave directions to a servant of his to go that day 
 to a gentleman of my acquaintance, who I knew had a riding 
 nag to put off either by sale or to be kept for his work, and 
 desired him, in my name, to send him to me ; which he did, 
 and I found him in the stable when I came home. 
 
 On this nag I designed to ride next day to Isaac Pening- 
 ton's, and in order thereunto arose betimes and got myself 
 ready for the journey ; but because I would pay all due 
 respects to my father, and not go without his consent, or 
 knowledge at the least, I sent one up to him (for he was not 
 yet stirring) to acquaint him that I had a purpose to go to 
 Isaac Penington's, and desired to know if he pleased to 
 command me any service to them. He sent me word he 
 would speak with me before I went, and would have me come 
 up to him, which I did, ftid stood by his bedside. 
 
 Then, in a mild and gentle tone, he said : "I understand 
 you have a mind to go to Mr. Penington's ". I answered, " I 
 have so". "Why," said he, "I wonder why you should? 
 You were there, you know, but a few days ago, and unless 
 you had business with them, don't you think it will look 
 oddly?" — I said, "I thought not'. — "I doubt," said he, 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 27 
 
 " you'll tire them with your company, and make them think 
 they shall be troubled with you." — " If," replied I, " I find 
 anything of that, I'll make the shorter stay." — " But," said 
 he, " can you propose any sort of business with them, more 
 than a mere visit ." " — " Yes," said I, " I propose to myself not 
 only to see them, but to have some discourse with them." — 
 " Why," said he, in a tone a little harsher, " I hope you don't 
 incline to be of their way." — " Truly," answered I, " I like 
 them and their way very well, so far as I yet understand it ; 
 and I am willing to go to them that I may understand it 
 better." 
 
 Thereupon he began to reckon up a beadroU of faults 
 against the Quakers, telling me they were a rude, unmannerly 
 people, that would not give civil respect or honour to their 
 superiors, no not to magistrates ; that they held many danger- 
 ous principles ; that they were an immodest shameless people ; 
 and that one ^ of them stript himself stark naked, and went 
 in that unseemly manner about the streets, at fairs and on 
 market days in great towns. 
 
 To all the other charges I answered only, " That perhaps 
 they might be either misreported or misunderstood, as the 
 best of people had sometimes been ". But to the last charge 
 of going naked, a particular answer, by way of instance, was 
 just then brought into my mind and put into my mouth, 
 which I had not thought of before, and that was the example 
 
 ' [This is probably Solomon Eccles (see Sewell, ii., 243, and Pepys 
 Diary, 29th July, 1667). Solomon Eccles was originally a member of the 
 Church of England and became in turn a Presbyterian, an Independent, 
 a Baptist and a Quaker, thus passing in a regular way through the usual 
 phases of thought. He had been an eminent musician, able to earn ;f 150 
 a year at his trade. But when he turned Quaker he took to tailoring for 
 a living and sold his books and instruments. But having done so his 
 conscience troubled him and he bought them back again, and taking them 
 to Tower Hill burnt them there, virginals, fiddles, music books and all, 
 and so got peace of mind. Of his fancy for going about naked to the 
 waist — not stark naked — several instances are recorded. He would some- 
 times carry on his head a chafing dish of coals and burning brimstone ; as 
 he did when he entered a Roman Catholic chapel in Galway in Ireland 
 and explained that God had sent him to show those idolaters what would 
 be their portion in the next world. Sewell says he was not mad, but a 
 man of strange zeal.] 
 
28 THE HISTORY OF [i 6.-59 
 
 of Isaiah, who went naked among the people for a long time 
 (Isa. XX. 2). "Ay," said my father, "but you must consider 
 that he was a prophet of the Lord, and had an express 
 command from God to go so." — " Yes, sir," replied I, " I do 
 consider that ; but I consider also, that the Jews, among 
 whom he lived, did not own him for a prophet, nor believe 
 that he had such a command from God. And," added I, 
 " how know we but that this Quaker may be a prophet too, 
 and might be commanded to do as he did, for some reason 
 which we understand not ? " 
 
 This put my father to a stand ; so that, letting fall his 
 charges against the Quakers, he only said, " I would wish you 
 not to go so sdon, but take a little time to consider of it ; you 
 may visit Mr. Penington hereafter." — " Nay, sir," replied I, 
 " pray don't hinder my going now, for I have so strong a desire 
 to go that I do not well know how to forbear." And as 1 
 spake those words, I withdrew gently to the chamber door, 
 and then hastening down stairs, went immediately to the 
 stable, where finding my horse ready bridled, I forthwith 
 mounted, and went off, lest I should receive a countermand. 
 
 This discourse with my father had cast me somewhat back 
 in my journey, and it being fifteen long miles thither, the 
 ways bad, and my nag but small, it was in the afternoon that 
 I got thither. And understanding by the servant that took 
 my horse that there was a meeting in the house (as there was 
 weekly on that day, which was the fourth day of the week, 
 though till then I understood it not), I hastened in, and 
 knowing the rooms, went directly to the little parlour, where 
 I found a few friends sitting together in silence, and I sat 
 down among them well satisfied, though without words. 
 
 When the meeting vrSfs ended, and those of the company 
 who were strangers withdrawn, I addressed myself to Isaac 
 Penington and his wife, who received me courteously ; but 
 not knowing what exercise 1 had been in, and yet was under, 
 nor having heard anything of me since I had been there before 
 in another garb, were not forward at first to lay sudden hands 
 on me ; which I observed, and did not dislike. But as they 
 
1659] THOMAS ELLWOOD 29 
 
 came to see a change in me, not in habit only, but in gesture, 
 speech, and carriage, and, which was more, in countenance also 
 (for the exercise I had passed through, and yet was under, had 
 imprinted a visible character of gravity upon my face), they 
 were exceeding kind and tender towards me. 
 
 There was then in the family a friend whose name was 
 Anne Curtis, the wife of Thomas Curtis, of Reading, who 
 was come upon a visit to them, and particularly to see Mary 
 Penington's daughter Guli, who had been ill of the small-pox 
 since I had been there before. Betwixt Mary Penington and 
 this friend I observed some private discourse and whisperings, 
 and I had an apprehension that it was upon something that 
 concerned me. Wherefore I took the freedom to ask Mary 
 Penington if my coming thither had occasioned any inconveni- 
 ence in the family. She asked me if I had had the small-pox ; 
 I told her no. She then told me her daughter had newly 
 had them, and though she was well recovered of them, she 
 had not as yet been down amongst them, but intended to 
 have come down and sat with them in the parlour that 
 evening, yet would rather forbear till another time, than 
 endanger me ; and that that was the matter they had been dis- 
 coursing of I assured her that I had always been, and then 
 more especially was, free from any apprehension of danger in 
 that respect, and therefore entreated that her daughter might 
 come down. And although they were somewhat unwilling 
 to yield to it, in regard to me, yet my importunity prevailed, 
 and after supper she did come down and sit with us ; and 
 though the marks of the distemper were fresh upon her, yet 
 they made no impression upon me, faith keeping out fear. 
 
 We spent much of the evening in retiredness of mind, our 
 spirits being weightily gathered inward, so that not much 
 discourse passed among us ; neither they to me, nor I to 
 them offered any occasion. Yet I had good satisfaction in 
 that stillness, feeling my spirit drawn near to the Lord, and 
 to them therein. 
 
 Before I went to bed they let me know that there was to 
 be a meeting at Wiccomb next day, and that some of the 
 
30 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 family would go to it. I was very glad of it, for I greatly 
 desired to go to meetings, and this fell very aptly, it being 
 in my way home. Next morning Isaac Penington himself 
 went, having Anne Curtis with him, and I accompanied them. 
 
 At Wiccomb we met with Edward Burrough, who came 
 from Oxford thither that day that I, going thither, met him 
 on the way ; and having both our montier-caps on, we recol- 
 lected that we had met, and passed by each other on the 
 road unknown. 
 
 This was a monthly meeting, consisting of friends chiefly, 
 who gathered to it from several parts of the country there- 
 abouts, so that it was pretty large, and was held in a fair 
 room in Jeremiah Stevens' ^ house ; the room where I had 
 been at a meeting before, in John Raunce's house, being too 
 little to receive us. 
 
 A very good meeting was this in itself and to me. Edward 
 Burrough's ministry came forth among us in life and power, 
 and the assembly was covered therewith. I also, according 
 to my small capacity, had a share therein ; for I felt some of 
 that divine power working my spirit into a great tenderness, 
 and not only confirming me in the course I had already 
 entered, and strengthening me to go on therein, but rending 
 also the veil somewhat further, and clearing my understanding 
 in some other things which I had not seen before. For the 
 Lord was pleased to make His discoveries to me by degrees, 
 that the sight of too great a work, and too many enemies to 
 encounter with at once, might not discourage me and make 
 me feint. 
 
 When the meeting was ended, the friends of the town 
 taking notice that I was the man that had been at their 
 meeting the week before, whom they then did not know, 
 some of them came and spake lovingly to me, and would 
 have had me stay with them ; but Edward Burrough going 
 home with Isaac Penington, he invited me to go back with 
 him, which I willingly consented to. For the love I had more 
 
 ' [Jeremiah Stevens, was one of those arrested at Edward Parrot's 
 funeral, as described below.] 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 31 
 
 particularly to Edward Burrough, through whose ministry I 
 had received the first awakening stroke, drew me to desire 
 his company ; and so away we rode together. 
 
 But I was somewhat disappointed of my expectation, for I 
 hoped he would have given me both opportunity and encourage- 
 ment to have opened myself to him, and to have poured forth 
 my complaints, fears, doubts and questionings into his bosom. 
 But he, being sensible that I was truly reached, and that the 
 witness of God was raised and the work of God rightly begun 
 in me, chose to leave me to the guidance of the good Spirit 
 in myself (the Counsellor that could resolve all doubts), that 
 I might not have any dependance on man. Wherefore, 
 although he was naturally of an open and free temper and 
 carriage, and was afterwards always very familiar and affection- 
 ately kind to me, yet at this time he kept himself somewhat 
 reserved and showed only common kindness to me. 
 
 Next day we parted. He for London, I for home, under a 
 very great weight and exercise upon my spirit. For I now 
 saw, in and by the farther openings of the Divine Light in rae, 
 that the Enemy, by his false reasonings, had beguiled and 
 misled me with respect to my carriage towards my father. 
 For I now clearly saw that the honour due to parents did not 
 consist in uncovering the head and bowing the body to them, 
 but in a ready obedience to their lawful commands, and in 
 performing all needful services unto them. Wherefore, as I 
 was greatly troubled for what I already had done in that case, 
 though it was through ignorance, so I plainly felt I could no 
 longer continue therein without drawing upon myself the 
 guilt of wilful disobedience ; which I well knew would draw 
 after it Divine displeasure and judgment. 
 
 Hereupon the Enemy assaulted me afresh, setting before 
 me the danger I should run myself into of provoking my 
 father to use severity towards me ; and perhaps to be casting 
 me utterly off. But over this temptation the Lord, whom I 
 cried unto, supported me, and gave me faith to believe that 
 He would bear me through whatever might befal me on 
 that account. Wherefore I resglvedj io the strength which 
 
32 THE HISTORY OF [i659 
 
 He should give me, to be faithful to His requirings, whatever 
 might come of it. 
 
 Thus labouring under various exercises on the way, I at 
 length got home, expecting I should have but a rough recep- 
 tion from my father. But when I came home, I understood 
 my father was from home. Wherefore I sat down by the 
 fire in the kitchen, keeping my mind retired to the Lord, 
 with breathings of spirit to Him, that I might be preserved 
 from falling. 
 
 After some time I heard the coach drive in, which put me 
 into a little fear, and a sort of shivering came over me. But 
 by that time he was alighted and come in I had pretty well 
 recovered myself; and as soon as I saw him I rose up and 
 advanced a step or two towards him, with my head covered, 
 and said, " Isaac Penington and his wife remember their 
 loves to thee". 
 
 He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing that I 
 did not stand bare, and that I used the word thee to him, he, 
 with a stem countenance, and tone that spake high dis- 
 pleasure, only said, " I shall talk with you, sir, another time " ; 
 and so hastening from me, went into the parlour, and I saw 
 him no more that night. 
 
 Though I foresaw there was a storm arising, the apprehen- 
 sion of which was uneasy to me, yet the peace which I felt 
 in my own breast raised in me a return of thanksgiving to 
 the Lord for His gracious supporting hand, which had thus 
 far carried me through this exercise ; with humble cries in 
 spirit to Him that He would vouchsafe to stand by me in it 
 to the end, and uphold me, that I might not fall. 
 
 My spirit longed to be among friends, and to be at some 
 meeting with them on the First day, which now drew on, 
 this being the' Sixth-day night. Wherefore I purposed to go 
 to Oxford on the morrow (which was the Seventh day of the 
 week), having heard there was a meeting there. Accordingly, 
 having ordered my horse to be made ready betimes, I got up 
 in the morning and made myself ready also. Yet before I 
 would go (that I might be as observant to my father as 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 33 
 
 possibly I could) I desired my sister to go up to him in his 
 chamber, and acquaint him that I had a mind to go to 
 Oxford, and desired to know if he pleased to command me 
 any service there. He bid her tell me he would not have me 
 go till he had spoken with me ; and getting up immediately, 
 he hastened down to me before he was quite dressed. 
 
 As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on, his passion 
 transporting him, he fell upon me with both his fists, and 
 having by that means somewhat vented his anger, he plucked 
 off my hat and threw it away. Then stepping hastily out to 
 the stable, and seeing my borrowed nag stand ready saddled 
 and bridled, he asked his man whence that horse came ; 
 
 who telling him he fetched it from Mr. Such-an-one's ; 
 
 " Then ride him presently back," said my father, " and tell 
 
 Mr. I desire he will never lend my son a horse again 
 
 unless he brings a note from me ". 
 
 The poor fellow, who loved me well, would fain have 
 made excuses and delays ; but my father was positive in his 
 command, and so urgent, that he would not let him stay so 
 much as to take his breakfast (though he had five miles to 
 ride), nor would he himself stir from the stable till he had 
 seen the man mounted and gone. 
 
 Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to make 
 himself more fully ready, thinking he had me safe enough 
 now my horse was gone ; for I took so much delight in riding 
 that I seldom went on foot. 
 
 But while he was dressing himself in his chamber I (who 
 understood what had been done), changing my boots for 
 shoes, took another hat, and acquainting my sister, who 
 loved me very well, and whom I could confide in, whither 
 I meant to go, went out privately, and walked away to 
 Wiccorab, having seven long miles thither, which yet seemed 
 little and easy to me, from the desire I had to be among 
 friends. 
 
 As thus I travelled all alone, under a load of grief, from 
 the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I was to 
 expect from my father, the Enemy took advantage to assault 
 
 3 
 
34 THE HISTORY OF [mg 
 
 me again, casting a doubt into my mind whether I had done 
 well in thus coming away from my father without his leave 
 or knowledge. 
 
 I was quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this question 
 was darted into me ; but after that, disturbance and trouble 
 seized upon me, so that I was at a stand what to do — whether 
 to go forward or backward. Fear of offending inclined me to 
 go back, but desire of the meeting, and to be with friends, 
 pressed me to go forward. 
 
 I stood still awhile to consider and weigh as well as I could 
 the matter. I was sensibly satisfied that I had not left my 
 father with any intention of undutifulness or disrespect to 
 him, but merely in obedience to that drawing of spirit, which 
 I was persuaded was of the Lord, to join with His people in 
 worshipping Him ; and this made me easy. 
 
 But then the Enemy, to make me uneasy again, objected, 
 " But how could that drawing be of the Lord which drew me 
 to disobey my father .'' " 
 
 I considered thereupon the extent of paternal power, which 
 I found was not wholly arbitrary and unlimited, but had 
 bounds set unto it ; so that as in civil matters it was restrained 
 to things lawful ; so in spiritual and religious cases it had not 
 a compulsory power over conscience, which ought to be 
 subject to the heavenly Father. And therefore, though 
 obedience to parents be enjoined to children yet it is with 
 this limitation in the Lord : Children, obey your parents in 
 the Lord ; for this is right" (Eph. vi. 1). 
 
 This turned the scale for going forward, and so on I went. 
 And yet I was not wholly free from some fluctuations of 
 mind, from the besettings of the Enemy. Wherefore, although 
 I knew that outward signs did not properly belong to the 
 gospel dispensation, yet for my better assurance I did, in fear 
 and great humility, beseech the Lord that He would be 
 pleased so far to condescend to the weakness of His servant 
 as to give me a sign by which I might certainly know whether 
 my way was right before Him or not. 
 
 The sign which I asked was, " That if I had done wrong in 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 35 
 
 coming as I did, I might be rejected or but coldly received at 
 the place I was going to ; but if this mine undertaking was 
 right in His sight, He would give me favour with them I 
 went to, so that they should receive me with hearty kindness 
 and demonstrations of love ". Accordingly, when I came to 
 John Ranee's house (which, being so much a stranger to all, I 
 chose to go to, because I understood the meeting was com- 
 monly held there), they received me with more than ordinary 
 kindness, especially Frances Ranee, John Ranee's then wife, 
 who was both a grave and motherly woman, and had a hearty 
 love to truth, and tenderness towards all that in sincerity 
 sought after it. And this so kind reception, confirming me 
 in the belief that my undertaking was approved of by the 
 Lord, gave great satisfaction and ease to my mind ; and I 
 was thankfiil to the Lord therefor. 
 
 Thus it fared with me there ; but at home it fared other- 
 wise with my father. He, supposing I had betaken myself 
 to my chamber when he took my hat from me, made no 
 inquiry after me till evening came ; and then, sitting by the 
 fire and considering that the weather was very cold, he said 
 to my sister, who sat by him : " Go up to your brother's 
 chamber, and call him down ; it may be he will sit there 
 else, in a sullen fit, till he has caught cold". "Alas! sir," 
 said she, "he is not in his chamber, nor in the house neither." 
 At that my father, startling, said : " Why, where is he then ?" 
 — "I know not, sir," said she, "where he is; but I know 
 that when he saw you had sent away his horse he put on 
 shoes, and went out on foot, and I have not seen him since. 
 And indeed, sir," added she, " I don't wonder at his going 
 away, considering how you used him." This put my father 
 into a great fright, doubting I was gone quite away ; and so 
 great a passion of grief seized on him, that he forebore not 
 to weep, and to cry out aloud, so that the family heard him : 
 " Oh, my son ! I shall never see him more ; for he is of so bold 
 and resolute a spirit that he will run himself into danger, and 
 so may be thrown into some gaol or other, where he may lie 
 and die before I can hear of him ". Then bidding her light 
 
36 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 him up to his chamber, he went immediately to bed, where 
 he lay restless and groaning, and often bemoaning himself and 
 me, for the greater part of the night. 
 
 Next morning my sister sent a man (whom for his love to 
 me she knew she could trust) to give me this account ; and 
 though by him she sent me also fresh linen for my use, in 
 case I should go farther or stay out longer, yet she desired 
 me to come home as soon as I could. 
 
 This account was very uneasy to me. I was much grieved 
 that I had occasioned so much grief to my father ; and I 
 would have returned that evening after the meeting, but the 
 friends would not permit it, for the meeting would in all likeli- 
 hood end late, the days being short, and the way was long 
 and dirty. And besides, John Ranee told me that he had 
 something on his mind to speak to my father, and that if I 
 would stay till the next day he would go down with me, 
 hoping, perhaps, that while my father was under this sorrow 
 for me he might work some good upon him. Hereupon 
 concluding to stay till the morrow, I dismissed the man with 
 the things he brought, bidding him tell my sister I intended, 
 God willing, to return home to-morrow, and charging him 
 not to let anybody else know that he had seen me, or where 
 he had been. 
 
 Next morning John Ranee and I set out, and when we 
 were come to the end of the town we agreed that he should 
 go before and knock at the great gate, and I would come a 
 little after, and go in by the back way. He did so ; and 
 when a servant came to open the gate he asked if the Justice 
 was at home. She told him, yes ; and desiring him to come 
 in and sit down in the hall, went and acquainted her master 
 that there was one wio desired to speak with him. He, 
 supposing it was one that came for justice, went readily into 
 the hall to him ; but he was not a little surprised when he 
 found it was a Quaker. Yet not knowing on what account 
 he came, he stayed to hear his business ; but when he found 
 it was about me he fell somewhat sharply on him. 
 
 In this time I was come by the back way into the kitchen. 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 37 
 
 and hearing my father's voice so loud, I began to doubt things 
 wrought not well ; but I was soon assured of that. For my 
 father having quickly enough of a Quaker's company, left 
 John Ranee in the hall, and came into the kitchen, where he 
 was more surprised to find me. 
 
 The sight of my hat upon my head made him presently 
 forget that I was that son of his whom he had so lately 
 lamented as lost ; and his passion of grief turning into anger, 
 he could not contain himself, but running upon me with both 
 his hands, first violently snatched off my hat and threw it 
 away, then giving me some buffets on my head, he said, 
 " Sirrah, get you up to your chamber ". 
 
 I forthwith went, he following me at the heels, and now 
 and then giving me a whirret on the ear, which, the way to 
 my chamber lying through the hall where John Ranee was, 
 he, poor man, might see and be sorry for (as I doubt not but 
 he was), but could not help me. 
 
 This was surely an unaccountable thing, that my father 
 should but a day before express so high a sorrow for me, as 
 fearing he should never see me any more, and yet now, so 
 soon as he did see me, should fly upon me with such violence, 
 and that only because I did not put off my hat, which he knew 
 I did not put on in disrespect to him, but upon a religious 
 principle. But as this hat-honour (as it was accounted) was 
 grown to be a great idol, in those times more especially, so 
 the Lord was pleased to engage His servants in a steady 
 testimony against it, what suffering soever was brought upon 
 them for it. And though some who have been called into 
 the Lord's vineyard at later hours, and since the heat of that 
 day hath been much over, may be apt to account this testi- 
 mony a small thing to suffer so much upon, as some have done, 
 not only to beating, but to fines and long and hard imprison- 
 ments ; yet they who, in those times, were faithfully exercised 
 in and under it, durst not despise the day of small things, as 
 knowing that he who should do so would not be thought 
 worthy to be concerned in higher testimonies. 
 
 I had now lost one of my hats, and I had but one more. 
 
38 THE HISTOEY OF [16.59 
 
 That therefore I put on, but did not keep it long ; for the 
 next time my father saw it on my head he tore it violently 
 from me, and laid it up with the other, I knew not where. 
 Wherefore I put on my mountier-cap, which was all I had left 
 to wear on my head, and it was but a very little while that I 
 had that to wear, for as soon as my father came where I was 
 I lost that also. And now I was forced to go bareheaded 
 wherever I had occasion to go, within doors and without. 
 
 This was in the eleventh month, called January, and the 
 weather sharp ; so that I, who had been bred up more tenderly, 
 took so great a cold in my head that my face and head were 
 much swollen, and my gums had on them boils so sore that I 
 could neither chew meat nor without difficulty swallow liquids. 
 It held long, and I underwent much pain, without much pity 
 except from my poor sister, who did what she could to give 
 me ease ; and at length, by frequent applications of figs and 
 stoned raisins roasted, and laid to the boils as hot as I could 
 bear them, they ripened fit for lancing, and soon after sunk ; 
 then I had ease. 
 
 Now was I laid up as a kind of prisoner for the rest of the 
 winter, having no means to go forth among fi-iends, nor they 
 liberty to come to me. Wherefore I spent the time much in 
 my chamber, in waiting on the Lord, and in reading, mostly 
 in the Bible. 
 
 But whenever I had occasion to speak to my father, though 
 I had no hat now to offend him, yet my language did as much ; 
 for I durst not say "you" to him, but "thou" or "thee," as 
 the occasion required, and then would he be sure to fell on 
 me with his fists. 
 
 At one of these times. I remember, when he had beaten me 
 in that manner, he commanded me, as he commonly did at 
 such times, to go to my chamber, which I did, and he followed 
 me to the bottom of the stairs. Being come thither, he gave 
 me a parting blow, and in a very angry tone said : " Sirrah, if 
 ever I hear you say ' thou ' or ' thee ' to me again, I'll strike 
 your teeth down your throat ". I was greatly grieved to hear 
 him say so. And feeling a word rise in my heart unto him, I 
 
1659] THOMAS ELL WOOD 39 
 
 turned again, and calmly said unto him : " Would it not be 
 just if God should serve thee so, when thou sayest Thou or 
 Thee to Him ?" Though his hand was up, I saw it sink and 
 his countenance fall, and he turned away and left me standing 
 there. But I, notwithstanding^ went up into my chamber, 
 and cried unto the Lord, earnestly beseeching Him that He 
 would be pleased to open my father's eyes, that he might see 
 whom he fought against, and for what ; and that He would 
 turn his heart. 
 
 After this I had a pretty time of rest and quiet from these 
 disturbances, my father not saying anything to me, nor giving 
 me occasion to say anything to him. But I was still under a 
 kind of confinement, unless I would have run about the country 
 bareheaded like a madman, which I did not see it was my 
 place to do. For I found that, although to be abroad and at 
 liberty among my friends would have been more pleasant to 
 me, yet home was at present my proper place, a school in 
 which I was to learn with patience to bear the cross ; and I 
 willingly submitted to it. 
 
 But after some time a fresh storm, more fierce and sharp 
 than any before, arose and fell upon me ; the occasion thereof 
 was this : My fether, having been in his younger years, more 
 especially while he lived in London, a constant hearer of those 
 who are called Puritan preachers, had stored up a pretty stock 
 of Scripture knowledge, did sometimes (not constantly, nor 
 very often) cause his family to come together on a First day in 
 the evening, and expound a chapter to them and pray. His 
 family now, as well as his estate, was lessen'd ; for my mother 
 was dead, my brother gone, and my elder sister at London ; 
 and having put off his husbandry, he had put off with it most of 
 his servants, so that he had now but one man and one maid- 
 servant. It so fell out that on a First-day night he bade my 
 sister, who sat with him in the parlour, call in the servants to 
 prayer. 
 
 Whether this was done as a trial upon me or no, I know 
 not, but a trial it proved to me ; for they, loving me very well 
 and disliking my father's carriage to me, made no haste to go 
 
40 THE HISTORY OF [1659 
 
 in, but stayed a second summons. This so oiTended him that 
 when at length they did go in, he, instead of going to prayer, 
 examined them why they came not in when they were first 
 called ; and the answer they gave him being such as rather 
 heightened than abated his displeasure, he with an angry tone 
 said : " Call in that fellow " (meaning me, who was left alone 
 in the kitchen), " for he is the cause of all this ". They, as 
 they were backward to go in themselves, so were not forward 
 to call me in, fearing the effect of my father's displeasure would 
 fall upon me, as it soon did ; for I, hearing what was said, 
 and not staying for the call, went in of myself. And as soon 
 as I was come in, my father discharged his displeasure on me 
 in very sharp and bitter expressions, which drew from me (in 
 the grief of my heart, to see him so transported with passion) 
 these few words : " They that can pray with such a spirit, let 
 'em ; for my part, I cannot ". With that my father flew 
 upon me with both his fists, and not thinking that sufficient, 
 stepped hastily to the place where his cane stood, and catch- 
 ing that up, laid on me, I thought, with all his strength. 
 And I, being bareheaded, thought his blows must needs have 
 broken my skull had I not laid mine arm over my head to 
 defend it. 
 
 His man seeing this, and not able to contain himself, stept 
 in between us, and laying hold on the cane, by strength of 
 hand held it so fast, that though he attempted not to take it 
 away, yet he withheld my father from striking with it, which 
 did but enrage him the more. I disliked this in the man, and 
 bade him let go the cane and begone, which he immediately 
 did, and turning to be gone, had a blow on his shoulders for 
 his pains, which did not much hurt him. 
 
 But now my sister, feffing lest my father should fall upon 
 me again, besought him to forbear, adding : " Indeed, sir, if 
 you strike him any more, I will throw open the casement and 
 cry out murder, for I am afraid you will kill my brother . 
 This stopped his hand, and after some threatening speeches 
 he commanded me to get to my chamber, which I did, as I 
 always did whenever he bid me. 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 41 
 
 Thither, soon after, my sister followed me, to see my arm 
 and dress it, for it was indeed very much bruised and swelled 
 between the wrist and the elbow, and in some places the skin 
 was broken and beaten off. But though it was very sore, and 
 I felt for some time much pain in it, yet I had peace and 
 quietness in my mind, being more grieved for my father than 
 for myself, who I knew had hurt himself more than me. 
 
 This was, so far as I remember, the last time that ever my 
 father called his family to prayer ; and this was also the last 
 time that he ever fell, so severely at least, upon me. 
 
 Soon after this my elder sister, who in all the time of these 
 exercises of mine had been at London, returned home, much 
 troubled to find me a Quaker, a name of reproach and great 
 contempt then, and she, being at London, had received, 
 I suppose, the worst character of them. Yet though she 
 disliked the people, her affectionate regard for me made 
 her rather pity than despise me, and the more when she 
 understood what hard usage I had met with. 
 
 The rest of the winter I spent in a lonesome solitary life, 
 having none to converse with, none to unbosom myself unto, 
 none to ask counsel of, none to seek relief from, but the Lord 
 alone, who yet was more than all. And yet the company 
 and society of faithful and judicious friends would, I thought, 
 have been very welcome as well as helpful to me in my 
 spiritual travel, in which I thought I made slow progress, my 
 soul breathing after further attainments, the sense of which 
 drew from me the following lines : — 
 
 The winter tree 
 Resembles me. 
 
 Whose sap lies in its root : 
 The spring draws nigh ; 
 As it, so I 
 
 Shall bud, I hope, and shoot. 
 
 At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Penington and 
 his wife to make a visit to my father, and see how it fared 
 with me ; and very welcome they were to me, whatever they 
 were to him ; to whom I doubt not but they would have been 
 more welcome had it not been for me. 
 
42 THE HISTORY OF [1660 
 
 They tarried with us all night, and much discourse they 
 had with my father, both about the principles of truth in 
 general, and me in particular, which I was not privy to. But 
 one thing I remember I afterwards heard of, which was this : — 
 
 When my father and I were at their house some months 
 before, Mary Penington, in some discourse between them, 
 had told him how hardly her husband's father (Alderman 
 Penington) had dealt with him about his hat ; which my 
 father (little then thinking that it would, and so soon too, 
 be his own case) did very much censure the alderman for, 
 wondering that so wise a man as he was should take notice 
 of such a trivial thing as the putting off or keeping on a 
 hat ; and he spared not to blame him liberally for it. 
 
 This gave her a handle to take hold of him by ; and having 
 had an ancient acquaintance with him, and he having always 
 had a high opinion of and respect for her, she, who was a 
 woman of great wisdom, of ready speech, and of a well- 
 resolved spirit, did press so close upon him with this home 
 argument, that he was utterly at a loss how to defend himself. 
 
 After dinner next day, when they were ready to take coach 
 to return home, she desired my father that, since my company 
 was so little acceptable to him, he would give me leave to go 
 and spend some time with them, where I should be sure to 
 be welcome. 
 
 He was very unwilling I should go, and made many objec- 
 tions against it, all which she answered and removed so 
 clearly, that not finding what excuse further to allege, he at 
 length left it to me, and I soon turned the scale for going. 
 
 We were come to the coach-side before this was concluded 
 on, and I was ready to step in, when one of my sisters 
 privately put my father^n mind that I had never a hat on. 
 That somewhat startled him, for he did not think it fit I 
 should go from home (and that so far and to stay abroad) 
 without a hat. Wherefore he whispered to her to fetch me 
 a hat, and he entertained them with some discourse in the 
 meantime. But as soon as he saw the hat coming he would 
 not stay till it came, lest I should put it on before him, but 
 
1660] THOMAS ELL WOOD 43 
 
 breaking off his discourse abruptly, took his leave of them, 
 and hastened in before the hat was brought to me. 
 
 I had not one penny of money about me, nor any indeed 
 elsewhere ; for my father, so soon as he saw that I would 
 be a Quaker, took from me both what money I had and 
 everything else of value, or that would have made money, 
 as some plate buttons, rings, etc., pretending that he would 
 keep them for me till I came to myself again, lest I in the 
 meantime should destroy them. 
 
 But as I had no money, so being among my friends I had 
 no need of any, nor ever honed ^ after it ; though once upon 
 a particular occasion I had liked to have wanted it. The 
 case was thus : — 
 
 I had been at Reading, and set out from thence on the 
 first day of the week, in the morning, intending to reach (as 
 in point of time I well might) Isaac Penington's, where the 
 meeting was to be that day ; but when I came to Maiden- 
 head, a thoroughfair town on the way, I was stopped by the 
 watch for riding on that day. 
 
 The watchman, laying hold on the bridle, told me I must 
 go with him to the constable ; and accordingly I, making no 
 resistance, suffered him to lead my horse to the constable's 
 door. When we were come there the constable told me I 
 must go before the warden, who was the chief officer of that 
 town, and bade the watchman bring me on, himself walking 
 before. 
 
 Being come to the warden's door, the constable knocked, 
 and desired to speak with Mr. Warden. He thereupon 
 quickly coming to the door, the constable said : " Sir, I have 
 brought a man here to you whom the watch took riding 
 through the town". The warden was a budge old man; 
 and I looked somewhat big too, having a good gelding under 
 me, and a good riding-coat on my back, both which my 
 friend Isaac Penington had kindly accommodated me with for 
 that journey. 
 
 ' [" Honed," longed, hankered.] 
 
44 THE HISTOEY OF [1660 
 
 The warden therefore taking me to be (as the saying is) 
 somebody, put off his hat and made a low congee to me ; but 
 when he saw that I sat still, and neither bowed to him nor 
 moved my hat, he gave a start, and said to the constable : 
 " You said you had brought a man, but he don't behave 
 himself like a man". 
 
 I sat still upon my horse and said not a word, but kept my 
 mind retired to the Lord, waiting to see what this would 
 come to. 
 
 The warden then began to examine me, asking me whence 
 I came and whither I was going ; I told him I came from 
 Reading and was going to Chalfont. He asked me why I 
 did travel on that day ; I told him I did not know that it 
 would give any oEFence barely to ride or walk on that day, 
 so long as I did not carry or drive any carriage or horses 
 laden with burthens. "Why," said he, "if your business was 
 urgent, did you not take a pass from the mayor of Reading .i" " 
 — " Because," replied I, " I did not know nor think I should 
 have needed one." — "Well," said he, "I will not talk with 
 you now, because it is time to go to church, but I will 
 examine you further anon." And turning to the constable, 
 "Have him," said he, "to an inn, and bring him before me 
 after dinner". 
 
 The naming of an inn put me in mind that such public- 
 houses were places of expense, and I knew I had no money 
 to defray it. Wherefore I said to the warden : " Before thou 
 sendest me to an inn, which may occasion some expense, I 
 think it needful to acquaint thee that I have no money". 
 
 At that the warden startled again, and turning quick 
 upon me, said : " How ! no money ! How can that be ? 
 You don't look like a man that has no money."- — ■" However 
 I look," said I, " I tell thee the truth, that I have no money ; 
 and I tell it to forewarn thee, that thou mayest not bring any 
 charge upon the town." — " I wonder," said he, "what art you 
 have got, that you can travel without money ; you can do 
 more, I assure you, than I can." 
 
 I making no answer, he went on and said : " Well, well ! 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 45 
 
 but if you have no money, you have a good horse under you, 
 and we can distrain him for the charge ". — " But," said I, 
 " the horse is not mine." — " No," said he ; " but you have a 
 good coat on your back, and that I hope is your own." — 
 " No," said I, " but it is not, for I borrowed both the horse 
 and the coat." 
 
 With that the warden, holding up his hands and smiling, 
 said : " Bless me ! I never met with such a man as you are 
 before. What ! were you set out by the parish ? " Then 
 turning to the constable, he said : " Have him to the Grey- 
 hound, and bid the people be civil to him ". Accordingly, to 
 the Greyhound I was led, my horse set up, and I put into a 
 large room, and some account, I suppose, given of me to the 
 people of the house. 
 
 This was new work to me, and what the issue of it would 
 be I could not foresee ; but being left there alone, I sat down, 
 and retired in spirit to the Lord, in whom alone my strength 
 and safety were, and begged support of Him ; even that He 
 would be pleased to give me wisdom and words to answer 
 the warden when I should come to be examined again before 
 him. 
 
 After some time, having pen, ink, and paper about me, I 
 set myself to write what I thought might be proper, if occasion 
 served, to give the warden ; and while I was writing, the 
 master of the house, being come home from his worship, sent 
 the tapster to me to invite me to dine with him. I bid him 
 tell his master that I had not any money to pay for my dinner. 
 He sent the man again to tell me I should be welcome to dine 
 with him though I had no money. I desired him to tell his 
 master that I was very sensible of his civility and kindness in 
 so courteously inviting me to his table, but I had not freedom 
 to eat of his meat unless I could have paid for it. So he went 
 on with his dinner and I with my writing. 
 
 But before I had finished what was on my mind to write, 
 the constable came again, bringing with him his fellow-con- 
 stable. This was a brisk genteel young man, a shopkeeper 
 in the town, whose name was Cherry. They saluted me very 
 
46 THE HISTORY OF [1660 
 
 civilly, and told me they were come to have me before the 
 warden. This put an end to my writing, which I put into 
 my pocket and went along with them. 
 
 Being come to the warden's, he asked me again the same 
 questions he had asked me before ; to which I gave him the 
 like answers. Then he told me the penalty I had incurred, 
 which he said was either to pay so much money or lie so 
 many hours in the stocks, and asked me which I would 
 choose ; I replied, " I shall not choose either. And," said I, 
 " I have told thee already that I have no money ; though if 
 I had, I could not so far acknowledge myself an offender as 
 to pay any. But as to lying in the stocks, I am in thy power, 
 to do unto me what it shall please the Lord to suffer thee." 
 
 When he heard that he paused awhile, and then told me, 
 " He considered that I was but a young man, and might not 
 perhaps understand the danger I had brought myself into, 
 and therefore he would not use the severity of the law upon 
 me ; but, in hopes that I would be wiser hereafter, he would 
 pass by this offence and discharge me ". 
 
 Then putting on a countenance of the greatest gravity, he 
 said to me : " But, young man, I would have you know that 
 you have not only broken the law of the land, but the law of 
 God also ; and therefore you ought to ask His forgiveness, 
 for you have highly offended Him ". — " That," said I, " I 
 would most willingly do if I were sensible that in this case I 
 had offended Him by breaking any law of His." — "Why," 
 said he, " do you question that ? " — " Yes, truly," said I ; 
 " for I do not know that any law of God doth forbid me to 
 ride on this day." 
 
 " No ! " said he ; "that's strange. Where, I wonder, were 
 you bred .'' You can read, can't you ? " — " Yes," said I, " that 
 I can." — " Don't you then read," said he, " the command- 
 ment, ' Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy. Six 
 days shalt thou labour and do all thy work ; but the seventh 
 day is the Sabbath of the Lord Thy God ; in it thou shalt not 
 do any work'." — "Yes," replied I, "I have both read it 
 often, and remember it very well. But that commandment 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 47 
 
 was given to the Jews, not to Christians ; and this is not that 
 day, for that was the seventh day, but this is the first." — 
 " How," said he, " do you know the days of the week no 
 better ? You had need then be better taught." 
 
 Here the younger constable, whose name was Cherry, 
 interposing, said : " Mr. Warden, the gentleman is in the 
 right as to that, for this is the first day of the week, and not 
 the seventh ". 
 
 This the old warden took in dudgeon, and looking severely 
 on the constable, said : " What ! do you take upon you to 
 teach me ? I'll have you know I will not be taught by you." 
 — "As you please for that, sir," said the constable; "but I 
 am sure you are mistaken in this point ; for Saturday I know 
 is the seventh day, and you know yesterday was Saturday." 
 
 This made the warden hot and testy, and put him almost 
 out of all patience, so that I feared it would have come to 
 a downright quarrel betwixt them, for both were confident 
 and neither would yield ; and so earnestly were they engaged 
 in the contest, that there was no room for me to put in a word 
 between them. 
 
 At length the old man, having talked himself out of wind, 
 stood still awhile as it were to take breath, and then be- 
 thinking himself of me, he turned to me and said : " You 
 are discharged, and may take your liberty to go about your 
 occasions". — "But," said I, "I desire my horse may be 
 discharged too, else I know not how to go." — "Ay, ay," 
 said he, " you shall have your horse ; " and turning to the 
 other constable, who had not offended him, he said : " Go, 
 see that his horse be delivered to him". 
 
 Away thereupon went I with that constable, leaving the old 
 warden and the young constable to compose their difference 
 as they could. Being come to the inn, the constable called 
 for my horse to be brought out ; which done, I immediately 
 mounted, and began to set forward. But the hostler, not 
 knowing the condition of my pocket, said modestly to me : 
 " Sir, don't you forget to pay for your horse's standing .-' " — 
 " No, truly," said I, " I don't forget it ; but I have no money 
 
48 THE HISTOEY OF [1660 
 
 to pay it with, and so I told the warden before." — "Well, 
 hold your tongue," said the constable to the hostler ; " I'll 
 see you paid." Then opening the gate, they let me out, the 
 constable wishing me a good journey, and through the town 
 I rode without further molestation ; though it was as much 
 Sabbath, I thought, when I went out as it was when I came 
 in. 
 
 A secret joy arose in me as I rode on the way, for that I 
 had been preserved from doing or saying anything which 
 might give the adversaries of truth advantage against it, or 
 the friends of it, and praises sprang in my thankful heart to 
 the Lord, my preserver. 
 
 It added also not a little to my joy that I felt the Lord 
 near unto me, by His witness in my heart, to check and warn 
 me ; and my spirit was so far subjected to Him as readily to 
 take warning, and stop at His check ; an instance of both that 
 very morning I had. 
 
 For as I rode between Reading and Maidenhead I saw 
 lying in my way the scabbard of a hanger, which, having lost 
 its hook, had slipped off, I suppose, and dropped from the 
 side of the wearer ; and it had in it a pair of knives, whose 
 hafts being inlaid with silver, seemed to be of some value. I 
 alighted and took it up, and clapping it between my thigh 
 and the saddle, rode on a little way ; but I quickly found it 
 too heavy for me, and the reprover in me soon began to check. 
 The word arose in me, "What hast thou to do with that? 
 Doth it belong to thee ? " I felt I had done amiss in taking 
 it ; wherefore I turned back to the place where it lay, and 
 laid it down where I found it. And when afterwards I was 
 stopped and seized on at Maidenhead, I saw there was a 
 Providence in not bringii% it with me ; which, if it should 
 have been found (as it needs must) under my coat when I 
 came to be unhorsed, might have raised some evil suspicion 
 or sinister thoughts concerning me. 
 
 The stop I met with at Maidenhead had spent me so much 
 time that when I came to Isaac Penington's the meeting there 
 was half over, which gave them occasion after meeting to 
 
1660] THOMAS ELL WOOD 49 
 
 inquire of me if anything had befallen me on the way which 
 had caused me to come so late : whereupon I related to them 
 what exercise I had met with, and how the Lord had helped 
 me through it : which when they had heard, they rejoiced 
 with me, and for my sake. 
 
 Great was the love and manifold the kindness which I 
 received from these my worthy friends, Isaac and Mary Pen- 
 ington, while I abode in their family. They were indeed as 
 affectionate parents and tender nurses to me in this time of my 
 religious childhood. For besides their weighty and seasonable 
 counsels and exemplary conversations, they furnished me with 
 means to go to the other meetings of Friends in that country, 
 when the meeting was not in their own house. And, indeed, 
 the time I stayed with them was so well spent, that it not 
 only yielded great satisfaction to my mind but turned in good 
 measure to my spiritual advantage in the truth. 
 
 But that I might not, on the one hand, bear too hard upon 
 my friends, nor on the other hand forget the house of 
 thraldom, after I had staid with them some six or seven 
 weeks (from the time called Easter to the time called Whit- 
 suntide) I took my leave of them to depart home, intending 
 to walk to Wycomb in one day, and from thence home in 
 another. 
 
 That day that I came home I did not see my father, nor 
 until noon the next day, when I went into the parlour, where 
 he was, to take my usual place at dinner. 
 
 As soon as I came in I observed by my father's countenance 
 that my hat was still an offence to him ; but when I was sitten 
 down, and before I had eaten anything, he made me under- 
 stand it more fully by saying to me, but in a milder tone than 
 he had formerly used to speak to me in, " If you cannot 
 content yourself to come to dinner without your hive on your 
 head (so he called my hat), pray rise, and go take your dinner 
 somewhere else". 
 
 Upon those words I arose from the table, and leaving the 
 room went into the kitchen, where I stayed till the servants 
 went to dinner, and then sat down very contentedly with 
 4 
 
50 THE HISTORY OF [1660 
 
 them. Yet I suppose my father might intend that I should 
 have gone into some other room, and there have eaten by 
 myself, but I chose rather to eat with the servants, and did so 
 from thenceforward so long as he and I lived together. And 
 from this time he rather chose, as I thought, to avoid seeing 
 me than to renew the quarrel about my hat. 
 
 My sisters, meanwhile, observing my wariness in words and 
 behaviour, and being satisfied, I suppose, that I acted upon a 
 principle of religion and conscience, carried themselves very 
 kindly to me, and did what they could to mitigate my father's 
 displeasure against me. So that I now enjoyed much more 
 quiet at home, and took more liberty to go abroad amongst 
 my friends, than I had done or could do before. And having 
 informed myself where any meetings of Friends were holden, 
 within a reasonable distance from me, I resorted to them. 
 
 At first I went to a town called Haddenham, in Bucking- 
 hamshire, five miles from my father's, where, at the house of 
 one Belson,! a few who were called Quakers did meet some- 
 times on a first day of the week ; but I found little satisfaction 
 there. Afterwards, upon further inquiry, I understood there 
 was a settled meeting at a little village called Meadle, about 
 four long miles from me, in the house of one John White, 
 which is continued there still ; and to that henceforward I 
 constantly went while I abode in that country, and was able. 
 Many a sore day's travel have I had thither and back again, 
 being commonly in the winter time (how fair soever the weather 
 was overhead) wet up to the ankles at least ; yet, through the 
 goodness of the Lord to me, I was preserved in health. 
 
 A little meeting also there was on the fourth day of the 
 week at a town called Bledlow (two miles from me), in the 
 house of one Thomas Saunders,^ who professed the truth ; 
 
 '[This is Edward Belson of Hoddenham. In i68g he had corn worth 
 £z IIS. taken out of his fields for tithe. John White of Meadle lost corn 
 and hay worth £^2 4s. in the same way in the same year.] 
 
 ^ [Thomas Saunders is mentioned as having lost goods to the value of 
 40s. taken in distress for refusing to swear. This was in 1671. He lived 
 at Ilmer, the next village to Bledlow. I have found nothing to explain 
 EUwood's innuendo.] 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 51 
 
 but his wife, whose name was Damans, did possess it (she 
 being a woman of great sincerity and lively sense), and to 
 that meeting also I usually went. 
 
 But though I took this liberty for the service of God, that 
 I might worship Him in the assemblies of His people, yet did 
 I not use it upon other occasions, but spent my time on other 
 days for the most part in my chamber, in retiredness of mind, 
 waiting on the Lord. And the Lord was graciously pleased 
 to visit me, by His quickening spirit and life, so that I came 
 to feel the operation of His power in my heart, working out 
 that which was contrary to His will, and giving me, in 
 measure, dominion over it. 
 
 And as my spirit was kept in due subjection to this Divine 
 power, I grew into a nearer acquaintance with the Lord ; and 
 the Lord vouchsafed to speak unto me in the inward of my 
 soul, and to open my understanding in His fear, to receive 
 counsel from Him ; so that I not only at some times heard His 
 voice, but could distinguish His voice from the voice of the 
 Enemy. 
 
 As thus I daily waited on the Lord a weighty and unusual 
 exercise came upon me, which bowed my spirit very low 
 before the Lord. I had seen, in the light of the Lord, the 
 horrible guilt of those deceitful priests, of divers sorts and 
 denominations, who made a trade of preaching, and for iilthy 
 lucre sake held the people always learning ; yet so taught 
 them as that, by their teaching and ministry, they were never 
 able to come to the knowledge, much less to the acknowledg- 
 ment, of the truth ; for as they themselves hated the light, 
 because their own deeds were evil, so by reviling, reproaching, 
 and blaspheming the true light, wherewith every man that 
 cometh into the world is enlightened (John i. 9), they begat 
 in the people a disesteem of the light, and laboured as much 
 as in them lay to keep their hearers in the darkness, that they 
 might not be turned to the light in themselves, lest by the 
 light they should discover the wickedness of these their 
 deceitful teachers, and turn from them. 
 
 Against this practice of these false teachers the zeal of the 
 
52 THE HISTORY OF [1660 
 
 Lord had flamed in my breast for some time ; and now the 
 burthen of the word of the Lord against them fell heavily 
 upon me, with command to proclaim His controversy against 
 them. 
 
 Fain would I have been excused from this service, which I 
 judged too heavy for me ; wherefore I besought the Lord to 
 take this weight from off me, who was in every respect but 
 young, and lay it upon some other of His servants, of whom 
 He had many who were much more able and fit for it. But 
 the Lord would not be entreated, but continued the burthen 
 upon me with greater weight ; requiring obedience from me, 
 and promising to assist me therein. Whereupon I arose from 
 my bed, and in the fear and dread of the Lord committed to 
 writing what He, in the motion of His Divine Spirit, dictated 
 to me to write. When I had done it, though the sharpness 
 of the message therein delivered was hard to my nature to be 
 the publisher of, yet I found acceptance with the Lord in my 
 obedience to His will, and His peace filled my heart. As 
 soon as I could I communicated to my friends what I had 
 written ; and it was printed in the year 1 660, in one sheet of 
 paper, under the title of " An Alarm to the Priests ; or, A 
 Message from Heaven to Forewarn them," etc. 
 
 Some time after the publishing of this paper, having 
 occasion to go to London, I went to visit George Fox ^ the 
 
 '[George Fox, the younger, was one of the few Quakers who were 
 thought to have been " immediately convinced," and not converted by 
 George Fox (Sewell, i., 73). The occasion of the imprisonment in 
 which Ellwood found him is described in Sewell, ii., 410. He had gone to 
 Harwich with Robert Graffingham to preach the truth there in May, 1660. 
 Miles Hubbard, the mayor of that town, having heard of this, stopped 
 some who were going tovthe meeting, and the rude multitude made a 
 hideous noise before the house where the meeting was kept and were for 
 pulling it down. G. Fox hearing the noise while he was preaching, grew 
 very zealous, and with a mighty power was made to say, " Woe, woe, unto 
 the rulers and teachers of this nation, who suffer such ungodliness as this 
 and do not seek to suppress it ". This was repeated to the mayor, who 
 thereon caused G. Fox to be arrested, and with him Robert Graffingham, 
 who was Admiralty shipwright at Harwich. The mayor having com- 
 mitted them to prison, sent information to the House of Commons, and on 
 2ist May, 1660, a warrant from the House of Commons was received 
 for bringing them to London, where they were placed in Lambeth House 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 53 
 
 younger, who with another Friend was then a prisoner in a 
 messenger's hands. I had never seen him, nor he me before ; 
 yet this paper lying on the table before him, he, pointing to 
 it, asked me if I was the person that wrote it. I told him I 
 was. "It's much," said the other Friend, "that they bear 
 it." "It is," replied he, "their portion, and they must bear 
 it." 
 
 While I was then in London I went to a little meeting of 
 Friends, which was then held in the house of one Humphrey 
 Bache, i a goldsmith, at the sign of the Snail, in Tower Street. 
 It was then a very troublesome time, not from the govern- 
 ment, but from the rabble of boys and rude people, who 
 upon the turn of the time (at the return of the King) took 
 liberty to be very abusive. 
 
 When the meeting ended, a pretty number of these unruly 
 folk were got together at the door, ready to receive the Friends 
 as they came forth, not only with evil words, but with blows ; 
 which I saw they bestowed freely on some of them that were 
 gone out before me, and expected I should have my share of 
 when I came amongst them. But, quite contrary to my ex- 
 pectation, when I came out, they said one to another, "Let 
 him alone ; don't meddle with him ; he is no Quaker, I'll 
 warrant you ". 
 
 This struck me, and was worse to me than if they had laid 
 their fists on me, as they did on others. I was troubled to 
 think what the matter was, or what these rude people saw in 
 me that made them not take me for a Quaker. And upon a 
 close examination of myself, with respect to my habit and 
 deportment, I could not find anything to place it on, but that 
 
 in the custody of the serjeant-at-arms. On 30th October 1660, the House 
 ordered them to be released, but as they refused to pay the Serjeant the 
 iees he demanded, being £50 for fees, and los. a week for chamber rent, 
 though their chamber " was the highest room in a lofty tower and all the 
 windows open till they had gotten them glazed without any charge to the 
 Serjeant," they were confined for some time longer before their release.] 
 ' [Humphrey Bache was afterwards arrested — possibly in his own house 
 at the sign of the Snail, on which a raid was made on the 26th May, 1662 
 — and was then confined in Newgate. He fell ill there and died soon 
 after his release.] 
 
54 THE HISTOEY OF [mo 
 
 I had then on my head a large mountier-cap of black velvet, 
 the skirt of which being turned up in folds, looked, it seems, 
 somewhat above the then common garb of a Quaker ; and this 
 put me out of conceit with my cap. 
 
 I came at this time to London from Isaac Penington's, and 
 thither I went again in my way home ; and while I stayed 
 there, amongst other Friends who came thither, Thomas Loe,i 
 of Oxford, was one. A faithful and diligent labourer he was 
 in the work of the Lord, and an excellent ministerial gift he 
 had. And I, in my zeal for truth, being very desirous that my 
 neighbours might have the opportunity of hearing the gospel, 
 the glad tidings of salvation, livingly and powerfully preached 
 among them, entered into communication with him about it ; 
 offering to procure some convenient place in the town where 
 I lived for a meeting to be held, and to invite my neighbours 
 to it, if he could give me any ground to expect his company 
 at it. He told me he was not at his own command, but at 
 the Lord's, and he knew not how He might dispose of him ; 
 but wished me, if I found when I was come home that the 
 thing continued with weight upon my mind, and that I could 
 
 '[The first Quakers who came to Oxford were two women, Elizabeth 
 Heavens and Elizabeth Fletcher, both from the North country. This was 
 in June, 1654. Their preaching gave rise to a disgraceful riot. The 
 students dragged them to the pump in St. John's College and pumped on 
 them, and then dragged them to and fro through a pool of water. Elizabeth 
 Fletcher was so bruised in the struggle that she died from the effects of it 
 some short time after. The Vice-Chancellor had them arrested and caused 
 them to be whipped out of the town in spite of the protests of the mayor. 
 This violent spirit against the Quakers continued, and Thomas Loe, who 
 was one of the principal preachers in Oxford, suffered much there. In 
 1660 he was thrown into prison on the occasion of Venner's plot (see 
 State Papers, Domestic, 1660, 15th January, for a description of the 
 persecution in Oxford). TJie fact that he had nearly succeeded in convert- 
 ing William Penn, who was then an undergraduate, may have had some 
 connection with his imprisonment. In any case, he was not released 
 with the others who were arrested at the same time, but had the oath of 
 allegiance tendered to him, and was recommitted to prison. In 1662, 
 Thomas Loe and Mary his wife were in Wexford, and going to the prison 
 to visit some Friends who were there, they were arrested and detained in 
 prison themselves. To this account it may be added that in 1656 Mary Loe 
 was imprisoned for preaching in the market-place at Marlborough. Penn's 
 final conversion was due to his meeting Thomas Loe in Ireland. Thomas 
 Loe died in London in i668 (Sewell, ii., 227.)] 
 
1660] THOMAS ELL WOOD 55 
 
 get a fit place for a meeting, I would advertise him of it by a 
 few lines directed to him in Oxford, whither he was then 
 going, and he might then let me know how his freedom stood 
 in that matter. 
 
 When therefore I was come home, and had treated with a 
 neighbour for a place to have a meeting in, I wi'ote to my 
 friend Thomas Loe, to acquaint him that I had procured a 
 place for a meeting, and would invite company to it, if he 
 would fix the time, and give me some ground to hope that he 
 would be at it. 
 
 This letter I sent by a neighbour to Thame to be given to 
 a dyer of Oxford, who constantly kept Thame market, with 
 whom I was pretty well acquainted, having sometimes 
 formerly used him not only in his way of trade, but to carry 
 letters between my brother and me when he was a student in 
 that University, for which he was always paid ; and had been 
 so careful in the delivery that our letters had always gone 
 safe until now. But this time (Providence so ordering, or at 
 least for my trial permitting it) this letter of mine, instead of 
 being delivered according to its direction, was seized and 
 carried, as I was told, to the Lord Faulkland, who was then 
 called Lord Lieutenant of that county. 
 
 The occasion of this stopping of letters at that time was 
 that mad prank of those infatuated fifth-monarchy men, who 
 fi-om their meeting-house in Coleman Street, London, breaking 
 forth in arms, under the command of their chieftain, Venner,i 
 made an insurrection in the city, on pretence of setting up the 
 kingdom of Jesus, who, it is said, they expected would come 
 down from heaven to be their leader ; so little understood 
 they the nature of His kingdom, though He Himself had 
 declared it was not of this world. 
 
 The King, a little before his arrival in England, had by his 
 declaration from Breda given assurance of liberty to tender 
 consciences, and that no man should be disquieted or called 
 in question for difference of opinion in matters of religion 
 
 ' [See introduction for some account of this.] 
 
56 THE HISTOEY OF [1660 
 
 who do not disturb the peace of the kingdom. Upon this 
 assurance dissenters of all sorts relied, and held themselves 
 secure. But now, by this frantic action of a few hot-brained 
 men^ the King was by some holden discharged from his royal 
 word and promise, in his foregoing declaration publicly given. 
 And hereupon letters were intercepted and broken open, for 
 discovery of suspected plots and designs against the govern- 
 ment ; and not only dissenters' meetings of all sorts, without 
 distinction, were disturbed, but very many were imprisoned 
 in most parts throughout the nation ; and great search there 
 was in all countries for suspected persons, who, if not found 
 at meetings, were fetched in from their own houses. 
 
 The Lord Lieutenant (so called) of Oxfordshire had on this 
 occasion taken Thomas Loe and many others of our friends at 
 a meeting, and sent them prisoners to Oxford Castle, just 
 before my letter was brought to his hand, wherein I had 
 invited Thomas Loe to a meeting ; and he, putting the worst 
 construction upon it, as if I, a poor simple lad, had intended 
 a seditious meeting, in order to raise rebellion, ordered two of 
 the deputy-lieutenants who lived nearest to me to send a 
 party of horse to fetch me in. 
 
 Accordingly, while I, wholly ignorant of what had passed 
 at Oxford, was in daily expectation of an agreeable answer to 
 my letter, came a party of horse one morning to my father's 
 gate, and asked for me. 
 
 It so fell out that my father was at that time from home, 
 I think in London ; whereupon he that commanded the party 
 alighted and came in. My eldest sister, hearing the noise of 
 soldiers, came hastily up into my chamber, and told me there 
 were soldiers below, who inquired for me. I forthwith went 
 down to them and found the commander was a barber of 
 Thame, and one who had always been my barber till I was 
 a Quaker. His name was Whately, a bold brisk fellow. 
 
 I asked him what his business was with me : he told me I 
 must go with him. I demanded to see his warrant : he laid 
 his hand on his sword, and said that was his warrant. I told 
 him though that was not a legal warrant, yet I would not 
 
1660] THOMAS ELL WOOD 57 
 
 dispute it, but was ready to bear injuries. He told me he 
 could not help it ; he was commanded to bring me forthwith 
 before the deputy-lieutenants, and therefore desired me to 
 order a horse to be got ready, because he was in haste. I let 
 him know I had no horse of my own, and would not meddle 
 with any of my father's horses, in his absence especially ; and 
 that therefore, if he would have me with him, he must carry 
 me as he could. 
 
 He thereupon taking my sister aside, told her he found I 
 was resolute, and his orders were peremptory ; wherefore he 
 desired that she would give order for a horse to be made 
 ready for me, for otherwise he should be forced to mount me 
 behind a trooper, which would be very unsuitable for me, and 
 which he was very unwilling to do. She thereupon ordered 
 a horse to be got ready, upon which, when I had taken leave 
 of my sisters, I mounted, and went off, not knowing whither 
 he intended to carry me. 
 
 He had orders, it seems, to take some others also in a 
 neighbouring village, whose names he had, but their houses 
 he did not know. Wherefore, as we rode he asked me if I 
 knew such and such men (whom he named) and where they 
 lived ; and when he understood that I knew them, he desired 
 me to show him their houses. " No," said I, " I scorn to be an 
 informer against my neighbours, to bring them into trouble." 
 He thereupon, riding to and fro, found by inquiry most of 
 their houses ; but, as it happened, found none of them at 
 home, at which I was glad. 
 
 At length he brought me to the house of one called Esquire 
 Clark, of Weston, by Thame, who, being afterwards knighted, 
 was called Sir John Clark ; a jolly man, too much addicted to 
 drinking in soberer times, but was now grown more licentious 
 that way, as the times did now more favour debauchery. 
 He and I had known one another for some years, though not 
 very intimately, having met sometimes at the Lord Wenman's 
 table. 
 
 This Clark was one of the deputy-lieutenants whom I was 
 to be brought before ; and he had gotten another thither to 
 
58 THE HISTOEY OF [i66o 
 
 join with him in tendering me the oaths, whom I knew only 
 by name and character ; he was called Esquire Knowls, of 
 Grays, by Henley, and reputed a man of better morals than 
 the other. 
 
 I was brought into the hall, and kept there ; and as Quakers 
 were not so common then as they now are (and indeed even 
 yet, the more is the pity, they are not common in that part 
 of the countiy), I was made a spectacle and gazing-stock to 
 the family, and by divers I was diversely set upon. Some 
 spake to me courteously, with appearance of compassion ; 
 others ruggedly, with evident tokens of wrath and scorn. 
 But though I gave them the hearing of what they said, which 
 I could not well avoid, yet I said little to them ; but keeping 
 my mind as well retired as I could, I breathed to the Lord 
 for help and strength from Him, to bear me up and carry 
 me through this trial, that I might not sink under it, or be 
 prevailed on by any means, fair or foul, to do anything that 
 might dishonour or displease my God. 
 
 At length came forth the justices themselves (for so they 
 were, as well as lieutenants), and after they had saluted me, 
 they discoursed with me pretty familiarly ; and though Clark 
 would sometimes be a little jocular and waggish (which was 
 somewhat natural to him), yet Knowls treated me very civilly, 
 not seeming to take any offence at my not standing bare 
 before him. And when a young priest, who as I understood 
 was chaplain in the family, took upon him pragmatically to 
 reprove me for standing with my hat on before the magis- 
 trates, and snatched my hat from off my head, Knowls, in a 
 pleasant manner, corrected him, telling him that he mistook 
 himself in taking a cap for a hat (for mine was a mountier- 
 cap), and bade him give it me again ; which he (though 
 unwillingly) doing, I forthwith put it on my head again, and 
 thenceforward none meddled with me about it. 
 
 Then they began to examine me, putting divers questions 
 to me relating to the present disturbances in the nation, 
 occasioned by the late foolish insurrrection of those frantic 
 fifth-monarchy men. To all which I readily answered, accord- 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 59 
 
 ing to the simplicity of my heart and innocency of my hands, 
 for I had neither done nor thought any evil against the 
 government. 
 
 But they endeavoured to aiFright me with threats of danger, 
 telling me (with innuendoes) that for all my pretence of 
 innocency there was high matter against me, which, if I 
 would stand out, would be brought forth, and that under my 
 own hand. I knew not what they meant by this ; but I 
 knew my innocency, and kept to it. 
 
 At length, when they saw I regarded not their threats in 
 general, they asked me if I knew one Thomas Loe, and had 
 written of late to him. I then remembered my letter, which 
 till then I had not thought of, and thereupon frankly told 
 them that I did both know Thomas Loe and had . lately 
 written to him ; but that as I knew I had written no hurt, so 
 I did not fear any danger from that letter. They shook their 
 heads, and said, " It was dangerous to write letters to appoint 
 meetings in such troublesome times ". 
 
 They added, that by appointing a meeting, and endeavour- 
 ing to gather a concourse of people together, in such a 
 juncture especially as this was, I had rendered myself a 
 dangerous person. And therefore they could do no less than 
 tender me the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, which 
 therefore they required me to take. 
 
 I told them if I could take any oath at all, I would take 
 the oath of allegiance, for I owed allegiance to the King ; but 
 I durst not take any oath, because my Lord and Master Jesus 
 Christ had commanded me not to swear at all ; and if I brake 
 His command I should thereby both dishonour and displease 
 Him. 
 
 Hereupon they undertook to reason with me, and used 
 many words to persuade me that that command of Christ 
 related only to common and profane swearing, not to swearing 
 before a magistrate. I heard them, and saw the weakness of 
 their arguings, but did not return them any answer ; for I 
 found my present business was not to dispute, but to suffer ; 
 and that it was not safe for me, in this my weak and childish 
 
60 THE HISTOEY OF [1660 
 
 state especially, to enter into reasonings with sharp, quick, 
 wittyj and learned men, lest I might thereby hurt both the 
 cause of truth, which I was to bear witness to, and myself; 
 therefore I chose rather to be a fool, and let them triumph 
 over me, than by my weakness give them advantage to triumph 
 over the truth. And my spirit being closely exercised in a 
 deep travail towards the Lord, I earnestly begged of Him that 
 He would be pleased to keep me faithful to the testimony He 
 had committed to me, and not suffer me to be taken in any of 
 the snares which the enemy laid for me. And, blessed be 
 His holy name, He heard my cries, and preserved me out of 
 them. 
 
 When the justices saw they could not bow me to their 
 wills, they told me they must send me to prison. I told 
 them I was contented to suffer whatsoever the Lord should 
 suffer them to inflict upon me. Whereupon they withdrew 
 into the parlour, to consult together what to do with me, 
 leaving me meanwhile to be gazed on in the hall. 
 
 After a pretty long stay they came forth to me again with a 
 great show of kindness, telling me they were very unwilling 
 to send me to gaol, but would be as favourable to me as 
 possibly they could, and that if I would take the oaths, they 
 would pass by all the other matter which they had against 
 me. I told them I knew they could not justly have anything 
 against me, for I had neither done nor intended anything 
 against the government, or against them. And as to the 
 oaths, I assured them that my refusing them was merely 
 matter of conscience to me, and that I durst not take any 
 oath whatsoever, if it were to save my life. 
 
 When they heard this they left me again, and went and 
 signed a mittimus to send me to prison at Oxford, and charged 
 one of the troopers that brought me thither, who was one of 
 the newly-raised militia troop, to convey me safe to Oxford. 
 But before we departed they called the trooper aside, and gave 
 him private instructions what he should do with me, which I 
 knew nothing of till I came thither, but expected I should go 
 directly to the castle, 
 
1660] THOMAS ELL WOOD 61 
 
 It was almost dark when we took horse, and we had about 
 nine or ten miles to ride, the weather thick and cold (for it 
 was about the beginning of the twelfth month), and I had no 
 boobs, being snatched away from home on a sudden, which 
 made me not care to ride very fast. And my guard, who was 
 a tradesman in Thame, having confidence in me that I would 
 not give him the slip, jogged on without heeding how I 
 followed him. 
 
 When I was gone about a mile on the way I overtook my 
 father's man, who, without my knowledge, had followed me 
 at a distance to Weston, and waited there abroad in the 
 stables till he understood by some of the servants that I was 
 to go to Oxford ; and then ran before, resolving not to leave 
 me till he saw what they would do with me. 
 
 I would have had him return home, but he desired me not 
 to send him back, but let him run on until I came to Oxford. 
 I considered that it was a token of the fellow's affectionate 
 kindness to me, and that possibly I might send my horse 
 home by him ; and thereupon stopping my horse I bid him, 
 if he would go on, get up behind me. He modestly refused, 
 telling me he could run as fast as I rid. But when I told 
 him if he would not ride he should not go forward, he, rather 
 than leave me, leap'd up behind me, and on we went. 
 
 But he was not willing I should have gone at all. He had 
 a great cudgel in his hand, and a strong arm to use it ; and 
 being a stout fellow, he had a great mind to fight the 
 trooper, and rescue me. Wherefore he desired me to turn 
 my horse and ride off, and if the trooper offered to pursue, 
 leave him to deal with him. 
 
 I checked him sharply for that, and charged him to be 
 quiet, and not think hardly of the poor trooper, who could 
 do no other nor less than he did ; and who, though he had 
 an ill journey in going with me, carried himself civilly to me. 
 I told him also that I had no need to fly, for I had done 
 nothing that would bring guilt or fear upon me, neither did 
 I go with an illwill ; and this quieted the man. So on we 
 went, but were so far cast behind the trooper, that we had 
 
62 THE HISTOEY OF [1660 
 
 lost both sight and hearing of him, and I was fain to mend 
 my pace to get up to him again. 
 
 We came pretty late into Oxford on the seventh day of 
 the week, which was the market day ; and, contrary to my 
 expectation (which was to have been carried to the castle), 
 my trooper stopped in the High Street, and calling at a shop 
 asked for the master of the house, who coming to the door, 
 he delivered to him the mittimus, and with it a letter from 
 the deputy-lieutenants (or one of them), which when he had 
 read he asked where the prisoner was. Whereupon the 
 soldier pointing to me, he desired me to alight and come in, 
 which when I did he received me civilly. 
 
 The trooper, being discharged of his prisoner, marched 
 back, and my father's man, seeing me settled in better 
 quarters that he expected, mounted my horse and went off 
 with him. 
 
 I did not presently understand the quality of my keeper, 
 but I found him a genteel courteous man, by trade a linen- 
 draper ; and, as I afberwards understood, he was the City 
 Marshal, had a command in the county troop, and was a 
 
 person of good repute in the place ; his name was 
 
 Galloway. 
 
 Whether I was committed to him out of regard to my 
 father, that I might not be thrust into a common gaol, or out 
 of a politic design to keep me from the conversation of my 
 friends, in hopes that I might be drawn to abandon this 
 profession, which I had but lately taken up, I do not know. 
 But this I know, that though I wanted no civil treatment nor 
 kind accommodations where I was, yet after once I understood 
 that many Friends were prisoners in the castle, and amongst 
 the rest Thomas Loe, I nad much rather have been among 
 them there, with all the inconveniences they underwent, 
 than where I was with the best entertainment. But this was 
 my present lot, and therefore with this I endeavoured to be 
 content. 
 
 It was quickly known in the city that a Quaker was brought 
 in prisoner, and committed to the Marshal. Whereupon (the 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 63 
 
 men Friends being generally prisoners already in the castle) 
 some of the women Friends came to me to inquire after me, 
 and to visit me; as Silas Norton's wife, and Thomas Loe's 
 wife,i who were sisters, and another woman Friend, who lived 
 in the same street where I was, whose husband was not a 
 Quaker, but kindly aifected towards them, a baker by trade, 
 
 and his name, as I remember, Ryland.^ 
 
 By some of these an account was soon given to the Friends 
 who were prisoners in the castle of my being taken up and 
 brought prisoner to the Marshal's ; whereupon it pleased the 
 Lord to move on the heart of my dear friend Thomas Loe to 
 salute me with a tender and affectionate letter in the following 
 terms : — 
 
 "My Beloved Friend, 
 
 " In the truth and love of the Lord Jesus, by which 
 life and salvation is revealed in the saints, is my dear love 
 unto thee, and in much tenderness do I salute thee. And, 
 dear heart, a time of trial God hath permitted to come upon 
 us, to try our faith and love to Him ; and this will work for 
 the good of them that through patience endure to the end. 
 And I believe God will be glorified through our sufferings, 
 and His name will be exalted in the patience and long-suffering 
 of His chosen. When I heard that thou wast called into this 
 
 ' [Thomas Loe's wife was Mary Loe (see preceding note). The name 
 of Silas Norton's wife is not mentioned in any place that I am acquainted 
 with. Silas Norton bore the brunt of the persecutions in Oxford. He 
 was imprisoned in 1662, for being at a meeting at Burford, and was again 
 arrested on 28th December, 1684, and on the 15th of January following 
 he was with others committed to prison for refusing to enter into recognis- 
 ances to traverse an indictment against him for being at a meeting.] 
 
 ^ [Thomas Ryland is one of those who signed a printed relation of the 
 barbarous treatment which the Quakers at their meetings in Oxford usually 
 met with from the students. This account, which is dated 1658, will be 
 found partly printed in Besse, i., 565. Great violence and rudeness are 
 complained of. Squibs and gunpowder were let off in the meetings, and 
 on one occasion a Quaker going from a meeting passed by Jesus College, 
 and was drawn into the college by a great multitude of the scholars who 
 " forced him up into their hall and by main strength and much violence 
 thrust him into a chair, and then used abominable and wicked words to 
 him ". He was beaten ; pins were thrust into him, and his tormentors 
 demanded whether the spirit did not move him now.] 
 
64 THE HISTORY OF [1660 
 
 trial, with the servants of the Most High, to give thy testimony 
 to the truth of what we have believed, it came into my heart 
 to write unto thee, and to greet thee with the embraces of 
 the power of an endless hfe, where our faith stands, and unity 
 is felt with the saints for ever. Well, my dear friend, let us 
 live in the pure counsel of the Lord, and dwell in His 
 strength, which gives us power and sufficiency to endure all 
 things for His name's sake ; and then our crown and reward 
 will be with the Lord for ever, and the blessings of His 
 heavenly kingdom will be our portion. Oh, dear heart, let 
 us give up all freely into the will of God, that God may be 
 glorified by us, and we comforted together in the Lord Jesus ; 
 which is the desire of my soul, 
 
 " Who am thy dear and loving friend in the eternal truth, 
 
 "Thomas Loe. 
 
 " We are more than forty here, who suffer innocently for 
 the testimony of a good conscience, because we cannot swear, 
 and break Christ's commands ; and we are all well, and the 
 blessing and presence of God is with us. Friends here salute 
 thee. Farewell ! The power and the wisdom of the Lord 
 God be with thee. Amen." 
 
 Greatly was my spirit refreshed and my heart gladded, at 
 the reading of this eonsolating letter from my friend ; and my 
 soul blessed the Lord for His love and tender goodness to me 
 in moving His servant to write thus unto me. 
 
 But I had cause soon after to double and redouble my 
 thankful acknowledgment to the Lord my God, who put it 
 into the heart of my dear friend Isaac Penington also to visit 
 me with some encouragij^g lines from Aylesbury Gaol, where 
 he was then a prisoner ; and from whence (having heard that 
 I was carried prisoner to Oxford) he thus saluted me : — 
 
 "Dear Thomas, 
 
 "Great hath been the Lord's goodness to thee in 
 calling thee out of that path of vanity and death wherein 
 thou wast running towards destruction ; to give thee a living 
 
1660] THOMAS ELLWOOD 65 
 
 name, and an inheritance of life among His people ; which 
 certainly will be the end of thy faith in Him and obedience 
 to Him. And let it not be a light thing in thine eyes that 
 He now accounteth thee worthy to suffer among His choice 
 lambs, that He might make thy crown weightier and thy 
 inheritance the fuller. Oh that that eye and heart may be 
 kept open in thee which knoweth the value of these things, 
 and that thou mayst be kept close to the feelings of the life, 
 that thou mayst be fresh in thy spirit in the midst of thy 
 sufferings, and mayst reap the benefit of them ; finding that 
 pared off thereby which hindereth the bubblings of the ever- 
 lasting springs, and maketh unfit for the breaking forth and 
 enjoyment of the pure power ! This is the brief salutation of 
 my dear love to thee, which desireth thy strength and settle- 
 ment in the power, and the utter weakening of thee as to 
 self. My dear love is to thee, with dear Thomas Goodyare ^ 
 and the rest of imprisoned Friends. I remain, 
 
 " Thine in the truth, to which the' Lord my God preserve 
 thee single and faithful. 
 
 "I. Penington. 
 
 " From Aylesbury Gaol, 
 
 the 14th of the 12th month, 1660." 
 
 Though these epistolary visits in the love of God were 
 very comfortable and confirming to me, and my heart was 
 thankful to the Lord for them, yet I honed after personal 
 conversation with Friends, and it was hard, I thought, that 
 
 ' [Thomas Goodyare or Goodair, as he is usually called, was a York- 
 shire man, and one of the earliest of Fox's converts, being convinced in 
 165 1 with James Nayler at Balby in Yorkshire. He was imprisoned in 
 1656, for refusing to give securities for good behaviour. The committal 
 appears to have been wholly illegal. John Brown and John Mansel, the 
 magistrates who committed him, were notorious as persecutors of the 
 Quakers {State Papers, Domestic, 19th December, 1655). In 1660, on the 
 15th of September, he was arrested in Oxfordshire, the oath of allegiance 
 was tendered to him and he was remitted to prison for refiising to take it, 
 and liberated, probably in 1661. At Warwick after a long imprisonment 
 he was premunired in 1666, and remained a prisoner until 1672. He 
 published an account of his trial in 1660, which is in the British Museum 
 Library. There is a life of him in J. Whiting's Sufferings of the Quakers, 
 p. 229. He died in 1693.] 
 
 5 
 
66 THE HISTOEY OF [i66i 
 
 there should be so many faithful servants of God so near me, 
 yet I should not be permitted to come at them, to enjoy 
 their company, and reap both the pleasure and benefit of 
 their sweet society. 
 
 For although my Marshal-keeper was very kind to me, and 
 allowed me the liberty of his house, yet he was not willing I 
 should be seen abroad ; the rather, perhaps, because he 
 understood I had been pretty well-known in that city. Yet 
 once the friendly baker got him to let me step over to his 
 house, and once (and but once) I prevailed with him to let 
 me visit my friends in the castle ; but it was with these 
 conditions, that I should not go forth till it was dark, that I 
 would muffle myself up in my cloak, and that I would not 
 stay out late : all which I punctually observed. 
 
 When I came thither, though there were many Friends 
 prisoners, I scarce knew one of them by face, except Thomas 
 Loe, whom I had once seen at Isaac Penington's ; nor did 
 any of them know me, though they had generally heard that 
 such a young man as I was convinced of the truth, and come 
 among Friends. 
 
 Our salutation to each other was very grave and solemn, 
 nor did we entertain one another with much talk, or with 
 common discourses ; but most of the little time I had with 
 them was spent in a silent retiredness of spirit, waiting upon 
 the Lord. Yet before we parted we imparted one to another 
 some of the exercises we had gone through ; and they seeming 
 willing to understand the ground and manner of my commit- 
 ment, I gave them a brief account thereof, letting Thomas 
 Loe more particularly know that I had directed a letter to 
 him, which having fallen into the hand of the Lord Lieutenant, 
 was (so far as I could learn) the immediate cause of my being 
 taken up. 
 
 Having stayed with them as long as my limited time would 
 permit (which I thought was but very short), that I might 
 keep touch with my keeper and come home in due time, I 
 took leave of my friends there, and with mutual embraces 
 parting, returned to my (in some sense more easy, but in 
 
1661] THOMAS ELL WOOD 67 
 
 others less easy) prison, where after this I stayed not long 
 before I was brought back to my father's house. 
 
 For after my father was come home, who, as I observed 
 before, was from home when I was taken, he appHed himself 
 to those justices that had committed me, and not having 
 disobliged them when he was in office, easily obtained to have 
 me sent home, which between him and them was thus 
 contrived. 
 
 There was about this time a general muster and training of 
 the militia forces at Oxford, whither on that occasion came 
 the Lord Lieutenant and deputy-lieutenants of the county, 
 of which number they who committed me were two. 
 
 When they had been awhile together, and the Marshal 
 with them, he stepped suddenly in, and in haste told me I 
 must get ready quickly to go out of town, and that a soldier 
 would come by-and-by to go with me. This said, he hastened 
 to them again, not giving me any intimation how I was to go, 
 or whither. 
 
 I needed not much time to get ready in ; but I was uneasy 
 in thinking what the Friends of the town would think of this 
 my sudden and private removal ; and I feared lest any report 
 should be raised that I had purchased my liberty by an 
 unfaithful compliance. Wherefore I was in care how to 
 speak with some Friends about it ; and that friendly baker, 
 whose wife was a Friend, living on the other side of the 
 street at a little distance, I went out at a back door, intending 
 to step over the way to their house, and return immediately. 
 
 It so fell out that some of the lieutenants (of whom Esquire 
 Clark who committed me, was one) were standing in the 
 balcony at a great inn or tavern, just over the place where I 
 was to go by ; and he spying me, called out to the soldiers, 
 who stood thick in the street, to stop me. They being 
 generally gentlemen's servants, and many of them knowing 
 me, did civilly forbear to lay hold on me, but calling modestly 
 after me, said, " Stay, sir, stay ; pray come back". I heard, 
 but was not willing to hear, therefore rather mended my 
 pace, that I might have got within the door. But he calling 
 
68 THE HISTORY OF [mi 
 
 earnestly after me, and charging them to stop me, some of 
 them were fain to run, and laying hold on me before I could 
 open the door, brought me back to my place again. 
 
 Being thus disappointed, I took a pen and ink, and wrote a 
 few lines, which I sealed up, and gave to the apprentice in 
 the shop, who had carried himself handsomely towards me, 
 and desired him to deliver it to that Friend who was their 
 neighbour, which he promised to do. 
 
 By the time I had done this came the soldier that was 
 appointed to conduct me out of town. I knew the man, for 
 he lived within a mile of me, being, through poverty, reduced 
 to keep an ale-house ; but he had lived in better fashion, 
 having kept an inn at Thame, and by that means knew how 
 to behave himself civilly, and did so to me. 
 
 He told me he was ordered to wait on me to Whateley, and 
 to tarry there at such an inn, until Esquire Clark came thither, 
 who would then take me home with him in his coach. 
 Accordingly to Whateley we walked (which is from Oxford 
 some four or five miles), and long we had not been there 
 before Clark and a great company of rude men came in. 
 
 He alighted, and stayed awhile to eat and drink (though 
 he came but from Oxford), and invited me to eat with him ; 
 but I, though I had need enough, refused it ; for indeed their 
 conversation was a burthen to my life, and made me often 
 think of and pity good Lot. 
 
 He seemed, at that time, to be in a sort of mixed temper 
 between pleasantness and sourness. He would sometimes 
 joke (which was natural to him), and cast out a jesting flirt 
 at me ; but he would rail maliciously against the Quakers. 
 " If," said he to me," the King would authorise me to do it, I 
 would not leave a Quaker alive in England, except you. I 
 would make no more," added he, " to set my pistol to their 
 ears and shoot them through the head, than I would to kill a 
 dog." I told him I was sorry he had so ill an opinion of the 
 Quakers, but I was glad he had no cause for it, and I hoped 
 he would be of a better mind. 
 
 I had in my hand a little walking-stick with a head on it, 
 
1661] THOMAS ELL WOOD 69 
 
 which he commended, and took out of my hand to look on it ; 
 but I saw his intention was to search it, whether it had a tuck 
 in it, for he tried to have drawn the head ; but when he found 
 it was fast he returned it to me. 
 
 He told me I should ride with him to his house in his 
 coach, which was nothing pleasant to me ; for I had rather 
 have gone on foot (as bad as the ways were), that I might 
 have been out of his company. Wherefore I took no notice 
 of any kindness in the offer, but only answered I was at his 
 disposal, not mine own. 
 
 But when we were ready to go the Marshal came to me, 
 and told me if I pleased I should ride his horse, and he would 
 go in the coach with Mr. Clark. I was glad of the offer, and 
 only told him he should take out his pistols then, for I would 
 not ride with them. He took them out, and laid them in the 
 coach by him, and away we went. 
 
 It was a very fine beast that I was set on, by much the 
 best in the company. But though she was very tall, yet the 
 ways being very foul, I found it needful, as soon as I was out 
 of town, to alight and take up the stirrups. Meanwhile, they 
 driving hard on, I was so far behind, that being at length 
 missed by the company, a soldier was sent back to look after 
 me. 
 
 As soon as I had fitted my stirrups and was remounted I 
 gave the rein to my mare, which being courageous and nimble, 
 and impatient of delay, made great speed to recover the 
 company ; and in a narrow passage the soldier, who was my 
 barber, that had fetched me from home, and I met upon so 
 brisk a gallop that we had enough to do on either side to pull 
 up our horses and avoid a brush. 
 
 When we were come to Weston, where Esquire Clark 
 lived, he took the Marshal and some others with him into 
 the parlour ; but I was left in the hall, to be exposed a 
 second time for the family to gaze on. 
 
 At length himself came out to me, leading in his hand a 
 beloved daughter of his, a young woman of about eighteen 
 years of age, who wanted nothing to have made her comely 
 
70 THE HISTOEY OF [1661 
 
 but gravity. An aiiy piece she was, and very merry she made 
 herself at me. When she had thoroughly viewed me, he, 
 putting her a little forward towards me, said : " Here, Tom, 
 will you kiss her }" I was grieved and ashamed at this frothy 
 lightness, and I suppose he perceived it ; whereupon he drew 
 nearer as if he would have whispered, and then said, " Will 
 you lie with her?" At which I, with a disdainful look, 
 turning away, he said, "I think it would be better for you 
 than to be a Quaker," and so little consideration and regard 
 to modesty had she, that she added, " I think so too". This 
 was all by candle light. And when they had made them- 
 selves as much sport with me as they would, the Marshal 
 took his leave of them, and mounting me on a horse of Clark's 
 had me home to my father's that night. 
 
 Next morning, before the Marshal went away, my father 
 and he consulted together how to intangle me. I felt there 
 were snares laid, but I did not know in what manner or to 
 what end till the Marshal was ready to go. And then, 
 coming where I was to take his leave of me, he desired me to 
 take notice, that although he had brought me home to my 
 father's house again, yet I was not discharged from my 
 imprisonment, but was his prisoner still ; and that he had 
 committed me to the care of my father, to see me forthcoming 
 whenever I should be called for. And therefore he expected 
 I should in all things observe my father's orders, and not go 
 out at any time from the house without his leave. 
 
 Now I plainly saw the snare, and to what end it was laid ; 
 and I asked him if this device was not contrived to keep me 
 from going to meetings ; he said I must not go to meetings. 
 Whereupon I desired hifn to take notice that I would not own 
 myself a prisoner to any man while I continued here. That 
 if he had power to detain me prisoner, he might take me back 
 again with him if he would, and I should not refuse to go 
 with him. But I bid him assure himself, that while I was 
 at home I would take my liberty both to go to meetings and 
 to visit Friends. He smiled, and said if I would be resolute 
 he could not help it ; and so took his leave of me. 
 
1661] THOMAS ELL WOOD 71 
 
 By this I perceived that the plot was of my father's laying, 
 to have brought me under such an, engagement as should 
 have tied me fi-om going to meetings ; and thereupon I ex- 
 pected I should have a new exercise from my father. 
 
 It was the constant manner of my father to have all the 
 keys of the out-doors of his house (which were four, and 
 those linked upon a chain) brought up into his chamber every 
 night, and fetched out from thence in the morning ; so that 
 none could come in or go out in the night without his know- 
 ledge. 
 
 I knowing this, suspected that if I got not out before my 
 father came down I should be stopped from going out at all 
 that day. Wherefore (the passage from my chamber lying 
 by his chamber door I went down softly without my shoes, 
 and as soon as the maid had opened the door I went out 
 (though too early), and walked towards the meeting at Meadle, 
 four long miles off. 
 
 I expected to have been talked with about it when I came 
 home, but heard nothing of it, my father resolving to watch 
 me better next time. 
 
 This I was aware of; and therefore on the next First day I 
 got up early, went down softly, and hid myself in a back 
 room before the maid was stirring. 
 
 When she was up she went into my father's chamber for 
 the keys ; but he bade her leave them till he was up, and he 
 would bring them down himself; which he did, and tarried 
 in the kitchen, through which he expected I would go. 
 
 The manner was, that when the common doors were opened 
 the keys were hung upon a pin in the hall. While therefore 
 my father stayed in the kitchen expecting my coming, I, 
 stepping gently out of the room where I was, reached the 
 keys, and opening another door, not often used, slipped out, 
 and so got away. 
 
 I thought I had gone off undiscovered ; but whether my 
 father saw me through the window, or by what means he 
 knew of my going, I know not ; but 1 had gone but a little 
 way before I saw him coming after me. 
 
72 THE HISTORY OF [1661 
 
 The sight of him put me to a stand in my mind whether 
 I should go on or stop. Had it been in any other case than 
 that of going to a meeting I could not in any wise have gone 
 a step farther. But I considered that the intent of my father's 
 endeavouring to stop me was to hinder me from obeying the 
 call of my heavenly Father, and to stop me from going to 
 worship Him in the assembly of His people ; upon this I found 
 it my duty to go on, and observing that my father gained 
 ground upon me, I somewhat mended my pace. 
 
 This he observing, mended his pace also, and at length ran. 
 Whereupon I ran also, and a fair course we had through a 
 large meadow of his which lay behind his house and out of 
 sight of the tovra. He was not, I suppose, then above fifty 
 years of age, and being light of body and nimble of foot, he 
 held me to it for a while. But afterwards slacking his pace 
 to take breath, and observing that I had gotten ground of 
 him, he turned back and went home ; and, as I afterwards 
 understood, telling my sisters how I had served him, he said, 
 " Nay, if he will take so much pains to go, let him go if he 
 will ". And from that time forward he never attempted to 
 stop me, but left me to my liberty, to go when and whither I 
 would ; yet kept me at the usual distance, avoiding the sight 
 of me as much as he could, as not able to bear the sight of 
 my hat on, nor willing to contend with me again about it. 
 
 Nor was it long after this before I was left not only to my- 
 self, but in a manner by myself; for the time appointed for 
 the coronation of the King (which was the 23rd of the second 
 month called April) drawing on, my father, taking my two 
 sisters with him, went up to London some time before, that 
 they might be there in readiness, and put themselves into a 
 condition to see that so great a solemnity, leaving nobody in 
 the house but myself and a couple of servants. And though 
 this was intended only for a visit on that occasion, yet it 
 proved the breaking of the family ; for he bestowed both his 
 daughters there in marriage, and took lodgings for himself, 
 so that afterwards they never returned to settle at Crowell. 
 
 Being now at liberty, I walked over to Aylesbury, with 
 
1661] THOMAS ELL WOOD 73 
 
 some other Friends, to visit my dear friend Isaac Penington, 
 who was still a prisoner there. With him 1 found dear John 
 Whitehead,! and between sixty and seventy more, being well 
 nigh all the men Friends that were then in the county of 
 Bucks ; many of them were taken out of their houses by armed 
 men, and sent to prison, as I had been, for refusing to swear. 
 Most of these were thrust into an old room behind the gaol, 
 which had anciently been a malt-house, but was now so de- 
 cayed that it was scarce fit for a dog-house ; and so open it 
 lay, that the prisoners might have gone out at pleasure. But 
 these were purposely put there, in confidence that they would 
 not go out, that there might be room in the prison for others, 
 of other professions and names, whom the gaoler did not 
 trust there. 
 
 While this imprisonment lasted, which was for some months, 
 I went afterwards thither sometimes to visit my suffering 
 brethren ; and because it was a pretty long way (some eight 
 or nine miles), too far to be walked forward and backward in 
 one day, I sometimes stayed a day or two there, and lay in the 
 malt-house among my friends, with whom I delighted to be. 
 
 After this imprisonment was over, I went sometimes to 
 Isaac Penington's house at Chalfont, to visit that family, and 
 the Friends thereabouts. There was then a meeting for the 
 most part twice a week in his house ; but one First-day in four 
 there was a more general meeting (which was thence called 
 the monthly meeting) to which resorted most of the Friends 
 of other adjacent meetings ; and to that I usually went, and 
 sometimes made some stay there. 
 
 Here I became acquainted with a Friend of London, whose 
 name was Richard Greenaway,^ by trade a tailor, a very 
 
 ^ [John Whitehead's life is too long to be compressed into a note, and 
 he entered but little into Ellwood's life. Those curious to know more of 
 him must be referred to The Life and Writings of yohn Whitehead, 
 London, 1852.] 
 
 '^ [Richard Greenaway was first imprisoned under the Commonwealth for 
 " opposing the priest " of Kingston-on-Thames, probably, that is, for preach- 
 ing heretical doctrines. In 1658, he was again in prison in London for a 
 similar offence. In 1659 he was one of those at a meeting in Mitcham, 
 
74 THE HISTORY OF [mi 
 
 honest man^ and one who had received a gift for the 
 ministry. 
 
 He having been formerly in other professions of religion, 
 had then been acquainted with one John Ovy, of Watlington, 
 in Oxfordshire, a man of some note among the professors 
 there, and understanding upon inquiry that I knew him, he 
 had some discourse with me about him ; the result thereof 
 was, that he, having an intention then shortly to visit some 
 meetings of Friends in this county and the adjoining parts 
 of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, invited me to meet him (upon 
 notice given), and to bear him company in that journey ; and 
 in the way bring him to John Ovy's house, with whom I was 
 well acquainted ; which I did. 
 
 We were kindly received, the man and his wife being very 
 glad to see both their old friend Richard Greenaway and me 
 also, whom they had been very well acquainted with formerly, 
 but had never seen me since I was a Quaker. 
 
 Here we tarried that night, and in the evening had a little 
 meeting there with some few of John Ovy's people, amongst 
 whom Richard Greenaway declared the truth ; which they 
 attentively heard, and did not oppose, which at that time 
 of day we reckoned was pretty well, for many were apt to 
 cavil. 
 
 This visit gave John Ovy an opportunity to inquire of me 
 after Isaac Penington, whose writings (those which he had 
 written before he came among Friends) he had read, and had 
 a great esteem of, and he expressed a desire to see him, that 
 he might have some discourse with him, if he knew how. 
 Whereupon I told him that if he would take the pains to go 
 to his house I would bear him company thither, introduce 
 him, and engage he shAild have a kind reception. 
 
 This pleased him much ; and he embracing the offer, I 
 
 where the mob of the place attacked the Quakers and pelted them with 
 mud. He afterwards travelled about England as a preacher, and in 1662 
 was arrested in Devonshire, had the oath of allegiance tendered to him, 
 and was imprisoned for refusing to take it. In 1664 he was again ftee 
 and was arrested in Westbury Street as he stood preaching in the porch 
 of Peter Burdett.] 
 
1661] THOMAS ELLWOOD 75 
 
 undertook to give him notice of a suitable time, which, aftei- I 
 had gone this little journey with my friend Richard Greenaway 
 and was returned, I did, making choice of the monthly meet- 
 ing to go to. 
 
 We met by appointment at Stoken Church, with our staves 
 in our hands, like a couple of pilgrims, intending to walk 
 on foot ; and having taken some refreshment and rest at 
 Wiccomb, went on cheerfully in the afternoon, entertaining 
 each other with grave and religious discourse, which made the 
 walk the easier, and so reached thither in good time, on the 
 seventh day of the week. 
 
 I gave my friends an account who this person was whom I 
 had brought to visit them, and the ground of his visit. He 
 had been a professor of religion from his childhood to his old 
 age (for he was now both grey-headed and elderly), and was 
 a teacher at this time, and had long been so amongst a 
 people, whether Independents or Baptists I do not well 
 remember. And so well thought of he was, for his zeal 
 and honesty, that in those late professing times he was thrust 
 into the Commission of the Peace, and thereby lifted up on 
 the Bench ; which neither became him nor he it, for he 
 wanted indeed most of the qualifications requisite for a 
 Justice of the Peace : an estate to defray the charge of the 
 office and to bear him up in a course of living above contempt ; 
 a competent knowedge in the laws, and a presence of mind 
 or body, or both, to keep offenders in some awe ; in all which 
 he was deficient. For he was but a fellmonger by trade, 
 accustomed to ride upon his pack of skins, and had very little 
 estate, as little knowledge of the law, and of but a mean 
 presence and appearance to look on. But as my father, I 
 suppose, was the means of getting him put into the Com- 
 mission, so he, I know, did what he could to countenance him 
 in it, and help him through it at every turn, till that turn 
 came (at the King's return) which turned them both out 
 together. 
 
 My friends received me in affectionate kindness, and my 
 companion with courteous civility. The evening was spent 
 
76 THE HISTORY OF [1661 
 
 in common but grave conversation ; for it was not a proper 
 season for private discourse, both as we were somewhat weary 
 with our walk, and there were other companies of Friends 
 come into the fapiily, to be at the meeting next day. 
 
 But in the morning I took John Ovy into a private walk, 
 in a pleasant grove near the house, whither Isaac Penington 
 came to us ; and there in discourse both answered all his 
 questions, objections and doubts^ and opened to him the 
 principles of truth, to his both admiration and present satis- 
 faction. Which done, we went in to take some refreshment 
 before the meeting began. 
 
 Of those Friends who were come overnight in order to be 
 at the meeting, there was Isaac's brother, William Penington, 
 a merchant of London, and with him a Friend (whose name I 
 have forgotten), a grocer of Colchester^ in Essex ; and there 
 was also our friend, George Whitehead,^ whom I had not, 
 that I remember, seen before. 
 
 The nation had been in a ferment ever since that mad action 
 of fhe frantic fifth-monarchy men, and was not yet settled ; 
 but storms, like thunder-showers, flew here and there by coast, 
 so that we could not promise ourselves any safety or quiet in 
 our meetings. And though they had escaped disturbance for 
 some little time before, yet so it fell out that a party of horse 
 were appointed to come and break up the meeting that day, 
 though we knew nothing of it till we heard and saw them. 
 
 The meeting was scarce fully gathered when they came ; 
 but we that were in the family, and many others, were settled 
 in it in great peace and stillness, when on a sudden the 
 prancing of the horses gave notice that lightening was at hand. 
 
 We all sat still in our places, except my companion, John 
 Ovy, who sat next to me. But he being of a profession that 
 approved Peter's advice to his Lord, " to save himself," soon 
 took the alarm, and with the nimbleness of a stripling, cutting 
 a caper over the form that stood before him, ran quickly out 
 
 ' [George Whitehead was one of the principal Quaker leaders. For a 
 full account of him, see Memoirs of George Whitehead, edited by S. Tuke, 
 2 vols., York, 1830.] 
 
1661] THOMAS ELLWOOD 77 
 
 at a private door, which he had before observed, which led 
 through the parlour into the gardens, and from thence into an 
 orchard ; where he hid himself in a place so obscure, and withal 
 so convenient for his intelligence by observation of what passed, 
 that no one of the family could scarce have found a likelier. 
 
 By the time he was got into his burrow came the soldiers in, 
 being a party of the county troop, commanded by Matthew 
 Archdale of Wiccomb. He behaved himself civilly, and said 
 he was commanded to break up the meeting, and carry the 
 men before a justice of the peace ; but he said he would not 
 take all ; and thereupon began to pick and choose, chiefly as 
 his eye guided him, for I suppose he knew very few. 
 
 He took Isaac Penington and his brother, George Whitehead, 
 and the Friend of Colchester, and me, with three or four more 
 of the county, who belonged to that meeting. 
 
 He was not fond of the work, and that made him take no 
 more ; but he must take some, he said, and bade us provide 
 to go with him before Sir William Boyer ^ of Denham, who 
 was a justice of the peace. Isaac Penington being but weakly, 
 rode, but the rest of us walked thither, it being about four 
 miles. 
 
 When we came there the Justice carried himself civilly to 
 us all, courteously to Isaac Penington as being a gentleman of 
 his neighbourhood ; and there was nothing charged against 
 us but that we were met together without word or deed. 
 Yet this being contrary to a late proclamation, given forth 
 upon the rising of the fifth-monarchy men, whereby all dissen- 
 ters' meetings were forbidden, the Justice could do no less 
 than take notice of us. 
 
 Wherefore he examined all of us whom he did not personally 
 know, asking our names and the places of our respective 
 
 ' [Sir William Bowyer was the first baronet of that name. At this date 
 he was only a knight, but he received the further dignity in the twelfth 
 year of Charles II. He was M.P. for Buckinghamshire in the first two 
 Parliaments after the Restoration and a strong loyalist. His brother Henry 
 had been killed in the civil wars fighting on the King's side. The family 
 afterwards became Roman Catholics. The first wife of Sir William 
 Bowyer was one of the Weld family.] 
 
78 THE HISTORY OF [1661 
 
 habitations. But when he had them, and considered from 
 what distant parts of the nation we came, he was amazed ; for 
 George Whitehead was of Westmoreland, in the north of 
 England ; the grocer was of Essex ; I was of Oxfordshire ; and 
 William Penington was of London. 
 
 Hereupon he told us that our case looked ill, and he was 
 sorry for it : " for how," said he, "can it be imagined that so 
 many could jump altogether at one time and place, from such 
 remote quarters and parts of the kingdom, if it was not by 
 combination and appointment .''" 
 
 He was answered that we were so far from coming thither 
 by agreement or appointment, that none of us knew of the 
 others' coming, and for the most of us, we had never seen one 
 another before ; and that therefore he might impute it to 
 chance, or, if he pleased, to Providence. 
 
 He urged upon us that an insurrection had been lately 
 made by armed men, who pretended to be more religious than 
 others ; that that insurrection had been plotted and contrived 
 in their meeting-house, where they assembled under colour of 
 worshipping God ; that in their meeting-house they hid their 
 arms, and armed themselves, and out of their meeting-house 
 issued forth in arms, and killed many ; so that the government 
 could not be safe unless such meetings were suppressed. 
 
 We replied, we hoped he would distinguish and make a 
 difference between the guilty and the innocent, and between 
 those who were principled for fighting and those who were 
 principled against it, which we were, and had been always 
 known to be so ; that our meetings were public, our doors 
 standing open to all comers, of all ages, sexes, and persuasions, 
 men, women, and children, and those that were not of our 
 religion, as well as those"^hat were ; and that it was next to 
 madness for people to plot in such meetings. 
 
 He told us we must find sureties for our good behaviour, 
 and to answer our contempt of the King's proclamation at the 
 next general Quarter Sessions, or else he must commit us. 
 
 We told him that, knowing our innocency and that we had 
 not misbehaved ourselves, nor did meet in contempt of the 
 
1661] THOMAS ELLWOOD 79 
 
 King's authority, but purely in obedience to the Lord's requir- 
 ings to worship Him, which we held ourselves in duty bound 
 to do, we could not consent to be bound, for that would imply 
 guilt which we were free from. 
 
 "Then," said he, "I must commit you ; " and ordered his 
 clerk to make a mittimus. And divers mittimuses were made, 
 but none of them would hold ; for still, when they came to be 
 read, we found such flaws in them as made him throw them 
 aside and write more. 
 
 He had his eye often upon me, for I was a young man, and 
 had at that time a black suit on. At length he bid me follow 
 him, and went into a private room and shut the door upon me. 
 
 I knew not what he meant by this ; but I cried in spirit 
 to the Lord, that He would be pleased to be a mouth and 
 wisdom to me, and keep me from being entangled in any 
 snare. 
 
 He asked me many questions concerning my birth, my 
 education, my acquaintance in Oxfordshire, particularly what 
 men of note I knew there ; to all which I gave him brief but 
 plain and true answers, naming several families of the best 
 rank in that part of the county where I dwelt. 
 
 He asked me how long I had been of this way, and how I 
 came to be of it. Which when I had given him some account 
 of, he began to persuade me to leave it, and return to the 
 right way — the Church, as he called it. I desired him to 
 spare his pains in that respect, and forbear any discourse of 
 that kind, for that I was fully satisfied the way I was in was 
 the right way, and hoped the Lord would so preserve me in it 
 that nothing should be able to draw or drive me out of it. 
 He seemed not pleased with that, and thereupon went out to 
 the rest of the company, and I followed him, glad in my 
 heart that I had escaped so well, and praising God for my 
 deliverance. 
 
 When he had taken his seat again at the upper end of a 
 fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take the utmost 
 rigour of the law against us, but would be as favourable to us 
 as he could. And therefore b^ AYQUld discharge, he said, Mr. 
 
80 THE HISTOEY OF [1661 
 
 Penington himself, because he was but at home in his own 
 house. And he would discharge Mr. Penington of London, 
 because he came but as a relation to visit his brother. And 
 he would discharge the grocer of Colchester, because he came 
 to bear Mr. Penington of London company, and to be ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Isaac Penington, whom he had never seen 
 before. And as for those others of us who were of this 
 country, he would discharge them, for the present at least, 
 because they being his neighbours, he could send for them 
 when he would. " But as for you," said he to George 
 Whitehead and me, " I can see no business you had there, 
 and therefore I intend to hold you to it, either to give bail or 
 go to gaol." 
 
 We told him we could not give bail. "Then," said he, 
 " you must go to gaol ; " and thereupon he began to write 
 our mittimus ; which puzzled him again ; for he had dis- 
 charged so many, that he was at a loss what to lay as the 
 ground of our commitment, whose case differed nothing in 
 reality from theirs whom he had discharged. 
 
 At length, having made divers draughts (which still George 
 Whitehead showed him the defects of), he seemed to be weary 
 of us ; and rising up said unto us : "I consider that it is 
 grown late in the day, so that the officer cannot carry you to 
 Aylesbury to-night, and I suppose you will be willing to go 
 back with Mr. Penington ; therefore if you will promise to be 
 forthcoming at his house to-morrow morning, I will dismiss 
 you for the present, and you shall hear from me again to- 
 morrow." 
 
 We told him we did intend, if he did not otherwise dispose 
 of us, to spend that night with our friend Isaac Penington, 
 and would, if the Lord ^ve us leave, be there in the morning, 
 ready to answer his requirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, 
 willing, as we thought, to be rid of us ; for he seemed not to 
 be of an ill temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble, if he 
 could help it. 
 
 Back then we went to Isaac Penington's. But when we 
 were come thither, oh the y(Qxk we had with poor John Ovy ! 
 
1661] THOMAS ELL WOOD 81 
 
 He was so dejected in mind, so covered with shame and con- 
 fusion of face for his cowardliness, that we had enough to do 
 to pacify him towards himself. 
 
 The place he had found out to shelter himself in was so 
 commodiously contrived, that undiscovered he could discern 
 when the soldiers went off with us, and understand when 
 the bustle was over and the coast clear. Whereupon he 
 adventured to peep out of his hole, and in a while drew near 
 by degrees to the house again ; and finding all things quiet 
 and still, he adventured to step within the doors, and found 
 the Friends who were left behind peaceably settled in the 
 meeting again. 
 
 The sight of this smote him, and made him sit down 
 among them. And after the meeting was ended, and the 
 Friends departed to their several homes, addressing himself 
 to Maiy Penington (as the mistress of the house) he could 
 not enough magnify the bravery and courage of the Friends, 
 nor sufficiently debase himself. He told her how long he 
 had been a professor, what pains he had taken, what hazards 
 he had run, in his youthful days, to get to meetings ; how, 
 when the ways were forelaid and passages stopped, he swam 
 through rivers to reach a meeting ; and now, said he, that I 
 am grown old in the profession of religion, and have long 
 been an instructor and encourager of others, that I should 
 thus shamefully fall short myself, is matter of shame and 
 sorrow to me. 
 
 Thus he bewailed himself to her. And when we came 
 back he renewed his complaints of himself to us, with high 
 aggravations of his own cowardice ; which gave occasion to 
 some of the Friends tenderly to represent to him the dif- 
 ference between profession and possession, form and power. 
 
 He was glad, he said, on our behalfs, that we came off so 
 well, and escaped imprisonment. 
 
 But when he understood that George Whitehead and I 
 were liable to an after-reckoning next morning, he was 
 troubled, and wished the morning was come and gone, that 
 we might be gone with it. 
 6 
 
82 THE HISTORY OF [1661 
 
 We spent the evening in grave conversation and in re- 
 ligious discourses, attributing the deliverance we hitherto 
 had to the Lord. And the next morning, when we were up 
 and had eaten, we tarried some time to see what the Justice 
 would do further with us, and to discharge our engagement 
 to him ; the rest of the Friends, who were before fully dis- 
 charged, tarrying also with us to see the event. 
 
 And when we had stayed so long that on all hands it was 
 concluded we might safely go, George Whitehead and I left 
 a few words in writing to be sent to the Justice if he sent 
 after us, importing that we had tarried till such an hour, 
 and not hearing from him, did now hold ourselves free to 
 depart, yet so as that if he should have occasion to send for 
 us again, upon notice thereof we would return. 
 
 This done, we took our leave of the family and one of 
 another ; they who were for London taking horse, and I 
 and my companions, setting forth on foot for Oxfordshire, 
 went to Wiccomb, where we made a short stay to rest and 
 refresh ourselves, and from thence reached our respective 
 homes that night. 
 
 After I had spent some time at home, where, as I had no 
 restraint, so (my sisters being gone) I had now no society, I 
 walked up to Chalfont again, and spent a few days with my 
 friends there. 
 
 As soon as I came in I was told that my father had been 
 there that day to see Isaac Penington and his wife, but they 
 being abroad at a meeting, he returned to his inn in the 
 town, where he intended to lodge that night. After supper 
 Mary Penington told me she had a mind to go and see him 
 at his inn (the woman of the house being a friend of ours), 
 and I went with her. He seemed somewhat surprized to 
 see me there, because he thought I had been at home at his 
 house ; but he took no notice of my hat — at least showed no 
 offence at it, for, as I afterwards understood, he had now an 
 intention to sell his estate, and thought he should need my 
 concurrence therein, which made him now hold it necessary 
 to admit me again into some degree of favour. After we 
 
1661] THOMAS ELLWOOD 83 
 
 had tarried some little time with him, she rising up to be 
 gone, he waited on her home, and having spent about an 
 hour with us in the family, I waited on him back to his inn. 
 On the way he invited me to come up to London to see my 
 sisters, the younger of whom was then newly married, and 
 directed me where to find them, and also gave me money to 
 defray my charges. Accordingly I went ; yet stayed not long 
 there, but returned to my friend Isaac Penington's, where I 
 made a little stay, and from thence went back to Crowell. 
 
 When I was ready to set forth, my friend Isaac Penington 
 was so kind to send a servant with a brace of geldings to 
 carry me as far as I thought fit to ride, and to bring the 
 horses back. I, intending to go no farther that day than to 
 Wiccomb, rode no farther than to Beaconsfield town's end, 
 having then but five miles to walk. But here a new exercise 
 befeU me, the manner of which was thus : — 
 
 Before I had walked to the middle of the town I was 
 stopped and taken by the watch. I asked the watchman 
 what authority he had to stop me, travelling peacefully on 
 the highway : he told me he would show me his authority, 
 and in order thereunto, had me into a house hard by, where 
 dwelt a scrivener whose name was Pepys. To him he gave 
 the order which he had received from the constables, which 
 directed him to take up all rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy 
 beggars. I asked him for which of these he stopped me, 
 but he could not answer me. 
 
 I thereupon informed him what a rogue in law is, viz., one 
 who for some notorious offence was burnt on the shoulder ; 
 and I told them they might search me if they pleased, and 
 see if I was so branded. A vagabond, I told them, was one 
 that had no dwelling-house nor certain place of abode ; but 
 I had and was going to it, and I told them where it was. 
 And for a beggar, I bade them bring any one that could say 
 I had begged or asked relief. 
 
 This stopped the fellow's mouth, yet he would not let me 
 go ; but, being both weak-headed and strong-willed, he left 
 me there with the scrivener, and went out to seek the con- 
 
84 THE HISTOEY OF [1661 
 
 stable, and having found him, brought him thither. He 
 was a young man, by trade a tanner, somewhat better 
 mannered than his wardsman, but not of much better judg- 
 ment. 
 
 He took me with him to his house, and having settled me 
 there, went out to take advice, as I supposed, what to do 
 with me ; leaving nobody in the house to guard me but his 
 wife, who had a young child in her arms. 
 
 She inquired of me upon what account I was taken up, and 
 seeming to have some pity for me, endeavoured to persuade 
 me not to stay, but to go my way, offering to show me a 
 back way from their house which would bring me into the 
 road again beyond the town, so that none of the town should 
 see me or know what was become of me. But I told her I 
 could not do so. 
 
 Then having sat a while in a muse, she asked me if there 
 was not a place of Scripture which said Peter was at a 
 tanner's house. I told her there was such a Scripture, and 
 directed her where to find it. 
 
 After some time she laid her child to sleep in the cradle, 
 and stepped out on a sudden, but came not in again for a 
 pretty while. 
 
 I was uneasy that I was left alone in the house, fearing lest 
 if anything should be missing I might be suspected to have 
 taken it ; yet I durst not go out to stand in the street, lest it 
 should be thought I intended to slip away. 
 
 But besides that, I soon found work to employ myself in ; 
 for the child quickly waking, fell to crying, and I was fain to 
 rock the cradle in my own defence, that I might not be 
 annoyed with a nois^ to me not more unpleasant than 
 unusual. At length the woman came in again, and finding 
 me nursing the child gave me many thanks, and seemed well 
 pleased with my company. 
 
 When night came on, the constable himself came in again, 
 and told me some of the chief of the town were met together 
 to consider what was fit to do with me, and that I must go 
 with him to them. I went, and he brought me to a little 
 
1661] THOMAS ELLWOOD 86 
 
 nasty hut, which they called a town-house (adjoining to their 
 market-house), in which dwelt a poor old woman whom they 
 called Mother Grime, where also the watch used by turns to 
 come in and warm themselves in the night. 
 
 When I came in among them they looked, some of them, 
 somewhat sourly on me, and asked me some impertinent 
 questions to which I gave them suitable answers. 
 
 Then they consulted one with another how they should 
 dispose of me that night, till they could have me before some 
 justice of peace to be examined. Som& proposed that I should 
 be had to some inn, or other public-house, and a guard set on 
 me there. He that started this was probably an innkeeper, 
 and consulted his own interest. Others objected against 
 this, that it would bring a charge on the town. To avoid 
 which they were for having the watch take charge of me, and 
 keep me walking about the streets with them till morning. 
 Most voices seemed to go this way, till a third wished them 
 to consider whether they could answer the doing of that, and 
 the law would bear them out in it. And this put them to a 
 stand. I heard all their debates, but let them alone, and 
 kept my mind to the Lord. 
 
 While they thus bandied the matter to and fro, one of the 
 company asked the rest if any of them knew who this young 
 man was, and whither he was going ; whereupon the constable 
 (to whom I had given both my name and the name of the 
 town where I dwelt), told them my name was Ellwood, and 
 that I lived at a town called Crowell, in Oxfordshire. 
 
 Old Mother Grime, sitting by and hearing this, clapped her 
 hand on her knee, and cried out : "I know Mr. Ellwood of 
 Crowell very well ; for when I was a maid I lived with his 
 grandfather there when he was a young man ". And there- 
 upon she gave them such an account of my father as made 
 them look more regardfully on me ; and so Mother Grime's 
 testimony turned the scale, and took me off from walking the 
 rounds with the watch that night. 
 
 The constable hereupon bade them take no further care, 
 I should lie at his house that night ; and accordingly took me 
 
86 THE HISTORY OF [mi 
 
 home with him, where I had as good accommodation as the 
 house did afford. Before I went to bed he told me that 
 there was to be a visitation, or Spiritual Court, as he called it, 
 holden next day at Amersham, about four miles from Beacons- 
 field, and that I was to be carried thither. 
 
 This was a new thing to me, and it brought a fresh exercise 
 upon my mind. But being given up in the will of God to 
 suffer what He should permit to be laid on me, I endeavoured 
 to keep my mind quiet and still. 
 
 In the morning, as soon as I was up, my spirit was exercised 
 towards the Lord in strong cries to Him, that He would stand 
 by me and preserve me, and not suffer me to be taken in the 
 snare of the wicked. While I was thus crying to the Lord 
 the other constable came, and I was called down. 
 
 This was a budge fellow, and talked high. He was a shoe- 
 maker by trade, and his name was Clark. He threatened 
 me with the Spiritual Court. But when he saw I did not 
 regard it, he stopped, and left the matter to his partner, who 
 pretended more kindness for me, and therefore went about 
 to persuade Clark to let me go out at the back-door, so slip 
 away. 
 
 The plot, I suppose, was so laid that Clark should seem 
 averse, but at length yield, which he did, but would have me 
 take it for a favour. But I was so far from taking it so, that 
 I would not take it all, but told them plainly, that as I came 
 in at the foce-door, so I would go out at the fore-door. When 
 therefore they saw they could not bow me to their will, they 
 brought me out at the fore-door into the street, and wished 
 me a good journey. Yet before I went, calling for the woman 
 of the house, I paid her for my supper and lodging, for I had 
 now got a little money in my pocket again. 
 
 After this I got home, as I thought, very well, but I had 
 not been long at home before an illness seized on me, which 
 proved to be the small -pox ; of which, so soon as Friends had 
 notice, I had a nurse sent me, and in a while Isaac Penington 
 and his wife's daughter, Gulielma Maria Springett, to whom 
 I had been play-fellow in our infancy, came to visit me. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 87 
 
 bringing with them our dear friend Edward Burrough, by 
 whose ministry I was called to the knowledge of the truth. 
 
 It pleased the Lord to deal favourably with me in this 
 illness, both inwardly and outwardly ; for His supporting 
 presence was with me, which kept my spirit near unto Him ; 
 and though the distemper was strong upon me, yet I was 
 preserved through it, and my countenance was not much 
 altered by it. But after I was got up again, and while I kept 
 my chamber, wanting some employment for entertainment's 
 sake to spend the time with, and there being at hand a 
 pretty good library of books, amongst which were the works 
 of Augustine and others of those ancient writers who were by 
 many called the fathers, I betook myself to reading. And 
 these books being printed in the old black letter with 
 abbreviations of the words difficult to be read, I spent too 
 much time therein, and thereby much impaired my sight, 
 which was not strong before, and was now weaker than usual 
 by reason of the illness I had so newly had, which proved an 
 injury to me afterwards, for which reason I here mention it. 
 
 After I was well enough to go abroad with respect to my 
 own health and the safety of others, I went up, in the 
 beginning of the twelfth month, 1661, to my friend Isaac 
 Penington's at Chalfont, and abode there some time, for the 
 airing myself more fully, that I might be more fit for con- 
 versation. 
 
 I mentioned before, that when I was a boy I had made 
 some good progress in learning, and lost it all again before I 
 came to be a man ; nor was I rightly sensible of my loss 
 therein until I came amongst the Quakers. But then I both 
 saw my loss and lamented it ; and applied myself with utmost 
 diligence, at all leisure times, to recover it ; so false I found 
 that charge to be which in those times was cast as a reproach 
 upon the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human 
 learning, because they denied it to be essentially necessary 
 to a gospel ministry, which was one of the controversies of 
 those times. 
 
 But though I toiled hard and spared no pains to regain 
 
88 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 what once I had been master of, yet I found it a matter of so 
 great difficulty that I was ready to say as the noble eunuch to 
 Philip in another case, " How can I, unless I had some man 
 to guide me ? " 
 
 This I had formerly complained of to my especial friend 
 Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which put him 
 upon considering and contriving a means for my assistance. 
 
 He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget,i a 
 physician of note in London, and he with John Milton, a 
 gentleman of great note for learning throughout the learned 
 world, for the accurate pieces he had written on various 
 subjects and occasions. 
 
 This person, having filled a public station in the former 
 times, lived now a private and retired life in London, and 
 having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to read to 
 him, which usually was the son of some gentleman of his 
 acquaintance, whom in kindness he took to improve in his 
 learning. 
 
 Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Penington with 
 Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John Milton, was I admitted 
 to come to him, not as a servant to him (which at that time 
 he needed not), nor to be in the house with him, but only to 
 have the liberty of coming to his house at certain hours when 
 I would, and to read to him what books he should appoint 
 me, which was all the favour I desired. 
 
 But this being a matter which would require some time to 
 bring about, I in the meanwhile returned to my father's house 
 in Oxfordshire. 
 
 I had before received direction by letters from my eldest 
 sister (written by my father's command) to put off what cattle 
 he had left about his house, and to discharge his servants ; 
 which I had done at the time called Michaelmas before. So 
 
 '[For Dr. Nathan Paget, see Munk's Roll of the College of Physicians, 
 i., 243 ; Masson's Life of Milton, vi., 454. He was Milton's physician, 
 and cousin to Elizabeth Minshull, the poet's third wife. He seems to have 
 been a supporter of the Commonwealth. On jrst December, 1649, he 
 was appointed Physician to the Tower. He died in 1678 or shortly before.] 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 89 
 
 that all that winter, when I was at home, I lived like a 
 hermit, all alone, having a pretty large house, and nobody in 
 it but myself, at nights especially ; but an elderly woman, 
 whose father had been an old servant to the family, came 
 every morning and made my bed, and did what else I had 
 occasion for her to do, till I fell ill of the small-pox, and then 
 I had her with me and the nurse. But now, understanding 
 by letter from my sister that my father did not intend to 
 retui'n to settle there, I made off those provisions which were 
 in the house, that they might not be spoiled when I was 
 gone ; and because they were what I should have spent if I 
 had tarried there, I took the money made of them to myself 
 for my support at London, if the project succeeded for my 
 going thither. 
 
 This done, I committed the care of the house to a tenant of 
 my father's who lived in the town, and taking my leave of 
 Crowell, went up to my sure friend Isaac Penington again ; 
 where understanding that the mediation used for my admit- 
 tance to John Milton had succeeded so well that I might 
 come when I would, I hastened to London, and in the first 
 place went to wait upon him. 
 
 He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. 
 Paget, who introduced me, as of Isaac Penington, who recom- 
 mended me ; to both whom he bore a good respect. And 
 having inquired divers things of me with respect to my former 
 progression in learning, he dismissed me, to provide myself 
 with such accommodation as might be most suitable to my 
 future studies. 
 
 I went therefore and took myself a lodging as near to his 
 house (which was then in Jewyn Street) as conveniently as I 
 could, and from thenceforward went every day in the after- 
 noon, except on the first days of the week, and sitting by 
 him in his dining-room read to him in such books in the Latin 
 tongue as he pleased to hear me read. 
 
 At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I used 
 the English pronunciation, he told me, if I would have the 
 benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read and understand 
 
90 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 Latin authors, but to converse with foreigners, either abroad 
 or at home, I must learn the foreign pronunciation. To this 
 I consenting, he instructed me how to sound the vowels ; so 
 different from the common pronunciation used by the English, 
 who speak Anglice their Latin, that — with some few other 
 variations in sounding some consonants in particular cases, as 
 c before e or i like ch, sc before i like sh, etc. — the Latin thus 
 spoken seemed as different from that which was delivered, as 
 the English generally speak it, as if it were another language. 
 I had before, during my retired life at my father's, by 
 unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered the rules 
 of grammar, in which I had once been very ready, that I could 
 both read a Latin author and after a sort hammer out his mean- 
 ing. But this change of pronunciation proved a new difficulty 
 to me. It was now harder to me to read than it was before 
 to understand when read. But 
 
 Labor omnia vincit 
 Improbus. 
 
 Incessant pains, 
 The end obtains. 
 
 And so did L Which made my reading the more acceptable 
 to my master. He, on the other hand, perceiving with what 
 earnest desire I pursued learning, gave me not only all the 
 encouragement but all the help he could ; for, having a 
 curious ear, he understood by my tone when I understood 
 what I read and when I did not ; and accordingly would stop 
 me, examine me, and open the most difficult passages to me. 
 
 Thus went I on for about six weeks' time, reading to him in 
 the afternoons ; and exercising myself with my own books in 
 my chamber in the forenoons, I was sensible of an improvement. 
 
 But, alas ! I had fixed my studies in a wrong place. London 
 and I could never agree for health ; my lungs, as I suppose, 
 were too tender to bear the sulphurous air of that city, so 
 that I soon began to droop ; and in less than two months' 
 time I was fain to leave both my studies and the city, and 
 return into the country to preserve life ; and much ado I had 
 to get thither. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 91 
 
 I chose to go down to Wiccomb, and to John Ranee's house 
 there ; both as he was a physician, and his wife an honest, 
 hearty, discreet, and grave matron, whom I had a very good 
 esteem of, and who I knew had a good regard for me. 
 
 There I lay ill a considerable time, and to that degree of 
 weakness that scarce any who saw me expected my life. But 
 the Lord was both gracious to m.e in my illness, and was 
 pleased to raise me up again, that I might serve Him in my 
 generation. 
 
 As soon as I had recovered so much strength as to be fit 
 to travel, I obtained of my father (who was then at his house 
 in Crowell, to dispose of some things he had there, and who 
 in my illness had come to see me) so much money as would 
 clear all charges in the house, for both physic, food, and 
 attendance ; and having fully discharged all, I took leave of 
 my friends in that family and in the town, and returned to 
 my studies at London. 
 
 I was very kindly received by my master, who had conceived 
 so good an opinion of me that my conversation, I found, was 
 acceptable to him, and he seemed heartily glad of my recovery 
 and return ; and into our old method of study we fell again, 
 I reading to him, and he explaining to me, as occasion re- 
 quired. 
 
 But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to me, scarce 
 was I well settled in my work before I met with another 
 diversion, which turned me quite of my work. , 
 
 For a sudden storm arising, from I know not what surmise 
 of a plot, and thereby danger to the government, and the 
 meetings of Dissenters — such I mean as could be found, 
 which perhaps were not many besides the Quakers — were 
 broken up throughout the city, and the prisons mostly filled 
 with our friends. 
 
 I was that morning, which was the 26th ^ day of the eighth 
 
 ^[In all thirty-two persons were arrested and taken to Bridewell (see 
 Besse, i., 388). Besse gives the date as the 28th October, but he is probably 
 wrong. It should perhaps be mentioned that all these dates are old style ; 
 i.e., March is the first month of the year, which does not however begin 
 until the 25th of that month.] 
 
92 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and Mouth, by 
 Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of soldiers (of the 
 trained bands of the city) rushed in, with noise and clamour, 
 being led by one who was called Major Rosewell, an apothe- 
 cary, if I misremember not, and at that time under the ill 
 name of Papist. 
 
 As soon as he was come within the room, having a file or 
 two of musketeers at his heels, he commanded his men to 
 present their muskets at once, which they did, with intent, 
 I suppose, to strike a terror into the people. Then he made 
 a proclamation that all who were not Quakers might depart 
 if they would. 
 
 It so happened that a young man, an apprentice in London, 
 
 whose name was Dove, the son of Dr. Dove, of Chinner, 
 
 near Crowell, in Oxfordshire, came that day in curiosity to 
 see the meeting, and coming early, and finding me there 
 (whom he knew), came and sat down by me. 
 
 As soon as he heard the noise of soldiers he was much 
 startled, and asked me softly if I would not shift for myself, 
 and try to get out. I told him no ; I was in my place, and 
 was willing to suffer if it was my lot. When he heard the 
 notice given that they who were not Quakers might depart, 
 he solicited me again to be gone. I told him I could not do 
 so, for that would be to renounce my profession, which I 
 would by no means do : but as for him, who was not one of 
 us, he might do as he pleased. Whereupon, wishing me 
 well, he turned away, and with cap in hand went out. And 
 truly I was glad he was gone, for his master was a rigid 
 Presbyterian, who in all likelihood would have led him a 
 wretched life had he been taken and imprisoned among the 
 Quakers. • 
 
 The soldiers came so early that the meeting was not fully 
 gathered when they came, and when the mixed company 
 were gone out, we were so few, and sat so thin in that large 
 room, that they might take a clear view of us all, and single 
 us out as they pleased. 
 
 He that commanded the party gave us first a general charge 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 93 
 
 to come out of the room. But we, who came thither at God's 
 requirings, to worship Him, like that good man of old who 
 said, " We ought to obey God rather than men " (Acts v. 29), 
 stirred not, but kept our places. Whereupon he sent some 
 of his soldiers among us, with command to drag or drive us 
 out, which they did roughly enough. 
 
 When we came out into the street, we were received there 
 by other soldiers, who with their pikes holden lengthways 
 from one another encompassed us round as sheep in a pound ; 
 and there we stood a pretty time, while they were picking 
 up more to add to our number. 
 
 In this work none seemed so eager and active as their 
 leader, Major Rosewell ; which I observing, stept boldly to 
 him as he was passing by me, and asked him if he intended a 
 massacre, for of that in those days there was a great appre- 
 hension and talk. The suddenness of the question, from such 
 a young man especially, somewhat startled him ; but recollect- 
 ing himself he answered, " No ; but I intend to have you all 
 hanged by the wholesome laws of the land ". 
 
 When he had gotten as many as he could or thought fit, 
 which were in number thirty-two, whereof two were catched 
 up in the street, who had not been at the meeting, he ordered 
 the pikes to be opened before us ; and giving the word to 
 march, went himself at the head of us, the soldiers with their 
 pikes making a lane to keep us from scattering. 
 
 He led us up Martin's, and so turned down to Newgate, 
 where I expected he would have lodged us. But, to my dis- 
 appointment, he went on through Newgate, and turning 
 through the Old Bailey, brought us into Fleet Street. I was 
 then wholly at a loss to conjecture whither he would lead us, 
 unless it were to Whitehall, for I knew nothing then of Old 
 Bridewell ; but on a sudden he gave a short turn, and 
 brought us before the gate of that prison, where knocking, 
 the wicket was forthwith opened, and the master, with his 
 porter, ready to receive us. 
 
 One of those two who were picked up in the street, being 
 near me, and telling me his case, I stepped to the Major, and 
 
94 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 told him that this man was not at the meeting, but was taken 
 up in the street ; and showed him how hard and unjust a thing 
 it would be to put him into prison. 
 
 I had not pleased him before in the question I had put 
 to him about a massacre, and that, I suppose, made this 
 solicitation less acceptable to him from me than it might 
 have been from some other ; for looking sternly on me, he 
 said : " Who are you, that take so much upon you ? Seeing 
 you are so busy, you shall be the first man that shall go into 
 Bridewell ; " and taking me by the shoulders, he thrust me 
 in. 
 
 As soon as I was in, the porter, pointing with his finger, 
 directed me to a fair pair of stairs on the farther side of a 
 large court, and bid me go up those stairs, and go on till I 
 could go no farther. 
 
 Accordingly I went up the stairs ; the first flight whereof 
 brought me to a fair chapel on my left hand, which I could 
 look into through the iron gates, but could not have gone 
 into if I would. 
 
 I knew that was not a place for me : wherefore, following 
 my direction and the winding of the stairs, I went up a 
 storey higher, which brought me into a room which I soon 
 perceived to be a court-room or place of judicature. After I 
 had stood a while there, and taken a view of it, observing a 
 door on the farther side, I went to it, and opened it, with 
 intention to go in, but I quickly drew back, being almost 
 affrighted at the dismalness of the place ; for besides that 
 the walls quite round were laid all over, from top to bottom, 
 in black, there stood in the middle of it a great whipping- 
 post, which was all the furniture it had. 
 
 In one of these two'rooms judgment was given, and in 
 the other it was executed on those ill people who for their 
 lewdness were sent to this prison, and there sentenced to be 
 whipped ; which was so contrived that the court might not 
 only hear, but see, if they pleased, their sentence executed. 
 
 A sight so unexpected, and withal so unpleasing, gave me 
 no encouragement either to rest or indeed to enter at all 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 95 
 
 there ; till looking earnestly I espied, on the opposite side, 
 a door, which giving me hopes of a farther progress, I 
 adventured to step hastily to it, and opened it. 
 
 This let me into one of the fairest rooms that, so far as I 
 remember, I was ever in, and no wonder, for though it was 
 now put to this mean use, it had for many ages past been the 
 royal seat or palace of the kings of England, until Cardinal 
 Wolsey built Whitehall^ and offered it as a peace offering to 
 King Henry the Eighth, who until that time had kept his 
 court in this house, and had this, as the people in the house 
 reported, for his dining-room, by which name it then went. 
 
 This room in length (for I lived long enough in it to have 
 time to measure it) was threescore feet, and had breadth 
 proportionable to it. In it, on the front side, were very 
 large bay windows, in which stood a large table. It had 
 other very large tables in it, with benches round ; and at 
 that time the floor was covered with rushes, against some 
 solemn festival, which I heard it was bespoken for. 
 
 Here was my nil ultra, and here I found I might set up my 
 piUar ; for although there was a door out of it to a back pair 
 of stairs which led to it, yet that was kept locked. So that 
 finding I had now followed my keeper's direction to the 
 utmost point, beyond which I could not go, I sat down and 
 considered that rhetorical saying, " That the way to Heaven 
 lay by the gate of Hell ; " the black room, through which I 
 passed into this, bearing some resemblance to the latter, as 
 this comparatively and by way of allusion might in some sort 
 be thought to bear to the former. 
 
 But I was quickly put out of these thoughts by the flocking 
 in of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners, amongst whom 
 yet, when all were come together, there was but one whom I 
 knew so much as by face, and with him I had no acquaintance ; 
 for I having been but a little while in the city, and in that 
 time kept close to my studies, I was by that means known 
 to very few. 
 
 Soon after we were all gotton together came up the master 
 of the house after us, and demanded our names, which we 
 
96 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 might reasonably have refused to give till we had been legally 
 convened before some civil magistrate who had power to 
 examine us and demand our names ; but we, who were 
 neither guileful nor wilful, simply gave him our names, which 
 he took down in writing. 
 
 It was, as I hinted before, a general storm which fell that 
 day, but it lighted most, and most heavy, upon our meetings ; 
 so that most of our men Friends were made prisoners, and 
 the prisons generally filled. And great work had the women 
 to run about from prison to prison to find their husbands, their 
 fathers, their brothers, or their servants; for according as 
 they had disposed themselves to several meetings, so were 
 they dispersed to several prisons. And no less care and 
 pains had they, when they had found them, to furnish them 
 with provisions and other necessary accommodations. 
 
 But an excellent order, even in those early days, was 
 practised among the Friends of that city, by which there 
 were certain Friends of either sex appointed to have the 
 oversight of the prisons in every quarter, and to take care 
 of all Friends, the poor especially, that should be committed 
 thither. 
 
 This prison of Bridewell was under the care of two honest, 
 grave, discreet, and motherly women, whose names were 
 Anne Merrick (afterwards Vivers), and Anne Travers, both 
 widows. 
 
 They, so soon as they understood that there were Friends 
 brought into that prison, provided some hot victuals, meat, 
 and broth, for the weather was cold ; and ordering their 
 servants to bring it them, with bread, cheese, and beer, came 
 themselves also with it, and having placed it on a table, gave 
 notice to us that it w*s provided for all those that had not 
 others to provide for them, or were not able to provide for 
 themselves. And there wanted not among us a competent 
 number of such guests. 
 
 As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as possibly I 
 could, that I might draw out the thread of my little stock to 
 the utmost length, yet had I by this time reduced it to ten- 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 97 
 
 pence, which was all the money I had about me, or anywhere 
 else at my command. 
 
 This was but a small estate to enter upon an imprisonment 
 with, yet was I not at all discouraged at it, nor had I a 
 murmuring thought. I had known what it was, moderately, 
 to abound, and if I should now come to suffer want, I knew I 
 ought to be content ; and through the grace of God I was so. 
 I had lived by Providence before, when for a long time I had 
 no money at all, and I had always found the Lord a good 
 provider. I made no doubt, therefore, that He who sent the 
 ravens to feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies, would find 
 some means to sustain me with needful food and raiment ; 
 and I had leam'd by experience the truth of that saying, 
 Nalura pauds conlenta — i.e., Nature is content with few things, 
 or a little. 
 
 Although the sight and smell of hot food was sufficiently 
 enticing to my empty stomach, for I had eaten little that 
 morning and was hungry, yet, considering the terms of the 
 invitation, I questioned whether I .was included in it ; and 
 after some reasonings at length concluded that, while I had 
 tenpence in my pocket, I should be but an injurious intruder 
 to that mess, which was provided for such as perhaps had not 
 twopence in theirs. 
 
 Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as far from the 
 table as I could, and sat down in a quiet retirement of mind 
 till the repast was over, which was not long ; for there were 
 hands enough at it to raiake light work of it. 
 
 When evening came the porter came up the back stairs, and 
 opening the door, told us if we desired to have anything that 
 was to be had in the house, he would bring it us ; for there 
 was in the house a chandler's shop, at which beer, bread, 
 butter, cheese, eggs and bacon, might be had for money. 
 Upon which many went to him, and spake for what of these 
 things they had a mind to, giving him money to pay for them. 
 
 Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out my ten- 
 pence as far as I could, desired him to bring me a penny loaf 
 only. When he returned we all resorted to him to receive 
 7 
 
98 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 our several provisions, which he delivered ; and when he came 
 to me he told me he could not get a penny loaf, but he had 
 brought me two halfpenny loaves. 
 
 This suited me better ; wherefore returning to my place 
 again, I sat down and eat up one of my loaves, reserving the 
 other for the next day. 
 
 This was to me both dinner and supper ; and so well satis- 
 fied I was with it that I could willingly then have gone to 
 bed, if I had had one to go to ; but that was not to be expected 
 there, nor had any one any bedding brought in that night. 
 
 Some of the company had been so considerate as to send 
 for a pound of candles, that we might not sit all night in the 
 dark, and having lighted divers of them, and placed them in 
 several parts of that large room, we kept walking to keep us 
 warm. 
 
 After I had warmed myself pretty thoroughly and the even- 
 ing was pretty far spent, I bethought myself of a lodging ; 
 and cast mine eye on the table which stood in the bay win- 
 dow, the frame whereof looked, I thought, somewhat like a 
 bedstead. Wherefore, willing to make sure of that, I gathered 
 up a good armful of the rushes wherewith the floor was 
 covered, and spreading them under the table, crept in upon 
 them in my clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head 
 upon one end of the table's frame, instead of a bolster. 
 
 My example was followed by the rest, who, gathering up 
 rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in other parts of 
 the room, and so to rest we went. 
 
 I having a quiet easy mind, was soon asleep, and slept till 
 about the middle of the night. And then waking, finding 
 my legs and feet very cold, I crept out of my cabin and 
 began to walk about tpace. 
 
 This waked and raised all the rest, who finding themselves 
 cold as well as I, got up and walked about with me, till we 
 had pretty well warmed ourselves, and then we all lay down 
 again, and rested till morning. 
 
 Next day, all they who had families, or belong'd to families, 
 had bedding brought in of one sort or other, which they 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 99 
 
 disposed at ends and sides of the room, leaving the middle void 
 to walk in. 
 
 But I, who had nobody to look after me, kept to my rushy 
 pallet under the table for four nights together, in which time 1 
 did not put off my clothes ; yet, through the merciful goodness 
 of God unto me, I rested and slept well, and enjoyed health, 
 without taking cold. 
 
 In this time divers of our company, through the solicitations 
 of some of their relations or aquaintance to Sir Richard Brown,' 
 who was at that time a great master of misrule in the city, 
 and over Bridewell more especially, were released ; and among 
 these one William Mucklow, who lay in a hammock. He 
 having observed that I only was unprovided with lodging, 
 came very courteously to me, and kindly offered me the use 
 of his hammock while I should continue a prisoner. 
 
 This was a providential accommodation to me, which I 
 received thankfully, both from the Lord and from him ; and 
 from thenceforth I thought I lay as well as ever I had done 
 in my life. 
 
 Amongst those that remained there were several young 
 men who cast themselves into a club, and laying down every 
 one an equal proportion of money, put it into the hand of 
 our friend Anne Travers, desiring her to lay it out for them 
 in provisions, and send them in every day a mess of hot 
 meat ; and they kindly invited me to come into their club 
 with them. These saw my person, and judged of me by 
 that, but they saw not my purse, nor understood the 
 lightness of my pocket. But I, who alone understood my 
 own condition, knew I must sit down with lower commons. 
 Wherefore, not giving them the true reason, I as fairly as I 
 could excused myself from entering at present into their 
 mess, and went on, as before, to eat by myself, and that very 
 sparingly, as my stock would bear, and before my tenpence 
 was quite spent Providence, on whom I relied, sent me in a 
 fresh supply. 
 
 '[See introduction.] 
 
100 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 For William Penington, a brother of Isaac Penington's, a 
 Friend and merchant in London, at whose house, before I 
 came to live in the city, I was wont to lodge, having been at 
 his brother's that day upon a visit, escaped this storm, and 
 so was at liberty ; and understanding when he came back 
 what had been done, bethought himself of me, and upon 
 enquiry hearing where I was, came in love to see me. 
 
 He in discourse, amongst other things, asked me how it 
 was with me as to money, and how well I was furnished : I 
 told him I could not boast of much, and yet I could not say 
 I had none ; though what I then had was indeed next to 
 none. Whereupon he put twenty shillings into my hand, 
 and desired me to accept of that for the present. I saw a 
 Divine hand in thus opening his heart and hand in this 
 manner to me ; and though I would willingly have been 
 excused from taking so much, and would have returned one 
 half of it, yet he pressing it all upon me, I received it with a 
 thankful acknowledgment as a token of love from the Lord 
 and from him. 
 
 On the seventh day he went down again, as he usually did, 
 to his brother's house at Chalfont, and in discourse gave them 
 an account of my imprisonment. Whereupon, at his return 
 on the second day of the week following, my affectionate 
 friend Mary Penington sent me, by him, forty shillings, 
 which he soon after brought me ; out of which I would 
 have repaid him the twenty shillings he had so kindly 
 furnished me with, but he would not admit it, telling me 
 I might have occasion for that and more before I got my 
 liberty. 
 
 Not many days after this I received twenty shillings from 
 my father, who being then at his house in Oxfordshire, and 
 by letter fi-om my sister understanding that I was a prisoner 
 in Bridewell, sent this money to me for my support there, 
 and withal a letter to my sister for her to deliver to one 
 called Mr. Wray, who lived near Bridewell, and was a servant 
 to Sir Richard Brown in some wharf of his, requesting him to 
 intercede with his master, who was one of the governors of 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 101 
 
 Bridewell, for my deliverance ; but that letter coming to my 
 hands, I suppressed it, and have it yet by me. 
 
 Now was my pocket from the lowest ebb risen to a full 
 tide. I was at the brink of want, next door to nothing, yet 
 my confidence did not fail nor my faith stagger ; and now on 
 a sudden I had plentiful supplies, shower upon shower, so 
 that I abounded, yet was not lifted up, but in humility could 
 say, " This is the Lord's doing '. And without defrauding 
 any of the instruments of the acknowledgments due unto 
 them, mine eye looked over and beyond them to the Lord, 
 who I saw was the author thereof and prime agent therein, 
 and with a thankful heart I returned thanksgivings and 
 praises to Him. And this great goodness of the Lord to me 
 I thus record, to the end that all into whose hands this may 
 come may be encouraged to trust in the Lord, whose mercy 
 is over all His works, and who is indeed a God near at hand, 
 to help in the needful time. 
 
 Now I durst venture myself into the club to which I had 
 been invited, and accordingly, having by this time gained an 
 acquaintance with them, took an opportunity to cast myself 
 among them ; and thenceforward, so long as we continued 
 prisoners there together, I was one of their mess. 
 
 And now the chief thing I wanted was employment, which 
 scarce any wanted but myself ; for the rest of my company 
 were generally tradesmen of such trades as could set them- 
 selves on work. Of these, divers were tailors, some masters, 
 some journeymen, and with these I most inclined to settle. 
 But because I was too much a novice in their art to be 
 trusted with their work, lest I should spoil the garments, I 
 got work from an hosier in Cheapside, which was to make 
 night-waistcoats, of red and yellow flannel, for women and 
 children. And with this I entered myself among the tailors, 
 sitting cross-legged as they did, and so spent those leisure 
 hours with innocency and pleasure which want of business 
 would have made tedious. And indeed that was in a manner 
 the only advantage I had by it ; for my master, though a very 
 wealthy man, and one who professed not only friendship but 
 
102 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 particular kindness to me, dealt I thought but hardly with 
 me. For though he knew not what I had to subsist by, he 
 never offered me a penny for my work till I had done working 
 for him, and went, after I was released, to give him a visit ; 
 and then he would not reckon with me neither, because, as 
 he smilingly said, he would not let me so far into his trade as 
 to acquaint me With the prices of the work, but would be 
 sure to give me enough. And thereupon he gave me one 
 crown piece and no more ; though I had wrought long for 
 him, and made him many dozens of waistcoats, and bought 
 the thread myself; which I thought was very poor pay. But 
 as Providence had ordered it, I wanted the work more than 
 the wages, and therefore took what he gave me without 
 complaining. 
 
 About this time, while we were prisoners in our fair chamber, 
 a Friend was brought and put in among us, who had been sent 
 thither by Richard Brown to beat hemp ; whose case was 
 thus : — 
 
 He was a very poor man, who lived by mending shoes, and 
 on a seventh-day night, late, a carman, or some other such 
 labouring man, brought him a pair of shoes to mend, desiring 
 him to mend them that night, that he might have them in the 
 morning, for he had no other to wear. The poor man sat up 
 at work upon them till after midnight, and then finding he 
 could not finish them, went to bed, intending to do the rest in 
 the morning. 
 
 Accordingly, he got up betimes, and though he wrought as 
 privately as he could in his chamber, that he might avoid 
 giving offence to any, yet could he not do it so privately but 
 that an ill-natured nqghbour perceived it, who went and in- 
 formed against him for working on the Sunday. Whereupon 
 he was had before Richard Brown, who committed him to 
 Bridewell for a certain time, to be kept to hard labour in 
 beating hemp, which is labour hard enough. 
 
 It so fell out that at the same time were committed thither 
 (for what cause I do not now remember) two lusty young men, 
 who were called Baptists, to be kept also at the same labour. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 103 
 
 The Friend was a poor little man, of a low condition and 
 mean appearance ; whereas these two Baptists were topping 
 blades, that looked high and spoke big. They scorned to 
 beat hemp, and made a pish at the whipping-post ; but when 
 they had once felt the smart of it, they soon cried peccavi, and 
 submitting to the punishment, set their tender hands to the 
 beetles. 
 
 The Friend, on the other hand, acting upon a principle, 
 knowing he had done no evil for which he should undergo 
 that punishment, refused to work, and for refusing was cruelly 
 whipt ; which he bore with wonderful constancy and resolution 
 of mind. 
 
 The manner of whipping there is, to strip the party to the 
 skin from the waist upwards, and having fastened him to the 
 whipping-post, so that he can neither resist nor shun the 
 strokes, to lash the naked body with long but slender twigs of 
 holly, which will bend almost like thongs, and lap round 
 the body ; and these having little knots upon them, tear 
 the skin and flesh, and give extreme pain. 
 
 With these rods they tormented the Friend most barbar- 
 ously, and the more for that, having mastered the two braving 
 Baptists, they disdained to be mastered by this poor Quaker. 
 Yet were they fain at last to yield when they saw their 
 utmost severity could not make him yield ; and then, not 
 willing to be troubled longer with him, they turned him up 
 among us. 
 
 When we had inquired of him how it was with him, and he 
 had given us a brief account of both his cause and usage, 
 it came in my mind that I had in my box (which I had sent 
 for from my lodging, to keep some few books and other 
 necessaries in) a little gallipot with Lucatellu's balsam in it. 
 
 Wherefore, causing a good fire to be made, and setting the 
 Friend within a blanket before the fire, we stripped him to 
 the waist, as if he had been to be whipt again, and found his 
 skin so cut and torn with the knotty holly rods, both back, 
 side, arm, and breast, that it was a dismal sight to look upon. 
 Then melting some of the balsam, I with a feather anointed 
 
104 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 all the sores, and putting a softer cloth between his skin and 
 his shirt, helped him on with his clothes again. This dressing 
 gave him much ease, and I continued it till he was well ; and 
 because he was a very poor man, we took him into our mess, 
 contriving that there should always be enough for him as well 
 as for ourselves. Thus he lived with us until the time he was 
 committed for was expired, and then he was released. 
 
 But we were still continued prisoners by an arbitrary power, 
 not being committed by the civil authority, nor having seen 
 the face of any civil magistrate from the day we were thrust 
 in here by soldiers, which was the 26th day of the eighth 
 month, to the 19th of the tenth month following. 
 
 On that day we were had to the Sessions at the Old Bailey ; 
 but not being called there, we were brought back to Bride- 
 well, and continued there to the 29th of the same month, and 
 then we were carried to the Sessions again. 
 
 I expected I should have been called the first, because 
 my name was first taken down ; but it proved otherwise, so 
 that I was one of the last that was called ; which gave me 
 the advantage of hearing the pleas of the other prisoners, 
 and discovering the temper of the Court. 
 
 The prisoners complained of the illegality of their imprison- 
 ment, and desired to know what they had lain so long in 
 prison for. The court regarded nothing of that, and did not 
 stick to tell them so, " For," said the Recorder to them, " it 
 you think you have been wrongfully imprisoned, you have 
 your remedy at law, and may take it, if you think it worth 
 your while. The Court," said he, " may send for any man out 
 of the street and tender him the oath, so we take no notice 
 how you came hither, but finding you here we tender you the 
 oath of allegiance ; which if you refuse to take, we shall 
 commit you, and at length praemunire you.'' Accoi-dingly, as 
 each one refused it, he was set aside and another called. 
 
 By this I saw it was in vain for me to insist upon false 
 imprisonment or ask the cause of my commitment ; though I 
 had before furnished myself with some authorities and maxims 
 of law on the subject, to have pleaded, if room had been given. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 105 
 
 and I had the book out of which I took them in my bosom ; 
 for the weather being cold, I wore a gown girt about the 
 middle, and had put the book within it. But I now resolved 
 to wave all that, and insist upon another plea, which just 
 then came into my mind. 
 
 As soon therefore as I was called I stepped nimbly to the 
 bar, and stood upon the stepping, that I might the better both 
 hear and be heard, and laying my hands upon the bar, stood 
 ready, expecting what they would say to me. 
 
 I suppose they took me for a confident young man, for they 
 looked very earnestly upon me, and we faced each other, 
 without words for a while. At length the Recorder, who was 
 called Sir John Howel, asked me if I would take the oath of 
 allegiance. 
 
 To which I answered : " I conceive this Court hath not 
 power to tender that oath to me, in the condition wherein I 
 stand". 
 
 This so unexpected plea seemed to startle them, so that 
 they looked one upon another, and said somewhat low one 
 to another, " What ! doth he demur to the jurisdiction of 
 the Court ? " And thereupon the Recorder asked me, " Do 
 you then demur to the jurisdiction of the Court"? — "Not 
 absolutely," answered I, "but conditionally, with respect to 
 my present condition, and the circumstances I am now under." 
 
 " Why, what is your present condition ? " said the Recorder. 
 — "A prisoner," replied I. — "And what is that," said he, "to 
 your taking or not taking the oath ? " — "Enough," said I, "as 
 I conceive, to except me from the tender thereof while I am 
 under this condition." — " Pray what is your reason for that ? " 
 said he.— "This," said I, "that if I rightly understand the 
 words of the statute, I am required to say that / do take this 
 oath freely and without constraint, which I cannot say, because 
 I am not a free man, but in bonds and under constraint. 
 Wherefore I conceive if you would tender that oath to me, 
 ye ought first to set me free from my present imprison- 
 ment." 
 
 "But," said the Recorder, "will you take the oath if 
 
106 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 you be set free?" — "Thou shalt see that," said I, "when 
 I am set free. Therefore set me free first, and then ask the 
 question." 
 
 "But," said he again, "you know your own mind sure, and 
 can tell now what you would do if you were at liberty." — 
 " Yes," replied I, " that I can ; but I don't hold myself 
 obliged to tell it until I am at liberty. Therefore set me at 
 liberty, and ye shall soon hear it." 
 
 Thus we fenced a good while, till I was both weary of such 
 trifling and doubted also lest some of the standers-by should 
 suspect I would take it if I was set at liberty. Wherefore, 
 when the Recorder put it upon me again, I told him plainly, 
 No ; though I thought they ought not to tender it me till 
 I had been set at liberty ; yet if I was set at liberty I could 
 not take that nor any other oath, because my Lord and Master 
 Christ Jesus had expressly commanded His disciples not to 
 smear at all. 
 
 As His command was enough to me, so this confession of 
 nxine was enough to them. " Take him away," said they ; 
 and away I was taken, and thrust into the bail-dock ^ to my 
 other friends, who had been called before me. And as soon 
 as the rest of our company were called, and had refused to 
 swear, we were all committed to Newgate, and thrust into 
 the common side. 
 
 When we came there we found that side of the prison very 
 full of Friends, who were prisoners there before (as indeed 
 were at that time all the other parts of that prison, and most 
 of the other prisons about the town), and our addition caused 
 a great throng on that side. Notwithstanding which we 
 were kindly welcomed by our friends whom we found there, 
 and entertained by them as well as their condition would 
 admit, until we could get in our accommodations and provide 
 for ourselves. 
 
 '["Bale-dock," or "bail-dock;" the spelling and derivation are both 
 uncertain. This was a small room partitioned off at one corner of the 
 court, in which the prisoners were kept while waiting for trial. See 
 Murray's Dictionary, s.v.] 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 107 
 
 We had the liberty of the hall, which is on the first story 
 over the gate, and which in the day-time is common to all 
 the prisoners on that side, felons as well as others, to walk in 
 and to beg out of; and we had also the liberty of some other 
 rooms over that hall, to walk or work in a-days. But in the 
 night we all lodged in one room, which was large and round, 
 having in the middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber, 
 which bore up the chapel that is over it. 
 
 To this pillar we fastened our hammocks at the one end, 
 and to the opposite wall on the other end, quite round the 
 room, and in three degrees, or three storeys high, one over 
 the other ; so that they who lay in the upper and middle row 
 of hammocks were obliged to go to bed first, because they 
 were to climb up to the higher by getting into the lower. 
 And under the lower rank of hammocks, by the wall-sides, 
 were laid beds upon the floor, in which the sick and such 
 weak persons as could not get into the hammocks lay. 
 And indeed, though the room was large and pretty airy, 
 yet the breath and steam that came from so many bodies, of 
 different ages, conditions, and constitutions, packed up so 
 close together, was enough to cause sickness amongst us, 
 and I believe did so. For there were many sick and some 
 very weak, though we were not long there, yet in that 
 time one of our fellow-prisoners, who lay in one of those 
 pallet-beds, died.i 
 
 This caused some bustle in the house ; for the body of the 
 deceased being laid out and put into a coffin, was carried 
 down and set in the room called the Lodge, that the coroner 
 
 '[Besse, i., 388, mentions Anthony Skillington, one of those who died 
 in Newgate about this time, saying that he with ten others was kept in 
 the condemned hole for some time and then put in "a stinking place" 
 among the common felons. The coroner's jury who viewed his body, 
 found that " the stench of the place and the want of air had surfeited him 
 and occasioned his death in the heat of summer ". In all twenty persons 
 died either in Newgate or from sickness contracted there. It is not clear 
 that Anthony Skillington was the Quaker to whose death EUwood refers, 
 but no other name can be suggested. Richard Hubberthorn and Edward 
 Burrough were the most considerable of those who died in this imprison- 
 ment.] 
 
108 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 might inquire into the cause and manner of his death. And 
 the manner of their doing it is thus : As soon as the coroner 
 is come the turnkeys run out into the street under the gate, 
 and seize upon every man that passes by, till they have got 
 enough to make up the coroner's inquest. And so resolute 
 these rude fellows are, that if any man resist or dispute it 
 with them, they drag him in by main force, not regarding 
 what condition he is of. Nay, I have been told they will 
 not stick to stop a coach, and pluck the men out of it. 
 
 It so happened that at this time they lighted on an ancient 
 man, a grave citizen, who was trudging through the gate in 
 great haste, and him they laid hold on, telling him he must 
 come in and serve upon the coroner's inquest. He pleaded 
 hard, begged and besought them to let him go, assuring 
 them he was going on very urgent business, and that the 
 stopping him would be greatly to his prejudice. But they 
 were deaf to all entreaties, and hurried him in, the poor man 
 chaffing without remedy. 
 
 When they had got their complement, and were shut in 
 together, the rest of them said to this ancient man, " Come, 
 father, you are the oldest among us ; you shall be our fore- 
 man ". And when the coroner had sworn them on the jury, 
 the coffin was uncovered, that they might look upon the body. 
 But the old man, disturbed in his mind at the interruption 
 they had given him, and grown somewhat fretful upon it, 
 said to them : " To what purpose do you show us a dead 
 body here ? You would not have us think, sure, that this 
 man died in this room ! How then shall we be able to 
 judge how this man came by his death unless we see the 
 place wherein he died, and wherein he hath been kept 
 prisoner before he died .'' How know we but that the 
 incommodiousness of the place wherein he was kept may 
 have occasioned his death ? Therefore show us," said he, 
 " the place wherein this man died." 
 
 This much displeased the keepers, and they began to 
 banter the old man, thinking to have beaten him off it. 
 But he stood up tightly to them : " Come, come," said he, 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 109 
 
 "though you have made a fool of me in bringing me in 
 hither, ye shall not find a child of me now I am here. 
 Mistake not yourselves : I understand my place and your 
 duty : and I require you to conduct me and my brethren to 
 the place where this man died : refuse it at your peril." 
 
 They now wished they had let the old man go about his 
 business, rather than by troubling him have brought this 
 trouble on themselves. But when they saw he persisted in 
 his resolution and was peremptory, the coroner told them 
 they must go shew him the place. 
 
 It was in the evening when they began this work, and by 
 this time it was grown bedtime with us, so that we had taken 
 down our hammocks, which in the day were hung up by the 
 walls, and had made them ready to go into, and were un- 
 dressing ourselves in readiness to go into them ; when on a 
 sudden we heard a great noise of tongues and of trampling 
 of feet coming up towards us. And by and by one of the 
 turnkeys, opening our door, said : " Hold, hold ; do not 
 undress yourselves : here is the coroner's inquest coming to 
 see you ". 
 
 As soon as they were come to the door, for within the 
 door there was scarce room for them to come, the foreman, 
 who led them, lifting up his hand, said ; " Lord bless me ! 
 what a sight is here ! I did not think there had been so 
 much cruelty in the hearts of Englishmen to use Englishmen 
 in this manner. We need not now question," said he to the 
 rest of the jury, " how this man came by his death ; we may 
 rather wonder that they are not all dead, for this place is 
 enough to breed an infection among them. Well," added 
 he, " if it please God to lengthen my life till to-morrow, I will 
 find means to let the King know how his subjects are dealt 
 with." 
 
 Whether he did so or not I cannot tell ; but I am apt to 
 think that he applied himself to the Mayor or the Sheriffs of 
 London, for the next day one of the Sheriffs called Sir 
 William Turner, a woollen-draper in Paul's Yard, came to 
 the press-yard, and having ordered the porter of Bridewell 
 
110 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 to attend him there, sent up a turnkey amongst us, to bid 
 all the Bridewell prisoners come down to him, for they knew 
 us not, but we knew our own company. 
 
 Being come before him in the press-yard, he looked kindly 
 on us and spoke courteously to us. " Gentlemen," said he, 
 " I understand the prison is very full, and I am sorry for it. 
 I wish it were in my power to release you and the rest of 
 your friends that are in it. But since I cannot do that, I am 
 willing to do what I can for you, and therefore I am come 
 hither to inquire how it is ; and I would have all you who 
 came from Bridewell return thither again, which will be a 
 better accommodation to you, and your removal will give the 
 more room to those that are left behind ; and here is the 
 porter of Bridewell, your old keeper, to attend you thither." 
 
 We duly acknowledged the favour of the Sheriff to us and 
 our friends above, in this removal of us, which would give 
 them more room and us a better air. But before we parted 
 from him I spoke particularly to him on another occasion, 
 which was this : — 
 
 When we came into Newgate we found a shabby fellow 
 there among the Friends, who upon inquiry we understood 
 had thrust himself among our friends when they were taken 
 at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to prison with them, in 
 hopes to be maintained by them. They knew nothing of 
 him till they found him shut in with them in the prison, and 
 then took no notice of him, as not knowing how or why he 
 came thither. But he soon gave them cause to take notice 
 of him, for wherever he saw any victuals brought forth for 
 them to eat he would be sure to thrust in, with knife in 
 hand, and make himself his own carver ; and so impudent 
 was he, that if he saw the provision was short, whoever 
 wanted, he would be sure to take enough. 
 
 Thus lived this lazy drone upon the labours of the indus- 
 trious bees, to his high content and their no small trouble, 
 to whom his company was as offensive as his ravening was 
 oppressive ; nor could they get any relief by their complaining 
 of him to the keepers. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 111 
 
 This fellow hearing the notice which was given for the 
 Bridewell men to go down in order to be removed to Bride- 
 well again, and hoping, no doubt, that fresh quarters would 
 produce fresh commons, and that he would fare better with 
 us than where he was, thrust himself amongst us, and went 
 down into the press-yard with us, which I knew not of till I 
 saw him standing there with his hat on, and looking as 
 demurely as he could, that the Sheriff might take him for a 
 Quaker ; at the sight of which my spirit was much stirred. 
 
 Wherefore, so soon as the Sheriff had done speaking to us 
 and we had made our acknowledgment of his kindness, I 
 stepped a little nearer to him, and pointing to that fellow, 
 said : " That man is not only none of our company, for he is 
 no Quaker, but is an idle, dissolute fellow who hath thrust 
 himself in among our friends to be sent to prison with them, 
 that he might live upon them ; therefore I desire we may 
 not be troubled with him at Bridewell ". 
 
 At this the Sheriff smiled, and calling the fellow forth, 
 said to him : " How came you to be in prison ? " — " I was 
 taken at a meeting," said he. — " But what business had you 
 there.''" said the Sheriff. — "I went to hear," said he. — "Aye, 
 you went upon a worse design, it seems," replied the Sheriff; 
 "but I'll disappoint you," said he, "for I'll change your 
 company and send you to them that are like yourself." 
 Then calling for the turnkey, he said : " Take this fellow, and 
 put him among the felons, and be sure let him not trouble 
 the Quakers any more ". 
 
 Hitherto this fellow had stood with his hat on, as willing 
 to have passed, if he could, for a Quaker, but as soon as he 
 heard this doom passed on him, off went his hat, and to 
 bowing and scraping he fell, with " Good your worship, have 
 pity upon me, and set me at liberty". — "No, no," said the 
 Sheriff, " I will not so far disappoint you ; since you had a 
 mind to be in prison, in prison you shall be for me." Then 
 bidding the turnkey take him away, he had him up, and put 
 him among the felons, and so Friends had a good deliverance 
 from him. 
 
112 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 The Sheriff then bidding us farewell, the porter of Bride- 
 well came to us, and told us we knew our way to Bridewell 
 without him, and he could trust us ; therefore he would not 
 stay nor go with us, but left us to take our own time, so we 
 were in before bedtime. 
 
 Then went we up again to our friends in Newgate, and 
 gave them an account of what had passed, and having taken 
 a solemn leave of them, we made up our packs to be gone. 
 But before I pass from Newgate, I think it not amiss to give 
 the reader some little account of what I observed while I was 
 there. 
 
 The common side of Newgate is generally accounted, as it 
 really is, the worst part of that prison ; not so much from the 
 place as the people, it being usually stocked with the veriest 
 rogues and meanest sort of felons and pickpockets, who not 
 being able to pay chamber-rent on the master's side, are 
 thrust in there. And if they come in bad, to be sure they do 
 not go out better; for here they have the opportunity to 
 instruct one another in their art, and impart to each other 
 what improvements they have made therein. 
 
 The common hall, which is the first room over the gate, is 
 a good place to walk in when the prisoners are out of it, 
 saving the danger of catching some cattle which they may 
 have left in it, and there I used to walk in a morning before 
 they were let up, and sometimes in the daytime when they 
 have been there. 
 
 They all carried themselves respectfully towards me, which 
 I imputed chiefly to this, that when any of our women friends 
 came there to visit the prisoners, if they had not relations of 
 their own there to take care of them, I, as being a young 
 man and more at leistire than most others, for I could not 
 play the tailor there, was forward to go down with them to 
 the grate, and see them safe out. And sometimes they have 
 left money in my hands for the felons, who at such times 
 were very importunate beggars, which I forthwith distributed 
 among them in bread, which was to be had in the place. 
 But so troublesome an office it was, that I thought one had 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 113 
 
 as good have had a pack of hungry hounds about one, as 
 these, when they knew there was a dole to be given. Yet 
 this, I think, made them a little the more observant to me ; 
 for they would dispose themselves to one side of the room, 
 that they might make way for me to walk on the other. 
 And when I walked there I had usually a book in my hand 
 on which I had mine eye ; which made them think I did not 
 heed what they said. By this means, mine ear being atten- 
 tive to them, I heard them relate one to another many of 
 their roguish pranks. 
 
 One day, as 1 was thus walking beside them, I heard them 
 recounting one to another what feats they had done at pocket- 
 picking and shop-lifting. Whereupon, turning short upon 
 them, I asked them : " Which of you all will undertake to 
 pick my pocket ? " They were not very forward to answer, 
 but viewed me round. I wore a long gown which was lapt 
 over before and tied about the middle, and had no pocket 
 holes in it. When they had a while considered it, and I 
 having taken another turn was come up again to them, one 
 of them said : " Why, master, if you will promise not to 
 prosecute us, we will show you a piece of our skill ". — " Nay, 
 hold there," said I, " I won't so far encourage you in evil as to 
 promise not to prosecute ;" and away I turned again, having 
 mine eye on my book, but mine ears to them. And in a 
 while I heard them contriving how they would have done it. 
 " I, said one of them, would give him the budge, and before 
 he can recover himself, you, said he to another of them, 
 having your penknife ready should slit his gown ; and then," 
 said he, "let Honeypot alone for the diving part." This Honey- 
 pot was a little boy then in prison with them for picking a 
 pocket, who by his stature did not seem above ten or a dozen 
 years old ; but for his dexterity for pocket-picking was held 
 to be one of the top of the trade. As for the budge, I had 
 had it given me often in the street, but understood not the 
 meaning of it till now ; and now I found it was a jostle 
 enough to throw one almost upon his nose. 
 
 I have sometimes occasionally been in the hall in an even- 
 8 
 
114 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 ing, and have seen the whores let in unto them, which I take 
 to be a common practice. Nasty sluts indeed they were, and 
 in that respect more suitable. And as I have passed them I 
 have heard the rogues and they making their bargains, which 
 and which of them should company together that night. 
 Which abominable wickedness must be imputed to the dis- 
 honesty of the turnkeys, who, for vile gain to themselves, 
 not only suffer but further this lewdness. 
 
 These are some of the common evils which make the 
 common side of Newgate in measure a type of hell upon 
 earth. But there was at that time something of another 
 nature which was very offensive to me. 
 
 When we came first into Newgate there lay in a little by 
 place like a closet, near the room where we lodged, the 
 quartered bodies of three men, who had been executed some 
 days before, for a real or pretended plot ; which was the 
 ground, or at least pretext, for that storm in the city which 
 had caused this imprisonment. The names of these three 
 men were Philips, Tongue and Gibs ' ; and the reason why 
 their quarters lay so long there was, the relations were all 
 that while petitioning to have leave to bury them ; which at 
 length with much ado was obtained for the quarters, but not 
 for the heads, which were ordered to be set up in some parts 
 of the city. 
 
 I saw the heads when they were brought up to be boiled. 
 The hangman fetch'd them in a dirty dust basket out of some 
 by place, and setting them down amongst the felons, he and 
 they made sport with them. They took them by the hair, 
 flouting, jeering and laughing at them ; and then giving them 
 some ill names, box'd them on the ears and cheeks. Which 
 done the hangman put them into his kettle and parboiled 
 them with bay salt and cummin seed ; that to keep them from 
 putrefaction, and this to keep off the fowls from seizing on 
 them. The whole sight, as well that of the bloody quarters 
 first, as this of the heads afterwards, was both frightful and 
 
 '[See Corbett's State Trials, vol. vi., 226, for the trial of these men.] 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 115 
 
 loathsome and begat an abhorrence in my nature. Which as 
 it had rendered my confinement there by much the more 
 uneasy, so it made our removal from thence to Bridewell, 
 even in that respect, the more welcome : whither we now go. 
 
 For having, as I hinted before, made up our packs and 
 taken our leave of our friends, whom we were to leave 
 behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders, and walked 
 two and two abreast through the Old Bailey into Fleet Street, 
 and so to Old Bridewell. And it being about the middle of 
 the afternoon, and the streets pretty full of people, both the 
 shopkeepers at their doors and passengers in the way would 
 stop us, and ask us what we were and whither we were going ; 
 and when we had told them we were prisoners going from 
 one prison to another, from Newgate to Bridewell, " What ! " 
 said they, "without a keeper.''" — "No," said we, "for our 
 word, which we have given, is our keeper." Some thereupon 
 would advise us not to go to prison, but to go home. But 
 we told them we could not do so ; we could suffer for our 
 testimony, but could not fly from it. I do not remember we 
 had any abuse offered us, but were generally pitied by the 
 people. 
 
 When we were come to Bridewell, we were not put up 
 into the great room in which we had been before, but into a 
 low room in another fair court, which had a pump in the 
 middle of it. And here we were not shut up as before, but 
 had the liberty of the court to walk in, and of the pump to 
 wash or drink at. And indeed we might easily have gone 
 quite away if we would, there being a passage through the 
 court into the street ; but we were true and steady prisoners, 
 and looked upon this liberty, arising from their confidence in 
 us, to be a kind of parol upon us ; so that both conscience 
 and honour stood now engaged for our true imprisonment. 
 
 Adjoining to this room wherein we were was such another, 
 both newly fitted up for workhouses, and accordingly furnished 
 with very great blocks for beating hemp upon, and a lusty 
 whipping-post there was in each. And it was said that 
 Richard Brown had ordered those blocks to be provided for 
 
116 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 the Quakers to work on, resolving to try his strength with us 
 in that case ; but if that was his purpose, it was overruled, 
 for we never had any work offered us, nor were we treated 
 after the manner of those that are to be so used. Yet we set 
 ourselves to work on them ; for being very large, they served 
 the tailors for shop-boards, and others wrought upon them as 
 they had occasion ; and they served us very well for tables to 
 eat on. 
 
 We had also, besides this room, the use of our former 
 chamber above, to go into when we thought fit ; and thither 
 sometimes I withdrew, when I found a desire for retirement 
 and privacy, or had something on my mind to write, which 
 could not so well be done in company. And indeed about 
 this time my spirit was more than ordinarily exercised, though 
 on very different subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense of 
 the exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to me, in His 
 gracious and tender dealings with me, did deeply affect my 
 heart, and caused me to break forth in a song of thanksgiving 
 and praise to Him ; and on the other hand, a sense of the 
 prophaneness, debaucheries, cruelties, and other horrid im- 
 pieties of the age, fell heavy on me, and lay as a pressing 
 weight upon my spirit. And this drew from me a close 
 exprobration, which my mournful muse vented in the follow- 
 ing lines ; to which I gave for a title : — 
 
 SPECULUM SECULI: 
 
 OR, 
 
 A LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE TIMES. 
 
 Which heg§n with this expostulatory preface. 
 
 Why should my modest muse forbidden be 
 To speak of that which but too many see ? 
 Why should she by conniving seem t'uphold 
 Men's wickedness, and thereby make them bold 
 Still to persist in't. Why should she be shy 
 To call them Beasts, who want Humanity? 
 Why should she any longer silence keep 
 And lie secure as one that's fast asleep ? 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 117 
 
 Or how indeed can it expected be 
 
 That she should hold her tongue, and daily see 
 
 Those wicked and enormous crimes committed 
 
 Which she in modesty has pretermitted ; 
 
 Which but to name would with their filth defile 
 
 Chaste ears, and cast a blemish on her stile ? 
 
 Yet of so many she can not forbear 
 
 To mention some, which here detected are. 
 
 Loud were the cries which long had pierc'd mine ear, 
 Foul the reports which I did daily hear. 
 Unheard-of new-invented crimes were brought 
 By fame unto my knowledge, which I thought 
 Too foul and loathsome to have found a place 
 In any heart though ne'er so void of grace. 
 This made me take a more observant view 
 Whether report spake what of men is true. 
 
 But as the celebrated Southern Queen, 
 When she the court of Solomon had seen, 
 And had with more than usual diligence 
 Observ'd his splendour and magnificence, 
 Consider'd well his pomp, his port, his state, 
 The great retinue that on him did wait ; 
 As one with admiration filled, no doubt 
 Not able longer to contain, burst out 
 Into such words as these : " Thrice happy King ! 
 Whose fame throughout the universe doth ring. 
 Though of thy acts I thought report too bold, 
 Yet now I see one half hath not been told "- 
 Just so did I, though in another kind. 
 After I had intently fixed my mind 
 Upon men's actions, and had duly weigh'd 
 Not only what they did but what they said : 
 Awhile I stood like one that's struck with thunder, 
 Filled with astonishment and silent wonder. 
 At length rriy heart, swelling with indignation 
 Vented itself in such an exclamation : 
 
 O hellish doings ! infernal crew ! 
 Of whom, who says the worst he can says true, 
 O herd of lustful satyrs, monsters, brutes 1 
 For such a name to such a nature suits ; 
 What ink is black enough to write ! what pen 
 Fit to delineate such beasts — not men ? 
 Words are too shallow to express the rage, 
 The fury, madness, of this frantic age. 
 Numbers fall short to reckon up the crimes 
 Which are the recreations of these times. 
 
 Was Sodom ever guilty of a sin 
 Which England is not now involved in ? 
 
118 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 By custom, drunkenness so common's grown 
 
 That most men count it a small sin or none. 
 
 Ranting and roaring they affirm to be 
 
 The true characters of gentility. 
 
 Swearing and cursing is so much in fashion 
 
 That 'tis esteemed a badge of reputation. 
 
 What dreadful oaths, what direful execrations 
 
 On others ; on themselves what imprecations 
 
 They tumble out like roaring claps of thunder. 
 
 As if they meant to rend the clouds asunder. 
 
 Mockers do so abound in every place 
 
 That rare it is to meet a sober face. 
 
 Ambition, boasting, vanity and pride 
 
 With numbers numberless of sins beside 
 
 Are grown, through use, so common, that men call 
 
 Them peccadillos ; small, or none at all. 
 
 But, oh 1 the luxury and great excess 
 Which by this wanton age is used in dress ! 
 What pains do men and women take, alas ! 
 To make themselves for arrant Bedlams pass ! 
 The fool's py'd coat, which all wise men detest, 
 Is grown a garment now in great request ; 
 More colours in one waistcoat now they wear 
 Than in the rainbow ever did appear, 
 As if they were ambitious to put on 
 All colours that they cast their eyes upon : 
 Thereby outstripping the cameleon quite 
 Which cannot change itself to red or white. 
 Each man, like Proteus, his shape doth change 
 To whatsoever seemeth new or strange, 
 And he that in a modest garb is drest 
 Is made the laughing stock of all the rest. 
 Nor are they with their baubles satisfy'd 
 But sex distinctions too are laid aside ; 
 The women wear the trowsies and the vest. 
 While men in muffs, fans, petticoats are drest, 
 Some women, oh, the shame, like ramping rigs 
 Ride flaunting in their powder'd periwigs ; 
 Astride they sit, and not ashamed neither, 
 Drest up like men in jacket, cap and feather. 
 All things to lust^nd wantonness are fitted 
 Nothing that tends to vanity omitted. 
 To give a touch on every antick fashion 
 Which hath been worn of late within this nation 
 Might fill a volume, which would tire, no doubt. 
 The reader's patience, if not wear it out. 
 
 Come now ye ranting gallants of the times 
 Who nothing have to boast of but your crimes ; 
 Ye Satan's Hectors, who disdain to swear 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 119 
 
 An oath beneath " God damn me if He dare ". 
 Blasphemous wretches : whose impieties 
 With rude assaults have storm'd the very skies, 
 And dared the God of Heaven, a dreadful stroke 
 Shall ye receive by which ye shall be broke, 
 And in the fiery lake those torments find 
 Which for such desperadoes are assign'd. 
 
 And ye who take such great delight to curse 
 As that you think yourselves a deal the worse 
 Unless unto the highest strain ye swell 
 And with the devil make your bed in Hell : 
 This know, the long-provoked God is come 
 From whom ye must receive the dreadful doom : 
 " Depart ye cursed and for ever dwell 
 Where beds of torment are prepared in Hell". 
 
 'Twas wonderful to see in what a trice 
 This zealous nation was o'er-run with vice, 
 As when the boiling gulf with furious gales 
 Puff't up, o'erflows its banks and drowns the vales; 
 And when again it ebbs it leaves, we find, 
 A loathsome scum and noisome stink behind. 
 
 So great was, in a word, the wickedness 
 Of that black day; such the uncurb'd excess 
 As if the fatal hour had then been come 
 For the deliv'ry of Hell's pregnant womb, 
 And that the Devil had a patent got 
 To vend whatever merchandise he brought ; 
 Or that Pandora's box, which poets feign 
 Did all calamities in it contain. 
 Had then been newly op'ned and from thence 
 Had fluttered out this raging pestilence ; 
 Which since the common body hath o'erspread 
 With such a leprous scab from foot to head 
 That 'tis a lamentable sight to see. 
 How each sex, old and young, debauched be. 
 
 A sort of men have over-run this nation 
 Who are a burthen to the whole creation ; 
 Men shall I call them, or the viper's-brood ? 
 Lovers of evil, haters of all good. 
 These swelled with envy, in a great despight 
 To Christ, with fist of wickedness do smite. 
 Not their own fellow-servants ; for they are 
 The devil's slaves, by him bor'd through the ear. 
 But God's ambassadors whom He hath sent 
 To warn them of their sins and cry " Repent " ; 
 Or to denounce His judgments against tihose 
 That set themselves His message to oppose. 
 These persecute the innocent and say : 
 " When they are gone 'twill be a merry day ". 
 
120 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 These grind the poor ; the needy these oppress ; 
 
 Widows devour ; tread on the fatherless ; 
 
 Far from themselves they put the evil day, 
 
 Remove impending judgments far away ; 
 
 And yet in vain they strive to escape the stroke 
 
 Of that just God whom boldly they provoke. 
 
 For they afflict His people ; slay His sheep ; 
 
 Beat those whom He appointed hath to keep 
 
 And feed His tender lambs ; rend, tear, devour, 
 
 Suppress God's worship to their utmost pow'r, 
 
 A cursed generation who are bent 
 
 To spare the wicked, slay the innocent 
 
 Whose blood doth cry, whose blood doth cry aloud. 
 
 As loud as Abel's pierceth thro' the cloud. 
 
 Presents itself before the judgment seat. 
 
 And justice doth of the just Judge entreat, 
 
 That speedy vengeance He will take on all 
 
 Who persecute His saints and them enthrall. 
 
 Nor is He deaf; its cry with Him prevails 
 And He hath promised, who never fails 
 In the performance, that He will arise 
 And put a period to their cruelties. 
 And that He will with more than winged speed 
 Send comfort to his poor afflicted seed, 
 Which under Pharaoh's heavy yoke hath groan'd 
 And in captivity itself bemoan'd. 
 
 Oh, bloody sin of persecution ! 
 'Tis thou that pluckest judgments down upon 
 The heads of kings, princes, plebeians, all 
 That act thee and by thee the saints enthrall. 
 This is that sin, that sin which cries aloud, 
 Louder than all the rest, the guilt of blood ; 
 Which is the strongest cord the devil hath 
 To draw down on mankind God's heavy wrath. 
 Weeping I sigh, and sighing weep to see 
 The rod which God prepareth hath for thee, 
 O England, who doth evilly entreat 
 His messengers, and doth His prophets beat. 
 
 Ah, England ! ah, poor England 1 I bewail 
 Thy sad estate, oh, that I might prevail 
 In my desires for thee : then should thou be 
 As full of joy as now of misery. 
 For then should plenty in thy fields be found, 
 And all thy garners should with grain abound. 
 Then peace, long-lasting peace, should in thee dwell 
 For God would all thine enemies repel ; 
 And He Himself would take delight in thee. 
 So thou the glory of the world wouldst be. 
 
 But, ah, alas ! small hope have I to see 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 121 
 
 Such happy symptoms of good health in thee. 
 No, no, sad isle, my reason it doth tell me 
 That all the crosses which have yet befell thee 
 Are but an earnest of that dreadful day 
 Wherein God will upon thy head repay 
 Wrath, fury, vengeance and destruction 
 The just reward of persecution. 
 
 The due consideration of thy state, 
 And thine, I fear, inevitable fate. 
 Doth move my heart with pity and compassion, 
 And leads me to this short expostulation. 
 
 Who to the eye gave sight ? what shall not He 
 The cruel sufferings of His people see ? 
 And shall not He that formed hath the ear 
 The mournful groans of us dear children hear ? 
 Are men so stupid grown, they think God's blind 
 Or that He doth not heed, or cannot find 
 A way to ease the sufPrings of His seed ? 
 Whose cry unto Him is, " Father, with speed 
 Arise, arise : rend thou the clouds, descend, 
 Avenge us of our enemies ; defend 
 Us from their cruelties, and let them see 
 Thy care of us exceeds our love to Thee ". 
 
 Nor are these sighs in vain ; for He indeed 
 Is rising, yea has ris'n our cause to plead 
 In righteousness ; and thenceforth us who kicks 
 Shall know 'tis hard to kick against the pricks. 
 
 Be warned then ye ruler's, and let all 
 Of whatsoever rank, both great and small, 
 Tremble before the Lord, and cease to rage 
 Against our God's peculiar heritage : 
 For of a truth. His long-provoked Hand 
 Is stretched out in judgment o'er this land. 
 And ye must feel it ; for He hath decreed 
 To vindicate His long-oppressed seed 
 And in His fury He will vengeance take 
 In our behalfs who suffer for His sake : 
 Then shall ye know that He who sits on high 
 Regards us as the apple of His eye. 
 
 To this occasionally, I subjoined a postscript, thus : — 
 
 Since what precedes was written I have found 
 
 An accusation form'd, but without ground 
 
 Against me. That with uncontrolled pen 
 
 I too severely lash the faults of men, 
 
 And take upon me in satyrick rhymes 
 
 To pass a rigid censure on the times. 
 
 This drew me on to add another line 
 
 To shew them that the fault's their own, not mine. 
 
122 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 No crime can justly to my charge be laid 
 Unless it be a crime that truth be said, 
 Nor can, without injustice, any blame 
 My muse for echoing the common fame. 
 
 If any should object, that wise men hold 
 That truth at all times ought not to be told, 
 Nor that whatever comes into one's head 
 Should straight, because 'tis true, be published ; 
 I readily assent, because I know 
 Pearls before swine we are forbid to throw. 
 Some truths, I grant, may better be conceal'd 
 Than if they out of season were reveal'd : 
 Yet would I not that any through mistake 
 Should of my words a mis-construction make, 
 Than that should happen I had rather be 
 Taxed by the reader for prolixity. 
 
 Thus then, in brief, would I be understood, 
 If what I know concerns my brother's good 
 For him to know ; ought I not then unfold 
 It to him, rather than from him withhold 
 A benefit ? So on the other side 
 It is, I think, too plain to be deny'd 
 That if I see what certainly doth tend 
 To the hurt of my neighbour or my friend 
 I am oblig'd, by Christian charity. 
 To give them warning of the danger nigh ; 
 To shew them that they stand upon the brink 
 Of certain ruin ; and then if they sink 
 By wilful running on, I shall be free 
 From guilt, their blood on their own heads will be. 
 'Tis plain, I think ; yet if ye can't believe it 
 Without a Scripture proof, lo, here I give it.' 
 This is the very case ; which if well weigh'd 
 Will fully justify what I have said. 
 
 I saw men running to a precipice 
 At foot of which was such a vast abyss 
 As could have swallowed nations, so immense 
 That 'twas impossible to climb out thence. 
 For if a man we see but chance to pitch 
 O'er head and ears into some miry ditch 
 How quickly is he^mothered, unless 
 Some friendly hand assist in that distress ! 
 And if, with struggling, out at length he get 
 Yet how besmear'd is he with dirt and wet ! 
 But into this deep pit who falls, in vain 
 Expects an hand to help him out again. 
 No, 'tis of Grace that men forewarned are 
 
 ' Levit. xix. 17 ; Ezek. xxxiii. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 123 
 
 And, e'er their feet are taken, shew'd the snare. 
 
 And warned they must be. For so was I 
 While roving in their paths of vanity; 
 Toil'd and bewild'red in a dismal night 
 Of thick Egyptian darkness from the light : 
 From whence the Lord hath by His love me drawn 
 And in my heart hath caused His day to dawn, 
 His glorious day, His never-setting sun 
 To rise, and darkness to expel begun. 
 This love as it arises warms my heart, 
 And fills it with desires to impart 
 To others of its goodness, that none may 
 For want of good direction miss their way. 
 
 Know therefore thou who hitherto hast spent 
 Thy time in vanity, and wholly bent 
 Thy utmost strength thy lusts to satisfy. 
 And surfeit with delights thy wanton eye ; 
 The Lord hath in thy conscience plac'd a light 
 To teach thee how to guide thy steps aright. 
 This checks when into evil thou hast run, 
 And gives thee warning e'er thou hast begun. 
 Hast thou not heard when in thy full career 
 Something within thee say, " What do I here ? " 
 And when thy mind is cool another day, 
 Doth it not sometimes cause thee thus to say : 
 " O that I had not run into excess ! 
 
 that I had not done this wickedness ! 
 My conscience tells me that I have done ill 
 In yielding to my own corrupted will; 
 
 And though no eye did see me, yet my heart 
 
 1 feel is full of torment, pain and smart ; 
 Were it to do again I'd have more care 
 And not run wilfully into the snare ? " 
 Consider what that is which thus doth raise 
 A trouble in thee for thy evil ways ; 
 
 And what that is which many times doth grieve thee 
 And often makes thee cry out, " God forgive me "- 
 When thus it checks thee next straight call to mind 
 That word, thine ear shall hear a voice behind 
 Thee saying, " Hither turn, this is the way," 
 When to the right or left thou go'st astray. 
 And having heard, obedience forthwith give 
 To its reproof: hear and thy soul shall live. 
 For were men subject to. Christ's light within. 
 It certainly would lead men out of sin, 
 And, thro' believing, bring them into Heav'n, 
 For that's the end for which by Him 'tis giv'n. 
 
 Thus have I faithfully discharg'd a part 
 Which long lay as a weight upon my heart, 
 
124 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 Regardless of what danger might ensue 
 For seasonably speaking what is true. 
 And if ungrateful men will ill requite 
 My signal love with enmity and spite, 
 I let them know that my undaunted pen 
 Scorns the contracted brows of angry men. 
 Prepar'd I am to suffer with content 
 The worst that canc'red malice can invent 
 Which is no more than to my Lord befel 
 To suffer evil things for doing well. 
 
 Bona agere, at mala pati, regium est. 
 
 To suffer evil for well-doing brings 
 The sufferer to share renown with kings. 
 
 After I had in the foregoing poem somewhat eased my 
 spirit of that which for some time had lain as a load upon me, 
 I breathed forth the following hymn to God, in acknowledg- 
 ment of His great goodness to me, profession of my grateful 
 love to Him, and supplication to Him for the continuance of 
 His kindness to me, in preserving me from the snares of the 
 Enemy, and keeping me faithful unto Himself : — 
 
 Thee, Thee alone, O God, I fear. 
 
 In Thee do I confide ; 
 Thy presence is to me more dear 
 
 Than all things else beside. 
 Thy virtue, power, life, and light, 
 
 Which in my heart do shine, 
 Above all things are my delight : 
 
 O make them always mine ! 
 Thy matchless love constrains my life. 
 
 Thy life constrains my love. 
 To be to Thee as chaste a wife 
 
 As is the turtle-dove 
 To her elect, espoused mate, 
 
 Whom she will not forsake, 
 Nor can be brought to violate 
 
 The bond sire once did make ; 
 Just so my soul doth cleave to Thee 
 
 As to her only head, 
 With whom she longs conjoin'd to be 
 
 In bond of marriage-bed. 
 But, ah, alas ! her little fort 
 
 Is compassed about ; 
 Her foes about her thick resort, 
 
 Within and eke without. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 125 
 
 How numerous are they now grown 1 
 
 How wicked their intent ! 
 O let Thy mighty power be shown, 
 
 Their mischief to prevent. 
 They make assaults on every side, 
 
 But Thou stand'st in the gap ; 
 Their batt'ring-rams make breaches wide, 
 
 But still Thou mak'st them up. 
 Sometimes they use alluring wiles 
 
 To draw into their power ; 
 And sometimes weep like crocodiles ; 
 
 But all is to devour. 
 Thus they beset my feeble heart 
 
 With fraud, deceit, and guile. 
 Alluring her from Thee to start, 
 
 And Thy pure rest defile. 
 But, oh ! the breathing and the moan. 
 
 The sighings of the seed. 
 The groanings of the grieved one, 
 
 Do sorrows in me breed. 
 And that immortal, holy birth. 
 
 The offspring of Thy breath 
 (To whom Thy love brings life and mirth. 
 
 As doth Thy absence, death) ; 
 That babe, that seed, that panting child, 
 
 Which cannot Thee forsake. 
 In fear to be again beguil'd, 
 
 Doth supplication make : 
 O suffer not Thy chosen one. 
 
 Who puts her trust in Thee, 
 And hath made Thee her choice alone, 
 
 Esnar'd again to be. 
 Bridewell, London, 1662. 
 
 In this sort did I spend some leisure hours during my 
 
 confinement in Bridewell, especially after our return from 
 
 Newgate thither, when we had more liberty, and more 
 
 opportunity and room for retirement and thought : for, as the 
 
 poet said — 
 
 Carmina scnbentes secessum et otia qucenmt. 
 
 They who would write in measure. 
 Retire, where they may stillness have and pleasure. 
 
 And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of our 
 keeper, whose heart God disposed to favour us. So that 
 both the master and his porter were very civil and kind to us, 
 
126 THE HISTOKY OF [1662 
 
 and had been so indeed all along. For when we were shut 
 up before, the porter would readily let some of us go home in 
 an evening, and stay at home till next morning ; which was 
 a great conveniency to men of trade and business, which 
 I being free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not 
 hinder others. 
 
 This he observed, and asked me when I meant to ask to go 
 out ; I told him I had not much occasion nor desire, yet at 
 some time or other, perhaps, I might have ; but when I had I 
 would ask him but once, and if he then denied me, I would 
 ask him no more. 
 
 After we were come back from Newgate I had a desire to 
 go thither again, to visit my friends who were prisoners there, 
 more especially my dear friend and father in Christ, Edward 
 Burrough, who was then a prisoner, with many Friends more, 
 in that part of Newgate which was then called Justice Hall, 
 Whereupon, the porter coming in my way, I asked him to let 
 me go out for an hour or two to see some friends of mine 
 that evening. 
 
 He, to enhance the kindness, made it a matter of some 
 difficulty, and would have me stay till another night. I 
 told him I would be at a word with him, for, as I had told 
 him before that if he denied me I would ask him no more, 
 so he should find I would keep to it. 
 
 He was no sooner gone out of my sight but I espied his 
 master crossing the court ; wherefore, stepping to him, I asked 
 him if he was willing to let me go out for a little while, to see 
 some friends of mine that evening. "Yes," said he, "very 
 willing ; " and thereupon away walked I to Newgate, where, 
 having spent the evening among Friends, I returned in good 
 time. • 
 
 Under this easy restraint we lay until the Court sat at 
 the Old Bailey again ; and then, whether it was that the 
 heat of storm was somewhat abated, or by what other means 
 Providence wrought it, I know not, we were called to the bar, 
 and, without further question, discharged. 
 
 Whereupon we returned to Bridewell again, and having 
 
1662] THOMAS ELL WOOD 127 
 
 raised some money among us, and therewith gratified both the 
 master and his porter for their kindness to us, we spent some 
 time in a solemn meeting, to return our thankful acknowledg- 
 ment to the Lord, both for His preservation of us in prison and 
 deliverance of us out of it ; and then taking a solemn farewell 
 of each other, we departed with bag and baggage. And 
 I took care to return my hammock to the owner, with due 
 acknowledgment of his great kindness in lending it me. 
 
 Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my friends 
 that were still in prison, and more particularly my friend and 
 benefactor William Penington, at his house, and then went to 
 wait upon my Master Milton, with whom yet I could not pro- 
 pose to enter upon my intermitted studies until I had been in 
 Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington 
 and his virtuous wife, with other friends in that country. 
 
 Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather being 
 fi'osty, and the ways by that means clean and good, I walked 
 it through in a day, and was received by my friends there 
 with such demonstration of hearty kindness as made my 
 journey very easy to me. 
 
 I had spent in ray imprisonment that twenty shillings which 
 I had received of Wm. Penington, and twenty of the forty 
 which had been sent me from Mary Penington, and had the 
 remainder then about me. That therefore I now returned to 
 her, with due acknowledgment of her husband's and her 
 great care of me, and liberality to me in the time of my need. 
 She would have had me keep it ; but I begged of her to 
 accept it from me again, since it was the redundancy of their 
 kindness, and the other part had answered the occasion for 
 which it was sent : and my importunity prevailed. 
 
 I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance ; and 
 therefore purposed, after I had stayed a few days, to return to 
 my lodging and former course in London, but Providence 
 ordered it otherwise. 
 
 Isaac Penington had at that time two sons and one daughter, 
 all then very young ; of whom the eldest son John Penington, 
 and the daughter, Mary, tfe wif? of Daniel Wharley, are yet 
 
128 THE HISTOEY OF [1662 
 
 living at the writing of this. And being himself both skilful 
 and curious in pronunciation, he was very desirous to have 
 them well grounded in the rudiments of the English tongue, 
 to which end he had sent for a man out of Lancashire, whom, 
 upon inquiry, he had heard of, who was undoubtedly the most 
 accurate English teacher that ever I met with, or have heard 
 of. His name was Richard Bradley. But as he pretended no 
 higher than the English tongue, and had led them, by grammar 
 rules, to the highest improvement they were capable of in that, 
 he had then taken his leave of them, and was gone up to 
 London, to teach an English school of Friends' children there. 
 
 This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought for a 
 new teacher to instruct his children in the Latin tongue, as 
 the old had done in the English, but had not yet found one. 
 Wherefore one evening, as we sat together by the fire in his 
 bed-chamber (which for want of health he kept), he asked me, 
 his wife being by, if I would be so kind to him as to stay a 
 while with him till he could hear of such a man as he aimed 
 at, and in the meantime enter his children in the rudiments 
 of the Latin tongue. 
 
 This question was not more unexpected than surprising to 
 me, and the more because it seemed directly to thwart my 
 former purpose and undertaking, of endeavouring to improve 
 myself by following my studies with my Master Milton, which 
 this would give at least a present diversion from, and for how 
 long I could not foresee. 
 
 But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I lay under 
 to these worthy friends of mine shut out all reasonings, and 
 disposed my mind to an absolute resignation of their desire 
 that I might testify my gratitude by a willingness to do them 
 any friendly service tlftit I could be capable of. 
 
 And though I questioned my ability to carry on that work 
 to its due height and proportion, yet as that was not proposed, 
 but an initiation only by accidence into grammar, I consented 
 to the proposal as a present expedient till a more qualified 
 person should be found, without further treaty or mention of 
 terms between us than that of mutual friendship. And to 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 129 
 
 render this digression from my own studies the less uneasy 
 to my mind, I recollected and often thought of that rule in 
 Lilly :— 
 
 Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset, 
 Ipse brevi reliquis doctior esse queat. 
 
 He that th' unlearn'd doth teach may quickly be 
 More learn'd than they, though most unlearned he. 
 
 With this consideration I undertook this province, and left 
 it not until I married, which was not till the year 1669, near 
 seven years from the time I came thither. In which time, 
 having the use of my friend's books, as well as of my own, I 
 spent my leisure hours much in reading, not without some 
 improvement to myself in my private studies, which (with 
 the good success of my labours bestowed on the children, and 
 the agreeableness of conversation which I found in the family) 
 rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, and my stay there 
 more easy to me. 
 
 But, alas ! not many days (not to say weeks) had I been 
 there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with sorrow for the 
 unexpected loss of Edward Burrough, who was justly very 
 dear to us all. 
 
 This not only good, but great good man, by a long and 
 close confinement in Newgate through the cruel malice and 
 malicious cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty 
 death, to the unutterable grief of very many, and unspeakable 
 loss to the Church of Christ in general. 
 
 The particular obligation I had to him as the immediate 
 
 instrument of my convincement, and high affection for him 
 
 resulting therefrom, did so deeply affect my mind that it was 
 
 some pretty time before my passion could prevail to express 
 
 itself in words, so true I found those of the tragedian : — 
 
 Cum leves loquuntur. Ingentes stupent. 
 
 Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent, 
 Great ones are through amazement closely pent. 
 
 At length, my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, broke 
 forth in the following acrostic, which she called — 
 9 
 
130 THE HISTORY OF [1662 
 
 A PATHETIC ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THAT DEAR AND FAITHFUL 
 SERVANT OF GOD, 
 
 EDWARD BURROUGH, 
 Who died nth of the Twelfth Month, 1662. 
 And thus she introduceth it : — 
 
 How long shall Grief lie smother'd ? ah ! how long 
 Shall Sorrow's signet seal my silent tongue ? 
 How long shall sighs me suffocate, and make 
 My lips to quiver and my heart to ache ? 
 How long shall I with pain suppress my cries, 
 And seek for holes to wipe my watery eyes ? 
 Why may not I, by sorrow thus oppressed, 
 Pour forth my grief into another's breast ? 
 If that be true which once was said by one, 
 That " He mourns truly who doth mourn alone : "' 
 Then may I truly say, my grief is true. 
 Since it hath yet been known to very few. 
 Nor is it now mine aim to make it known 
 To those to whom these verses may be shown ; 
 But to assuage my sorrow-swollen heart, 
 Which silence caused to taste so deep of smart. 
 This is my end, that so I may prevent 
 The vessel's bursting by a timely vent. 
 Quis talia fando 
 Tempiret a lacrymis ! 
 Who can forbear, when such things spoke he hears. 
 His grave to water with a flood of tears ? 
 
 E cho ye woods, resound ye hollow places, 
 
 L et tears and paleness cover all men's faces. 
 
 L et groans, like claps of thunder, pierce the air, 
 
 W hile I the cause of my just grief declare. 
 
 O that mine eyes could, like the streams of Nile, 
 
 'erflow their watery banks ; and thou meanwhile 
 D rink in my trickling tears, oh thirsty ground. 
 
 S o might'st thou henceforth fruitfuller be found. 
 
 L ament, my soul, lament ; thy loss is deep, 
 
 A nd all that Sion love sit down and weep 
 
 M ourn, O ye vingins, and let sorrow be 
 
 E ach damsel's dowry, and (alas, for me I) 
 
 N 'er let my soul and sighings have an end 
 
 T ill I again embrace m' ascended friend ; 
 
 A nd till I feel the virtue of his life 
 
 T o consolate me, and repress my grief: 
 
 1 nfuse into my heart the oil of gladness 
 
 O nee more, and by its strength remove that sadness 
 N ow pressing down my spirit, and restore 
 
 1 Hie dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet. 
 
1662] THOMAS ELLWOOD 131 
 
 F uUy that joy I had in him before ; 
 
 f whom a word I fain would stammer forth, 
 R ather to ease my heart than shew his worth : 
 
 H is worth, my grief, which words too shallow are 
 
 1 n demonstration fully to declare, 
 
 S ighs, sobs, my best interpreters now are. 
 
 E nvy begone ; black Momus quit the place ; 
 
 N 'er more, Zoilus, show thy wrinkled face. 
 
 D raw near, ye bleeding hearts, whose sorrows are 
 
 E qual with mine ; in bim ye had like share. 
 
 A dd all your losses up, and ye shall see 
 
 R emainder will be nought but woe is me. 
 
 E ndeared lambs, ye that have the white stone, 
 
 D o know full well his name — it is your own. 
 
 E ternitiz'd be that right worthy name ; 
 D eath hath but kill'd his body, not his fame, 
 W hich in its brightness shall for ever dwell, 
 A nd like a box of ointment sweetly smell. 
 R ighteousness was his robe ; bright majesty 
 D ecked his brow ; his look was heavenly. 
 
 B old was he in his Master's quarrel, and 
 
 U ndaunted ; faithful to his Lord's command. 
 
 R equiting good for ill ; directing all 
 
 R ight in the way that leads out of the fall. 
 
 O pen and free to ev'ry thirsty lamb ; 
 
 U nspotted, pure, clean, holy, without blame. 
 
 G lory, light, splendour, lustre, was his crown, 
 
 H appy his change to him ; the loss our own. 
 
 Unica post cineres virtus veneranda beatos 
 Efficit 
 
 Virtue alone, which reverence ought to have. 
 Doth make men happy, e'en beyond the grave. 
 
 While I had thus been breathing forth my grief, 
 
 In hopes thereby to get me some relief, 
 
 I heard, methought, his voice say, " Cease to mourn : 
 
 I live ; and though the veil of flesh once worn 
 
 Be now stript off, dissolv'd, and laid aside. 
 
 My spirit's with thee, and shall so abide ". 
 
 This satisfi'd me ; down I threw my quill, 
 
 Willing to be resign'd to God's pure will. 
 
 Having discharged this duty to the memory of my deceased 
 friend, I went on in my new province, instructing my little 
 pupils in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, to the mutual 
 
132 THE HISTORY OF [1663 
 
 satisfaction of both their parents and myself. As soon as I 
 had gotton a little money in my pocket, which as a premium 
 without compact I received from them, I took the first oppor- 
 tunity to return to my friend William Penington the money 
 which he had so kindly furnished me with in my need, at 
 the time of my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due 
 acknowledgment of my obligation to him for it. He was 
 not at all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to press it 
 upon him. 
 
 While thus I remained in this family various suspicions 
 arose in the minds of some concerning me with respect to 
 Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli ; for she having now 
 arrived at a marriageable age, and being in all respects a very 
 desirable woman — whether regard was had to her outward 
 person, which wanted nothing to render her completely comely; 
 or to the endowments of her mind, which were every way 
 extraordinary and highly obliging ; or to her outward fortune, 
 which was fair, and which with some hath not the last nor 
 the least place in consideration — she was openly and secretly 
 sought and solicited by many, and some of them almost of 
 every rank and condition, good and bad, rich and poor, friend 
 and foe. To whom, in their respective turns, till he at length 
 came for whom she was reserved, she carried herself with so 
 much evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, guarded 
 with the strictest modesty, that as it gave encouragement or 
 ground of hopes to none, so neither did it administer any 
 matter of oflfence or just cause of complaint to any. 
 
 But such as were thus either engaged for themselves or de- 
 sirous to make themselves advocates for others, could not, I 
 observed, but look upon me with an eye of jealousy and fear, 
 that I would impro^ the opportunities I had by frequent 
 and familiar conversation with her, to my own advantage, in 
 working myself into her good opinion and favour, to the 
 ruin of their pretences. 
 
 According therefore to the several kinds and degrees of 
 their fears of me, they suggested to her parents their ill 
 surmises against me. 
 
1663] THOMAS ELLWOOD 133 
 
 Some stuck not to question the sincerity of my intentions 
 in coming at first among the Quakers, urging, with a " why may 
 it not be so, that the desire and hopes of obtaining by that 
 means so fair a fortune might be the prime and chief induce- 
 ment to me to trust myself amongst that people ? " But this 
 surmise could find no place with those worthy friends of mine, 
 her father-in-law and her mother, who, besides the clear sense 
 and sound judgment they had in themselves, knew very well 
 upon what terms I came among them, how straight and hard 
 the passage was to me, how contrary to all worldly interest, 
 which lay fair another way, how much I had suffered from my 
 father for it, and how regardless I had been of attempting or 
 seeking anything of that nature in these three or four years 
 that I had been amongst them. 
 
 Some others, measuring me by the propensity of their own 
 inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run away with her, 
 and marry Tier ; which they thought I might be the more 
 easily induced to do, from the advantageous opportunities I 
 frequently had of riding and walking abroad with her, by 
 night as well as by day, without any other company than her 
 maid. For so great indeed was the confidence that her mother 
 had in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with 
 her, even from the plots and designs that others had upon 
 her ; and so honourable were the thoughts she entertained 
 concerning me, as would not suffer her to admit a suspicion 
 that I could be capable of so much baseness as to betray the 
 trust she with so great freedom reposed in me. 
 
 I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled the 
 jealous heads of some concerning me, neither was I so stupid 
 nor so divested of all humanity as not to be sensible of the 
 real and innate worth and virtue which adorned that excellent 
 dame, and attracted the eyes and hearts of so many with the 
 greatest importunity to seek and solicit her ; nor was I so 
 devoid of natural heat as not to feel some sparklings of desire 
 as well as others. But the force of truth and sense of honour 
 suppressed whatever would have risen beyond the bounds of 
 fair and virtuous friendship. For I easily foresaw that if I 
 
134 THE HISTOEY OF [1663 
 
 should have attempted anything in a dishonourable way by 
 force or fraud upon her, I should have thereby brought a 
 wound upon my own soul, a foul scandal upon my religious 
 profession, and an infamous stain upon mine honour ; either of 
 which was far more dear unto me than my life. Where- 
 fore, having observed how some others had befooled them- 
 selves by misconstruing her common kindness, expressed in 
 an innocent, open, free, and familiar conversation, springing 
 from the abundant affability, courtesy, and sweetness of her 
 natural temper, to be the effect of a singular regard and 
 peculiar affection to them, I resolved to shun the rock on 
 which I had seen so many run and split ; and remembering 
 that saying of the poet: — 
 
 Fdix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum, 
 
 Happy's he 
 Whom others' dangers wary make to be, 
 
 I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage towards 
 her, that I thereby both preserved a fair reputation with my 
 friends and enjoyed as much of her favour and kindness in a 
 virtuous and firm friendship as was fit for her to show or for 
 me to seek. 
 
 Thus leading a quiet and contented life, I had leisure some- 
 times to write a copy of verses on one occasion or another, as 
 the poetic vein naturally opened, without taking pains to 
 polish them. Such was this which follows, occasioned by the 
 sudden death of some lusty people in their full strength : — 
 
 EST VITA CADUCA. 
 
 As is the fragrant flower in the field, 
 Which in the spring a pleasant smell doth yield, 
 And lovely sight, Uut soon is withered ; 
 So's Man : to-day alive, to-morrow dead. 
 And as the silver dew-bespangled grass, 
 Which in the morn bedecks its mother's face, 
 But ere the scorching summer's passed looks brown, 
 Or by the scythe is suddenly cut down. 
 
 Just such is man, who vaunts himself to-day, 
 Decking himself in all his best array ; 
 But in the midst of all his bravery 
 Death rounds him in the ear, " Friend, thou must die". 
 
1663] THOMAS ELL WOOD 135 
 
 Or like a shadow in a sunny day, 
 Which in a moment vanishes away ; 
 Or like a smile or spark, — such is the span 
 Of life allowed this microcosm, Man. 
 
 Cease then vain Man to boast ; for this is true, 
 Thy brightest glory's as the morning dew, 
 Which disappears when first the rising sun 
 Displays his beams above the horizon. 
 
 As the consideration of the uncertainty of human life drew 
 the foregoing lines from me, so the sense I had of the folly of 
 mankind, in misspending the little time allowed them in evil 
 ways and vain sports, led me more particularly to trace the 
 several courses wherein the generality of men run unprofitably 
 at best, if not to their hurt and ruin, which I introduced with 
 that axiom of the Preacher (Eccles. i. 2) : — 
 
 ALL IS VANITY. 
 
 See here the state of man as in a glass, 
 
 A nd how the fashion of this world doth pass. 
 
 Some in a tavern spend the longest day, 
 While others hawk and hunt the time away. 
 Here one his mistress courts ; another dances ; 
 A third incites to lust by wanton glances. 
 This wastes the day in dressing ; the other seeks 
 To set fresh colours on her with'red cheeks, 
 That, when the sun declines, some dapper spark 
 May take her to Spring Garden or the park. 
 Plays some frequent, and balls ; others their prime 
 Consume at dice ; some bowl away their time. 
 With cards some wholly captivated are ; ' 
 From tables others scarce an hour can spare. 
 One to soft music mancipates his ear ; 
 At shovel-board another spends the year. 
 The Pall Mall this accounts the only sport ; 
 That keeps a racket in the tennis-court. 
 Some strain their very eyes and throats with singing. 
 While others strip their hands and backs at ringing. 
 Another sort with greedy eyes are waiting 
 Either at cock-pit or some great bull-baiting. 
 This dotes on running horses ; t'other fool 
 Is never well but in the fencing-school. 
 Wrestling and football, nine-pins, prison-base, 
 Among the rural clowns find each a place. 
 Nay, Joan unwashed will leave her milking-pail 
 To dance at May-pole, or a Whitsun ale. 
 
136 THE HISTOEY OF [i664 
 
 Thus wallow most in sensual delight, 
 
 As if their day should never have a night, 
 
 Till Nature's pale-faced sergeant them surprise. 
 
 And as the tree then falls, just so it lies. 
 
 Now look at home, thou who these lines dost read, 
 See which of all these paths thyself dost tread, 
 And ere it be too late that path forsake, 
 Which, followed, will thee miserable make. 
 
 After I had thus enumerated some of the many vanities in 
 which the generahty of men misspent their time, I sang the 
 following ode in praise of virtue : — 
 
 Wealth, beauty, pleasures, honours, all adieu ; 
 I value virtue, far, far more than you. 
 
 Y'are all but toys 
 
 For girls and boys 
 To play withal ; at best deceitful joys. 
 She lives for ever ; ye are transitory. 
 Her honour is unstained ; but your glory 
 
 Is mere deceit — 
 
 A painted bait, 
 Hung out for such as sit on Folly's gate. 
 True peace, content, and joy on her attend ; 
 You, on the contrary, your forces bend 
 
 To blear men's eyes 
 
 With fopperies. 
 Which fools embrace, but wiser men despise. 
 
 About this time my father, resolving to sell his estate, and 
 having reserved for his own use such parts of his household 
 goods as he thought fit, not willing to take upon himself the 
 trouble of selling the rest, gave them unto me ; whereupon I 
 went down to Crowell, and having before given notice there 
 and thereabouts that I intended a public sale of them, I sold 
 them, and thereby put some money into my pocket. Yet I 
 sold such things only as I judged useful, leaving the pictures 
 and armour, of which tl^re was some store there, unsold. 
 
 Not long after this my father sent for me to come to him 
 at London about some business, which, when I came there, I 
 understood was to join with him in the sale of his estate, 
 which the purchaser required for his own satisfaction and 
 safety, I being then the next heir to it in law. And although I 
 might probably have made some advantageous terms for myself 
 
1665] THOMAS ELLWOOD 137 
 
 by standing off, yet when I was satisfied by counsel that there 
 was no entail upon it or right of reversion to me, but that he 
 might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased, I readily joined 
 with him in the sale without asking or having the least 
 gratuity or compensation, no, not so much as the fee I had 
 given to counsel to secure me from any danger in doing it. 
 There having been some time before this a very severe law ^ 
 made against the Quakers by name, and more particularly 
 prohibiting our meetings under the sharpest penalties of five 
 pounds for the first offence so called, ten pounds for the 
 second, and banishment for the third, under pain of felony 
 for escaping or returning without license — which law was 
 looked upon to have been procured by the bishops in order 
 to bring us to a conformity to their way of worship — I wrote 
 a few lines in way of dialogue between a Bishop and a Quaker, 
 which I called 
 
 CONFORMITY, PRESSED AND REPRESSED. 
 
 B. What I You are one of them that do deny 
 
 - To yield obedience by conformity ? 
 Q. Nay: we desire conformable to be. 
 B. But unto what ? Q. The Image of the Son.'' 
 B. What's that to us ? We'll have conformity 
 
 Unto our form. Q. Then we shall ne'er have done. 
 
 For, if your fickle minds should alter, we 
 
 Should be to seek a new conformity. 
 
 Thus, who to-day conform to Prelacy. 
 
 To-morrow may conform to Popery. 
 
 But take this for an answer, Bishop, we 
 
 Cannot conform either to them or thee ; 
 
 For while to truth your forms are opposite, 
 
 Who'er conforms thereto doth not aright. 
 B. We'll make such knaves as you conform, or lie 
 
 Confined in prisons till ye rot and die. 
 Q. Well, gentle Bishop, I may live to see. 
 
 For all thy threats, a check to cruelty ; 
 
 ' [This is the statute 13 & 14 Charles II. c. i, carried in the year 1662. 
 EUwood's account of its effect is accurate, but it should be added that 
 unpaid fines were to be levied by distress in default of which imprisonment 
 for three or six months was incurred. See also introduction.] 
 
 ^ Rom. viii. 9. 
 
138 THE HISTOEY OF [ms 
 
 And thee rewarded with thy envious crew 
 According as unto your work is due, 
 But in the meantime, I, for my defence, 
 Betake me to my fortress. Patience. 
 
 No sooner was this cruel law made but it was put in 
 execution with great severity; the sense whereof working 
 strongly on my spirit, made me cry earnestly to the Lord 
 that He would arise and set up His righteous judgment in 
 the earth for the deliverance of His people from all their 
 enemies, both inward and outward ; and in these terms I 
 uttered it : — 
 
 Awake, awake, O arm of th' Lord, awake, 
 
 Thy sword uptake ; 
 Cast what would Thine forgetful of Thee make 
 
 Into the lake. 
 Awake, I pray, O mighty Jah, awake 
 Make all the world before Thy presence quake, 
 Not only earth, but heaven also shake. 
 Arise, arise, O Jacob's God, arise, 
 
 And hear the cries 
 Of ev'ry soul which in distress now lies, 
 
 And to Thee flies. 
 Arise, I pray, O Israel's hope, arise ; 
 Set free Thy seed opprest by enemies. 
 Why should they over it still tyrannize ? 
 Make speed, make speed, O Israel's help make speed. 
 
 In time of need ; 
 For evil men have wickedly decreed 
 
 Against Thy seed. 
 Make speed, I pray, O mighty God, make speed ; 
 Let all Thy lambs from savage wolves be freed. 
 That fearless on Thy mountain they may feed. 
 Ride on, ride on, Thou Valiant Man of Might, 
 
 And put to flight 
 Those sons of Belial who do despite 
 
 To the upright : 
 Ride on, I say. Thou Champion, and smite 
 Thine and Thy people's en'mies, with such might 
 That none may dare 'gainst Thee or Thine to fight. 
 
 Although the storm raised by the Act for banishment fell 
 with the greatest weight and force upon some other parts, as 
 at London, Hertford, etc., yet we were not in Buckingham- 
 shire wholly exempted therefrom, for a part of that shower 
 reached us also. 
 
1665] THOMAS ELL WOOD 139 
 
 For a Friend of Amersham, whose name was Edward Perot 
 or Parret, departing this life, and notice being given that his 
 body would be buried there on such a day, which was the 
 first day of the fifth month, l665, the Friends of the adjacent 
 parts of the country resorted pretty generally to the burial, so 
 that there was a fair appearance of Friends and neighbours, 
 the deceased having been well-beloved by both. 
 
 After we had spent some time together in the house, 
 Morgan Watkins/ who at that time happened to be at Isaac 
 Penington's, being with us, the body was taken up and borne 
 on Friends' shoulders along the street in order to be carried 
 to the burying-ground, which was at the town's end, being 
 part of an orchard belonging to the deceased, which he in his 
 lifetime had appointed for that service. 
 
 It so happened that one Ambrose Benett, a barrister-at-law 
 and a justice of the peace for that county, riding through the 
 town that morning on his way to Aylesbury, was by some ill- 
 disposed person or other informed that there was a Quaker 
 to be buried there that day, and that most of the Quakers in 
 the country were come thither to the burial. 
 
 Upon this he set up his horses and stayed, and when we, 
 not knowing anything of his design against us, went inno- 
 cently forward to perform our Christian duty for the interment 
 of our friend, he rushed out of his inn upon us with the 
 constables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he had gathered 
 together, and having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one 
 of the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them to 
 
 ^ [Morgan Watkins first appears as a sufferer in 1664, in which year 
 he was sent to prison for preaching at the Bull and Mouth meeting {12th 
 March). In 1665 he was again in trouble, being taken at a meeting under 
 a warrant from the Duke of Albemarle, and committed to the Gatehouse. 
 This imprisonment was the more dangerous that at this time the plague 
 prevailed in most of the London prisons so severely that no less than fifty 
 Quakers died either in the prisons or on shipboard on the way to the 
 Barbadoes. But Morgan Watkins seems to have been unfortunate in that 
 year ; for he had previously been imprisoned in Westmoreland by Justice 
 Fleming, a well-known persecutor of the Quakers in that county. In the 
 year 1670 he was fined £20, as the owner of a house where a meeting had 
 been held. It would seem that an informer had looked over a wall and 
 seen some persons walking in the garden. This was enough.] 
 
140 THE HISTOKY OF [ms 
 
 set down the coffin. But the Friend who was so stricken, 
 whose name was Thomas Dell, being more concerned for the 
 safety of the dead body than his own, lest it should fall from 
 his shoulder, and any indecency thereupon follow, held the 
 coffin fast ; which the Justice observing, and being enraged 
 that his word (how unjust soever) was not forthwith obeyed, 
 set his hand to the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw 
 it off from the bearers' shoulders, so that it fell to the 
 ground in the midst of the street, and there we were forced 
 to leave it. 
 
 For immediately thereupon, the Justice giving command 
 for the apprehending us, the constables with the rabble fell 
 on us, and drew some and di-ove others into the inn, giving 
 thereby an opportunity to the rest to walk away. 
 
 Of those that were thus taken I was one. And being 
 with many more, put into a room under a guard, we were 
 kept there till another Justice, called Sir Thomas Clayton,^ 
 whom Justice Benett had sent for to join with him in com- 
 mitting us, was come, and then being called forth severally 
 before them, they picked out ten of us, and committed us to 
 Aylesbury gaol, for what neither we nor they knew ; for we 
 were not convicted of having either done or said anything 
 which the law could take hold of, for they took us up in the 
 open street, the King's highway, not doing any unlawful act, 
 but peaceably carrying and accompanying the corpse of our 
 deceased friend to bury it. Which they would not suffer us 
 
 ^ [Sir Thomas Clayton was a notable man both in Oxford and in 
 Buckinghamshire. He had acquired the estate known as the Vache at 
 Chalfont St. Giles, which had been the property of the Fleetwoods until 
 their attainder at the Restoration. In Oxford he was Regius Professor of 
 Medicine, and Warden of M^on. Anthony a Wood says {Ath. Oxon., 
 I, xliij.) that he obtained this preferment improperly. Clayton was then a 
 fellow of Pembroke, but one of the fellows of Merton was induced to 
 place his name in the list submitted by the fellows to Juxon, bishop of 
 London, for him to select the warden from. Sir Charles Cotterell, master 
 of the ceremonies, and Clayton's brother-in-law, then worried the bishop 
 into appointing Clayton, and also prevailed upon the King to knight him. 
 It will readily be believed that the interference of the visitor to settle dis- 
 putes between the warden and fellows of Merton was often required during 
 Clayton's tenure of that post.] 
 
1665] THOMAS ELLWOOD 141 
 
 to do, but caused the body to lie in the open street and in 
 the cartway, so that all the travellers that passed by, whether 
 horseman, coaches, carts, or waggons, were fain to break out 
 of the way to go by it, that they might not drive over it, until 
 it was almost night. And then having caused a grave to be 
 made in the unconsecrated part (as it is accounted) of that 
 which is called the churchyard, they forcibly took the body 
 from the widow whose right and property it was, and buried 
 it there. 
 
 When the Justices had delivered us prisoners to the 
 constable, it being then late in the day, which was the 
 seventh day of the week, he, not willing to go so far as 
 Aylesbury, nine long miles, with us that night, nor to put the 
 town to the charge of keeping us there that night, and the 
 First-day and night following, dismissed us upon our parole 
 to come to him again at a set hour on the Second-day 
 morning ; whereupon we all went home to our respective 
 habitations, and coming to him punctually according to 
 promise, were by him, without guard, conducted to the 
 prison. 
 
 The gaoler, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had not long 
 before behaved himself very wickedly, with great rudeness 
 and cruelty, to some of our friends of the lower side of the 
 county, whom he, combining with the Clerk of the Peace, 
 whose name was Henry Wells, had contrived to get into his 
 gaol ; and after they were legally discharged in court, 
 detained them in prison, using great violence, and shutting 
 them up close in the common gaol among the felons, because 
 they would not give him his unrighteous demand of fees, 
 which they were the more straitened in from his treacherous 
 dealing with them. And they having through suffering 
 maintained their freedom and obtained their liberty, we were 
 the more concerned to keep what they had so hardly gained, 
 and therefore resolved not to make any contract or terms for 
 either chamber-rent or fees, but to demand a free prison, 
 which we did. 
 
 When we came in, the gaoler was ridden out to wait on 
 
142 THE HISTORY OF [ms 
 
 the judges, who came in that day to begin the assize, and his 
 wife was somewhat at a loss how to deal with us ; but being 
 a cunning woman, she treated us with great appearance of 
 courtesy, offering us the choice of all her rooms ; and when 
 we asked upon what terms, she still referred us to her 
 husband, telling us she did not doubt but that he would be 
 very reasonable and civil to us. Thus she endeavoured to 
 have drawn us to take possession of some of her chambers at 
 a venture, and trust to her husband's kind usage. But we, 
 who at the cost of our friends had a proof of his kindness, 
 were too wary to be drawn in by the fair words of a woman, 
 and therefore told her we would not settle anywhere till her 
 husband came home, and then would have a free prison, 
 wheresoever he put us. 
 
 Accordingly, walking all together into the court of the 
 prison, in which was a well of very good water, and having 
 beforehand sent to a friend in the town, a widow woman, 
 whose name was Sarah Lambarn, to bring us some bread and 
 cheese, we sat down upon the ground round about the well, 
 and when we had eaten, we drank of the water out of the 
 well. 
 
 Our great concern was for our friend Isaac Penington, 
 because of the tenderness of his constitution ; but he was so 
 lively in his spirit, and so cheerfully given up to suffer, that 
 he rather encouraged us than needed any encouragement 
 from us. 
 
 In this posture the gaoler, when he came home, found us, 
 and having before he came to us consulted his wife, and by 
 her understood on what terms we stood, when he came to us 
 he hid his teeth, and putting on a show of kindness, seemed 
 much troubled that we 9hould sit there abroad, especially his 
 old friend Mr. Penington, and thereupon invited us to come 
 in and take what rooms in his house we pleased. We asked 
 upon what terms ; letting him know withal that we deter- 
 mined to have a free prison. 
 
 He, like the sun and wind in a fable, that strove which of 
 them should take from the traveller his cloak, having like 
 
1665] THOMAS ELLWOOD 143 
 
 the wind tried rough, boisterous, violent means to our friends 
 before, but in vain, resolved now to imitate the sun, and 
 shine as pleasantly as he could upon us ; wherefore he told 
 us that we should make the terms ourselves, and be as free 
 as we desired ; if we thought fit, when we were released, to 
 give him anything, he would thank us for it, and if not, he 
 would demand nothing. 
 
 Upon these terms we went in and disposed ourselves, some 
 in the dwelling-house, others in the malt-house, where they 
 chose to be. 
 
 During the assize we were brought before Judge Morton,^ 
 a sour, angry man, who very rudely reviled us, but would not 
 either hear us or the cause, but referred the matter to the 
 two justices who had committed us. 
 
 They, when the assize was ended, sent for us to be brought 
 before them at their inn, and fined us, as I remember, six 
 shillings and eightpence apiece, which we not consenting to 
 pay, they committed us to prison again for one month from 
 that time, on the Act for banishment. 
 
 When we had lain there that month, I, with another, went 
 to the gaoler to demand our liberty, which he readily granted, 
 telling us the door should be opened when we j)leased to go. 
 
 This answer of his I reported to the rest of my friends 
 there, and thereupon we raised among us a small sum of 
 money, which they put into my hand for the gaoler, where- 
 
 ' [Judge Morton, or Sir William Morton, was a man of some distinction. 
 In the civil wars he had been one of the most courageous and faithful ot 
 the King's adherents. In 1644, he was in command of Sudeley Castle, 
 which commanded the road between London and Gloucester, and secured 
 that part of England for the King. After a short siege, want of provisions 
 compelled Sir William to surrender ; he was for some time a prisoner in 
 the Tower. With the Restoration he began to prosper. He was already 
 a Bencher of the Inner Temple, and in 1665 he was made a Judge of the 
 King's Bench. He was especially severe upon highwaymen, and is said 
 to have prevented Charles II. from pardoning Claud Duval, whom Morton 
 had tried. He was Lord of Hampden Manor in Kidlington near Oxford 
 by his marriage with Anne, daughter and heiress of John Smith. He 
 founded in that village an hospital for three poor men and three poor 
 women in memory of his wife and his children John, George, William, 
 Anne and Magdalen, who all died in his lifetime. See Foss's Judge^^ and 
 Three Oxfordshire Parishes (Oxf, Hist, ^gg,, xxiv.) by Stapleton.J 
 
144 THE HISTOEY OF [i665 
 
 upon 1, taking another with me, went to the gaoler with the 
 money in my hand, and reminding him of the terms upon 
 which we accepted the use of his rooms, I told him, that 
 although we could not pay chamber rent or fees, yet inas- 
 much as he had now been civil to us, we were willing to 
 acknowledge it by a small token, and thereupon gave him 
 the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, " I thank 
 you and your friends for it, and to let you see I take it as a 
 gift, not a debt, I will not look on it to see how much it is ". 
 
 The prison door being then set open for us, we went out, 
 and departed to our respective homes. 
 
 But before I left the prison, considering one day with 
 
 myself the different kinds of liberty and confinement, freedom 
 
 and bondage, I took ray pen, and wrote the following enigma 
 
 or riddle : — 
 
 Lo ! here a riddle to the wise, 
 In which a mystery there lies ; 
 Read it therefore, with that eye 
 Which can discern a mystery. 
 
 THE RIDDLE. 
 
 Some men are free while they in prison lie ; 
 Others, who ne'er saw prison, captives die. 
 
 CAUTION. 
 
 He that can receive it may; 
 He that cannot let him stay, 
 And not be hasty, but suspend 
 His judgment till he sees the end. 
 
 SOLUTION. 
 
 He oniys free indeed that's free from sin, 
 And he is fastest bound that's bound therein. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 This is th# liberty I chiefly prize, 
 The other, without this, I can despise. 
 
 Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison I was 
 desired by my quondam master, Milton, to take a house for 
 him in the neighbourhood where I dwelt, that he might go 
 out of the city, for the safety of himself and his family, the 
 pestilence then growing hot in London, I took a pretty box 
 
1665] THOMAS ELLWOOD 145 
 
 for him in Giles Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave 
 him notice, and intended to have waited on him, and seen 
 him well settled in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment. 
 
 But now being released and returned home, I soon made a 
 visit to him, to welcome him into the country. 
 
 After some common discourses had passed between us, he 
 called for a manuscript of his ; which being brought he 
 delivered to me, bidding me take it home with me, and read 
 it at my leisure ; and when I had so done, return it to him 
 with my judgment thereupon. 
 
 When I came home, and had set myself to read it, I found 
 it was that excellent poem which he entituled " Paradise 
 Lost". After I had, with the best attention, read it through, 
 I made him another visit, and returned him his book, with 
 due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me in com- 
 municating it to me. He asked me how I liked it and what 
 I thought of it, which I modestly but freely told him, and 
 after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, 
 " Thou hast said much here of ' Paradise Lost,' but what hast 
 thou to say of ' Paradise Found .'' ' " He made me no answer, 
 but sat some time in a muse ; then brake off that discourse, 
 and fell upon another subject. 
 
 After the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed and 
 become safely habitable again, he returned thither. 
 
 And when afterwards I went to wait on him there, which I 
 seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions drew me to 
 London, he showed me his second poem, called " Paradise 
 Regained," and in a pleasant tone said to me, " This is owing 
 to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put 
 to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of". But 
 from this digression I return to the family I then lived in. 
 
 We had not been long at home, about a month perhaps, 
 before Isaac Penington was taken out of his house in an arbit- 
 rary manner by military force, and carried prisoner to Ayles- 
 bury gaol again, where he lay three-quarters of a year, with 
 great hazard of his life, it being the sickness year, and the 
 plague being not only in the town but in the gaol. 
 10 
 
146 THE HISTOEY OF [1665 
 
 Meanwhile his wife and family were turned out of his house, 
 called the Grange, at Peters Chalfont, by them who had seized 
 upon his estate ; and the family being by that means broken 
 up, some went one way, others another. Mary Penington 
 herself, with her younger children, went down to her husband 
 at Aylesbury. Guli, with her maid, went to Bristol, to see 
 her former maid, Anne Hersent, who was married to a 
 merchant of that city, whose name was Thomas Biss ; and I 
 went to Aylesbury with the children, but not finding the place 
 agreeable to my health, I soon left it, and returning to 
 Chalfont, took a lodging, and was dieted in the house of a 
 friendly man, and after some time went to Bristol to conduct 
 Guli home. 
 
 Meanwhile Mary Penington took lodgings in a farmhouse 
 called Bottrels, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, where, when 
 we returned from Bristol, we found her. 
 
 We had been there but a very little time before I was sent 
 to prison again upon this occasion. There was in those times 
 a meeting once a month at the house of George Salter,^ 
 a Friend of Hedgerley, to which we sometimes went ; and 
 Morgan Watkins being with us, he and I, with Guli and her 
 
 '[George Salter was a Quaker from rather an early date, but never 
 played any important part in the body. He was however a staunch 
 sufferer, and had much to endure. In 1656, he began a life-long battle 
 with the priest of Farnham Royal, in which parish Hedgerley Dean then 
 was. In that year he was imprisoned for refusing to pay tithes. In 1665, 
 he was again sued by John Bassett, the incumbent, and though the tithe 
 claim was only for ;fi2, he lost no less than £^0 worth of property. He 
 still held out, and in i66g and 1674 was again imprisoned. In 1684 and 
 again in 1685 his cattle were again taken, and even after the revolution 
 in i6go he was once more arrested at the suit of Dr. Charles Hickman, 
 then incumbent of that parish. Besides these imprisonments for civil 
 matters, he suffered for (^er reasons. In 1660, he was one of the victims 
 o the persecution provoked by Venner's outbreak. His imprisonment 
 n 1667 is described by Ellwood in the text. Last of all, in 1683, he was 
 again arrested for being present at a meeting at Woburn. The meeting 
 was a meeting held in complete silence to evade the Conventicle Act ; 
 but the people present were nevertheless prosecuted as rioters. A glance 
 at the map will show that Salter never went far from his own home. Yet 
 he is not an unfair example of the treatment which even the quietest 
 among the Quakers met with at the time. The pecuniary losses of the 
 whole body must have been enormous.] 
 
1665] THOMAS ELLWOOD 147 
 
 maid, and one Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of the 
 College of Physicians at London, with a maiden daughter 
 of their' s, neither of whom were Quakers, but as acquaint- 
 ances of Mary Penington were with her on a visit, walked 
 over to that meeting, it being about the middle of the first 
 month, and the weather good. 
 
 This place was about a mile from the house of Ambrose 
 Bennett, the justice who the summer before had sent me and 
 some other Friends to Aylesbury prison from the burial of 
 Edward Parret of Amersham ; and he, by what means I know 
 not, getting notice not only of the meeting, but, as was sup- 
 posed, of our being there, came himself to it, and as he came 
 caught up a stackwood stick, big enough to have knocked any 
 man down, and brought it with him, hidden under his cloak. 
 Being come to the house, he stood for a while without the 
 door and out of sight, listening to hear what was said, for 
 Morgan was then speaking in the meeting. But certainly he 
 heard very imperfectly, if it was true which we heard he said 
 afterwards among his companions, as an argument that Morgan 
 was a Jesuit — viz., that in his preaching he trolled over his 
 Latin as fluently as ever he heard any one ; whereas Morgan, 
 good man, was better versed in Welch than in Latin, which I 
 suppose he had never learned : I am sure he did not under- 
 stand it. 
 
 When this martial Justice, who at Amersham had with his 
 drawn sword struck an unarmed man who he knew would 
 not strike again, had now stood some time abroad, on a 
 sudden he rushed in among us, with the stackwood stick 
 held up in his hand ready to strike, crying out, " Make way 
 there " ; and an ancient woman not getting soon enough out 
 of his way, he struck her with the stick a shrewd blow over 
 the breast. Then pressing through the crowd to the place 
 where Morgan stood, he plucked him from thence, and caused 
 so great a disorder in the room that it broke the meeting up ; 
 yet would not the people go away or disperse themselves, but 
 tarried to see what the issue would be. 
 
 Then taking pen and paper, he sat down at the table 
 
148 THE HISTORY OF [i665 
 
 among us, and asked several of us our names, which we gave, 
 and he set down in writing. 
 
 Amongst others he asked Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, 
 what her name was, which she readily gave ; and thence 
 taking occasion to discourse him, she so overmastered him by 
 clear reason, delivered in fine language, that he, glad to be 
 rid of her, struck out her name and dismissed her ; yet did 
 not she remove, but kept her place amongst us. 
 
 When he had taken what number of names he thought fit, 
 he singled out half a dozen, whereof Morgan was one, I 
 another, one man more, and three women, of whom the 
 woman of the house was one, although her husband then was, 
 and for divers years before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet 
 for tithes, and had nobody to take care of his family and 
 business but her his wife. 
 
 Us six he committed to Aylesbury gaol, which when the 
 doctor's wife heard him read to the constable, she attacked 
 him again, and having put him in mind that it was a sickly 
 time, and that the pestilence was reported to be in that 
 place, she in handsome terms desired him to consider in time 
 how he would answer the cry of our blood, if by his sending 
 us to be shut up in an infected place we should lose our 
 lives there. This made him alter his purpose, and by a new 
 mittimus sent us to the House of Correction at Wiccomb. 
 And although he committed us upon the Act for banishment,* 
 which limited a certain time for imprisonment, yet he in his 
 mittimus limited no time, but ordered us to be kept till we 
 should be delivered by due course of law ; so little regardful 
 was he, though a lawyer, of keeping to the letter of the law. 
 
 We were committed on the 1 3th day of the month called 
 
 '[It is not easy to make out EUwood's account. In all probability the 
 Justice committed EUwood and his friends for trial under the act of 1662, 
 thus subjecting Ellwood to a longer imprisonment than the two months 
 which the Act provided. Probably the Justice ought to have tried the 
 case himself. It is clear that in EUwood's first conviction (see above) 
 Judge Morton took this view, and the fact that Ellwood does not mention 
 what happened at the assizes shows that he had no further imprisonment 
 to undergo.] 
 
1666] THOMAS ELLWOOD 149 
 
 March, 1665, and were kept close prisoners there till the 
 7th day of the month called June, 1666, which was some 
 days above twelve weeks, and much above what the Act 
 required. 
 
 Then were we sent for to the Justice's house, and the rest 
 being released, Morgan Watkins and I were required to find 
 sureties for our appearance at the next assize ; which we 
 refusing to do, were committed anew to our old prison, the 
 House of Correction at Wiccomb, there to lie until the next 
 assizes ; Morgan being in this second mittimus represented as 
 a notorious offender in preaching, and I as being upon the 
 second conviction in order to banishment. There we lay till 
 the 25th day of the same month, and then, by the favour of 
 the Earl of Ancram, being brought before him at his house, 
 we were discharged from the prison upon our promise to 
 appear, if at liberty and in health, at the assizes ; which we 
 did, and were there discharged by proclamation. 
 
 During my imprisonment in this prison I betook myself for 
 an employment to making of nets for kitchen-service, to 
 boil herbs, etc., in, which trade I learned of Morgan Watkins, 
 and selling some and giving others, I pretty well stocked the 
 Friends of that country with them. 
 
 Though in that confinement I was not very well suited 
 with company for conversation, Morgan's natural temper not 
 being very agreeable to mine, yet we kept a fair and 
 brotherly correspondence, as became friends, prison-fellows 
 and bed-fellows, which we were. And indeed it was a good 
 time, I think, to us all, for I found it so to me ; the Lord being 
 graciously pleased to visit my soul with the refreshing dews 
 of His Divine life, whereby my spirit was more and more 
 quickened to Him, and truth gained ground in me over the 
 temptations and snares of the enemy ; which frequently 
 raised in my heart thanksgivings and praises unto the Lord. 
 And at one time more especially the sense I had of the 
 prosperity of truth, and the spreading thereof, filling my 
 heart with abundant joy, made my cup overflow, and the 
 following lines drop out : — 
 
150 THE HISTOEY OF [i667 
 
 For truth I suffer bonds, in truth I live, 
 And unto truth this testimony give. 
 That truth shall over all exalted be, 
 
 And in dominion reign for evermore : 
 The child's already born that this may see. 
 
 Honour, praise, glory be to God therefore. 
 
 And underneath thus : — 
 
 Tho' death and hell should against truth combine. 
 Its glory shall through all their darkness shine. 
 
 This I saw with an eye of faith, beyond the reach of human 
 sense ; for, 
 
 As strong desire 
 Draws objects nigher 
 In apprehension than indeed they are ; 
 I with an eye 
 That pierced high 
 Did thus of truth's prosperity declare. 
 
 After we had been discharged at the assizes, I returned to 
 Isaac Penington's family at Bottrel's in Chalfont, and, as I 
 remember, Morgan Watkins with me, leaving Isaac Penington 
 a prisoner in Aylesbury gaol. 
 
 The lodgings we had in this farmhouse (Bottrel's) proving 
 too strait and inconvenient for the family^ I took larger and 
 better lodgings for them in Berriehouse at Amersham, whither 
 we went at the time called Michaelmas, having spent the 
 summer at the other place. 
 
 Some time after was that memorable meeting appointed to 
 be held at London, through a Divine opening in the motion 
 of life, in that eminent servant and prophet of God, George 
 FoXj for the restoring and bringing in again those who had 
 gone out from truth, and the holy unity of Friends therein, 
 by the means and min^ptry of John Perrot.^ 
 
 This man came pretty early amongst Friends, and too 
 early took upon him the ministerial office : and being, though 
 little in person, yet great in opinion of himself, nothing less 
 would serve him than to go and convert the Pope ; in order 
 whereunto, he having a better man than himself, John LufF, 
 
 ' [See introduction.] 
 
1667] THOMAS ELLWOOD 151 
 
 to accompany him, travelled to Rome, where they had not 
 been long ere they were taken up and clapped into prison. 
 Luff, as I remember, was put in the Inquisition, and Perrot in 
 their Bedlam, or hospital for madmen. 
 
 Luff died in prison, not without well-grounded suspicion of 
 being murthered there ; but Perrot lay there some time, and 
 now and then sent over an epistle to be printed here, written 
 in such an affected and fantastic style as might have induced 
 an indifferent reader to believe they had suited the place of his 
 confinement to his condition. 
 
 After some time, through the mediation of Friends (who 
 hoped better of him than he proved) with some person of note 
 and interest there, he was released, and came back for England. 
 And the report of his great sufferings there (far greater in report 
 than in reality), joined with a singular show of sanctity, so far 
 opened the hearts of many tender and compassionate Friends 
 towards him, that it gave him the advantage of insinuating 
 himself into their affections and esteem, and made way for the 
 more ready propagation of that peculiar error of his, of keep- 
 ing on the hat in time of prayer as well public as private, 
 unless they had an immediate motion at that time to put it off. 
 
 Now, although I had not the least acquaintance with this 
 man, not having ever exchanged a word with him, though I 
 knew him by sight ; nor had I any esteem for him, for either 
 his natural parts or ministerial gift, but rather a dislike of 
 his aspect, preaching, and way of writing ; yet this error of 
 his being broached in the time of my infancy and weakness 
 of judgment as to truth, while I lived privately in London and 
 had little converse with Friends, I, amongst the many who 
 were catched in that snare, was taken with the notion, as what 
 then seemed to my weak understanding suitable to the 
 doctrine of a spiritual dispensation. And the matter coming 
 to warm debates, both in words and writing, I, in a misguided 
 zeal, was ready to have entered the lists of contention about 
 it, not then seeing what spirit it proceeded from and was 
 managed by, nor foreseeing the disorder and confusion in 
 worship which must naturally attend it. 
 
152 THE HISTORY OF [i667 
 
 But as I had no evil intention or sinister end in engaging 
 in it, but was simply betrayed by the specious pretence and 
 show of greater spirituality, the Lord, in tender compassion 
 to my soul, was graciously pleased to open my understanding 
 and give me a clear sight of the enemy's design in this work, 
 and drew off from the practice of it, and to bear testimony 
 against it as occasion offered. 
 
 But when that solemn meeting was appointed at London 
 for a travail in spirit on behalf of those who had thus gone 
 out, that they might rightly return and be sensibly received 
 into the unity of the body again, my spirit rejoiced, and with 
 gladness of heart I went to it, as did many more of both city 
 and country, and with great simplicity and humility of mind 
 did honestly and openly acknowledge our outgoing, and take 
 condemnation and shame to ourselves. And some that lived 
 at too remote a distance in this nation as well as beyond the 
 seas, upon notice given of that meeting and the intended 
 service of it, did the like by writing in letters directed to and 
 openly read in the meeting, which for that purpose was 
 continued many days. 
 
 Thus in the motion of life were the healing waters stirred, 
 and many through the virtuous power thereof restored to 
 soundness, and indeed not many lost. And though most of 
 those who thus returned were such as with myself had before 
 renounced the error and forsaken the practice, yet did we 
 sensibly find that forsaking without confessing, in case of 
 public scandal, was not sufficient but that an open ac- 
 knowledgment of open offences as well as forsaking them, 
 was necessary to the obtaining complete remission. 
 
 Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the Lord to 
 travel through the counties, from county to county, to advise 
 and encourage Friends to set up monthly and quarterly 
 meetings, for the better ordering the affairs of the Church in 
 taking care of the poor, and exercising a true gospel discipline 
 for a due dealing with any that might walk disorderly under 
 our name, and to see that such as should marry among us did 
 ^ct fairly and clearly in that respect. 
 
1668] THOMAS ELLWOOD 153 
 
 When he came into this county I was one of the many 
 Friends that were with him at the meeting for that purpose ; 
 and afterwards I travelled with Guli and her maid into the 
 West of England to meet him there and to visit Friends in 
 those parts, and we went as far as Topsham in Devonshire 
 before we found him. He had been in Cornwall, and was 
 then returning, and came in unexpectedly at Topsham, where 
 we then were providing (if he had not then come thither) to 
 have gone that day towards Cornwall. But after he was 
 come to us we turned back with him through Devonshire, 
 Somersetshire, and Dorsetshire, having generally very good 
 meetings where he was ; and the work he was chiefly con- 
 cerned in went on very prosperously and well, without any 
 opposition or dislike, save that in the general meeting of 
 Friends in Dorsetshire a quarrelsome man, who had gone out 
 from Friends in John Perrot's business and had not come 
 rightly in again, but continued in the practice of keeping on 
 his hat in time of prayer, to the great trouble and offence of 
 Friends, began to cavil and raise disputes, which occasioned 
 some interruption and disturbance. 
 
 Not only George, and Alexander Parker ^ who was with 
 him, but divers of the ancient Friends of that country, 
 endeavoured to quiet that troublesome man and make him 
 sensible of his error, but his unruly spirit would still be 
 opposing what was said unto him and justifying himself in 
 that practice. This brought a great weight and exercise 
 upon me, who sat at a distance in the outward part of the 
 meeting, and after I had for some time bore the burthen 
 thereof, I stood up in the constraining power of the Lord, 
 and in great tenderness of spirit declared unto the meeting, 
 and to that person more particularly, how it had been with 
 me in that respect, how I had been betrayed into that wrong 
 practice, how strong I had been therein, and how the Lord 
 had been graciously pleased to show me the evil thereof, 
 and recover me out of it. 
 
 ^ [This is mentioned in George Fox's Journal.] 
 
154 THE HISTORY OF [1669 
 
 This coming unexpectedly from me, a young man, a stranger, 
 and one who had not intermeddled with the business of the 
 meeting, had that effect upon the caviller, that if it did not 
 satisfy him, it did at least silence him, and made him for the 
 present sink down and be still, without giving any further 
 disturbance to the meeting. And the Friends were well 
 pleased with this unlooked-for testimony from me, and I 
 was glad that I had that opportunity to confess to the truth, 
 and to acknowledge once more, in so public a manner, the 
 mercy and goodness of the Lord to me therein. 
 
 By the time we came back from this journey the summer 
 was pretty far gone, and the following winter I spent with 
 the children of the family as before, without any remarkable 
 alteration in my circumstances, until the next spring, when 
 I found in myself a disposition of mind to change my single 
 life for a married state. 
 
 I had always entertained so high a regard for marriage, as 
 it was a Divine institution, that I held it not lawful to make 
 it a sort of political trade, to rise in the world by. And 
 therefore as I could not but in my judgment blame such as 
 I found made it their business to hunt after and endeavour 
 to gain those who were accounted great fortunes, not so much 
 regarding what she is as what she has, but making wealth 
 the chief if not the only thing they aimed at : so I resolved 
 to avoid, in my own practice, that course, and how much 
 soever my condition might have prompted me, as well as 
 others, to seek advantage that way, never to engage on 
 account of riches, nor at all to marry till judicious affection 
 drew me to it, which I now began to feel at work in my 
 breast. 
 
 The object of this Affection was a Friend whose name was 
 Mary Ellis, whom for divers years I had had an acquaintance 
 with, in the way of common friendship only, and in whom I 
 thought I then saw those fair prints of truth and solid virtue 
 which I afterwards found in a sublime degree in her ; but 
 what her condition in the world was as to estate, I was 
 wholly a stranger to, nor desired to know. 
 
1669] TH031AS ELL WOOD 155 
 
 I had once, a year or two before, had an opf>orttmity to do 
 her a small piece of service, which she wanted some assistance 
 in, wherein I acted with all sincerity and freedom of mind, 
 not expecting or desiring any advantage by her, or reward 
 from her, being very well satisfied in the act itself that I had 
 ser^'ed a friend and helped the helpless. 
 
 That little intercourse of common kindness between us 
 ended without the least thought I am verily persuaded on 
 her part, well assured on my own, of any other or further 
 relation than that of free and &ir friendship, nor did it at 
 that time lead us into any closer conversation or more inti- 
 mate acquaintance one with the other than had been before. 
 
 But some time, and that a good while after, I found my 
 heart secretly drawn and inclining towards her, yet was I 
 not hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a satisfactory 
 settlement of mind therein, before I made any step thereto. 
 
 After some time I took an opportimity to open mv mind 
 therein unto my mnch-honoured friends Isaac and Mary 
 Penington, who then stood parentum loco (in the place or 
 stead of parents) to me. Thev having solemnly weighed the 
 matter, expressed their unity therewith ; and indeed their 
 approbation thereof was no small confirmation to me therein. 
 Yet took I further deUberation, often retiring in spirit to the 
 Lord, and crying to Him for direction before I addressed 
 myself to her. At length, as I was sitting all alone, waiting 
 npon the Lord for counsel and guidance in this — in itself and 
 to me — so important affair, I felt a word sweetly arise in me, 
 as if I had heard a voice which said, "Go, and prevail". 
 And faith springing in my heart with the word, I immedi- 
 ately arose and went, nothing doubting. 
 
 \Mien 1 was come to her lodgings, which were about a 
 mile from me, her maid told me she was in her chamber, for 
 ha\ing been under some indisposition of body, which had 
 obliged her to keep her chamber, she had not yet left it ; 
 wherefore I desired the maid to acquaint her mistress that I 
 was come to give her a visit, whereupon I was invited to go 
 up to her. And after some little time spent in common con- 
 
156 THE HISTORY OF [i669 
 
 versation, feeling my spirit weightily concerned, I solemnly 
 opened my mind unto her with respect to the particular 
 business I came about, which I soon perceived was a great 
 surprisal to her, for she had taken in an apprehension, as 
 others also had done, that mine eye had been fixed elsewhere 
 and nearer home. 
 
 I used not many words to her, but I felt a Divine power 
 went along with the words, and fixed the matter expressed 
 by them so fast in her breast, that, as she afterwards 
 acknowledged to me, she could not shut it out. 
 
 I made at that time but a short visit, for having told her 
 I did not expect an answer from her now, but desired she 
 would in the most solemn manner weigh the proposal made, 
 and in due time give me such an answer thereunto as the 
 Lord should give her, I took my leave of her and departed, 
 leaving the issue to the Lord. 
 
 I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw would take 
 me up two weeks' time. Wherefore, the day before I was 
 to set out I went to visit her again, to acquaint her with my 
 journey, and excuse my absence, not yet pressing her for an 
 answer, but assuring her that I felt in myself an increase of 
 aflFection to her, and hoped to receive a suitable return from 
 her in the Lord's time, to whom in the meantime I com- 
 mitted both her, myself, and the concern between us. And 
 indeed I found at my return that I could not have left it in 
 a better Hand ; for the Lord had been my advocate in my 
 absence, and had so far answered all her objections that 
 when I came to her again she rather acquainted me with 
 them than urged them. 
 
 From that time forwards we entertained each other with 
 affectionate kindness it) order to marriage, which yet we did 
 not hasten to, but went on deliberately. Neither did I use 
 those vulgar ways of courtship, by making frequent and rich 
 presents, not only for that my outward condition would not 
 comport with the expense, but because I liked not to obtain 
 by such means, but preferred an unbribed affection. 
 
 While this affair stood thus with me, I had occasion to 
 
1669] THOMAS ELLWOOD 157 
 
 take another journey into Kent and Sussex, which yet I 
 would not mention here, but for a particular accident which 
 befell me on the way. 
 
 The occasion of this journey was this. Mary Penington's 
 daughter Guli, intending to go to her Uncle Springett's, in 
 Sussex,! and from thence amongst her tenants, her mother 
 desired me to accompany her, and assist her in her business 
 with her tenants. 
 
 We tarried at London the first night, and set out next 
 morning on the Tunbridge road, and Seven Oaks lying in 
 our way we put in there to bait ; but truly we had much ado 
 to get either provisions or room for ourselves or our horses, 
 the house was so filled with guests, and those not of the 
 better sort. For the Duke of York being, as we were told, 
 on the road that day for the Wells, divers of his guards and 
 the meaner sort of his retinue had near filled all the inns 
 there. 
 
 I left John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this journey 
 and was afterwards her menial servant, to take care of the 
 horses, while I did the like as well as I could for her. I got 
 a little room to put her into, and having shut her into it, 
 went to see what relief the kitchen would afford us, and 
 with much ado, by praying hard and paying dear, I got a 
 small joint of meat from the spit, which served rather to stay 
 than satisfy our stomachs, for we were all pretty sharp set. 
 
 After this short repast, being weary of our quarters, we 
 quickly mounted and took the road again, willing to hasten 
 from a place where we found nothing but rudeness ; for the 
 roysters, who at that time swarmed there, besides the 
 damning oaths they belched at one another, looked very 
 sourly on us as if they grudged us both the horses we rode 
 and the clothes we wore. 
 
 A knot of these soon followed us, designing, as we after- 
 wards found, to put an abuse upon us, and make themselves 
 
 ' [Sir William Springett's property, which his daughter inherited, lay 
 about Ringmer, near Lewes. Herbert Springett, her uncle, lived in the 
 same neighbourhood.] 
 
158 THITHISTOEY OF [1669 
 
 sport with us. We had a spot of fine smooth sandy way, 
 whereon the horses trod so softly that we heard them not 
 till one of them was upon us. I was then riding abreast 
 with Guli, and discoursing with her, when on a sudden 
 hearing a little noise, and turning mine eye that way, I saw 
 a horseman coming up on the further side of her horse, 
 having his left arm stretched out, just ready to take her 
 about the waist and pluck her off backwards from her own 
 horse to lay her before him upon his. I had but just time to 
 thrust forth my stick between him and her, and bid him 
 stand off, and at the same time reining my horse to let hers 
 go before me, thrust in between her and him, and being better 
 mounted than he my horse ran him off. But his horse being, 
 though weaker than mine, yet nimble, he slipped by me and 
 got up to her on the near side, endeavouring to offer abuse to 
 her, to prevent which I thrust in upon him again, and in our 
 jostling we drove her horse quite out of the way and almost 
 into the next hedge. 
 
 While we were thus contending I heard a noise of loud 
 laughter behind us, and turning my head that way I saw 
 three or four horsemen more, who could scarce sit their 
 horses for laughing to see the sport their companion made 
 with us. From thence I saw it was a plot laid, and that this 
 rude fellow was not to be dallied with ; wherefore I bestirred 
 myself the more to keep him off, admonishing him to take 
 warning in time and give over his abusiveness, lest he re- 
 pented too late. He had in his hand a short thick truncheon, 
 which he held up at me, on which laying hold with a strong 
 grip, I suddenly wrenched it out of his hand, and threw it at 
 as far a distance behind me as I could. 
 
 While he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called up 
 honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest man, and 
 of a temper so thoroughly peaceable that he had not hitherto 
 put in at all ; but now I roused him, and bade him ride so 
 close up to his mistress's horse on the further side that no 
 horse might thrust in between, and I would endeavour to 
 guard the near side. But he, good man, not thinking it 
 
1669] THOMAS ELLWOOD 159 
 
 perhaps decent enough for him to ride so near his mistress, left 
 room enough for another to ride between. And indeed so 
 soon as our brute had recovered his truncheon, he came up 
 directly thither, and had thrust in again, had not I, by a 
 nimble turn, chopped in upon him, and kept him at bay. 
 
 I then told him I had hitherto spared him, but wished him 
 not to provoke me further. This I spoke with such a 
 tone as bespoke a high resentment of the abuse put upon us, 
 and withal pressed so close upon him with my horse that I 
 suffered him not to come up any more to Guli. 
 
 This his companions, who kept an equal distance behind us, 
 both heard and saw, and thereupon two of them advancing, 
 came up to us. I then thought 1 might likely have my hands 
 full, but Providence turned it otherwise ; for they, seeing the 
 contest rise so high, and probably fearing it would rise higher, 
 not knowing where it might stop, came in to part us, which 
 they did by taking him away, one of them leading his horse 
 by the bridle and the other driving him on with his whip, and 
 so carried him oif. 
 
 One of their company stayed yet behind ; and it so happen- 
 ing that a great shower just then fell, we betook ourselves for 
 shelter to a thick and well-spread oak which stood hard by. 
 Thither also came that other person, who wore the Duke's 
 livery, and while we put on our defensive garments against 
 the weather, which then set in to be wet, he took the oppor- 
 tunity to discourse with me about the man that had been 
 so rude to us, endeavouring to excuse him by alleging that 
 he had drank a little too liberally. I let him know that one 
 vice would not excuse another ; that although but one of them 
 was actually concerned in the abuse, yet both he and the rest 
 of them were abettors of it and accessories to it ; that I was 
 not ignorant whose livery they wore, and was well assured 
 their lord would not maintain them in committing such out- 
 rages upon travellers on the road, to our injury and his 
 dishonour; that I understood the Duke was coming down, 
 and that they might expect to be called to an account for 
 this rude action. 
 
160 THE HISTORY OF [1669 
 
 He then begged hard that we would pass by the offence, 
 and make no complaint to their lord ; for he knew, he said, 
 the Duke would be very severe, and it would be the utter 
 ruin of the young man. When he had said what he could, 
 he went off before us, without any ground given him to expect 
 favour ; and when we had fitted ourselves for the weather we 
 followed after our own pace. 
 
 When we came to Tunbridge I set John Gigger foremost, 
 bidding him lead on briskly through the town, and placing 
 Guli in the middle, I came close up after her that I might 
 both observe and interpose if any fresh abuse should have 
 been offered her. We were expected, I perceived, for though 
 it rained very hard, the street was thronged with men, who 
 looked very earnestly on us, but did not put any affront upon 
 us. 
 
 We had a good way to ride beyond Tunbridge and beyond 
 the Wells, in byeways among the woods, and were the later 
 for the hindrance we had had on the way. And when, being 
 come to Herbert Springett's house, Guli acquainted her uncle 
 what danger and trouble she had gone through on the way, 
 he resented it so high that he would have had the persons 
 prosecuted for it ; but since Providence had interposed, and 
 so well preserved and delivered her, she chose to pass by the 
 offence. 
 
 When Guli had finished the business she went upon, we 
 returned home, and I delivered her safe to her glad mother. 
 From that time forward I continued my visits to my best 
 beloved Friend until we married, which was on the 28th day 
 of the eight month, called October, in the year I669. We 
 took each other in a select meeting of the ancient and grave 
 Friends of that countryfholden in a Friend's house, where in 
 those times not only the monthly meeting for business but 
 the public meeting for worship was sometimes kept. A very 
 solemn meeting it was, and in a weighty frame of spirit we 
 were, in which we sensibly felt the Lord with us, and joining 
 us ; the sense whereof remained with us all our lifetime, and 
 was of good service and very comfortable to us on all occasions. 
 
1669] THOMAS ELLWOOD 161 
 
 My next care after marriage was to secure my wife what 
 monies she had, and with herself bestowed upon me ; for I 
 held it would be an abominable crime in me, and savour of 
 the highest ingratitude, if I, though but through negligence, 
 should leave room for my father, in case I should be taken 
 away suddenly, to break in upon her estate, and deprive her of 
 any part of that which had been and ought to be her own. 
 Wherefore with the first opportunity — -as I remember, the 
 very next day, and before I knew particularly what she had 
 — I made my will, and thereby secured to her whatever I 
 was possessed of, as well all that which she brought, either 
 in monies or in goods, as that little which I had before I 
 married her ; which indeed was but little, yet more by all 
 that little than I had ever given her ground to expect with me. 
 
 She had indeed been advised by some of her relations to 
 secure before marriage some part at least of what she had, to 
 be at her own disposal ; which, though perhaps not wholly 
 free from some tincture of self-interest in the proposer, was 
 not in itself the worst of counsel. But the worthiness of her 
 mind, and the sense of the ground on which she received 
 me, would not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me ; 
 and this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of 
 gratitude as well as of justice, to regard and secure her ; 
 which I did. 
 
 I omitted in its proper place, because I would not break in 
 upon the discourse I was then upon, to insert a few lines 
 which I writ as a congratulation to an honoured friend upon 
 his marriage, and presented him with the next morning, 
 thus : — 
 
 My heart's affected with a weighty sense 
 Of yesterday's proceedings, and from thence 
 Desire arises to congratulate 
 My happy friend in his new married state. 
 Not in that strain wherewith some use to cloy 
 Men's ears with tedious peals of giving joy. 
 But shunning all extremes, I choose to tread 
 The middle path, which doth to virtue lead. 
 This then my heart desires for thee, my friend. 
 Thy nuptial joys may never here have end. 
 11 
 
162 THE HISTORY OF [1669 
 
 May happiness with thee take up her rest 
 And sweet contentment always fill thy breast. 
 May God thee bless with numerous increase, 
 And may thy utmost offspring rest in peace. 
 Accept this pledge of love, tho' but a part 
 Of what is treasur'd for thee in my heart, 
 From him who herein hath no other end 
 Than to declare himself 
 
 Thy faithful friend, 
 T. E. 
 Stepney, the gtk of the Second Month, 1669. 
 
 I had not been long married before I was solicited by my 
 dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and her daughter 
 Guli, to take a journey into Kent and Sussex to accompt with 
 their tenants and overlook their estates in those counties, 
 which before I was married I had had the care of; and 
 accordingly the journey I undertook, though in the depth 
 of winter. 
 
 My travels into those parts were the more irksome to me 
 from the solitariness I underwent, and want of suitable 
 society. For my business lying among the tenants, who 
 were a rustic sort of people, of various persuasions and 
 humours, but not Friends, I had little opportunity of con- 
 versing with Friends, though I contrived to be with them 
 as much as I could, especially on the First-day of the week. 
 
 But that which made my present journey more heavy 
 to me was a sorrowful exercise which was newly fallen upon 
 me from my father, harder to be borne than any I had ever 
 met with before. 
 
 He had, upon my first acquainting him with my inclination 
 to marry, and to whom, not only very much approved the 
 match, and voluntaribf offered, without my either asking or 
 expecting, to give me a handsome portion at present, with 
 assurance of an addition to it hereafter. And he not only 
 made this offer to me in private, but came down from London 
 into the country on purpose, to be better acquainted with my 
 friend, and did there make the same proposal to her ; offering 
 also to give security to any friend or relation of hers for the 
 performance. Which offer she most generously declined. 
 
1669] THOMAS ELLWOOD 163 
 
 leaving him as free as she found him. But afler we were 
 married, notwithstanding such his promise, he wholly declined 
 the performance of it under pretence of our not being married 
 by the priest and liturgy.i This usage and evil treatment 
 of us thereupon was a great trouble to me ; and when I 
 endeavoured to soften him in the matter, he forbade my 
 speaking to him of it any more, and removed his lodging 
 that I might not find him. 
 
 The grief I conceived on this occasion was not for any 
 disappointment to myself or to my wife, for neither she nor 
 I had any strict or necessary dependence upon that promise ; 
 but my grief was for the cause assigned by him as the ground 
 of it, which was that our marriage was not by priest or 
 liturgy ; and partly for that his lower circumstances in the 
 world might probably tempt him to find some such though 
 unwarrantable excuse to avoid performing his promise. 
 
 And surely hard would it have been for my spirit to have 
 borne up under the weight of this exercise, had not the Lord 
 been exceeding gracious to me, and supported me with the 
 inflowings of His love and life, wherewith He visited my soul 
 in my travel. The sense whereof raised in my heart a 
 thankful remembrance of His manifold kindnesses in His 
 former dealings with me ; and in the evening, when I came 
 to my inn, while supper was getting ready, I took my pen 
 and put into words what had in the day revolved in my 
 thoughts. And thus it was : — 
 
 A SONG OF PRAISE. 
 
 Thy love, dear Father, and Thy tender care, 
 Have in my heart begot a strong desire 
 
 To celebrate Thy Name with praises rare. 
 That others too Thy goodness may admire, 
 And learn to yield to what Thou dost require. 
 
 ' [Quaker marriages, were effected by the consent of the parties before 
 witnesses ; and were therefore valid but irregular. The attitude of the 
 common law courts towards such marriages was at this date rather ill- 
 defined, and the ecclesiastical law had been left in confusion since the 
 Reformation. But except as regards a claim for dower of lands for the 
 wife, or to tenure by the courtesy for the husband, a Quaker marriage 
 would always have been held valid at common law.] 
 
164 THE HISTOEY OF [1669 
 
 Many have been the trials of my mind, 
 
 My exercises great, great my distress ; 
 Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed, 
 
 My sorrows then my pen cannot express, 
 
 Nor could the best of men afford redress. 
 When thus beset to Thee I lift mine eye. 
 
 And with a mournful heart my moan did make ; 
 How oft with eyes o'erflowing did I cry, 
 
 " My God, my God, oh, do me not forsake ! 
 
 Regard my tears I Some pity on me take I " 
 And to the glory of Thy holy Name, 
 
 Eternal God, whom I both love and fear, 
 I hereby do declare I never came 
 
 Before Thy throne, and found Thee loth to hear, 
 
 But always ready, with an open ear. 
 And tho' sometimes Thou seem'st Thy face to hide, 
 
 As one that hath withdrawn Thy love from me, 
 'Tis that my faith may to the full be try'd. 
 
 And that I thereby may the better see 
 
 How weak I am when not upheld by Thee. 
 For underneath Thy holy arm I feel, 
 
 Encompassing with strength as with a wall, 
 That, if the enemy trip up my heel, 
 
 Thou ready are to save me from a fall : 
 
 To Thee belong thanksgivings over all. 
 And for Thy tender love, my God, my King, 
 
 My heart shall magnify Thee all my days. 
 My tongue of Thy renown shall daily sing. 
 
 My pen shall also grateful trophies raise, 
 
 As monuments to Thy eternal praise. 
 
 Kent, the Eleventh Month, i66g. 
 
 T. E. 
 
 Having finished my business in Kent, I struck off into 
 Sussex, and finding the enemy endeavouring still more 
 strongly to beset me, I betook myself to the Lord for safety, 
 in whom I knew all help and strength was, and thus poured 
 forth my supplication, directed : — 
 
 TO THE HOLY ONE. 
 
 Eternal God ! preserver of all those 
 
 (Without respect of person or degree) 
 Who in Thy faithfulness their trust repose, 
 
 And place their confidence alone in Thee ; 
 Be Thou my succour ; for Thou know'st that I 
 On Thy protection, Lord, alone rely. 
 
1670] THOMAS ELL WOOD 165 
 
 Surround me, Father, with Thy mighty power, 
 
 Support me daily by Thine holy arm, 
 Preserve me faithful in the evil hour. 
 
 Stretch forth Thine hand to save me from all harm. 
 Be Thou my helmet, breast-plate, sword and shield. 
 And make my foes before Thy power yield. 
 Teach me the spirit'al battle so to fight. 
 
 That when the enemy shall me beset. 
 Armed cap-a-pe with th' armour of Thy light, 
 
 A perfect conquest o'er him I may get ; 
 And with Thy battle-axe may cleave the head 
 Of him who bites that part whereon I tread. 
 Then being from domestic foes set free, 
 
 The cruelties of men I shall not fear ; 
 But in Thy quarrel, Lord, undaunted be, 
 
 And for Thy sake the loss of all things bear ; 
 Yea, tho' in dungeon lock'd, with joy will sing 
 An ode of praise to Thee, my God, my King. 
 
 T. E. 
 Sussex, the Eleventh Month, i66g. 
 
 As soon as I had despatched the business I went about, I 
 returned home without delay, and to my great comfort found 
 my wife well, and myself very welcome to her ; both which I 
 esteemed as great favours. 
 
 Towards the latter part of the summer following I went 
 into Kent again, and in my passage through London received 
 the unwelcome news of the loss of a very hopeful youth 
 who had formerly been under my care for education. It was 
 Isaac Penington, the second son of my worthy friends Isaac 
 and Mary Penington, a child of excellent natural parts, 
 whose great abilities bespoke him likely to be a great man, 
 had he lived to be a man. He was designed to be bred a 
 merchant, and before he was thought ripe enough to be 
 entred thereunto, his parents, at somebody's request, gave 
 leave that he might go a voyage to Barbadoes, only to spend 
 a little time, see the place, and be somewhat acquainted with 
 the sea, under the care and conduct of a choice friend and 
 sailor, John Grove, of London, who was master of a vessel, 
 and traded to that island ; and a little venture he had with 
 him, made up by divers of his friends and by me among the 
 rest. He made the voyage thither very well, found the 
 
166 THE HISTORY OF [1670 
 
 watery element agreeable, had his health there, liked the 
 place, was much pleased with his entertainment there, and 
 was returning home with his little cargo, in return for the 
 goods he carried out, when on a sudden, through unwariness, 
 he dropt overboard, and, the vessel being under sail with a 
 brisk gale, was irrecoverably lost, notwithstanding the utmost 
 labour, care, and diligence of the master and sailors to have 
 saved him. 
 
 This unhappy accident took from the afflicted master all 
 the pleasure of his voyage, and he mourned for the loss of 
 this youth as if he had been his own, yea only, son ; for as he 
 was in himself a man of a worthy mind, so the boy, by his 
 witty and handsome behaviour in general, and obsequious 
 carriage towards him in particular, had very much wrought 
 himself Into his favour. 
 
 As for me, I thought it one of the sharpest strokes I had 
 met with, for I both loved the child very well and had 
 conceived great hopes of general good from him ; and it 
 pierced me the deeper to think how deeply it would pierce 
 his afflicted parents. 
 
 Sorrow for this disaster was my companion in this journey, 
 and I travelled the roads under great exercise of mind, re- 
 volving in my thoughts the manifold accidents which the 
 life of man was attended with and subject to, and the great 
 uncertainty of all human things ; I could find no centre, no 
 firm basis, for the mind of man to fix upon but the Divine 
 power and will of the Almighty. This consideration wrought 
 in my spirit a sort of contempt of what supposed happiness 
 or pleasure this world, or the things that are in and of it, 
 can of themselves yield, and raised my contemplation higher ; 
 which, as it ripened and came to some degree of digestion, 
 I breathed forth in mournful accents thus : — 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 167 
 
 SOLITARY THOUGHTS ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF 
 HUMAN THINGS. 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN LOSS OF A HOPEFUL YOUTH, 
 
 Transibunt cito, quce vos mansura putatis. 
 
 Those things soon will pass away 
 Which ye think will always stay. 
 
 What ground, alas ; has any man 
 
 To set his heart on things below. 
 Which, when they seem most like to stand, 
 Fly Hue an arrow from a bow ? 
 Things subject to exterior sense 
 Are to mutation most prepense. 
 If stately houses we erect, 
 
 And therein think to take delight, 
 On what a sudden are we checkt, 
 
 And all our hopes made groundless quite 1 
 One little spark in ashes lays 
 What we were building half our days. 
 If on estate an eye we cast, 
 
 And pleasure there expect to find, 
 A secret providential blast 
 
 Gives disappointment to our mind : 
 Who now's on top ere long may feel 
 The circling motion of the wheel. 
 If we our tender babes embrace. 
 
 And comfort hope in them to have, 
 Alas ! in what a little space 
 
 Is hope, with them, laid in the grave 1 
 Whatever promiseth content 
 Is in a moment from us rent. 
 This world cannot afford a thing 
 
 Which, to a well-composed mind. 
 Can any lasting pleasure bring. 
 But in its womb its grave will find. 
 All things unto their centre tend ; 
 What had^ beginning will have end. 
 But is there nothing then that's sure 
 
 For man to fix his heart upon — 
 Nothing that always will endure, 
 
 When all these transient things are gone ? 
 Sad state ! where man with grief opprest 
 Finds nought whereon his mind may rest. 
 
 ' Understand this of natural things. 
 
168 THE HISTORY OF [1670 
 
 O yes ; there is a God above, 
 Who unto men is also nigh, 
 On whose unalterable love 
 We may with confidence rely, 
 No disappointment can befall 
 Us, having Him that's All in All. 
 If unto Him we faithful be, 
 
 It is impossible to miss 
 Of whatsoever He shall see 
 Conducible unto our bliss. 
 
 What can of pleasure him prevent 
 Who hath the fountain of content ? 
 In Him alone if we delight. 
 
 And in His precepts pleasure take, 
 We shall be sure to do aright — 
 'Tis not His nature to forsake. 
 A proper object's He alone, 
 For man to set his heart upon. 
 
 Domino mens nixa quieta est. 
 
 The mind which upon God is stay'd 
 Shall with no trouble be dismay'd. 
 
 T. E. 
 
 Kent, the i^th of the Seventh Month, 1670. 
 
 A copy of the foregoing lines, enclosed in a letter of con- 
 dolence, I sent by the first post into Buckinghamshire, to my 
 dear friends the afflicted parents ; and upon my return home, 
 going to visit them, we sat down, and solemnly mixed our 
 sorrows and tears together. 
 
 About this time, as I remember, it was that some bickerings 
 happening between some Baptists and some of the people 
 called Quakers, in or about High Wiccomb, in Buckingham- 
 shire, occasioned by some reflecting words a Baptist preacher 
 had publicly uttered in one of their meetings there, against 
 the Quakers in general, and William Penn in particular, 
 it came at length to tfiis issue, that a meeting for a public 
 dispute was appointed, to be holden at West Wiccomb, 
 between Jeremy Ives, who espoused his brother's cause, and 
 William Penn. 
 
 To this meeting, being so near me, I went, rather to 
 countenance the cause than for any delight I took in such 
 work ; for indeed I have rarely found the advantage equiva- 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 169 
 
 lent to the trouble and danger arising from those contests ; 
 for which cause I would not choose them, as, being justly 
 engaged, I would not refuse them. 
 
 The issue of this proved better than I expected ; for Ives, 
 having undertaken an ill cause, to argue against the Divine 
 light and universal grace conferred by God on all men, when 
 he had spent his stock of arguments which he brought with 
 him on that subject, finding his work go on heavily and the 
 auditory not well satisfied, stepped down from his seat and 
 departed with purpose to have broken up the assembly. 
 But, except some few of his party who followed him, the 
 people generally stayed, and were the more attentive to 
 what was afterwards delivered amongst them ; which Ives 
 understanding, came in again, and in an angry, railing 
 manner, expressing his dislike that we went not all away 
 when he did, gave more disgust to the people. 
 
 After the meeting was ended, I sent to my friend Isaac 
 
 Penington, by his son and servant, who returned home, 
 
 though it was late, that evening, a short account of the 
 
 business in the following distich : — 
 
 Prcevaluit Veritas : inimici terga didere ; 
 Nos sumus in tuto ; laus tribuenda. Deo. 
 
 Which may be thus Englished : — 
 
 Truth hath prevailed ; the enemies did fly ; 
 We are in safety; praise to God on high. 
 
 But both they and we had quickly other work found us : it 
 soon became a stormy time. The clouds had been long gather- 
 ing and threatening a tempest. The Parliament had sat some 
 time before, and hatched that unaccountable law which was 
 called the Conventicle Act ; if that may be allowed to be called 
 a law, by whomsoever made, which was so directly contrary 
 to the fundamental laws of England, to common justice, 
 equity, and right reason, as this manifestly was. For, 
 
 First, It brake down and overrun the bounds and banks 
 anciently set for the defence and security of Englishmen's 
 lives, liberties and properties — viz., trial by juries ; instead 
 
170 THE HISTORY OF [i67o 
 
 thereof directing and authorizing justices of the peace, and 
 that too privately out of sessions, to convict, fine, and by their 
 warrants distrain upon offenders against it ; directly contrary 
 to the great charter. 
 
 Secondly, By that Act the informers, who swear for their 
 own advantage, as being thereby entitled to a third part of the 
 fines, were many times concealed, driving on an underhand 
 private trade ; so that men might be, and often were, convicted 
 and fined, without having any notice or knowledge of it till 
 the officers came and took away their goods, nor even then 
 could they tell by whose evidence they were convicted. Than 
 which what could be more opposite to common justice, which 
 requires that every man should be openly charged and have 
 his accuser face to face, that he might both answer for himself 
 before he be convicted, and object to the validity of the 
 evidence given against him. 
 
 Thirdly, By that act the innocent were punished for the 
 offences of the guilty. If the wife or child was convicted of 
 having been at one of those assemblies which by that Act 
 was adjudged unlawful, the fine was levied on the goods of 
 the husband or father of such wife or child, though he was 
 neither present at such assembly, nor was of the same religious 
 persuasion that they were of, but perhaps an enemy to it. 
 
 Fourthly, It was left in the arbitrary pleasure of the justices 
 to lay half the fine for the house or ground where such 
 assembly was holden, and half the fine for a pretended un- 
 known preacher, and the whole fines of such and so many of 
 the meeters as they should account poor, upon any other or 
 others of the people who were present at the same meeting, 
 not exceeding a certain limited sum ; without any regard to 
 equity or reason. And yet, such blindness doth the spirit of 
 persecution bring on men, otherwise sharp-sighted enough, 
 that this unlawful, unjust, unequal, unreasonable and un- 
 righteous law took place in almost all places, and was rigor- 
 ously prosecuted against the meetings of Dissenters in general, 
 though the brunt of the storm fell most sharply on the people 
 called Quakers ; not that it seemed to be more particularly 
 
1670] THOMAS ELL WOOD 171 
 
 levelled at them, but that they stood more fair, steady and 
 open, as a butt to receive all the shot that came, while some 
 others found means and freedom to retire to coverts for shelter. 
 
 No sooner had the bishops obtained this law for suppressing 
 all other meetings but their own, but some of the clergy of 
 most ranks, and some others too who were overmuch bigoted 
 to that party, bestirr'd themselves with might and main to 
 find out and encourage the most profligate wretches to turn 
 informers ; and to get such persons into parochial offices as 
 would be most obsequious to their commands, and ready at 
 their beck to put it into the most rigorous execution. Yet it 
 took not alike in all places, but some were forwarder in the 
 work than others, according as the agents intended to be 
 chiefly employed therein had been predisposed thereunto. 
 
 For in some parts of the nation care had been timely taken, 
 by some not of the lowest rank, to choose out some particular 
 persons — men of sharp wit, close countenances, pliant tempers, 
 and deep dissimulation— and send them forth among the 
 sectaries, so called, with instructions to thrust themselves into 
 all societies, conform to all or any sort of religious profession, 
 Proteous-like change their shapes, and transform themselves 
 from one religious appearance to another as occasion should 
 require. In a word, to be all things to all — not that they 
 might win some, but that they might, if possible, ruin all ; at 
 least many. 
 
 The drift of this design was, that they who employed them 
 might by this means get a full account what number of Dissen- 
 ters' meetings, of every sort, there were in each county, and 
 where kept ; what number of persons frequented them, and 
 of what rank ; who amongst them were persons of estate, and 
 where they lived ; that when they should afterwards have 
 troubled the waters, they might the better know where with 
 most advantage to cast their nets. 
 
 He of these emissaries whose post was assigned him in this 
 county of Bucks adventured to thrust himself upon a Friend 
 under the counterfeit appearance of a Quaker, but being by 
 the Friend suspected, and thereupon dismissed unentertain'd, 
 
172 THE HISTOEY OF [1670 
 
 he was forced to betake himself to an inn or alehouse for 
 accommodation. Long he had not been there ere his unruly 
 nature, not to be long kept under by the curb of a feigned 
 society, broke forth into open profaneness ; so true is that of 
 the poet, 
 
 Naturam expellas furca Hat, usque recurret. 
 
 To fuddling now falls he with those whom he found tippling 
 there before, and who but he amongst them. In him was 
 then made good the proverb, i7i vino Veritas, for in his cups he 
 out with that which was no doubt to have been kept a secret. 
 'Twas to his pot companions that, after his head was somewhat 
 heated with strong liquors, he discovered that he was sent 
 forth by Dr. Mew, the then Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, on 
 the design before related, and under the protection of Justice 
 Morton, a warrant under whose hand and seal he there pro- 
 duced. 
 
 Sensible of his error too late, when sleep had restored him 
 to some degree of sense, and discouraged with this ill success 
 of his attempt upon the Quakers, he quickly left that place, 
 and crossing through the country, cast himself among the 
 Baptists at a meeting which they held in a private place, of 
 which the over-easy credulity of some that went among them, 
 whom he had craftily insinuated himself into, had given him 
 notice. The entertainment he found amongst them deserved 
 a better return than he made them ; for, having smoothly 
 wrought himself into their good opinion, and cunningly drawn 
 some of them into an unwary openness and freedom of con- 
 versation with him upon the unpleasing subject of the severity 
 of those times, he most villainously impeached one of them, 
 
 whose name was "Ileadache, a man well reputed amongst 
 
 his neighbours, of having spoken treasonable words, and 
 thereby brought the man in danger of losing both his estate 
 and life, had not a seasonable discovery of his abominable 
 practices elsewhere, imprinting terror, the effect of guilt, 
 upon him, caused him to fly both out of the court and 
 country at that very instant of time when the honest man 
 
1670] THO:\rAS ELLWOOD 173 
 
 stood at the bar ready to be arraigned upon his false ac- 
 cusation. 
 
 This his false charge against the Baptist left him no further 
 room to play the hyprocite in those parts. Off therefore go 
 his cloak and vizor. And now he openly appears in his 
 proper colours, to disturb the assemblies of God's people, 
 which was indeed the very end for which the design at first 
 was la.id. 
 
 But because the law provided that a conviction must be 
 grounded upon the oaths of two witnesses, it was needful for 
 him, in order to the carrying on his intended mischief, to find 
 out an associate who might be both sordid enough for such an 
 employment and vicious enough to be his companion. 
 
 This was not an easy task, yet he found out one who had 
 already given an experiment of his readiness to take other 
 men's goods, being not long before released out of Aylesbury 
 gaol, where he very narrowly escaped the gallows for having 
 stolen a cow. 
 
 The names of these fellows being yet unknown in that part 
 of the country where they began their work, the former, by 
 the general voice of the country, was called the Trepan ; the 
 latter the Informer, and from the colour of his hair Red-head. 
 But in a little time the Trepan called himself John Poulter, 
 adding withal that Judge Morton used to call him John for 
 the King, and that the Archbishop of Canterbury had given 
 him a deaconry. That his name was indeed John Poulter, 
 
 the reputed son of one — Poulter, a butcher in Salisbury, 
 
 and that he had long since been there branded for a fellow 
 egregiously wicked and debauched, we were assured by the 
 testimony of a young man then living in Amersham, who 
 both was his countryman and had known him in Salisbury, as 
 well as by a letter from an inhabitant of that place, to whom 
 his course of life had been well known. 
 
 His comrade, who for some time was only called the In- 
 former, was named Ralph Lacy, of Risborough, and sumamed 
 the Cow-stealer. 
 
 These agreed between themselves where to make their 
 
174 THE HISTORY OF [i67o 
 
 first onset, which was to be, and was, on the meeting of the 
 people called Quakers, then holden at the house of William 
 Russell, called Jourdon's, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, in 
 the county of Bucks ; that which was wanting to their ac- 
 commodation was a place of harbour, fit for such beasts of 
 prey to lurk in ; for assistance wherein recourse was had to 
 Parson Philips, none being so ready, none so willing, none so 
 able to help them as he. 
 
 A friend he had in a comer, a widow woman, not long 
 before one of his parishioners ; her name was Anne Dell, and 
 at that time she lived at a farm called Whites, a bye-place 
 in the parish of Beaconsfield, whither she removed from 
 Hitchindon. To her these fellows were recommended by 
 her old friend the parson. She with all readiness received 
 them ; her house was at all times open to them ; what she 
 had was at their command. 
 
 Two sons she had at home with her, both at man's estate ; 
 to the eldest of which, her maid servant not long before had 
 laid a bastard, which infamy to smother up proved expensive 
 to them. The younger son, whose name was John Dell, 
 hoping by the pillage of his honest neighbours to regain what 
 the incontinency of his lustful brother had misspent, listed 
 himself in the service of his mother's new guests, to attend 
 on them as their guide, and to inform them (who were too 
 much strangers to pretend to know the names of any of the 
 persons there) whom they should inform against. 
 
 Thus consorted, thus in a triple league confederated, on 
 the 24th day of the fifth month, conunonly called July, in 
 the year l670, they appeared openly, and began to act their 
 intended tragedy upon the Quakers' meeting at the place 
 aforesaid, to which I belonged, and at which I was present. 
 Here the chief actor, Poulter, behaved himself with such 
 impetuous violence and brutish rudeness as gave occasion for 
 inquiry who or what he was .'' And being soon discovered to 
 be the Trepan, so infamous and abhorred by all sober people, 
 and afterwards daily detected of gross impieties and even 
 capital crimes such as christening — so the common term is — 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 175 
 
 of a cat, in contempt of that practice which is used by many 
 upon children, naming it Catherine-Catherina, in derision of 
 the then Queen ; and the felonious taking of certain goods 
 from one of Brainford, whom also he cheated of money — these 
 things raising an outcry in the country upon him, made him 
 consult his own safety, and leaving his part to be acted by 
 others, quitted the country as soon as he could. 
 
 He being gone, Satan soon supplied his place by sending 
 one Richard Aris, a broken ironmonger of Wiccomb, to join 
 with Lacy in this service, prompted thereto in hopes that he 
 might thereby repair his broken fortunes. 
 
 Of this new adventurer this single character may serve, 
 whereby the reader may make judgment of him as of the lion 
 by his paw ; that at the sessions held at Wiccomb, in October 
 then last past he was openly accused of having enticed 
 one Harding of the same town, to be his companion and 
 associate in robbing on the highway, and proof offered to be 
 made that he had made bullets in order to that service ; 
 which charge Harding himself, whom he had endeavoured to 
 draw into that heinous wickedness was ready in court to 
 prove upon oath had not the prosecution been discounten- 
 anced and smothered. 
 
 Lacy, the cow-stealer, having thus got Aris, the intended 
 highwayman, to be his comrade, they came on the 21st of 
 the month called August, 1 670, to the meeting of the people 
 called Quakers, where Lacy, with Poulter, had been a month 
 before ; and taking for granted that the same who had been 
 there before were there then, they went to a justice of the 
 peace called Sir Thomas Clayton, and swore at aU adventure 
 against one Thomas Zachary and his wife, whom Lacy under- 
 stood to have been there the month before, that they were 
 then present in that meeting; whereas neither the said 
 Thomas Zachary nor his wife were at that meeting, but were 
 both of them at London, above twenty miles distant, all that 
 day, having been there some time before and after ; which 
 notwithstanding, upon this false oath of these false men, the 
 Justice laid fines upon the said Thomas Zachary of .£10 for 
 
176 THE HISTORY OF [1670 
 
 his own offence, £10 for his -wife's, and £10 for the offence of 
 a pretended preacher, though indeed there was not any that 
 preached at that meeting that day ; and issued forth his 
 warrant to the officers of Beaconsfield, where Thomas Zachary 
 dwelt, for the levying of the same upon his goods. 
 
 I mention these things thus particularly, though not an 
 immediate suffering of my own, because in the consequence 
 thereof it occasioned no small trouble and exercise to me. 
 
 For when Thomas Zachary, returning home from London, 
 understanding what had been done against him, and advising 
 what to do, was informed by a neighbouring attorney that his 
 remedy lay in appealing from the judgment of the convicting 
 Justice to the general Quarter Sessions of the Peace, he 
 thereupon ordering the said attorney to draw up his appeal 
 in form of law, went himself with it, and tendered it to the 
 Justice. But the Justice being a man neither well principled 
 nor well natured, and uneasy that he should lose the advantage 
 both of the present conviction and future service of such (in 
 his judgment) usefiil men as those two bold informers were 
 likely to be, fell sharply upon Thomas Zachary, charging him 
 that he suffered justly, and that his suffering was not on a 
 religious account. 
 
 This rough and unjust dealing engaged the good man to 
 enter into further discourse with the Justice in defence of his 
 own innocency ; from which discourse the insidious Justice, 
 taking offence at some expression of his, charged him with 
 saying, "The righteous are oppressed, and the wicked go 
 unpunished ". Which the Justice interpreting to be a reflec- 
 tion on the Government, and calling it a high misdemeanour, 
 required sureties of the good man to answer it at the next 
 Quarter Sessions, and in the meantime to be bound to his 
 good behaviour. But he, well knowing himself to be innocent 
 of having broken any law, or done in this matter any evil, 
 could not answer the Justice's unjust demand, and therefore 
 was sent forthwith a prisoner to the county goal. 
 
 By this severity it was thought the Justice designed not 
 only to wreak his displeasure on this good man, but to 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 177 
 
 prevent the further prosecution of his appeal ; whereby he 
 should at once both oppress the righteous by the levying of 
 the fines unduly imposed upon him, and secure the informers 
 from a conviction of wilful perjury and the punishment due 
 therefor^ that so they might go on without control in the 
 wicked work they were engaged in. 
 
 But so great wickedness was not to be suffered to go 
 unpunished, or at least undiscovered. Wherefore, although 
 no way could be found at present to get the good man re- 
 leased from his unjust imprisonment, yet that his restraint 
 might not hinder the prosecution of his appeal, on which the 
 detection of the informers' villainy depended, consideration 
 being had thereof amongst some Friends, the management of 
 the prosecution was committed to my care, who was thought 
 with respect at least to leisure and disengagement from 
 other business, most fit to attend it ; and very willingly I 
 undertook it. 
 
 Wherefore at the next general Quarter Sessions of the 
 Peace, holden at High Wiccomb in October following, I took 
 care that four substanial witnesses, citizens of unquestionable 
 credit, should come down from London in a coach and four 
 horses, hired on purpose. 
 
 These gave so punctual and full evidence that Thomas 
 Zachary and his wife were in London all that day whereon 
 the informers had sworn them to have been at an unlawful 
 meeting, at a place more than twenty miles distant from 
 London, that notwithstanding what endeavours were used to 
 the contrary, the jury found them not guilty. Whereupon 
 the money deposited for the fines at the entering of the 
 appeal ought to have been returned, and so were ten pounds 
 of it; but the rest of the money being in the hand of the 
 Clerk of the Peace, whose name was Wells, could never be 
 got out again. 
 
 Thomas Zachary himself was brought from Aylesbury gaol 
 
 to Wiccomb, to receive his trial, and though no evil could be 
 
 charged upon him, yet Justice Clayton, who at first committed 
 
 him, displeased to see the appeal prosecuted and the convic- 
 
 12 
 
178 THE HISTOEY OF [1670 
 
 tion he had made set aside, by importunity prevailed with 
 the bench to remand him to prison again, there to he until 
 another sessions. 
 
 While this was doing I got an indictment drawn up against 
 the informers Aris and Lacy, for wilful perjury, and caused it 
 to be delivered to the grand jury, who found the bill. And 
 although the court adjourned from the town-hall to the 
 chamber at their inn, in favour as it was thought to the 
 informers, on supposition we would not pursue them thither, 
 yet thither they were pursued ; and there being two counsel i 
 present from Windsor — (the name of the one was Starky, 
 and of the other, as I remember, Forster, the former of which 
 I had before retained upon the trial of the appeal) — I now 
 retained them both, and sent them into court again, to 
 prosecute the informers upon this indictment ; which they 
 did so smartly that, the informers being present as not 
 suspecting any such sudden danger, were of necessity called 
 to the bar and arraigned, and having pleaded not guilty, were 
 forced to enter a traverse to avoid a present commitment : all 
 the favour the court could show them being to take them 
 bail one for the other, though probably both not worth a 
 groat, else they must have gone to gaol for want of bail, 
 which would have put them besides their business, spoiled 
 the informing trade, and broke the design ; whereas now 
 they were turned loose again to do what mischief they could 
 until the next sessions. 
 
 Accordingly, they did what they could, and yet could 
 make little or no earnings at it ; for this little step of 
 prosecution had made them so known, and their late apparent 
 perjury had made them so detestable, that even the common 
 sort of bad men shunned them, and would not willingly yield 
 them any assistance. 
 
 The next Quarter Sessions was holden at Aylesbury, whither 
 we were fain to bring down our witnesses again from London, 
 in like manner and at like charge, at the least, as before. 
 
 ' [The strictest of the Quakers would not employ lawyers.] 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 179 
 
 And though I met with great discouragements in the prose- 
 cution, yet I followed it so vigorously that I got a verdict 
 against the informers for wilful perjury, and had forthwith 
 taken them up, had not they forthwith fled from justice and 
 hid themselves. However, I moved by my attorney for an 
 order of court, directed to all mayors, bailiffs, high constables, 
 petty constables, and other inferior officers of the peace, to 
 arrest and take them up wherever they should be found within 
 the county of Bucks, and bring them to the county gaol. 
 
 The report of this so terrified them, that of all things dreading 
 the misery of lying in a gaol, out of which they could not hope 
 for deliverance otherwise than by at least the loss of their 
 ears, they, hopeless now of carrying on their informing trade, 
 disjoined and one of them (Aris) fled the country ; so that, 
 whatever gallows caught him, he appeared no more in this 
 country. The other (Lacy) lurked privily for a while in woods 
 and bye-places, until hunger and want forced him out ; and 
 then casting himself upon a hazardous adventure, which yet was 
 the best, and proved to him best, course he could have taken, 
 he went directly to the gaol where he knew the innocent man 
 suffered imprisonment by his means and for his sake ; where 
 asking for and being brought to Thomas Zachary, he cast 
 himself on his knees at his feet, and with appeai-ance of 
 sorrow confessing his fault, did so earnestly beg for forgive- 
 ness that he wrought upon the tender nature of that very 
 good man, not only to put him in hopes of mercy, but to be 
 his advocate by letter to me, to mitigate at least, if not 
 wholly to remit, the prosecution. To which I so far only 
 consented as to let him know I would suspend the execution 
 of the warrant upon him according as he behaved himself, or 
 until he gave fresh provocation ; at which message the fellow 
 was so overjoyed that, relying with confidence thereon, he 
 returned openly to his family and labour, and applied himself 
 to business, as his neighbours observed and reported, with 
 greater diligence and industry than he had ever done 
 before. 
 
 Thus began and thus ended the informing trade in these 
 
180 THE HISTORY OF [1670 
 
 parts of the county of Bucks ; the ill success these first 
 mformers found discouraging all others, how vile soever, 
 from attempting the like enterprise there ever after. And 
 though it cost some money to carry on the prosecution, and 
 some pains too, yet for every shilling so spent a pound pro- 
 bably might be saved of what in all likelihood would have 
 been lost by the spoil and havoc that might been made by 
 distresses taken on their informations. 
 
 But so angry was the convicting Justice, whatever others 
 of the same rank were, at this prosecution, and the loss 
 thereby of the service of those honest men, the perjured 
 informers — for, as I heard an attorney (one Hitchcock, of 
 Aylesbury, who was their advocate in court) say, " A great 
 lord, a peer of the realm, called them so in a letter directed 
 to him ; whereby he recommended to him the care and 
 defence of them and their cause " — that he prevailed to have 
 the oath of allegiance tendered in court to Thomas Zachary, 
 which he knew he would not take because he could not take 
 any oath at all ; by which snare he was kept in prison a long 
 time after, and, so far as I remember, until a general pardon ^ 
 released him. 
 
 But though it pleased the Divine Providence, which some- 
 times vouchsafeth to bring good out of evil, to put a stop, in 
 a great measure at least, to the prosecution here begun, yet 
 in other parts, both of the city and country, it was carried 
 on with very great severity and rigour ; the worst of men 
 for the most part being set up for informers ; the worst of 
 magistrates encouraging and abetting them ; and the worst 
 of the priests who first began to blow the fire, now seeing 
 how it took, spread, §nd blazed, clapping their hands, and 
 hallooing them on to this evil work. 
 
 The sense whereof, as it deeply affected my heart with a 
 sympathizing pity for the oppressed sufferers, so it raised in 
 my spirit a holy disdain and contempt of that spirit and its 
 agent by which this ungodly work was stirred up and carried 
 
 ' [Probably the General Pardon of 1672.] 
 
1670] THOMAS ELL WOOD 181 
 
 on ; which at length broke forth in an expostulatory poem, 
 under the title of " Gigantomachia " (the Wars of the Giants 
 against Heaven), not without some allusion to the second 
 Psalm ; thus : — 
 
 Why do the heathen in a brutish rage, 
 Themselves against the Lord of Hosts engage ? 
 Why do the frantic people entertain 
 Their thoughts upon a thing that is so vain ? 
 Why do the kings themselves together set ? 
 And why do all the princes them abet ? 
 Why do the rulers to each other speak 
 After this foolish manner, " Let us break 
 Their bonds asunder; come, let us make haste. 
 With joint consent, their cords from us to cast ? " 
 Why do they thus join hands, and counsel take 
 Against the Lord's Anointed ? This will make 
 Him doubtless laugh who doth in heaven sit; 
 The Lord will have them in contempt for it. 
 His sore displeasure on them He will wreak. 
 And in His wrath will He unto them speak. 
 For on His holy hill of Sion He 
 His king hath set to reign : scepters must be 
 Cast down before Him ; diadems must lie 
 At foot of Him who sits in majesty 
 Upon His throne of glory; whence He will 
 Send forth His fiery ministers to kill 
 All those His enemies who would not be 
 Subject to His supreme authority. 
 
 Where then will ye appear who are so far 
 From being subjects that ye rebels are 
 Against His holy government, and strive 
 Others from their allegiance too to drive ? 
 What earthly prince such an affront would bear 
 From any of his subjects, should they dare 
 So to encroach on his prerogative ? 
 Which of them would permit that man to live ? 
 What should it be adjudg'd but treason ? and 
 Death he must suffer for it out of hand. 
 And shall the King of kings such treason see 
 Acted against Him, and the traitors be 
 Acquitted ? No : vengeance is His, and they 
 That Him provoke shall know He will repay. 
 
 And of a truth provoked He hath been 
 In a high manner by this daring sin 
 Of usurpation, and of tyranny 
 Over men's consciences, which should be free 
 To serve the living God as He requires, 
 And as His Holy Spirit them inspires. 
 
182 THE HISTOEY OF [i67o 
 
 For conscience is an inward thing, and none 
 
 Can govern that aright but God alone. 
 
 Nor can a well-informed conscience low'r 
 
 Her sails to any temporary pow'r, 
 
 Or bow to men's decrees ; for that would be 
 
 Treason in a superlative degree ; 
 
 For God alone can laws to conscience give, 
 
 And that's a badge of His prerogative. 
 
 This is the controversy of this day 
 Between the holy God and sinful clay. 
 God hath throughout the earth proclaim'd that He 
 Will over conscience hold the soVreingty, 
 That He the kingdom to Himself will take, 
 And in man's heart His residence will make, 
 From whence His subjects shall such laws receive 
 As please His Royal Majesty to give. 
 
 Man heeds not this, but most audaciously 
 Says " Unto me belongs supremacy; 
 And all men's consciences within my land, 
 Ought to be subject unto my command "- 
 
 God by His Holy Spirit doth direct 
 His people how to worship ; and expect 
 Obedience from them. Man says : " I ordain. 
 That none shall worship in that way, on pain 
 Of prison, confiscation, banishment, 
 Or being to the stake or gallows sent." 
 
 God out of Babylon doth people call, 
 Commands them to forsake her ways, and all 
 Her several sorts of worship, to deny 
 Her whole religion as idolatry. 
 
 Will man thus his usurped power forego. 
 And lose his ill-got government ? Oh, no : 
 But out comes his enacted, be 't "That all 
 Who when the organs play will not downfall 
 Before this golden image, and adore 
 What I have caused to be set up therefor, 
 Into the fiery furnace shall be cast, 
 And be consumed with a flaming blast. 
 Or in the mildest terms conform, or pay 
 So much a month, or so much every day. 
 Which we will le-^ on you by distress. 
 Sparing nor widow nor the fatherless ; 
 And if you have not what will satisfy, 
 Y'are like in prison during life to lie" 
 Christ says, " Swear not"; but man says, " Swear or lie 
 In prison, premunir'd, until you die". 
 Man's ways are, in a word, as opposite 
 To God's as midnight darkness is to light ; 
 And yet fond man doth strive with might and main 
 
1670] THOMAS ELLWOOD 183 
 
 By penal laws God's people to constrain 
 
 To worship what, when, where, how he thinks fit, 
 
 And to whatever he enjoins, submit. 
 
 What will the issue of this contest be ? 
 Which must give place — the Lord's or man's decree ? 
 Will man be in the day of battle found 
 Able to keep the field, maintain his ground, 
 Against the mighty God ? No more thaft can 
 The lightest chaif before the winnowing fan ; 
 No more than straw could stand before the flame, 
 Or smallest atoms when a whirlwind came. 
 
 The Lord, who in creation only said, 
 " Let us make man," and forthwith man was made, 
 Can in a moment by one blast of breath 
 Strike all mankind with an eternal death. 
 How soon can God all man's devices quash, 
 And with His iron rod in pieces dash 
 Him, like a potter's vessel ? None can stand 
 Against the mighty power of His hand. 
 
 Be therefore wise, ye kings, instructed be. 
 Ye rulers of the earth, and henceforth see 
 Ye serve the Lord in fear, and stand in awe 
 Of sinning any more against His law, 
 His royal law of liberty : to do 
 To others as you'd have them do to you. 
 Oh, stoop, ye mighty monarchs, and let none 
 Reject His government, but kiss the Son 
 While's wrath is but a little kindled, lest 
 His anger burn, and you that have transgressed 
 His law so oft, and would not Him obey. 
 Eternally should perish from the way — 
 The way of God's salvation, where the just 
 Are bless'd who in the Lord do put their trust. 
 
 Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum. 
 
 Happys he 
 Whom others' harms do weary make to be. 
 
 As the unreasonable rage and furious violence of the 
 persecutors had drawn the former expostulation from me, so 
 in a while after, my heart being deeply affected with a sense 
 of the great loving-kindness and tender goodness of the Lord 
 to His people, in bearing up their spirits in their greatest 
 exercises, and preserving them through the sharpest trials in 
 a faithful testimony to His blessed truth, and opening in 
 due time a door of deliverance to them, I could not forbear 
 
184 THE HISTOEY OF [1671 
 
 to celebrate His praises is the following lines, under the 
 title of — 
 
 A SONG OF THE MERCIES AND DELIVERANCES OF 
 THE LORD. 
 Had not the Lord been on our side, 
 
 May Israel now say, 
 We were not able to abide 
 
 The trials of that day 
 When men did up against us rise. 
 
 With fury, rage and spight, 
 Hoping to catch us by surprize, 
 
 Or run us down by might. 
 Then had not God for us arose, 
 
 And shown His mighty pow'r, 
 We had been swallowed by our foes, 
 
 Who waited to devour. 
 When the joint pow'rs of death and hell 
 
 Against us did combine. 
 And with united forces fell 
 
 Upon us, with design 
 To root us out, then had not God 
 
 Appear'd to take our part, 
 And them chastized with His rod 
 
 And made them feel the smart, 
 We then had overwhelmed been 
 
 And trodden in the mire ; 
 Our enemies on us had seen 
 
 Their cruel hearts' desire. 
 When ston'd, when stockt, when rudely stript, 
 
 Some to the waist have been 
 (Without regard of sex), and whipt. 
 
 Until the blood did spin ; 
 Yea, when their skins with stripes looked black, 
 
 Their flesh to jelly beat, 
 Enough to make their sinews crack. 
 
 The lashes were so great ; 
 Then had not God been with them to 
 
 Support them, they had dy'd, 
 His pow'r it was that bore them through, 
 
 Nothing could»do't beside. 
 When into prisons we were thronged 
 
 (Where pestilence was rife) 
 By bloody-minded men that long'd 
 
 To take away our life ; 
 Then had not God been with us, we 
 
 Had perish'd there no doubt ; 
 'Twas He preserv'd us there, and He 
 
 It was that brought us out. 
 
1671] THOMAS ELLWOOD 185 
 
 When sentenced to banishment 
 
 Inhumanly we were, 
 To be from native country sent, 
 
 From all that men call dear ; 
 Then had not God been pleas'd t' appear. 
 
 And take our cause in hand. 
 And struck them with a panic fear, 
 
 Which put them to a stand : 
 Nay, had He not great judgments sent, 
 
 And compass'd them about. 
 They were at that time fully Ijcnt 
 
 To root us wholly out. 
 Had He not gone with them that went, 
 
 The seas had been their graves ; 
 Or when they came where they were sent. 
 
 They had been sold for slaves. 
 But God was pleased still to give 
 
 Them favour where they came, 
 And in His truth they yet do live 
 
 To praise His Holy Name. 
 And now afresh do men contrive 
 
 Another wicked way 
 Of our estates us to deprive. 
 
 And take our goods away. 
 But will the Lord (who to this day 
 
 Our part did always take) 
 Now leave us to be made a prey, 
 
 And that too for His sake ? 
 Can any one who calls to mind 
 
 Deliverances past. 
 Discouraged be at what's behind. 
 
 And murmur now at last ? 
 Oh, that no unbelieving heart 
 
 Among us may be found. 
 That from the Lord would now depart. 
 
 And coward-like give ground. 
 For without doubt the God we serve 
 
 Will still our cause defend. 
 If we from Him do never swerve. 
 
 But trust Him to the end. 
 What if our goods by violence 
 
 From us be torn, and we 
 Of all things but our innocence 
 
 Should wholly stripped be ? 
 Would this be more than did befall 
 
 Good Job ? Nay, sure, much less : 
 He lost estate, children and all. 
 
 Yet he the Lord did bless. 
 But did not God his stock augment 
 
 Double what 'twas before ? 
 
186 THE HISTOEY OF [1672 
 
 And this was writ to the intent 
 
 That we should hope the more. 
 View but the lillies of the field, 
 
 That neither knit nor spin, 
 Who is it that to them doth yield 
 
 The robes they're decked in ? 
 Doth not the Lord the ravens feed, 
 
 And for the sparrows care ? 
 And will not He for His own seed 
 
 All needful things prepare ? 
 The lions shall sharp hunger bear, 
 
 And pine for lack of food ; 
 But who the Lord do truly fear 
 
 Shall nothing want that's good. 
 Oh ! which of us can now diffide 
 
 That God will us defend, 
 Who hath been always on our side, 
 
 And will be to the end. 
 
 Spes confisa, Deo nunquam confusa recedet. 
 
 Hope which on God is firmly grounded 
 Will never fail, nor be confounded. 
 
 Scarce was the before-mentioned storm of outward persecu- 
 tion from the Government blown over when Satan raised 
 another storm of another kind against us on this occasion. 
 The foregoing storm of persecution, as it lasted long, so in 
 many parts of the nation, and particularly at London, it fell 
 very sharp and violent, especially on the Quakers. For they 
 having no refuge but God alone to fly unto, could not dodge 
 and shift to avoid the suffering as others of other denomina- 
 tions could, and in their worldly wisdom and policy did ; 
 altering their meetings with respect both to place and time, 
 and forbearing to meet when forbidden or kept out of their 
 meeting-houses. So that of the several sorts of Dissenters 
 the Quakers only Iteld up a public testimony as a standard 
 or ensign of religion, by keeping their meetings duly and 
 fully at the accustomed times and places so long as they 
 were suffered to enjoy the use of their meeting-houses, and 
 when they were shut up and Friends kept out of them by 
 force, they assembled in the streets as near to their meeting- 
 houses as they could. 
 
1673] THOMAS ELLWOOD 187 
 
 This bold and truly Christian behaviour in the Quakers 
 disturbed and not a little displeased the persecutors, who, 
 fretting, complained that the stubborn Quakers broke their 
 strength and bore ofF the blow from those other Dissenters 
 whom, as they most feared, so they principally aimed at. 
 For indeed the Quakers they rather despised than feared, as 
 being a people from whose peaceable both principles and 
 practices they held themselves secure from danger ; whereas 
 having suffered severely, and that lately too, by and under 
 the other Dissenters, they thought they had just cause to 
 be apprehensive of danger from them, and good reason to 
 suppress them. 
 
 On the other hand, the more ingenuous amongst other 
 Dissenters of each denomination, sensible of the ease they 
 enjoyed by our bold and steady suffering, which abated the 
 heat of the persecutors and blunted the edge of the sword 
 before it came to them, frankly acknowledged the benefit 
 received ; calling us the bulwark that kept off the force of 
 the stroke from them, and praying that we might be pre- 
 served and enabled to break the strength of the enemy, nor 
 could some of them forbear, those especially who were called 
 Baptists, to express their kind and favourable opinion of us, 
 and of the principles we profess'd, which emboldened us to 
 go through that which but to hear of was a terror to them. 
 
 This their good-will raised ill-will in some of their teachers 
 against us, who tho' willing to reap the advantage of a shelter, 
 by a retreat behind us during the time that the storm lasted, 
 yet partly through an evil emulation, partly through fear lest 
 they should lose some of those members of their society who 
 had discovered such favourable thoughts of our principles 
 and us, they set themselves as soon as the storm was over to 
 represent us in as ugly a dress and in as frightful figure to 
 the world as they could invent and put upon us. 
 
 In order whereunto, one Thomas Hicks, a preacher among 
 the Baptists at London, took upon him to write several 
 pamphlets successively under the title of "A Dialogue 
 between a Christian and a Quaker," which were so craftily 
 
188 THE HISTORY OF [i673 
 
 contrived that the unwary reader might conclude them to be 
 not merely fictions, but real discourses actually held between 
 one of the people called a Quaker and some other person. 
 In these feigned dialogues. Hicks, having no regard to justice 
 or common honesty, had made his counterfeit Quaker say 
 whatsoever he thought would render him one while suffi- 
 ciently erroneous, another while ridiculous enough, forging 
 in the Quaker's name some things so abominably false, other 
 things so intolerably foolish, as could not reasonably be sup- 
 posed to have come into the conceit, much less to have 
 dropped from the lip or pen of any that went under the 
 name of a Quaker. 
 
 These dialogues, shall I call them, or rather diabologues, 
 were answered by our friend William Penn in two books ; 
 the first being entitled " Reason against Railing," the other 
 "The Counterfeit Christian Detected " ; in which Hicks being 
 charged with manifest as well as manifold forgeries, perver- 
 sions, downright lies, and slanders against the people called 
 Quakers in general, William Penn, George Whitehead, and 
 divers others by name, complaint was made, by way of an 
 appeal to the Baptists in and about London for justice against 
 Thomas Hicks. 
 
 Those Baptists, who it seems were in the plot with Hicks 
 to defame at any rate, right or wrong, the people called 
 Quakers, taking advantage of the absence of William Penn 
 and George Whitehead, who were the persons most immedi- 
 ately concerned, and who were then gone a long journey 
 on the service of truth, to be absent from the city, in all 
 probability, for a considerable time, appointed a public 
 meeting in one of their meeting-houses, under pretence of 
 calling Thomas Hicks to account and hearing the charge 
 made good against him, but with design to give the greater 
 stroke to the Quakers, when they, who should make good 
 the charge against Hicks, could not be present. For upon 
 their sending notice to the lodgings of William Penn and 
 George Whitehead of their intended meeting, they were told 
 by several Friends that both William Penn and George 
 
1674] THOMAS ELLWOOD 189 
 
 Whitehead were from home, travelling in the countries, 
 uncertain where, and therefore could not be informed of their 
 intended meeting, either by letter or express, within the time 
 by them limited, for which reason they were desired to defer 
 the meeting till they could have notice of it and time to 
 return, that they might be at it. But these Baptists, whose 
 design was otherwise laid, would not be prevailed with to 
 defer their meeting, butj glad of the advantage, gave their 
 brother Hicks opportunity to make a colourable defence 
 where he had his party to help him and none to oppose him ; 
 and having made a mock show of examining him and his 
 works of darkness, they, in fine, having heard one side, 
 acquitted him. 
 
 This gave just occasion for a new complaint and demand 
 of justice against him and them. For as soon as William 
 Penn returned to London, he in print exhibited his complaint 
 of this unfair dealing, and demanded justice by a rehearing 
 of the matter in a public meeting to be appointed by joint 
 agreement. This went hardly down with the Baptists, nor 
 could it be obtained from them without great importunity 
 and hard pressing. At length, after many delays and tricks 
 used to shift it oiF, constrained by necessity, they yielded to 
 have a meeting at their own meeting-house in Barbican, 
 London. 
 
 There, amongst other Friends, was I, and undertook to read 
 our charge there against Thomas Hicks, which not without 
 much difficulty I did ; they, inasmuch as the house was 
 theirs, putting all the inconveniences they could upon us. 
 
 The particular passages and management of this meeting, 
 as also of that other which followed soon after, they refusing 
 to give us any other public meeting, we were fain to appoint 
 in our own meeting-house, by Wheeler Street, near Spital- 
 fields, London, and gave them timely notice of, I forbear 
 here to mention ; there being in print a narrative of each, to 
 which for particular information I refer the reader. 
 
 But to this meeting Thomas Hicks would not come, but 
 lodged himself at an ale-house hard by ; yet sent his brother 
 
190 THE HISTORY OF [1674 
 
 Ives, with some other of the party, by clamorous noise to 
 divert us from the prosecution of our charge against him ; 
 which they so eifectually performed that they would not 
 suffer the charge to be heard, though often attempted to be 
 read. 
 
 As this rude behaviour of theirs was a cause of grief to me, 
 so afterwards, when I understood that they used all evasive 
 tricks to avoid another meeting with us, and refused to do us 
 right, my spirit was greatly stirred at their injustice, and in 
 the sense thereof, willing, if possible, to have provoked them 
 to more fair and manly dealing, I let fly a broadside at them, 
 in a single sheet of paper, under the title of " A Fresh 
 Pursuit " ; in which, having restated the controversy between 
 them and us, and reinforced our charge of forgery, etc., against 
 Thomas Hicks and his abettors, I offered a fair challenge to 
 them, not only to Thomas Hicks himself, but to all those his 
 compurgators who had before undertaken to acquit him from 
 our charge, together with their companion Jeremy Ives, to 
 give me a fair and public meeting, in which I would make 
 good our charge against him as principal, and all the rest of 
 them as accessories. But nothing could provoke them to 
 come fairly forth. 
 
 Yet not long after, finding themselves galled by the 
 narrative lately published of what had passed in the last 
 meeting near Wheeler Street, they, to help themselves if 
 they could, sent forth a counter-account of that meeting and 
 of the former at Barbican, as much to the advantage of 
 their own cause as they upon deliberate consideration could 
 contrive it. This was published by Thomas Plant, a Baptist 
 teacher, and one of Thomas Hicks' former compurgators, and 
 bore (but falsely) th« title of " A Contest for Christianity; 
 or, a Faithful Relation of two late Meetings," etc. 
 
 To this I quickly wrote and published an answer ; and 
 because I saw the design and whole drift of the Baptists was 
 to shroud Thomas Hicks from our charge of forgery under 
 the specious pretence of his and their standing up and con- 
 tending for Christianity, I gave my book this general title : 
 
1674] THOMAS ELLWOOD 191 
 
 " Forgery no Christianity ; or, a Brief Examen of a late Book, " 
 etc. And having from their own book plainly convicted that 
 which they call a "faithful relation" to be indeed a false 
 relation, I, in an expostulatory postscript to the Baptists, 
 reinforced our charge and my former challenge, offering to 
 make it good against them before a public and free auditory. 
 But they were too wary to appear further, either in person 
 or in print. 
 
 This was the end of that controversy, which was observed 
 to have this issue : that what those dialogues were written to 
 prevent was by the dialogues, and their unfair, unmanly, 
 unchristian carriage, in endeavouring to defend them, hastened 
 and brought to pass ; for not a few of the Baptists' members 
 upon this occasion left their meetings and society, and came 
 over to the Quakers' meetings and were joined in fellowship 
 with them ; thanks be to God. 
 
 Though many of the most eminent among the Baptists, in 
 and about London, engaged themselves in this quarrel to 
 have defended, or at least to have brought fairly off, if it had 
 been possible, their brother Hicks, yet the main service lay 
 upon Jeremy Ives. Who having been an unsuccessful trader 
 in cheese, and therein failed more than once, had now for 
 some time given over that employment, and, like a mercenary 
 Switzer, undertook to be the champion for the Baptists, and 
 to maintain their quarrels against all comers. 
 
 His name was up for a topping disputant ; but indeed on 
 the best observation I could make of him, both now and 
 formerly, I could not find him a clear and fair disputant. He 
 seemed, I confess, well read in the falacies of logic, and 
 was, indeed, rather ready than true and sound in framing 
 syllogisms. But his chief art lay in tickling the humours of 
 rude, unlearned and injudicious hearers, thereby insinuating 
 himself into their good opinion and then bantering his 
 opponent. 
 
 He hved not long after this ; but the impression his crafty, 
 false and frothy carriage, as well at this time as before, had 
 made upon my mind, drew from me when I heard of his 
 
192 THE HISTOEY OF [i675 
 
 death, something like an epitaph, in a drolling style, as him- 
 self was wont to use. And thus it was : — 
 
 Beneath this stone depressed doth lie 
 The mirrour of hipocrisy, 
 Ives, whose mercenary tongue 
 Lilce a weathercock was hung, 
 And did this or that way play 
 As advantage led the way. 
 If well hir'd he would dispute, 
 Otherwise he would be mute ; 
 But he'd bawl nigh half a day 
 If he knew and lik'd his pay. 
 
 For his person let it pass ; 
 Only note his face was brass, 
 His heart was like a pumice stone 
 And for conscience — he had none. 
 Of earth and air he was compos'd 
 With water round about enclos'd 
 But earth in him had greatest share 
 For questionless his life lay there, 
 And thence his cankred envy sprung 
 Which poison'd both his heart and tongue. 
 
 Air made him frothy, light and vain 
 And puff'd him up with proud disdain. 
 Flouting and fleering more like a stage player 
 Than an Anabaptist preacher and prayer ; 
 Fitter to be a mountebank's fool 
 Than peep into a divinity school ; 
 More tricks he had than Jack Pudding by half 
 To raise the rude multitude into a laugh. 
 
 Into the water oft he went 
 And through the water many sent, 
 That was, ye know, his element : 
 The greatest odds that did appear 
 Was this, for aught that I can hear. 
 That he in cold did others dip 
 But did himself Ao< waters sip. 
 
 Sip ! said I ? Nay more than so, 
 Sipping would not serve his turn ; 
 He did untS quaffing go 
 ('Twas much his guts he did not burn). 
 For, if credit may be given 
 To report, he'd fuddle even 
 Till he reeled to and fro ; 
 And his cause he'd never doubt 
 If well soaked o'er night in stout. 
 
 But meanwhile he must not lack 
 Brandy or a draught of sack ; 
 
1675] THOMAS ELL WOOD 193 
 
 One dispute would shrink a bottle 
 Of three pints, if not a pottle. 
 One would think he fetch'd from thence 
 All his dreaming eloquence 
 And his four-leg'd syllogisms 
 Proving breakings are no schisms. 
 Wot ye why ? Himself brake twice ; 
 Say no more, the point is nice. 
 But let us now bring back the sot 
 Unto his aqua vitae pot. 
 And observe with some content 
 How he fram'd his argument. 
 That his whistle he might wet 
 The bottle to his mouth he set, 
 And being master of that art 
 Thence he drew the major part, 
 But left the minor still behind. 
 Good reason why ; he wanted wind. 
 If his breath would have held out 
 He had conclusion drawn, no doubt. 
 But to't again he went, and thence 
 He fetch'd a lusty consequence. 
 Then finding all his drink was spent 
 He thus wound up his argument ; 
 " My sides are not of iron, neither 
 Are my lungs made of white leather; 
 If therefore you've not, I have done "- 
 Then leaping down ^ away he run. 
 
 The controversy which had been raised by those cavilling 
 Baptists had not been long ended before another was raised 
 by an Episcopal priest in Lincolnshire, who fearing, as it 
 seemed, to loose some of his hearers to the Quakers, wrote 
 a book which he miscalled, " A Friendly Conference between 
 a Minister and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism," 
 in which he misstated and greatly perverted the Quakers' 
 principles, that he might thereby beget in his parishioners an 
 aversion to them ; and that he might abuse us the more 
 securely, he concealed himself, sending forth his book with- 
 out a name. 
 
 This book coming to my hand, became my concern (after I 
 had read it, and considered the evil management and worse 
 design thereof) to answer it ; which I did in a treatise called 
 
 1 From the dispute at Wheeler Street, London, the i6th of October, 
 1674. 
 
 13 
 
194 THE HISTOEY OF [i680 
 
 "Truth Prevailing, and Detecting Error,'' published in the 
 year l676. 
 
 My answer I divided, according to the several subjects 
 handled in the conference, into divers distinct chapters, the 
 last of which treated of tithes. 
 
 This being the priests' Delilah, and that chapter of mine 
 pinching them, it seems, in a tender part, the belly, they laid 
 their heads together, and with what speed they could sent 
 forth a distinct reply to the last chapter, "Of Tithes," in 
 mine, under the title of "The Right of Tithes Asserted 
 and Proved " . This also came forth without a name, yet 
 pretended to be written by another hand. 
 
 Before I had finished my rejoinder to this came forth 
 another called " A Vindication of the Friendly Conference," 
 said to have been written by the author of the " Feigned 
 Conference," who was not yet willing to trust the world with 
 his name. So much of it as related to the subject I was then 
 upon (Tithes) I took into my rejoinder to the " Right of 
 Tithes," which I published in the year 1678, with this title : 
 " The Foundation of Tithes Shaken," etc. 
 
 After this it was a pretty while before I heard from either 
 of them again. But at length came forth a reply to my last, 
 supposed to be written by the same hand who had before 
 written "The Right of Tithes Asserted," etc., but still with- 
 out a name. This latter book had more of art than argument 
 in it. It was indeed a hash of ill-cooked crambe set off with 
 as much flourish as the author was master of, and swelled 
 into bulk by many quotations ; but those so wretchedly 
 misgiven, misapplied, or perverted, that to a judicious and 
 impartial reader I durst oppose my " Foundation of Tithes 
 Shaken " to the utmost force that book has in it. Yet it 
 coming forth at a time when I was pretty well at leisure, I 
 intended a full refutation thereof, and in order thereunto 
 had written between forty and fifty sheets, when other 
 business, more urgent, intervening, took me off, and detained 
 me from it so long that it was then judged out of season, 
 and so it was laid aside. 
 
1680] THOMAS ELLWOOD 195 
 
 Hitherto the war I had been engaged in was in a sort 
 foreign, with people of other religious persuasions, such as 
 were open and avowed enemies ; but now another sort of war 
 arose, an intestine war, raised by some among ourselves — 
 such as had once been of us, and yet retained the same 
 profession, and would have been thought to be of us still ; 
 but having through ill-grounded jealousies let in discontents, 
 and thereupon fallen into jangling, chiefly about church 
 discipline, they at length broke forth into an open schism, 
 headed by two northern men of name and note, John 
 Wilkinson ^ and John Story ; the latter of whom, as being 
 the most active and popular man, having gained a consider- 
 able interest in the west, carried the controversy with him 
 thither, and there spreading it, drew many, too many, to 
 abet him therein. 
 
 Among those, William Rogers, a merchant of Bristol, was 
 not the least, nor least accounted of by himself and some 
 others. He was a bold and active man, moderately learned, 
 but immoderately conceited of his own parts and abilities, 
 which made him forward to engage, as thinking none would 
 dare to take up the gauntlet he should cast down. This 
 high opinion of himself made him rather a troublesome than 
 formidable enemy. 
 
 That I may here step over the various steps by which he 
 advanced to open hostility, as what I was not actually or 
 personally engaged in : he in a while arrived to that height 
 of folly and wickedness that he wrote and published a large 
 book, in five parts, to which he maliciously gave for a title, 
 "The Christian Quaker distinguished from the Apostate and 
 Innovator," thereby arrogating to himself and those who 
 were of his party the topping style of Christian Quaker, and 
 no less impiously than uncharitably branding and rejecting 
 all others, even the main body of Friends, for apostates and 
 innovators. 
 
 When this book came abroad it was not a little (and he, 
 
 • [See Introduction.] 
 
196 THE HISTOEY OF [1681 
 
 for its sake) cried up by his injudicious admirers, whose 
 applause setting his head afloat, he came up to London at 
 the time of the yearly meeting then following, and at the 
 close thereof gave notice in writing to this effect — viz., " That 
 if any were dissatisfied with his book he was there ready 
 to maintain and defend both it and himself against all 
 comers ". 
 
 This daring challenge was neither dreaded nor slighted, 
 but an answer forthwith returned in writing, signed by a few 
 Friends, amongst whom I was one, to let him know that, as 
 many were dissatisfied with his book and him, he should not 
 fail, God willing, to be met by the sixth hour next morning 
 at the meeting-place at Devonshire House. 
 
 Accordingly we met, and continued the meeting till noon 
 or after, in which time he, surrounded with those of his own 
 party as might abet and assist him, was so fairly foiled and 
 baffled, and so fully exposed, that he was glad to quit the 
 place, and early next morning the town also, leaving, in 
 excuse for his going so abruptly off, and thereby refusing us 
 another meeting with him, which we had earnestly provoked 
 him to, this slight shift, "That he had before given earnest 
 for his passage in the stage-coach home, and was not willing 
 to lose it ". 
 
 I had before this gotten a sight of his book, and procured 
 one for my use on this occasion, but I had not time to read it 
 through ; but a while after. Providence cast another of them 
 into my hands very unexpectedly, for our dear friend George 
 Fox, passing through this country among Friends, and lying 
 in his journey at my house, had one of them in his bags, 
 which he had made some marginal notes upon. For that 
 good man, like Juliu»CaBsar, willing to improve all parts of 
 his time, did usually, even in his travels, dictate to his 
 amanuensis what he would have committed to writing. I 
 knew not that he had this book with him, for he had not 
 said anything to me of it, till going in the morning into his 
 chamber while he was dressing himself, I found it lying on 
 the table by him ; and understanding that he was going but 
 
1682] THOMAS ELLWOOD 197 
 
 for a few weeks to visit Friends in the meetings hereabouts 
 and the neighbouring parts of Oxford and Berkshire, and so 
 return through this county again, I made bold to ask him if 
 he would favour me so much as to leave it with me till his 
 return, that I might have the opportunity of reading it 
 through. He consented, and as soon almost as he was gone 
 I set myself to read it over. But I had not gone far in it 
 ere, observing the many foul falsehoods, malicious slanders, 
 gross perversions, and false doctrines abounding in it, the 
 sense thereof inflamed my breast with a just and holy indig- 
 nation against the work, and that devilish spirit in which it 
 was brought forth ; wherefore, finding my spirit raised and 
 my understanding divinely opened to refute it, 1 began the 
 book again, and reading it with pen in hand, answered it 
 paragraphicaUy as I went. And so clear were the open- 
 ings I received from the Lord therein, that -by the time my 
 friend came back I had gone through the greatest part of it, 
 and was too tax engaged in spirit to think of giving over 
 the work ; wherefore, requesting him to continue the book 
 a little longer with me, I soon after finished the answer, 
 which, with Friends' approbation, was printed under the title 
 of "An Antidote against the Infection of William Rogers' 
 Book, miscalled 'The Christian Quaker, etc.'." This was 
 written in the year 1682. But no answer was given to it, 
 either by him or any other of his party, though many others 
 were concerned therein, and some by name, so far as I have 
 ever heard. Perhaps there might be the hand of Providence 
 overruUng them therein, to give me leisure to attend some 
 other services which soon after fell upon me. 
 
 For it being a stormy time, and persecution waxing hot 
 upon the Conventicle Act, through the busy boldness of 
 hungry informers, who for their own advantage did not only 
 themselves hunt after religious and peaceable meetings, but 
 drove on the officers, not only the more inferior and sub- 
 ordinate, but in some places even the justices also, for fear of 
 penalties, to hunt with them and for them ; I found a pressure 
 upon my spirit to write a small treatise to inform such officers 
 
198 THE HISTOEY OF [ms 
 
 how they might secure and defend themselves from being 
 ridden by those malapert informers, and made their drudges. 
 
 This treatise I called " A Caution to Constables and other 
 inferior Officers concerned in the Execution of the Conventicle 
 Act : with some Observations thereupon, humbly offered by 
 way of Advice to such well-meaning and moderate Justices of 
 the Peace as would not willingly ruin their peaceable Neigh- 
 bours," etc. 
 
 This was thought to have some good service where it came 
 upon such sober and moderate officere, as well justices as 
 constables, etc., as acted rather by constraint than choice, by 
 encouraging them to stand their ground with more courage 
 and resolution against the insults of saucy informers. 
 
 But whatever ease it brought to others, it brought me some 
 trouble, and had like to have brought me into more danger, 
 had not Providence wrought my deliverance by an unexpected 
 way. 
 
 For as soon as it came forth in print, which was in the year 
 1683, one William Ayrs, of Watford in Hertfordshire, a Friend, 
 and an acquaintance of mine, who was both an apothecary and 
 barber, being acquainted with divers of the gentry in those 
 parts, and going often to some of their houses to trim them, 
 took one of these books with him when he went to trim Sir 
 Benjamin Titchborn of Rickmansworth, and presented it to 
 him, supposing he would have taken it kindly, as in like cases 
 he had formerly done. But it fell out otherwise. For he, 
 looking it over after Ayrs was gone, and taking it by the wrong 
 handle, entertained an evil opinion of it, and of me for it, 
 though he knew me not. 
 
 He thereupon communicated both the book and his thoughts 
 upon it to a neighbouring justice, living in Rickmansworth, 
 whose name was Thomas Fotherly, who concurring with him 
 in judgment, they concluded that I should be taken up and 
 prosecuted for it as a seditious book ; for a libel they could 
 not call it, my name being to it at length. 
 
 Wherefore, sending for Ayrs, who had brought the book. 
 Justice Titchborn examined him if he knew me, and where I 
 
1683] THOMAS ELL WOOD 199 
 
 dwelt ; who telling him he knew me well, and had been often 
 at my house, he gave him in charge to give me notice that I 
 should appear before hira and the other justice at Rickmans- 
 worth on such a day ; threatening that if I did not appear, he 
 himself should be prosecuted for spreading the book. 
 
 This put William Ayrs in a fright. Over he came in haste 
 with his message to me, troubled that he should be a means 
 to bring me into ti-ouble ; but I endeavoured to give him ease 
 by assuring him I would not fail, with God's leave, to appear 
 at the time and place appointed, and thereby free hira from 
 trouble or danger. 
 
 In the interim I received advice, by an express out of Sussex, 
 that Guli Penn, with whom I had had an intimate acquaint- 
 ance and firm friendship from our very youths, was very 
 dangerously ill, her husband being then absent in Pennsylvania, 
 and that she had a great desire to see and speak with me. 
 
 This put me to a great strait, and brought a sore exercise 
 on my mind. I was divided betwixt honpur and friendship. 
 I had engaged my word to appear before the justices, which to 
 omit would bring dishonour on me and my profession. To 
 stay till that time was come and past might probably prove, 
 if I should then be left at liberty, too late to answer her 
 desire and satisfy friendship. 
 
 After some little deliberation, I resolved, as the best ex- 
 pedient to answer both ends, to go over next morning to the 
 justices, and lay my strait before them, and try if I could 
 procure from them a respite of my appearance before them 
 until I had been in Sussex, and paid the duty of friendship to 
 my sick friend ; which I had the more hopes to obtain, because 
 I knew those justices had a great respect for Guli ; for when 
 William Penn and she were first married they lived for some 
 years at Rickmansworth, in which time they contracted a 
 neighbourly friendship with both these justices and theirs, 
 who ever after retained a kind regard for them both. 
 
 Early therefore in the morning I rode over ; but being wholly 
 a stranger to the justices, I went first to Watford, that I might 
 take Ayrs along with me, who supposed himself to have some 
 
200 THE HISTORY OF [i683 
 
 interest in Justice Titchborn, and when I came there, under- 
 standing that another Friend of that town, whose name was 
 John Wells, was well acquainted with the other Justice 
 Fotherly, having imparted to them the occasion of my coming, 
 I took them both with me, and hasted back to Rickmansworth. 
 Where having put our horses up at an inn, and leaving William 
 Ayrs, who was a stranger to Fotherly, there, I went with 
 John Wells to Fotherly's house, and being brought into a fair 
 hall, I tarried there while Wells went into the parlour to him, 
 and having acquainted him that I was there and desired to 
 speak with him, brought him to me with severity in his 
 countenance. 
 
 After he had asked me, in a tone which spoke displeasure, 
 what I had to say to him, I told him I came to wait on him 
 upon an intimation given me that he had something to say to 
 me. He thereupon plucking my book out of his pocket, 
 asked me if I owned myself to be the author of that book .'' 
 I told him, if he pleased to let me look into it, if it were mine, 
 I would not deny it. He thereupon giving it into my hand, 
 when I had turned over the leaves and looked it through, 
 finding it to be as it came from the press, I told him I wrote 
 the book, and would own it, all but the errors of the press. 
 Whereupon he, looking sternly on me, answered, " Your own 
 errors, you should have said ". 
 
 Having innocency on my side, I was not at all daunted at 
 either his speech or looks, but feeling the Lord present with 
 me, I replied : " I know there are errors of the press in it, and 
 therefore I excepted them ; but I do not know there are any 
 errors of mine in it, and therefore cannot except them. But," 
 added I, " if thou pleasest to show me any error of mine in it, 
 I shall readily both acknowledge and retract it ;" and there- 
 upon I desired him to give me an instance, in any one passage 
 in that book, wherein he thought I had erred. He said he 
 needed not go to particulars, but charge me with the general 
 contents of the whole book. I replied that such a charge 
 would be too general for me to give a particular answer to ; 
 but if he would assign me any particular passage or sentence 
 
1683] THOMAS ELL WOOD 201 
 
 in the book wherein he apprehended the ground of offence to 
 lie, when I should have opened the terms, and explained my 
 meaning therein, he might perhaps find cause to change his 
 mind and entertain a better opinion both of the book and me. 
 And therefore I again intreated him to let me know what 
 particular passage or passages had given him an offence. He 
 told me I needed not to be in so much haste for that — I 
 might have it timely enough, if not too soon ; " but this," said 
 he, " is not the day appointed for your hearing, and therefore," 
 added he, "what, I pray, made you in such haste to come 
 now ? " I told him I hoped he would not take it for an 
 argument of guilt that I came before I was sent for, and 
 offered myself to my purgation before the time appointed. 
 And this I spake with somewhat a brisker air, which had so 
 much influence on him as to bring a somewhat softer air over 
 his countenance. 
 
 Then, going on, I told him I had a particular occasion which 
 induced me to come now, which was, that I received advice 
 last night by an express out of Sussex, that William Penn's 
 wife, with whom I had had an intimate acquaintance and strict 
 friendship, ah ipsisfire incunahilis} at least a ieneris unguiculis,^ 
 lay now there very ill, not without great danger, in the ap- 
 prehension of those about her, of her life, and that she had 
 expressed her desire that I would come to her as soon as I 
 could, the rather for that her husband was absent in America. 
 That this had brought a great strait upon me, being divided 
 between friendship and duty, willing to visit my friend in her 
 illness, which the nature and law of friendship required, yet 
 unwilling to omit my duty by failing of my appearance before 
 him and the other justice, according to their command and 
 my promise, lest I should thereby subject, not my own reputa- 
 tion only, but the reputation of my religious profession, to 
 the suspicion of guilt, and censure of willingly shunning a 
 trial. To prevent which I had chosen to anticipate the time, 
 and came now to see if I could give them satisfaction in what 
 
 1 [Almost from our cradle.] ' [From our tender age.] 
 
202 THE HISTOEY OF [1683 
 
 they had to object against me, and thereupon being dismissed, 
 pursue my journey into Sussex ; or if by them detained, to 
 submit to Providence, and by an express to acquaint my friend 
 therewith, both to free her from an expectation of my coming 
 and myself from any imputation of neglect. 
 
 While I thus delivered myself I observed a sensible altera- 
 tion in the justice, and when I had done speaking,' he first 
 said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's illness, of whose 
 virtue and worth he spoke very highly, yet not more than 
 was her due ; then he told me that for her sake he would do 
 what he could to further my visit to her ; " but,'' said he, 
 " I am but one, and of myself can do nothing in it ; therefore 
 you must go to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and if he be at home, 
 see if you can prevail with him to meet me, that we may 
 consider of it. But I can assure you," added he, " the matter 
 which will be laid to your charge concerning your book is of 
 greater importance than you seem to think it. For your 
 book has been laid before the King and Council, and the 
 Earl of Bridgewater, who is one of the Council, hath there- 
 upon given us command to examine you about it, and secure 
 you. 
 
 " I wish, " said I, " I could speak with the Earl myself, 
 for I make no doubt but to acquit myself unto him; and," 
 added I, "if thou pleasest to give me thy letter to him, I 
 will wait upon him with it forthwith. For although I know," 
 continued I, " that he hath no favour for any of my per- 
 suasion, yet knowing myself to be wholly innocent in this 
 matter, I can with confidence appear before him, or even 
 before the King in Council." 
 
 " Well," said he, " I see you are confident ; but for all that, 
 let me tell you, ho^ good soever your intention was, you 
 timed the publishing of your book very unluckily, for you 
 cannot be ignorant that there is a very dangerous plot lately 
 discovered, contrived by the Dissenters against the Govern- 
 ment and his Majesty's life." [This was the Rye plot, then 
 newly broke forth, and laid upon the Presbyterians.] " And 
 for you," added he, " to publish a book just at that juncture 
 
1683] THOMAS ELL WOOD 203 
 
 of time, to discourage the magistrates and other officers from 
 putting in execution those laws which were made to suppress 
 their meetings, looks, I must tell you, but with a scurvy 
 countenance upon you." 
 
 " If," replied I, with somewhat a pleasanter air, " there was 
 any mistiming in the case, it must lie on the part of those 
 plotters for timing the breaking forth of their plot while my 
 book was printing, for I can bring very good proof that my 
 book was in the press and well-nigh wrought off before any 
 man talked or knew of a plot, but those who were in it." 
 
 Here our discourse ended, and I, taking for the present my 
 leave of him, went to my horse, and changing my companion, 
 rode to Justice Titchbom's, having with me William Ayrs, 
 who was best acquainted with him, and who had casually 
 brought this trouble on me. 
 
 When he had introduced me to Titchborn, I gave him a 
 like account of the occasion of my coming at that time as I 
 had before given to the other justice. And both he and his 
 lady, who was present, expressed much concern for Guli Perm's 
 illness. 
 
 I found this man to be of quite another temper than Justice 
 Fotherly ; for he was smooth, soft and oily, whereas the 
 other was rather rough, severe and sharp. Yet at the 
 winding-up I found Fotherly my truest friend. 
 
 When I had told Sir Benjamin Titchborn that I came from 
 Justice Fotherly, and requested him to give me a meeting to 
 consider of my business, he readily, without any hesitation, 
 told me he would go with me to Rickmansworth, from which 
 his house was distant about a mile, and calling for his horses, 
 mounted immediately, and to Rickmansworth we rode. 
 
 After they had been a little while together, I was called in 
 before them, and in the first place they examined me, " What 
 was my intention aud design in writing that book ? " I told 
 them the introductory part of it gave a plain account of it — 
 viz., " That it was to get ease from the penalties of a severe law 
 often executed with too great a severity by unskilful officers, 
 who were driven on beyond the bounds of their duty by the 
 
204 THE HISTORY OF [i683 
 
 impetuous threats of a sort of insolent fellows, as needy as 
 greedy, who for their own advantage sought our ruin ". To 
 prevent which was the design and drift of that book, by 
 acquainting such officers how they might safely demean 
 themselves in the execution of their offices towards their 
 honest and peaceable neighbours, without ruining either their 
 neighbours or themselves to enrich some of the worst of men ; 
 and that I humbly conceived it was neither unlawful nor 
 unreasonable for a sufferer to do this, so long as it was done 
 in a fair, sober and peaceable way. 
 
 They then put me in mind of the plot ; told me it was a 
 troublesome and dangerous time, and my book might be 
 construed to import sedition, in discouraging the officers from 
 putting the laws in execution, as by law and by their oath 
 they were bound ; and in fine brought it to this issue, that 
 they were directed to secure me by a commitment to prison 
 until the assize, at which I should receive a further charge 
 than they were provided now to give me ; but because they 
 were desirous to forward my visit to Madam Penn, they told 
 me they would admit me to bail, and therefore, if I would 
 enter a recognisance, with sufficient sureties, for my appear- 
 ance at the next assize, they would leave me at liberty to go 
 on my journey. 
 
 I told them I could not do it. They said they would give 
 me as little trouble as they could, and therefore they would 
 not put me to seek bail, but would accept those two friends of 
 mine who were then present, to be bound with me for my 
 appearance. 
 
 I let them know my strait lay not in the difficulty of 
 procuring sureties, for I did suppose myself to have sufficient 
 acquaintance and creoit in that place, if on such an occasion 
 I could be free to use it ; but as I knew myself to be an 
 innocent man, I had not satisfaction in myself to desire others 
 to be bound for me, nor to enter myself into a recognisance, 
 that carrying in it, to my apprehension, a reflection on my 
 innocency and the reputation of my Christian profession. 
 
 Here we stuck and struggled about this a pretty while, till 
 
1683] THOMAS ELL WOOD 205 
 
 at length finding me fixed in my judgment, and resolved 
 rather to go to prison than give bail, they asked me if I was 
 against appearing, or only against being bound with sureties 
 to appear. I told them I was not against appearing, which 
 as I could not avoid if I would, so I would not if I might ; 
 but was ready and willing to appear, if required, to answer 
 whatsoever should be charged against me. But in any case 
 of a religious nature, or wherein my Christian profession was 
 concerned, which I took this case to be, I could not yield to 
 give any other or further security than my word or promise 
 as a Christian. 
 
 They, unwilling to commit me, took hold of that, and asked 
 if I would promise to appear. I answered, " Yes ; with due 
 limitations ". — "What do you mean by due limitations .'' " said 
 they. — " I mean," replied I, " if I am not disabled or pre- 
 vented by sickness or imprisonment. For," added I, " as 
 you allege that it is a troublesome time, I perhaps may find 
 it so. I may, for aught I know, be seized and imprisoned 
 elsewhere on the same account for which I now stand here 
 before you, and if I should, how then could I appear at the 
 assize in this country?" — "Oh," said they, "these are due 
 limitations indeed. Sickness or imprisonment are lawful 
 excuses, and if either of these befall you, we shall not expect 
 your appearance here ; but then you must certify us that you 
 are so disabled by sickness or restraint." 
 
 "But," said I, "how shall I know when and where I shall 
 wait upon you again after my return from Sussex.''" — "You 
 need not,'' said they, "trouble yourself about that; we will 
 take care to give you notice of both time and place, and 
 till you hear from us you may dispose yourself as you 
 please." 
 
 "Well, then," said I, " I do promise you that when I shall 
 have received fi-om you a fresh command to appear before you, 
 I will, if the Lord permit me life, health and liberty, appear 
 when and where you shall appoint." 
 
 "It is enough," said they; "we will take your word." 
 And desiring me to give their hearty respects and service to 
 
206 THE HISTORY OF [i683 
 
 Madam Penn, they dismissed me with their good wishes for a 
 good journey. 
 
 I was sensible that in this they had dealt very favourably 
 and kindly with me, therefore I could not but acknowledge 
 to them the sense I had thereof; which done, I took leave 
 of them, and mounting, returned home with what haste I 
 could, to let my wife know how I had sped. And having 
 given her a summary account of the business, I took horse 
 again, and went so far that evening towards Worminghurst 
 that I got thither pretty early next morning, and to my great 
 satisfaction found my friend in a hopeful way towards recovery. 
 
 I stayed some days with her, and then, finding her illness 
 wear daily off, and some other Friends being come from 
 London to visit her, I, mindful of my engagement to the 
 justices, and unwilling by too long an absence to give them 
 occasion to suspect I was willing to avoid their summons, 
 leaving those other Friends to bear her company longer, took 
 my leave of her and them, and set my face homewards, carry- 
 ing with me the welcome account of my friend's recovery. 
 
 Being returned home, I waited in daily expectation of a 
 command from the justices to appear again before them ; 
 but none came. I spoke with those Friends who had been 
 with me when I was before them, and they said they had 
 heard nothing of it from them, although they had since been 
 in company with them. At length the assize came, but no 
 notice was given to me that I should appear there : in fine, 
 they never troubled themselves nor me any further about it. 
 
 Thus was a cloud, that looked black and threatened a great 
 storm, blown gently over by a providential breath, which I 
 could not but with a thankful mind acknowledge to the All- 
 great, All-good All*wise Disposer, in whose hand and at 
 whose command the hearts of all men, even the greatest, are, 
 and who turns their counsels, disappoints their purposes, and 
 defeats their designs and contrivances as He pleases. For if 
 my dear friend Guli Penn had not fallen sick, if I had not 
 thereupon been sent for to her, I had not prevented the time 
 of my appearance, but had appeared on the day appointed ; 
 
1683] THOMAS ELL WOOD 207 
 
 and, as I afterwards understood, that was the day appointed 
 for the appearance of a great many persons of the Dissenting 
 party in that side of the country, who were to be taken up and 
 secured on account of the aforementioned plot, which had 
 been cast upon the Presbyterians. So that if I had then 
 appeared with and amongst them, I had in all likelihood been 
 sent to gaol with them for company, and that under the im- 
 putation of a plotter, than which nothing was more contrary 
 to my profession and inclination. 
 
 But though I came off so easily, it fared not so well with 
 others ; for the storm increasing, many Friends in divers 
 parts, both of city and country, suffered greatly ; the sense 
 whereof did deeply affect me, and the more for that I observed 
 the magistrates, not thinking the laws which had been made 
 against us severe enough, perverted the law in order to punish 
 us. For calling our peaceable meetings riots, which in the 
 legal notion of the word riot is a contradiction in terms, they 
 indicted our friends as rioters for only sitting in a meeting, 
 though nothing was there either said or done by them, and 
 then set fines on them at pleasure. 
 
 This I knew to be not only against right and justice, but 
 even against law ; and it troubled me to think that we should 
 be made to suffer not only by laws made directly against us, 
 but even by laws that did not at all concern us. Nor was it 
 long before I had occasion offered more thoroughly to consider 
 this matter. 
 
 For a justice of the peace in this county, who was called 
 Sir Dennis Hampson, of Taplow, breaking in with a party of 
 horse upon a little meeting near Woodburn, in his neighbour- 
 hood, the 1st of the fifth month, 1683, sent most of the men, 
 to the number of twenty-three, whom he found there, to 
 Aylesbury prison, though most of them were poor men who 
 lived by their labour ; and not going himself to the next 
 Quarter Sessions at Buckingham, on the 12th of the same 
 month, sent his clerk with direction that they should be 
 indicted for a riot. Whither the prisoners were carried and 
 indicted accordingly, and being pressed by the court to traverse 
 
208 THE HISTOEY OF [ms 
 
 and give bail, they moved to be tried forthwith, but that was 
 denied them. And they, giving in writing the reason of their 
 refusing bail and fees, were remanded to prison till next 
 Quarter Sessions ; but William Woodhouse was again bailed, 
 as he had been before, and William Mason and John Reeve, 
 who not being Friends, but casually taken at that meeting, 
 entered recognisance as the court desired, and so were released 
 till next sessions ; before which time Mason died, and Reeve 
 being sick, appeared not, but got himself taken off. And in 
 the eighth month following the twenty-one prisoners that re- 
 mained were brought to trial ; a jury was found, who brought 
 in a pretended verdict that they were guilty of a riot for only 
 sitting peaceably together without word or action, and though 
 there was no proclamation made nor they required to depart. 
 But one of the jurymen afterwards did confess he knew not 
 what a riot was ; yet the prisoners were fined a noble apiece, 
 and recommitted to prison during life (a hard sentence) or the 
 King's pleasure, or until they should pay the said fines. 
 William Woodhouse was forthwith discharged by his kinsman's 
 paying the fine and fees for him ; Thomas Dell and Edward 
 Moor also, by other people of the world paying their fines and 
 fees ; and shortly after, Stephen Pewsey, by the town and 
 parish where he lived, for fear his wife and children should 
 become a charge upon them. The other seventeen remained 
 prisoners till King James's proclamation of pardon ; whose 
 names were Thomas and William Sexton, Timothy Child, 
 Robert Moor, Richard James, William and Robert Aldridge, 
 John Ellis, George Salter, John Smith, William Tanner, 
 William Batchelor, John Dolbin, Andrew Brothers, Richard 
 Baldwin, John Jennings, and Robert Austin. 
 
1693] THOMAS ELLWOOD 209 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 To the History of Thomas Ellwood in the first three editions is appended 
 "A supplement, being a continuation of the life of Thomas Ellwood ; 
 giving account in particular of his books and writings ". This was written 
 by Joseph Wyeth and is of little interest, chiefly consisting of long accounts 
 of Ellwood's controversial writings. A few passages however have been 
 selected and are printed below with some words of explanation. 
 
 The first extract is from Wyeth's account of the controversy between 
 Ellwood and his old friend John Raunce, who had adhered to the party 
 of Story and Wilkinson. It is reprinted because it contains some inform- 
 ation about Ellwood's family, which is not given elsewhere. In one of 
 the many pamphlets of the controversy according to Wyeth's account : — 
 
 . . . J. Raunce endeavours to fix a slander on T. Ellwood about 
 his father's burial, pretending he was not buried in the right ground, 
 but among strangers ; he and his party riding twenty miles or 
 more about the country ; and J. Raunce going himself to the place 
 where he was buried at Holton to pick up a stone at the father's 
 grave to throw at the son above seven years after his death ; 
 enquiring, examining, yea provoking some, to pretend as if T. 
 Ellwood had been unkind to his father, and that they had shewn 
 him kindness, to bring Thomas under obligation of requital, or 
 upbraid him for ingratitude if he did not. In all which J. Raunce's 
 malice was manifest more than anything else ; for as to the ground 
 he was buried in, T. Ellwood confesses he was not so well ac- 
 quainted with the graveyard as to know the differences of places 
 in it, or whether some parts of it be more holy than others ; which 
 he thinks, considering their former principles, they should not 
 have quarrelled with him about. However, the place was not of 
 his appointing ; for he was prevented of being at the burial by a 
 message his father received in his sickness that his sister (but 
 which of them he doth not say) lay then sick in London near 
 unto death. After he had waited on his father until he had 
 finished his life, and given direction for his interment, he hastened 
 up to his sister at London, thinking he might be more serviceable 
 to the living than to the dead, and knew not in what part of the 
 ground his father was buried till, after his return from London, he 
 went thither to defray the charges of his sickness and funeral, as 
 some of them knew ; and therefore the more shame to raise such 
 a story. And as to the other of unkindness, they could prove 
 nothing, but shew their envy against him, which we shall have 
 occasion to take further notice of ere we have done. 
 14 
 
210 THE HISTORY OF [i693 
 
 The next and last book he writ in relation to this controversy 
 with the Separates, was, A Fair Examination of a Foul Paper, called 
 "Observations and Reflections," etc., lately published by John 
 Raunce and Leonard Key. . . So he goes on to answer their cavils, 
 confirming by certificate his former charge of their scandalous 
 practice at Wiccomb ; then answers their new slander, the old 
 proving false, that he suffered his father to want ; raking into his 
 ashes when he had been dead above ten years, to cast something 
 at his son (so restless is envy) ; which T. EUwood fairly and clearly 
 wipes off, vindicating himself as to his not being at his father's 
 burial (which J. Raunce throws at him), though Thomas in his last 
 had fairly related the occasion, which was his sister's illness at 
 London (though she recovered ;) and which one would think might 
 have satisfied any one not over-grown with envy ; which yet J. 
 Raunce revives again, and also about his burial, etc. All which 
 appears to be nothing but J. Raunce's rancour ; which seeing he 
 has made so much ado about, out of his inveterate malice to T. 
 EUwood, under pretence of friendship to his father, but to be sure 
 hatred to the son ; and as T. EUwood says, if this be the effect 
 of his friendship he should not desire to be numbered among his 
 friends. To set which in a clear light I shall here set down his 
 vindication in his own words, because it bears some analogy to 
 his relation of the former part of his life ; viz., page 20 of the Fair 
 Examination. " 'Tis well known to many that my father was pos- 
 sessed of a good estate, and they that knew him well, knew also that 
 he had the spending of it himself. How he spent it becomes me 
 not to speak ; he was my father to whom I owed and always paid 
 respect and honour while living, and whose frailty, being dead, I 
 desire to cover. It is enough to me to say I did not help him to 
 spend his estate, nor was I much chargeable to him after I was 
 capable of shifting for myself. And when it pleased the Lord to 
 visit me with the saving knowledge of His truth and bring me 
 under the visible characters of the profession thereof (which was 
 about the twentieth year of my age), my father expressing a dislike 
 to me on that account, by degrees withdrew his care of me, not 
 making any provision for my maintenance save the giving me such 
 of his household goods as he could spare, upon his giving over 
 housekeeping, though he had then a plentiful estate remaining. 
 When afterwards he sold his estate I had no part at all of the 
 money." [Though upon his marriage he promised both him and 
 his intended wife to d#something considerable for them, yet after 
 they were married he refused to give them anything, and so far 
 withdrew himself, that he would not let him know where he 
 lodged.] "Notwithstanding this," says T. EUwood, " he would some- 
 times come to my house, which was always open and free to him 
 to come when he pleased, and to tarry as long as he pleased. 
 Whenever he came he was well habited both for linen and woollen, 
 and made no appearance of want, other than such as may befal 
 any man, to have his money fall short in a journey ; upon which 
 
1693] THOMAS ELL WOOD 211 
 
 occasion (when he had, as he said, been longer from home than 
 he expected, or when being here he had a mind to go further than 
 at his coming forth he intended) he divers times asked me to 
 lend him money, which I always did, and never asked him for it 
 again. And to the best of my remembrance it was not above two 
 weeks' time before his last sickness that he had been at my house 
 and had money of me on that account. As soon as I heard of his 
 illness I hastened to him and took the best care of him I could 
 during his life ; and after his death defrayed the charge of his 
 sickness and burial, and repaid my sister that money she had sent 
 him before I knew of his illness. I could say more on this subject 
 than I intend, or at present think fit, but I forbear, and commit my 
 innocent cause to the Lord, not doubting but that, as I am clear in 
 His sight from any undutifulness or unkindness towards my father, 
 so He will clear my innocency in the hearts of His people and of 
 all unprejudiced persons." 
 
 Here ends his controversy with the Separates. In which I 
 must needs say he acquitted himself as an ingenuous man, a 
 Christian, and a fair opponent. And now to come to something 
 more pleasant : Our dear friend George Fox dying in the eleventh 
 month, i6go, and leaving behind him an excellent journal of his 
 travels and sufferings, our friend T. Ellwood (as nobody fitter) 
 about this time was at the pains of transcribing it, and fitting it 
 for the press ; (a laborious work) which was printed next year in 
 a large folio : to which T. Ellwood prefixed a notable account 
 concerning him, which is the only single testimony printed with 
 it, except his wife, M. Fox's, and an excellent preface by W. Penn. 
 
 It is probable that Ellwood did a good deal to put Fox's journal into 
 the form in which we now have it. But he was soon embarked upon a 
 new controversy on behalf of William Penn. Ellwood had always had 
 a warm liking for Guli Penn, which in other circumstances might have 
 been something more; and he was faithful to her husband. For ten 
 years, fi-om 1694 to 1704, he fought Penn's battles against George Keith 
 and his abettors. But this part of his life belongs to the biography of 
 William Penn, and to the struggle between Penn and his opposers 
 in Pennsylvania and in England. When Ellwood was free from this 
 matter, he turned to completing his History of the Old Testament, from 
 which he had been to some extent diverted by this controversy, and in 
 the year 1705 it was published, with the intention " that all, the youth 
 especially, of either sex might be furnished with such an entertainment, to 
 spend their leisure hours upon, as might yield them both profit and 
 delight " 
 
 In the year 1709 he was once more in trouble. In spite of the 
 Revolution there was still one question at issue between the Quakers 
 and the Government, and this was the question of tithes. His experience 
 illustrates the question, and Wyeth's account is given in full so far as it 
 relates to Ellwood. 
 
 And now I must say something of him under another considera- 
 tion as well as writing. He had writ several books against tithes, 
 as before hinted, to shew the unsuitableness of them to the Gospel. 
 
212 THE HISTOEY OF [1707 
 
 dispensation, being Jewish in their original and Popish in their 
 revival, and that the obligation of paying them was ceased under 
 the Gospel as to any Divine right under Scripture. And now it 
 fell to his lot to suffer also in his turn for his testimony against the 
 payment of them ; for to him it was given, in the behalf of Christ, 
 not only to believe in Him (and bear witness of His coming in the 
 flesh, and offering Himself to put an end to the law and priest- 
 hood, tithes and offerings), but also to suffer for His sake, being 
 persecuted with three friends more ... at the suit of Joshua 
 Leaper, tithe-farmer of Amersham in the county of Bucks under 
 Humphrey Drake, clerk, rector and parson (so-called) of the 
 rectory and parish church of Agmondesham, alias Amersham, 
 aforesaid. Thomas EUwood with the rest were subpoenaed to 
 appear at Westminster in Trinity term, 1707, which they did by an 
 attorney to prevent being in contempt of the court, and took a 
 copy of the complainant's bill. But for not answering, attachments 
 were issued out in Michaelmas term to take them up ; on which 
 they were taken into custody in the eleventh month, and after- 
 wards on Habeas Corpus sent down to the sheriff of Bucks, to 
 bring them up to the Exchequer-bar in Trinity term, 1708, on 
 which they came up. And to prevent the plaintiff's going on to 
 a sequestration by default they put in their answers ; setting 
 forth the value of the tithes according to the best of their 
 knowledge. Yet so vexatious was the adversary, that he would 
 not be satisfied with their answer, but got a commission of enquiry 
 to examine witnesses in the country as to the value of the tithes ; 
 which they did in Amersham in the tenth month. The first witness 
 
 they examined was one E G of the parish of Chessam, 
 
 aged, as they say, forty-four years or thereabouts, who deposed, 
 that he knew the complainant and defendants; and had known 
 the complainant about sixty years (which was about sixteen years 
 before he was born). Whereby we may judge of the rest of his 
 evidence. The charge of which commission, and executing it, 
 came to between thirty and forty pounds, though some of it was 
 abated on taxing the cost ; and yet they proved little, if anything, 
 more than the defendants had set down in their answers, yet 
 went on to a hearing on it, and obtained a decree for the tithes 
 and cost. For not performing which attachments were issued 
 out afresh against them in Trinity term, 1709, to the sheriff of 
 Hertfordshire . . . and then a proclamation ; but the sheriff 
 living remote did not eltdeavour to take them, and the prosecutor 
 seemed rather to aim at a sequestration on their goods and estates, 
 than on their bodies ; so that seeing them resolved to go on, the 
 defendants, to prevent it, offered to surrender themselves to the 
 sheriff; but he returned them each " Non est inventus," and they got 
 a commission of Rebellion antedated, and moved for a sergeant- 
 at-arms the same day, to run them to a sequestration in all haste, 
 (Leaper being sick and bad, like to die,) lest he should not live till 
 it was accomplished ; but being so illegal, at least in point of time, 
 
1709] THOMAS ELLWOOD 213 
 
 for that there ought to be eight days between the Test and Return 
 of the Writ in thirty miles off London, and fourteen beyond, on 
 our appearing against it, they could not obtain it till Hillary term. 
 In which time Leaper recovered, and one might have hoped that 
 he might have repented ; but instead thereof, then got a sequestra- 
 tion against them and their estates, both real and personal, for 
 tithes of Thomas Ellwood, which was but £ii . . . For which 
 they seized and took from T. Ellwood in household goods, bedding, 
 pewter etc. (throwing out the meat, to take the dishes) to the value 
 of ;f 19, and a horse he used to ride on, which he would not have 
 took five guineas for. In all about £z4. los., which they sold 
 (working and hobling about the horse till they had almost spoiled 
 him) all for about £i^. 15s. . . . And yet what by charge of 
 sequestration . . . selling underhand etc., they brought in the 
 defendants in debt and wanted more. 
 
 I have been the larger in this account, to shew the proceeding 
 of the Exchequer, and the fruit of tithes, to ruin the Queen's 
 subjects for small matters, when they might recover by justice's 
 warrants to the value of ;f 10 with the hundredth part of the 
 charge. 
 
 In spite of this little dispute with Mr. Leaper, Ellwood in this year 
 (1709) found time to publish his History of the New Testament. For 
 undertaking this work he had the motive assigned for his work on the Old 
 Testament, namely, the profit and delight of the youth of both sexes, and 
 he also hopes that " they might be thereby drawn off from misspending 
 their precious time upon other, either hurtful, or (at best) unprofitable 
 subjects ". In lyro he was engaged in preparing for the press the life of 
 Oliver Sansom, a Berkshire Quaker, " who had long war with the priests 
 about tithes". This with the Davideis, or Epic of King David, which 
 was completed and published in the year 1712 brought his writing to an 
 end. And Joseph Wyeth may be lett to speak the last and wind up the 
 tale. 
 
 He lived many years, if not most of his time, especially after 
 he was married, at Hunger-Hill in the parish of Agmondesham, 
 alias Amersham, in Buckinghamshire, though his house stood 
 in Hertfordshire, as aforesaid ; where the monthly meetings 
 of men and women were constantly kept for that part of the 
 county of Bucks ; wherein he was very serviceable in writing, 
 advising, and exhorting to keep all things well and in good 
 order, according to truth and the testimony thereof; and had 
 a particular gift for government in the church and ordering 
 things in monthly and quarterly meetings, and used to come up 
 constantly to the yearly meeting in London, and was very 
 serviceable therein : not only by his grave counsel and advice, 
 but also in reading and writing on occasion, especially in difficult 
 matters. He had a singular talent in indicting and composing of 
 things, epistles, and papers, beyond many, so that I must needs 
 say he was an ornament to the meeting, and will be much missed 
 therein, and many other ways. His wife died about five years 
 
214 THE HISTOEY OF [1713 
 
 before him, being a solid, weighty woman, who had a public 
 testimony for the Lord and His truth in meetings ; and therefore 
 the greater loss to him and Friends : and for himself he lived a re- 
 tired private life, not concerning himself with much business in the 
 world, but gave himself much to reading and writing, and lived in 
 good repute among Friends, and all sorts of people, as far as ever 
 I heard of, to a pretty good age ; but bore his age very well, being 
 of a regular life and healthy constitution ; only in his latter years 
 was somewhat troubled at times with an asthma ; and at last he 
 was taken ill of a palsy, the 23rd of the second month, 1713, which 
 he bore with great patience and resignation ; and account of 
 which, and of his dying words, I leave to them who were with him 
 in the time of his sickness, the eighth day of which he departed 
 this life, being the first of the third month in the seventy-fourth year 
 of his age, having served his generation according to the will of God, 
 he fell asleep, and was honourably buried the second day following, 
 being the fourth of the third month, at Jordans ; being accom- 
 panied from his own house by a great many Friends and others to 
 the meeting-house there (the meeting he belonged to), and interred 
 in the burying-ground belonging thereto, where was a very large 
 meeting, and great appearance of Friends and others, several 
 public Friends being there from London, and other parts ; and 
 divers living testimonies borne to the truth he lived and died in, 
 in a living remembrance of him and his services to the Church. 
 A man of a comely aspect, of a free and generous disposition, of 
 a courteous and affable temper and pleasant conversation, a 
 gentleman born and bred, a scholar, a true Christian, an eminent 
 author, a good neighbour and kind friend ; whose loss is much 
 lamented, and will be much missed at home and abroad. The 
 Lord, if it be His will, raise up many more such pillars, elders, and 
 overseers of His flock and family, as watchmen upon Sion's walls, 
 for His honour and the benefit of His Church and people, saith ray 
 soul. Amen. 
 
 honDot^, the ^oth of the ninth month, 1713. J. Wyeth. 
 
THOMAS ELLWOOD 215 
 
 A LIST OP BOOKS PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD.i 
 
 An Alarm to the Priests, etc. . . 1660 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Fresh Pursuit, etc. .... 1674 (broadside). 
 
 Forgery no Christianity, against T. P. . ? 1674 (pamphlet). 
 
 Truth Prevailing and Detecting Error . 1676. 
 
 The Foundation of Tithes Shaken . . 1678 (8vo). 
 
 An Antidote against the Infection of W. 
 
 Roger's Book 1683 (4to.) 
 
 A Caution to Constables, etc. . . . 1683 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Discourse concerning Riots . . . 1683 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Seasonable Disuasive from Persecution 1683 (pamphlet). 
 
 Rogeromastix, a Rod for W. R. . . . 1685 (pamphlet, verse). 
 
 An Epistle to Friends .... i685 (pamphlet). 
 
 The Account from Wiccombe Examined . 1690 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Reply to J. H.'s Answer to W. P. . . 1691. 
 
 His Answer to Leonard Key's Late Printed 
 
 Sheet 1693 (broadside). 
 
 Deceit Discovered and Malice Manifested 
 
 in L. K 1693 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Fair Examination of a Foul Paper . 1693 (4to). 
 
 An Epistle to Friends Briefly Commemor- 
 ating, etc 1694 (pamphlet). 
 
 A Further Discovery of the Spirit of con- 
 tention 1694 (pamphlet). 
 
 Truth Defended and the Friends Thereof 
 
 Cleared 1695 (pamphlet). 
 
 An Answer to G. Keith's narrative . . 1696 (Svo). 
 
 A Sober Reply on Behalf of the People 
 called Quakers to two Petitions Against 
 them 1699 (pamphlet). 
 
 1 This is the list given by J. Wyeth. 
 
216 HISTOKY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD 
 
 The Sacred History of the Old Testament 1705 (folio). 
 The Glorious Brightness of the Gospel 
 
 Day 1707 (4to). 
 
 The Sacred History of the New Testament 1709 (folio). 
 Davideis, The Life of David . . . 1712 (8vo a poem). 
 There are other works of EUwood's still extant in MS. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Albemarle, Duke of. See Monk. 
 
 Aldridge, Robert, 208. 
 
 Aldridge, William, 208. 
 
 Amersham, 139, 150, 213. 
 
 Ancram, Charles Kerr, Earl of, 149. 
 
 Archdale, Matthew, 77. 
 
 Austin, Robert, 208. 
 
 Aris, Richard, an informer, disreputable character of, 175 ; falsely swears 
 against Zachary and his wife, Quakers, 175 ; flies the county on prosecu- 
 tion for perjury, 179. 
 
 Aylesbury, 64,72, 139, 140, 141, 207. 
 
 Ayrs, William, gives Ellwood's book on Conventicle Act to Sir B. Tichborn, 
 198 ; accompanies EUwood before Justice Tichborn, 200, 203. 
 
 Bache, Humphrey, 53, $yi. 
 
 Baldwin, Richard, 208. 
 
 Baptists committed to Bridewell, 102 ; controversies of, with Quakers, 168, 187- 
 
 191. 
 Barbadoes, transportation to, i39» ; Penington s son drowned whilst returning 
 
 from, 165. 
 Barbican, Baptist Chapel in, 189. 
 Bassett, John, 14672. 
 Batchelor, William, 208. 
 
 Baxter, Richard, controversy with Naylor and Goodair, viii. 
 Beaconsfield, 83, 174. 
 Belson, Edward, 50, epn. 
 Bennett, Ambrose, disturbs Quaker funeral, 139 ; sends ten Friends to prison, 
 
 140 ; brutal disturbance of Quaker meeting by, 147 ; sends six Friends to 
 
 Wycombe house of correction, 148. 
 Birch, Nathaniel, gaoler of Aylesbury gaol, 141, 142, 143. 
 Bishops, oppression by, 171. 
 Bledlow, 50. 
 
 Bowles, George, testimony of, to EUwood, xxxiii. -xxxix. 
 Bowyer, Sir William, Quakers taken before, 77, 77K. 
 Boyer. 6ee Bowyer. 
 Breda, xv. , 55. 
 Bridewell, Quakers imprisoned in, 94 ; curious description of, 94 ; prisoners in, 
 
 live at their own charges, 96 ; method of whipping prisoners in, 102 ; 
 
 Quaker prisoners returned to, from Newgate, 115. 
 Bridgewater, John Egerton, Earl of, 202. 
 Bristol, xxii. , xxvi. , 146. 
 
 Brown, John, magistrate, harshness of, to Quakers, 65K. 
 Browne, Sir Richard, causes Burrough's death, xxii. ; account of, xxii., xxiv. ; 
 
 sohcited by Quakers in Bridewell, 99 ; EUwood refuses to intercede to, 100 ; 
 
 sends Quaker to BrideweU for working on Sunday, 102 ; provides hemp- 
 beating blocks for Quakers, 115. 
 Bull and Mouth, meetings at, xxii., 92 ; 139K. 
 
218 INDEX 
 
 Burrough, Edward, never connected with conspiracy, xiv. ; addresses the House 
 of Commons, xvii. ; not officially a preacher, xix. ; death of, owing to 
 antagonism between Quakers and Presbyterians, xxi. ; birth and education 
 ofj xxi. ; preaches at a prize fight, xxi. ; action for slander against, xxii. ; 
 favourably received by Charles II., xxii. ; leaves Bristol "to die for the 
 faith," xxii. ; thinks Quakers should be a missionismg sect, xxv. ; EUwood 
 first hears him preach, 12 ; effect of his preaching, 30 ; visits EUwood when 
 he lies ill of small pox, 87 ; death of, in Newgate, io7», 129 ; visited by 
 EUwood, 126 ; verses on, by EUwood, 130. 
 
 Causham. See Caversham. 
 
 Caversham, 9. 
 
 Chalfont, St. Giles, 145, 146, 174. 
 
 Chalfont, St. Peter's (Peter's Chalfont), Penington's house at, xxviii., xxix., 
 
 9, 42, 73, 146 ; meeting at, 76. 
 Chapman, Livewell, xiii. 
 
 Charles II., promise of toleration given by, at Breda, 55. 
 Cherry, constable at Maidenhead, 45. 
 Child, Timothy, 208. 
 Chinner, disturbance at church by Quaker, 10 ; EUwood attends church service 
 
 at, 14. 
 Clarke, Sir John, of Weston, EUwood brought before, 57. 
 Clayton, Sir Thomas, J. P., commits Friends at Perrot's funeral to prison, 140; 
 
 account of, 140^ ; fines Zachary, a Quaker, ^^30 on false accusation, 176 ; 
 
 commits him to gaol for remonstrating, 176 ; recommits him although his 
 
 innocence proved, 177 ; anger at exposure of informers, 180. 
 Commons, House of, xvii. 
 
 Commonwealth, attitude towards Quakers, viii., ix. , xii. , xv. 
 Conventicle Acts, xix., 169. 
 Conway, Edward, Viscount, xv. 
 Cork, i6ra. 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, attitude of, towards Quakers, x. , xi. , xxii. 
 Cromwell, Richard, x, xxii. 
 
 Crowell, in Oxfordshire, EUwood's birthplace, i, 54, 89, 136. 
 Curtis, Thomas, xxvi., xxviii. 
 Curtis, Anne, 29. 
 
 Dell, Anne, of Whites, harbours informers, 174. 
 
 Dell, Thomas, 140, 208. 
 
 Dell, John, 174. 
 
 Desborough, John, xiii. 
 
 Dissenters, various sects of, shelter themselves behind the Quakers, 187. 
 
 Dolbin, John, 208. 
 
 Dove, — of Chinner, 92, 
 
 Drake, Humphrey, 212. 
 
 ECCLES, Solomon, enters church stripped to waist, 27«. 
 
 Ellis, John, 208. • 
 
 Ellis, Mary (afterwards EUwood), wooed bv EUwood, 154 ; reception of his 
 proposal, 15s; accepts EUwood, 156; marriage of, 160; refuses to have 
 any marriage settlements, 161 ; death of, 214 ; a solid weighty woman, 214. 
 
 Elsworth, Richard, xiv. 
 
 EUwood, Thomas, led astray by Perrot, xxv., 151; accusations brought by 
 Raunce against, xxvi., 209; scandalous charge against Raunce made by, 
 xxvi. ; JiogeromasHx, poem by, xxvii. ; characteristics of, xxxii. ; death- 
 bed of, xxxviii., xxxix., 214 ; buried at Jordans, xli. , 214 ; women's testi- 
 mony to, at monthly meeting, xli.-xlv. ; birth of, at Crowell, 1639, i ; taken 
 to London on account of civil war, 1641, 2 ; early friendship with Guli 
 Springett, 2 ; sent to Thame School, 3 ; taken from school and left to idle. 
 
INDEX 219 
 
 4 ; affiay with a farmer on right of way, 6 ; visits Peningtons and finds 
 them Quakers, 9; first meets Edward Burrough and James Naylor, 12; 
 attends meeting at John Raunce's, 15 ; conversion of, 16 ; lip and hat wor- 
 ship, 18, 19 ; use of plural pronoun, 19 ; first appearance among his 
 acquaintances as a Quaker, 23 ; his father objects to his visiting the Pen- 
 ingtons, 26 ; goes notwithstanding, 28 ; decides not to take his hat off in 
 his father's presence, 31 ; and to say " thou and thee " to him, 32 ; persists 
 in attending a meeting in opposition to his father, 33 ; hears of his father's 
 grief when he does not return at night, 36 ; his unkind reception on his 
 return ; 37 ; loss of his hats, 38 ; consequent toothache and its cure, 38 ; 
 cruelly beaten by his father for not joining in family prayers, 40 ; a lonely 
 winter, 41 ; Isaac and Mary Penington invite him to visit them, 42 ; 
 visits Peningtons at Chalfont, 42 ; travels on Sunday and is arrested at 
 Maidenhead, 43 ; returns home, 49 ; takes his meals in the kitchen, 49 ; 
 joins meeting at Meadle, 50; moved by the Spirit to write against the 
 priests, SI ; goes to meeting in Tower Street, 53 ; unhappiness in not being 
 abused for a Quaker, 53 ; urges Loe to hold a meeting at Crowell, 54 ; his 
 letter to Loe intercepted, 55 ; arrested in consequence, 56 ; examined by 
 Clarke and Knowls, deputy-lieutenants, S7 ; refuses to take oaths of alle- 
 giance and supremacy, 59 ; committed to the charge of the city marshal 
 in Oxford, 62 ; regrets he is not sent to Castle, 62 ; receives letter from Loe, 
 63 ; and Penington, 64 ; allowed to visit Friends in the Castle, 66 ; taken 
 again to Clark's house, 68 ; refuses his liberty subject to his father's control, 
 70 ; attends meetings in opposition to his father, 71 ; visits Friends in 
 Aylesbury gaol, 73 ; takes Ovy to Chalfont, 75 ; arrested at meeting at 
 Chalfont, 77 ; refuses to give bail, 80 ; goes to visit his father, 82 ; arrested 
 at Beaconsfield for walking along the high road, 83 ; falls ill of small pox, 
 86 ; visited by Guli Springett and Isaac Penington, 86 ; injures his eyes by 
 over study during convalescence, 87 ; visits Peningtons, 87 ; accepts post 
 of reader to Milton, 88 ; lonely winter at Crowell, 89 ; takes lodgings at 
 Jewyn Street, London, 89 ; studies under Milton, 90 ; suffers from sulphu- 
 rous air of London, 90 ; goes to Wycombe to Raunce's house, 91 ; arrested 
 at meeting at Bull and Mouth, 92 ; taken with thirty-one other Friends to 
 Bridewell, 94 ; having rod. thinks himself too rich to live on charity, 96 ; 
 sleeps on rashes until a hammock is lent him, 99 ; visited by William Pen- 
 ington, 100 : refuses to let his father intercede for him to Sir Thomas 
 Brown, 100 ; learns to make flannel waistcoats, loi ; dresses a poor 
 Friend's wounds after whipping, 103 ; taken to the Old Bailey Sessions, 
 104 : refuses to take oath of allegiance, 106 ; committed to Newgate, 106 ; 
 account of horrible condition of Newgate, 107-115 ; returns to Bridewell, 
 no; Vfr\\.ts SpeculuTn Seculi, etc., 116-125 ; allowed to visit Friends left 
 behind in Newgate, 126 ; discharged, 126 ; walks down to Chalfont, 127 ; 
 becomes tutor to Penington's children, 128 ; grief at Burrough's death, 129 ; 
 verses on Burrough, 130; gossip on Guli Springett and, 132; honourable 
 conduct to Guli of, 134; writes Est Vita Caduca, 134; and Allis Vanity, 
 135 ; Ode to Virtue^ 136 ; consents to sale of Crowell, 136 ; writes Con- 
 formity^ Pressed and Repressed^ 137 ; and Ode, 138 ; arrested at Perrot's 
 funeral, 140 ; sent to Aylesbury gaol, 141 ; demands his release at end of a 
 month, 143 : riddle written by, 144 ; takes a house at Chalfont St. Giles, 
 for Milton, 144 ; reads Paradise Lost in manuscript and suggests Paradise 
 Regained, 145 ; moves about with the Peningtons during their troubles, 
 146 ; attends meeting at Salter's house, 146 ; sent to Wycombe House of 
 Correction for twelve weeks, 148 ; re-committed for refusing to find sureties, 
 149 ; passes the time in making kitchen nets, 149 ; returns to Penington 
 family at Amersham, 150 ; led astray by Perrot, 151 ; goes to London to 
 confess his error, 152 ; goes with Guli Springett to meet Geo. Fox in Devon- 
 shire, 153 ; public avowal of his error in following Perrot, 153 ; inclined to 
 marriage, 154 ; encouraged to propose to Mary Ellis, 155 ; accepted by her, 
 i";6 ; travels to Kent with Guli Springett, 157 ; protects her from assault 
 
220 INDEX 
 
 on the high road, 158 ; marriage of, 160 ; secures his wife's property to her, 
 161 ; hnes on a Friend's marriage, 161 ; goes to Kent and Sussex to over- 
 look Springett properties, 162 ; grief at his father's behaviour on his mar- 
 riage, 163 ; writes Song of Praise, 163 ; and To the Holy One, 164 ; sorrow 
 at the loss of Penington's son, Isaac, i66 ; lines on his death, Solitaiy 
 Thoughts on the Uncertainty of Human Things^ i^yj ; attends discussion 
 between Quakers and Baptists, 168 ; complains of Conventicle Act, 169 ; 
 case of Zachary committed to his care, 177 ; employs lawyers to conduct the 
 case, 178 ; informers scared out of county, 179 ; sense of pity and wrath at do- 
 ings of informers, 180; writes Gigantomackia, 181; and^ Hong on the Mercies 
 of the Lord, 184 ; takes an active part in Baptist controversy, 189-191 ; 
 challenges Hicks and Ives to public discussion, 190 ; pamphlets by, against 
 Baptists, 190, 191 ; his opinion of Jeremy Ives, 191 ; writes his epitaph, 
 192 ; answers attack on Quakers by an Episcopal priest, 193 ; writes various 
 pamphlets against tithes, 194 ; takes part in Wilkinson and Story con- 
 troversy, 19s ; procures Rogers' book, 196 ; writes an answer to it, 197 ; 
 writes treatise on Conventicle Act, 198 ; treatise objected to by Tichborn and 
 Fotherly, justices, 198 ; summoned to appear before them, 199 ; summoned 
 to Guli Penn's (Springett) sick bed, 199 ; doubtful how to answer both sum- 
 mons, 199 ; takes Ayrs and John Wells with him to Rickmansworth, 200 ; 
 interview with Justice Fotherly, 200-203 ; asks to be allowed to visit Guli 
 Penn, 201 ; interview with justice Tichborn, 203 ; refuses to give bail, 204 ; 
 hberated by both justices on his promise to appear, 205 ; visits Guli Penn 
 and finds her better, 206 ; hears no more of his book, 206 ; indignation at 
 persecution of Quakers, 207 ; his answer to Raunce's accusation, 210 ; kind- 
 ness to his father, 210, 211 ; arranges Geo. Fox's journal, 211 ; fights W, 
 Penn's battles, 211 ; various writings by, 211, 213, 216 ; refuses to pay 
 tithes, 212. 
 
 EUwood, Thomas, the sisters of, defend their brother, 40 ; warn him of his 
 arrest, 56 ; go to London, where they marry, 72 ; illness of one of them, 
 209 ; help given by one of them repaid by Ellwood, 211. 
 
 EUwood, Walter, brother to Thomas EUwood, entered at Merton CoUege, 
 Oxford, 4 ; death of, 9. 
 
 Ellwood, Walter, father of Thomas Ellwood, 7 ; made justice of the peace, 3 ; 
 defeated in controversy by Burrough and Naylor, I3 ; sends his son to 
 Oxford with message to the justices, 22 ; objects to his son's visiting the 
 Peningtons, 26 ; censures the Quakers' behaviour, 27 ; anger at his son's 
 change of behaviour, 32, 33 ; forbids his son to attend a meeting, 33 ; his 
 grief when his son does not return, 35 ; beats him when he sees him for 
 having his hat on, 37 ; cinielly beats him for not attending family prayers, 
 40 ; allows him to visit the Peningtons, 42 ; objects to his son dining in 
 his hat, 49 ; chases his son to stop him from attending a meeting, 71 ; 
 leaves his son alone at Crowell, 72 ; kinder behaviour of, to his son, 83 ; 
 sends him money during his imprisonment, 100 ; sells estate at Crowell, 
 136 : offers his son a handsome portion on his marriage, 162 ; withdraws 
 his offer on the plea that the marriage was irregular, 163 ; sickness and 
 burial of, 209, 211 ; improvidence of, 210 ; borrows from his son, 211. 
 • 
 
 Falkland, Henry Gary, Viscount, 55. 
 
 Fielder, John, x. 
 
 Fifth Monarchy men, xiii. , xv. 
 
 Finch, Sir John, xv. 
 
 Five Mile Act, xix. 
 
 Fletcher, Elizabeth, 54K. 
 
 Farnham Royal, 146K. 
 
 Forster, — , a lawyer, 178. 
 
 Fotherly, Thomas, J. P., objects to Ellwood's treatise on Conventicle Act, 198 ; 
 appoints a day for EUwood to appear before him, 199 ; interview between 
 EUwood and, 200-203 I friendly to William and Guli Penn, 199, 202 ; 
 further interview with EUwood, 203-205 ; liberates EUwood, 205. 
 
INDEX 221 
 
 Fox, George, England ready to receive his teaching, vi. ; never a conspirator, 
 xiy. ; arrested after Venner's conspiracy, xv. ; peculiar position of, xix. ; 
 viJishes Quakers to be a missionary body, xxv. ; meeting summoned by, to 
 heal the Perrot schism, 150 ; establishes monthly and quarterly meetings, 
 152 ; missionary journey of, 153 ; lends Ellwood W. Roger's book, 196 ; 
 comparison of, with Julius Caesar, 196 ; journals of, arranged by Ellwood, 
 211. 
 
 Fox, George, the younger, visited by Ellwood, 52; imprisoned at Lambeth 
 House, 52«. 
 
 Galloway, City Marshall of Oxford, 62, 66, 69, 70. 
 
 Garod, Thomas, Mayor of Harwich, I5«. 
 
 Goodair, Thomas, viii., 65, 65«. 
 
 Gigger, John, Guli Springett's servant, 157 ; too peaceable a man, 158. 
 
 Goodyare, Thomas. 5^.? Goodair, 
 
 Gracechurch Street, meetings in, is«. 
 
 Graffingham, Robert, 52. 
 
 Greenaway, Richard, 73, 73«, 74. 
 
 Grime, Mother, 85. 
 
 Grove, John, 165. 
 
 Haddenham, or Hoddingham, 50, $on. 
 
 Harwich, 15K, 52K. 
 
 Hainpson, Sir Dennis, sends twenty-three Quakers to gaol for being at a meet- 
 ing, 207. 
 
 Heavens, Elizabeth, 54«. 
 
 Hicks, Thomas, a Baptist, pamphlet against Quakers by, 187 ; attacks Penn 
 and Whitehead in their absence, 188 ; answered by Penn, 189 ; challenged 
 to a discussion by Ellwood, 190. 
 
 Hubberthorn, Richard, xvii.K, 107M. 
 
 Hungerhill, monthly meeting, testimony of, to Ellwood, xl., xli. ; testimony of 
 women's meeting, xli.-xlv. ; Ellwood's house at, 213. 
 
 Independents, antagonism of, to Quakers, xx. 
 
 Informers, 139M ,■ encouraged by Conventicle Act, 171 ; an, discovered by his 
 
 drunken talk, 172; chased out of Buckinghamshire, 178. S^e Aris and Lacy. 
 Ives, Jeremy, a Baptist, attacks the Quakers, 168 ; defeated in discussion, 169 ; 
 
 challenged to a discussion by Ellwood, 190 ; a topping disputant, 191 ; 
 
 Ellwood's opinion of, 191 ; and epitaph on, 192. 
 
 Jennings, John, 208. 
 
 Jesus College, Oxford, barbarity to Quakers in hall of, 63«. 
 
 Jordans, xli. , 174, 214. 
 
 Jourdans. See Jordans. 
 
 Julius Caesar, 196. 
 
 Jury, ignorant of meaning of the word " riot," 208. 
 
 Juxon, Bishop, I40«. 
 
 Key, Leonard, 210. 
 Kidlington Hospital, 143. 
 Knowls, Esquire, of Grays, 58. 
 
 Lacy, Ralph, known as the Informer, Redhead and Cow Stealer, 173 ; falsely 
 swears against Zachary and his wife, Quakers, 175 ; prosecuted for perjury, 
 repents and reforms, 179. 
 
 Lambarn, Sarah, 142. 
 
 Langdale, Marmaduke, Lord, xiv. 
 
 Loe, Thomas, invited by Ellwood to hold a meeting at Crowell, 54 ; 54^ ; com- 
 mitted to Oxford Castle, 56 ; writes to EUwood from prison, 63. 
 
222 INDEX 
 
 Leaper, Joshua, 212, 213. 
 
 Luff, John, goes with Perrot to Rome, 150 ; dies in Inquisition, 151. 
 
 Maidenhead, EUwood arrested at, 43. 
 
 Mansel, John, magistrate, harshness of, to Qualiers, 6^n. 
 
 Marriage laws, i63«. 
 
 Mason, William, 208. 
 
 Meadle, 50, 5o«. 
 
 Merrick, Anne (afterwards Vivers), 96. 
 
 Merton College, Oxford, 140M. 
 
 Mew, Dr. , Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, 172. 
 
 Milton, John, takes EUwood as reader and pupil, 88 ; teaches EUwood Con- 
 tinental pronunciation of Latin, 8g ; moves to Chalfont St. Giles, during 
 plague, 144 ; reads Paradise Lost to EUwood, 145 ; writes Paradise Regained 
 on a suggestion of EUwood's, 145. 
 
 MinshuU, Elizabeth, Milton's wife, 88k. 
 
 Molinos, XXV. 
 
 Monk, George (Albemarle, Duke of), xiii., xyjn. 
 
 Moor, Edward, 208. 
 
 Moor, Robert, 208. 
 
 Morton, Sir William, 143 ; account of, I43« ; 172, 173. 
 
 " Naylor, James, controversy with Baxter, viii. ; account of, xi. ; conviction and 
 punishment of, xi., xii., 6s« ; readmitted to Society of Friends, xiii. ; effect 
 of his discourse on EUwood, 13. 
 
 Newgate, death of Burrough in, xxii., io7«, 129; Quakers imprisoned in, 
 15^, 53K, 106; horrible overcrowding of, 107; consequent death of and 
 inquest on a Friend, 107, I07« ; school of every vice, 112-1x4; treatment 
 of heads and bodies of traitors in, 114. 
 
 Nicholas, Sir Edward, Secretary, xiii. 
 
 Norton, Silas, 6yi, 
 
 OvY, John, of Watlington, asks EUwood to take him to Chalfont, 74 ; formerly 
 a magistrate, 75 ; terrified at the appearance of soldiers at the Chalfont 
 meeting, 76 ; ashamed of his cowardice, 80. 
 
 Oxford. Walter EUwood, jun, , sent to, 4 ; Quarter Sessions, Thomas EUwood's 
 experiences at, 22 ; disgraceful riot against Quakers at, 54^ ; Quakers com- 
 mitted to Oxford Castle, 56 ; EUwood committed to prison in, 62. 
 
 Paget, Dr., 88, 88k. 
 
 Parker, Alexander, 153. 
 
 Parker, George, 153. 
 
 Parker, Judith, present at meeting at Salter's house, 147 ; forcible remonstrance 
 of, to Justice Bennet, 148. 
 
 Penn, Guli. See Springett, Gulielma Maria. 
 
 Penn, William, 54« ; attacked by Baptists, 168 ; Baptist attacks answered by, 
 188 ; attacked in his absence by Hicks, a Baptist, 189 ; demands public 
 discussion on his return, 189 ; absent in Pennsylvania during his wife's ill- 
 ness, 199 [see SpringetT, Gulielma) ; battles of, fought by EUwood, 2H, 
 
 Penington, Alderman, xxviii. 
 
 Penington, Isaac, marriage of, to Lady Springett, xxviii. ; conversion of, to 
 Quakerism, xxviii. ; unjust Chancery suit against, xxix. ; death of, xxix. ; 
 happiness of, in his religion, xxix. ; the EUwoods find he has turned Quaker, 
 9 ; visits the Ellwoods at Crowell, 41 ; his kindness to EUwood, 49 ; 
 prisoner in Aylesbury, 64 ; writes to EUwood, 64 ; visited by EUwood in 
 Aylesbury gaol, 73 ; returns to Chalfont, 73 ; arrested at a meeting at 
 Chalfont, 77 ; discharged, 80 ; asks EUwood to be tutor to his children, 128 ; 
 committed to Aylesbury gaol, 142 ; delicate constitution of, 142 ; released 
 at end of one month, 144 ; again sent to Aylesbury gaol, 145 ; danger 
 
INDEX 223 
 
 to his life from plague, 145 ; approves of EUwood's choice of a wife, 155 ; 
 loss of his second son at sea, 165. 
 
 Penington, Isaac, second son of Isaac and Mary Penington, death of, at sea, 
 165. 
 
 Penington, Mary {see Springett, Lady), daughter of Sir John Proude, xxvii. ; 
 married Sir William Springett, xxviii. ; left a widow and married to Isaac 
 Penington, xxviii., 2 ; converted to Quakerism, xxviii. ; troubles suffered 
 by, in consequence, xxix. ; friendship of with the EUwood family, 2 ; defends 
 Thomas Ellwood to his father, 42 ; listens to Ovy's confessions of cowardice, 
 81 ; visits Walter Ellwood, 82 ; sends Ellwood money during his imprison- 
 ment in Bridewell, 100 ; confidence in Ellwood of, 133 ; turned out of her 
 husband's house at Chalfont St. Peter's, xxix. , 146 ; lodges first at Ayles- 
 bury and then at Bottrels, 146 ; approves of EUwood's choice of a wife, 
 155 ; asks Ellwood to escort Guli into Kent, 157 ; sends Ellwood to look 
 after her propertv in Kent and Sussex, 162 ; loss of her second son at sea, 
 165- 
 
 Penington, William, comes to a meeting at Chalfont, 76 ; arrested, 77 ; dis- 
 charged, 80 ; visits Ellwood in Bridewell, loo. 
 
 Perrot, Edward, disturbance at funeral of, 15W, 139. 
 
 Perrot, John, schism among Quakers caused by, xxiv., 150; goes to convert 
 the Pope, 150 ; put into Roman Bedlam, 151 ; returns to England and 
 preaches the wearing of hats at prayer time, 151. 
 
 Potman, Eliz., mother of Thomas Ellwood, i ; related to Lady Wenman, 5 ; 
 death of, 8. 
 
 Poulter, John, an informer, called the Trepan, 172, 173; brutish behaviour at 
 Quaker meeting, 174 ; christens a cat Catherine Catherina, 175 ; flies the 
 country, 175. 
 
 Presbyterianism, not suited to English temperament, vii. ; antagonism between 
 Quakerism and, xx. 
 
 Prisons. See under Aylesbury, Bridewell, Oxford, Newgate, Wycombe. 
 
 Prophesying after church service, 10, ion. 
 
 Proude, Sir John, father of Lady Springett, afterwards Mary Penington, xxvii. 
 
 Pyot, Edward, xvii.w. 
 
 Quakers, condition of England favourable to spread of, vii. ; religious aim of, 
 viii. ; laws under which they suffered, ix. , x. , xvi. , xxi. ; customs and tenets 
 peculiar to, x. , xi. , 10, io«, 59, 80, 96, 106 ; popular belief that they engaged 
 in plots, xiii. ; foundation of this belief, xiv. ; sufferings caused to, by 
 Venner's plot, xv., 91, gin ; aversion of Presbyterians to, xx. ; similarity 
 between Jesuits and, xxi. ; Perrot controversy, xxiv. xxv. ; Quietists, xxv. ; 
 Story and Wilkinson controversy, xxvi. , 195 ; ill-treatment of, by mob in 
 Tower Street, S3 ; riot against, in Oxford, 54^ ; kindness of, to imprisoned 
 Friends, 63, 96 ; ill-treatment of, in Jesus College, Oxford, 63K ; persecuted 
 by Brown and Mansell, magistrates, 6^n ; miserable lodging of, in Ayles- 
 bury gaol, 73 ; numerous arrests of, in 1662, 91, gin ; thirty-two Friends 
 sent to Bridewell, 93 ; Quaker sent to hard labour for working on Sunday, 
 102 ; horrible condition of, in Newgate, 107 ; new law against, 137, 137M ; 
 death of fifty Friends from plague whilst in prison, i$gn ; brutal inter- 
 ference with Quaker funeral, 139 ; pecuniary losses of, 146^; Quaker 
 accused of being a Jesuit in disguise, 147 ; six Friends imprisoned for twelve 
 weeks for being present at a meeting, 148 ; monthly and quarterly meetings 
 established by Geo. Fox, 152 ; Quaker marriages, valid but irregular, 
 i63« ; quarrels between Baptists and, 168, 187-191 ; Conventicle Act, 
 how it affected, 169, 170 ; sufferings of, from informers, 172-180, 197 ; 
 lawyers, employment of, by, 178, 178K ; withstand persecution more boldly 
 than other sects, 186 ; annoyance of persecutors at their courage, 187 ; 
 attacked by Episcopal priest, 193 ; suffer fresh persecution in consequence 
 of Rye House plot, 207 ; twcnty-th^req Friends v\rrongly indicted for rioting, 
 207. 
 
224 INDEX 
 
 Rance. See Raunce. 
 
 Raunce, Frances, 35. 
 
 Raunce, John, charges brought against EUwood by, xxvi. ; meetings at house 
 off 15. 35 ; accompanies Ellwood home, 36 ; nurses Ellwood in his own 
 house, 91 ; charges Ellwood with cruelty to his father, 209 ; EUwood's 
 answer to, 210. 
 
 Reeve, John, 208. 
 
 Religion, evolution of, in England, v., vi. ; English contrasted with Scotch, vi. ; 
 in England "a state of mind," viii. 
 
 Restoration, Government of, suspect Quakers of plotting against the Govern- 
 ment, xiii., xiv. 
 
 Rickmansworth, ig8, 200. 
 
 Roads, state of, 50. 
 
 Rogers, William, of Bristol, advocates the schismatic opinions of Story and 
 Wilkinson, xxvi., 195. 
 
 Rosewell, Major, arrest of Quakers by, 92. 
 
 Russell, William, 174. 
 
 Rye House Plot, 202, 207. 
 
 Ryland, Thomas, 63, 63^. 
 
 Salter, George, meeting at house of, disturbed, 146 ; account of, 146« ; com- 
 mitted to gaol, 208. 
 
 Saunders, Damaris, 51. 
 
 Saunders, Thomas, 50, 50^. 
 
 " Seekers," sect known as, vi. 
 
 Seven Oaks, 157. 
 
 Sexton, Thomas, 208. 
 
 Sexton, William, 208. 
 
 Skippon, Major-General, xiv. 
 
 Smith, John, 208. 
 
 Springett, Gulielma Maria (afterwards Penn), posthumous birth of, xxviii. ; 
 EUwood's early playmate, 2 ; scene in garden with Ellwood, 9 ; has the 
 small pox, 29 ; visits Ellwood when he has small pox, 86 ; gossip on 
 Ellwood and, 132 ; charming character of, 132 ; goes to Bristol, 146 ; 
 attends meeting at Salter's house, 146 ; travels with Ellwood to Devonshire, 
 153 ; visits her tenants in Kent, 157 ; assaulted by one of the Duke of York's 
 men, 158 ; wife of William Penn, 199 ; sends for Ellwood when ill, 199 ; 
 friendship of, with Justices Tichborn and Fotherly, 199 ; recovery from 
 sickness of, 206. 
 
 Springett, Herbert, Sir, 1S7K, i6o. 
 
 Springett, Lady, afterwards wife of Penington. See Penington, Mary. 
 
 Springett, Sir William, xxvii., xxviii., IS7«. 
 
 Starky, a lawyer, 178. 
 
 St. John's College, disgraceful cruelty against Quakers at, 54«. 
 
 Story, John, controversy among Quakers caused by, xxvi., is«, 195. 
 
 Sunday, observance of laws relating to, 43, 102. 
 
 • 
 
 Tanner, William, 208. 
 
 Thame, 3, 55. 
 
 Thornton, Samuel, 15, 15^. 
 
 Tichborn, Sir Benjamin, J. P., objects to EUwood's treatise on Conventicle Act, 
 198 ; appoints a day lor Ellwood to appear before him, 199 ; examines 
 Ellwood, 203 ; liberates him on his promise to appear on summons, 205. 
 
 Travers, Anne, 96. \ 
 
 Turner, William, 109. 
 
 Venner's plot, xiii., xv., xxiii., isk, 5<j, 55, 146K. 
 Vane, Sir Henry, xiv, 
 
INDEX 225 
 
 Watkins, Morgan, arrested at Parrot's funeral, 139 ; various imprisonments 
 of, I39n ; preaches at meeting at Salter's house, 147 ; sent to Wycombe 
 house of correction for twelve weeks, 149 ; re-committed for refusing to find 
 sureties, 149. 
 
 Wells, — , Clerk of the Peace, 177. 
 
 Wenman, Thomas, Viscount, 5, 5«, 57. 
 
 Whateley. See Wheatley. 
 
 Wheatley, 68. 
 
 Wheeler Street, Quaker Meeting House in, 189. 
 
 Whipping, method of, in Bridewell, 103. 
 
 White, — , of New England, xiv. 
 
 White, John, 50, 5o«. 
 
 Whitehead, George, xvii.n, 76, 76K ; arrested, 77; refuses to give bail, 80; 
 attacked by Baptists, i88. 
 
 Whitehead, John, 73, 73;;. 
 
 Wilkinson, John, schism among Quakers, caused by, xxvi., I5», 195. 
 
 Wiccomb. See Wycombe. 
 
 Wickham. See Wycombe. 
 
 Woodhouse, William, 208. 
 
 Wycombe, 14, 1572, 29, 33, 148, 149, 168, 175, 177. 
 
 Wyeth, Joseph, Preface by, xxxi.-xxxiii. ; Appendix by, 209-214. 
 
 York, Duke of, 157. 
 
 Zachary, Thomas, falsely accused by informers, 175 ; fined j^30, 176 ; com- 
 mitted to gaol on remonstrating, 176 ; re-committed though innocence 
 proved, 177 ; pardons Lacy, the informer, 179 ; imprisoned for refiising to 
 take oath of allegiance, 180. 
 
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