'Il!!l!i^' AND PENINGTONS A\ARIA WEBB* * (Jforncll UntDstraitg ffiihrarg 3tl)ara. ^tta fork LIBRARY OF LEWIS BINGLEY WYNNE A.B..A.M.. COLUMBIAN COLLEGE,*71*'73 WASHINGTON, D. C. THE GIFT OF MRS. MARY A. WYNNE AND JOHN H. WYNNE CORNELL '98 1922 Cornell University Library F 1522 W36 Penns and Peningtons of the seventeenth olin 3 1924 028 831 225 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://archive.org/details/cu31924028831225 THE 5*enns and S^cningtons OF ■^^e Seventeenth ^ertfur^, ILLUSTEATED BY ORIGINAL FAMILY LETTERS i ALSO NOTICES OF THEIR FRIEND THOMAS ELLWOOD, BY THK LATE MARIA WEBB, Author of " The Fells of Swarthmoor Hall andjheir Friends." SECOND EDITION, SLIGHTLY ABEIDGED. LONDON : A E. HICKS, JTJN., FRIENDS' BOOK AND TRACT DEPOT, 14, BISHOPSGATE STREET WITHOUT. 18 91 ^ ^' ^SO.y/ o HEADLEY BROS., PKINTERS, ASHFOSD, KENT. INTRODUCTION. The Daughter of the late talented and much esteemed author of this work having kindly given her consent to the issue of a second edition, and having placed at our disposal the plates for the illustrations, it was con- cluded to publish it at the present time. The book has been for some years out of print, and it is thought that a new edition in an attractive and a cheaper form will be welcomed by many. The Press notices were highly favourable, and form an additional incentive, if one were needed, to preserve these most interesting records of families and indi- viduals who played so important a part in the early history of our Society. These Friends lived in an age and amid surroundings totally unlike anything with which we are familiar. Their devoted and God-fearing lives, their faithful service, their boldness in declaring the truth, and the standard of righteousness which they upheld — the imprisonments, persecutions, hardships which they unflinchingly and cheerfully underwent for conscience sake, and in obedience to the Master they served — these are lessons to us and to future generations which it were well indeed if we were to take more fully to heart. Surely such a record of the saintly lives so ably and lovingly depicted in these pages should become more widely known and read, especially by our younger members and the public at large. They could hardly fail to be interested and perhaps learn even more fully to esteem and reverence the self-denial and godliness of these and other early members of our Society. F. G. C. . London, 1891. EXTRACTS FROM PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. JUHIS work originated in the belief that a volume depicting the religious and domestic life of Isaac Penington, of "William Penn, and of Thomas EUwood would be especially useful at the present time. Their lives were bright examples of the ennobling and strengthening influence of true religion. They differed materially in natural character from one another ; but in each may be seen the distinguishing marks of the followers of the Lord Jesus carried into their varied spheres of operation ; for their religion was practical as well as spiritual. And in their wives we have a beautiful exemplification of Christian matrons aiding and cheering their husbands amid trials and persecu- tions ; and rejoicing in their faithfulness, notwith- standing the frowns of the world . Tender-hearted and womanly, yet active and enduring, they show us what such women can do, in filling the blanks at home occasioned by their husbands' unavoidable absence. These eminent Friends unitedly stand forth as noble examples of the conduct and principles which graced Preface. v. the earlier days of Quakerism, in the church, in the family, and in the general community. Their's was an age of great religious excitement, and gave rise to a vast amount of controversial writing, to which Friends very largely contributed. It has been my endeavour as far as possible, in tracing their religious principles and spiritual ex- perience, to let them express their feelings in their own words : hence the numerous extracts from their letters. Of the loved and valued friends removed during the preparation of this work, to a higher and holier sphere, there is one name which I desire especially to associate with this book. It is that of my beloved brother, the late Joshua Lamb, of Peartree-hill, near Lisburn, than whom I never knew anyone who more fully appreciated William Penn's mind, and the value of his religious writings. It was by his recommendation I was first led to study Penn's Address to Protestants, a work which, in a somewhat condensed form, might with great advantage be republished in the present day, in which Ritualism on the one hand and Calvinism on the other are making such inroads upon the pure doctrines of Christianity. M.W. 7, Palmerston-road, Dublin, 1867. vi. Preface. NOTE BY THE AUTHOR (IN 1867) ON THE PORTRAIT OF GULIBLMA MARIA PENN. The original of this portrait is a painting on glass in the possession of the descendants of Henry Swan, of Holmwood, Dorking, who died in 1769. It was given to him by John Townsend, of London, at an unknown date, and along with it one of William Penn. Jemima Swan, the present owner of these portraits, kindly gave permission to have copies of them engraved for this work. The artist had the portrait of the lady nearly completed, when my friend John Thompson, of Hitohin, informed me that he had engravings of the great-grand-parents of the late Joseph John Gurney in his possession, closely resembling the photographic copies of the reputed portraits of William and Gulielma Penn, and he very kindly took them out of their frames and sent them for my inspection. I found points of dissimilarity as well as of resemblance. The busts were difEerent, and there was some difEereirce in the attitude of the lady ; but the dresses were so exactly alike,- — each button, fold, and slope being the same, — ^that there was evidently some original connection between the paintings and engravings. A correspondence ensued between John Thompson and Daniel Gurney, the senior representative of the Gurney family, from which it was ascertained that the portraits of the Gurneys were first engraved in 1746, and that subsequently two copies of different sizes were executed. These engravings have always been regarded by the family as authentic likenesses, but they have never known of the existence of any paintings from which they were taken. Two sets of engravings were executed in the lifetime of Joseph and Hannah Middleton Gurney ; but without their names, and probably without their knowledge ; the first set being styled A Sincere Quaker and A Fair Quaker. Family tradition speaks of Hannah Middleton Gurney as having been surpassingly handsome. Preface. vii. Joseph Gurney and his wife were contemporaries of the Penns, and though much their juniors in age, it is probable that up to the time of their marriage in 1713, the style of their dress was not materially different from that of the Penns. Prom all these circumstances it appears to me most likely that both sets of portraits are genuine as regards the heads and faces, but that the dresses of the Gurneys, except hat and hood, are copied from those of the Penns, possibly because he who employed the artist had only busts of the Gurneys. I am aware of the statement made by Granville Penn, and repeated by other writers, that the portrait of William Penn in armour, painted in Dublin in 1666, was the only likeness of him ever executed. But a second portrait might be in existence without his knowledge ; as it is not probable any likeness of William Penn, accompanying (as this does) that of his first wife, should come into the possession of the children of his second wife, from whom Granville Penn was descended. Any such portraits would naturally be left to Letitia Aubrey, Gulielma's only daughter ; and as she died childless and always remained amongst Friends, is it not most likely that after her death they became the property of the Friend who gave them to Henry Swan ? With this view of the case I leave the question to those who can follow it to a more certain conclusion. It is worth further scrutiny, as the Swan portraits, if really those of the Penns, would be a most interesting illustration of their history, especially as they give us a likeness of the Pennsylvanian legislator in the prime of life. — M.W. gCCusftraftons anb §fac gtmiCes. Portrait of GULIELMA MARIA PBNN (Frontispiece). Fao Simile of Isaac Penington's Autograph. Fac Simile of Thomas BUwood's Autograph. William Penn's Treaty of Amity with the Indians. Medallion Portrait of William Penn, and Fac Simile of his Autograph. Friends' Burial-ground at Jordans. THE PENNS AND PENINGTONS, &c. CHAPTER I. 1623-1658. Ty¥ORE than two hundred years have passed away since •' Isaac Penington, eldest son to Alderman Penington, of London, brought his family to reside at the Grange, in the parish of St. Peter's, Chalfont, Buckinghamshire. Of the original old building in which they dwelt only a small portion is now standing ; on its site a modern villa has been erected, and that part of the ancient house still in existence does not present itself to view in front. The Grange was a happy home in those by- gone times. It was an abode where mental refinement, literary taste, and evidences of an abiding sense of God's presence pervaded the resident family. The Peningtons settled there in the year 1658 — the same year in which Oliver Cromwell died. 2 The Penns and Peningtons. The rustic beauty of the Chalfont valleys must have made that quiet neighbourhood delightful to them, when contrasted with the social unrest and persecuting intolerance of which they had recently seen so much in the metropolis. The Grange was the family mansion which belonged to the paternal estate that Isaac Penington inherited from his ancestors. His father Alderman Penington had given up to his eldest son the property in question, on his marriage with Lady Springett. The few years that had elapsed from that event to their settlement at the Chalfont Grange, had been chiefly spent in London and its vicinity, where the highest circles were open to them. Alderman Penington had inherited a handsome property from his father, who was Robert Penington, a London merchant. He also commenced life as a merchant, but being in easy circumstances he soon de- voted himself to civic duties, and became an active, earnest politician. He was married to Abigail, daughter of John Allen of London. In 1638 he served as high sherifE of London, and in 1640 he was elected Member of Parliament for the city, and made himself very conspicuous in the House by his advocacy of the rights of the Parliament and the people. In 1642 he was chosen Lord Mayor of London, and afterwards was appointed Lieutenant of the Tower. He was one of the Commissioners of the High Court of Justice for the trial of Charles I., but he did not sign the warrant for his execution. He received the honour of knighthood from the Speaker of the House of Commons ; and in 1649 was made a member of the Council of State. The Penns and Peningtons. 3 At the time Alderman Penington served as High Sheriff of London, his son Isaac Penington, Junr., was twenty-two years of age. We may conceive from the above glance at his father's career, what opportunities for worldly aggrandizement the intervening twenty years, from 1638 to 1658, must have spread before the son of that popular, wealthy, democratic, politician. But of no such opportunities did he avail himself ; the aspirations of the son were not directed by ambition ; they were deep and earnest, but not worldly ; more of the maternal than the paternal type. His mother's heartfelt desires were rather for the religious welfare, and the establishment of the Christian character of her children, than for their elevation in the world ; and these feelings met a cordial response in the mind of her eldest son. It is true he did not ignore the im- portance of the great political questions which so much engrossed his father's attention, and which were so earnestly debated in that day. But whenever he wrote on them, which was not often, he discussed them in a reasonable and Christian spirit, untinctured by par- tizan bitterness. Religion was his home ; and it was on religious sub- jects that his heart and pen were chiefly engaged for many years — labouring to promote righteousness in all things. But in these efforts he met with much that was disheartening, and finally his hopes became so much depressed by the conclusions he drew from the Calvinistic theology that had been presented to him as gospel truths, that his energies for a time seemed totally prostrated. In this depressed state he providentially 4 The Penns and Pening tons. made the acquaintance of Lady Springett. Her mind had more natural cheerfulness than his; but, like hiB, was deeply impressed with the consciousness that nothing on earth was worth living for if the heart be not fixed in its trust in the Lord, and in its desire to do His will on earth above all things. With these feelings in her soul, she was moving about amid the amusements and fashions of London life, when she first became acquainted with Isaac Penington. Before she met with him, she had had many trying experiences in her search after spiritual life. She was the widow of Sir William Springett, who died when she was about twenty years of age ; and now she was about thirty, Isaac Penington being eight years older. Penington's acquaintance with Lady Springett soon ripened into confidential friendship, and a loving attachment succeeded. In 1654 they were married. During the interval between their marriage and re- moval to the Grange in 1658, they first became acquainted with the Quakers, or Friends of Truth, as they originally designated themselves. Thoroughly to understand Mary Penington's charac- ter, we must turn to the account she wrote of her own early life. It is comprised in two docum.ents ; one left to her daughter, Gulielma Maria Penn ; the other a letter addressed to the grandson, Springett Penn. The information in these autobiographical sketches I shall endeavour to combine so as to form a continuous personal history, as much as conveniently can be, ad- hering to the writer's own words. The Penns and Peningtons. 5 THE CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE OF MARY PROUDE, ULTIMATELY PENINGTON. Mary Proudb was born about the year 1624, and was the only child of Sir John Proude, a native of Kent, in which county he had valuable landed property. He entered into the military service of the States of Hol- land under the Prince of Orange, and was one of the officers killed at the siege of GroU in Guelderland. Her mother's death took place either immediately after or shortly before that of her father ; so that the little girl was left without either of her parents at the age of three years. She was brought up in a Protestant family, where the ordinances of the Episcopal Church were recognized. Speaking of their habits, she says they were "a kind of loose Protestants, who minded no religion, though they went to their place of worship on First-days, to hear a canonical priest preach in the morning, and read common prayers in the afternoon. They used common prayers in the family, and observed superstitious customs, and times, and days of fasting and feasting. At that time, when I was afraid in the night season of such things as spirits walking, and of thieves, I would often say over, as I had been taught, that which is called the Lord's Prayer, hoping by that means to be delivered from the things I feared." She used, as many a child has done, the words of that beautiful comprehensive prayer as a charm to ward ofif evil, without entering into its spirit, or at all com- prehending its meaning. But when she was about eight years of age, and still living with the loose Pro- 6 The Penns and Peningtons. testants she speaks of, she heard a sermon preached, the text of which made a more intelligible religious impression on her mind. It was the declaration of the Lord Jesus, " Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." This, she says, -was the first scriptural text of which she ever took serious notice, and who can imagine what a stay and blessing it proved in keeping alive religious hope in many an hour of discouragement and depression in after years ? It appears to have served as a divine anchor, made so secure in that early time that no storm could afterwards entirely unsettle it. When she was about nine years ofage, the little orphan girl, who seems to have been the ward of Sir Edward Partridge, was removed to his residence. He had a large mixed family ; for beside his own immediate household, he had a sister, Madam Springett, a young widow lady, with her three children and their servantSf who boarded in his house. Madam Springett joined her brother's family at meals, but had a private suite of apartments for her own family. She was a superior woman in every respect, and of her attention and kindness little Mary Proude appears to have largely partaken. She had a daughter Catherine, a little older than Mary, and two sons, William and Herbert. With these children Mary was educated under the roof of Sir Edward Partridge, until the boys were sent to a public school. Towards their uncle's ward the young Springetts, who were noble youths, acted with a chivalrous and most kind consideration, that made them the very best of friends. William was about two years The Penns and Peningtons. 7 and a ha]f older than Mary. She thus speaks of his early habits ; — " He was of a most courteous affable carriage towards all. He was most ingeniously inclined from a very lad ; carving and forming things with his knife or tools ; so industriously active that he rarely ever was idle. For when he could not be employed abroad in shooting at a mark with gun, pistol, crossbow, or longbow ; or managing his horses, which he brought up and trained himself — teaching them boldness in charging, and all that was needful for service — when he could not, I say, be thus engaged abroad, then he would fence within doors ; or make crossbows, placing the sight with that accurateness as if it had been his trade ; and make bow- strings, or cast bullets for his carbines, and feather his arrows. At other times he would pull his watch to pieces to string it, or to mend any defect ; or take to pieces, and mend, the house clock. He was a great artist not only in shooting but in fishing — making lines, and arranging baits and things for the purpose. He was also a great lover of coursing, and he managed his dogs himself. These things I mention to show his ingenuity and his industry in his youth. But his mind did not run into any vanity about such things after it was engaged in religion." So long as mere childhood lasted, under such care and with such companionship and bright surroundings, Mary's life must have passed on smoothly and pleasant- ly. Of the general religious habits and tone of the Partridges, she says they seemed to be more religious than the other family she had previously, lived with. 8 The Penns and Peningtons. "They would not admit of sports on the First day of the weelj, calling it the Sabbath ; and they heard two sermons on that day of a priest who was not loose in his conversation ; he used a form of prayer before his sermon, and read common prayer. "When I was about eleven years of age, a maid-servant who tended on m.e and the rest of the children, and was zealous in that way, would read Smith's and Preston's sermons on First-day between the sermons. I diligently heard her read, and liking not to use the Lord's Prayer only, I got a Prayer-book and read prayers mornings and nights, according to the days and occasions. About this time my mind was serious about religion, and one day, after we came from the place of public worship, this fore- mentioned maid-servant read one of Preston's sermons on the text, ' Pray continually.' Much was said of the excellency of prayer — that it distinguished a saint from the world ; for that in many things the world and hy- pocrites could imitate a saint, but in prayer they could not. This wrought much in my mind all the time she read, and it seemed plain to me that I knew not right prayer ; for what I used as a prayer an ungodly man might do by reading it out of a book, and that could not be the prayer which distinguished a saint from a wicked one. As soon as she had done reading, and all gone out of the chamber, I shut the door, and in great distress flung myself on the bed, and oppressedly cried out aloud, ' Lord, what is prayer ? ' At this time I had never heard any, nor of any that prayed otherwise than by reading, or by composing and writing a prayer, which they called a form of prayer. This thing so The Penns and Peningtons. 9 wrought in me, that, as I remember, the next morning or very soon after, it came into my mind to write a prayer of my own composing to use in the mornings. So, as soon as I was out. of bed, I wrote a prayer, though I then could scarcely join my letters, I had so little a time learned to write. It was something of this nature ; that, as the Lord commanded the Israelites to offer up a morning sacrifice, so I offered up the sacrifice of prayer, and desired to be preserved during that day. The use of this for a little time gave me some ease, and I soon left off using my books, and as the feelings arose in me, I wrote prayers according to my several oc- casions." ti The time when the circumstances above related marked the experience of this thoughtful little girl, was when the spirit of Puritanism began to be mani- fested in the churches. The reading of the common prayers of the Church of England Prayer-book, both in public and private worship, was one of the practices to which objection began to be raised by some of the most strictly religious people of that time ; and there were other practices also, in both the Episcopal and Presbyterian Churches, to which these Puritans — as they were in ridicule called — objected. Mary Pen- ington thus continues : — "The next prayer I wrote was for an assurance of pardon for my sins. I had heard one preach how God had pardoned David his sins, of His free grace ; and as I came from our place of worship, I felt how desirable a thing to be assured of the pardon of one's sins ; so I wrote a pretty large prayer concerning it. I felt that it coming B 10 The Penns and Peningtons. of grace, though I was unworthy, yet I might receive pardon, and I used earnest expressions about it. A little after this I received some acknowledgment from several persons of the gi-eatness of my memory, and was praised for it. I felt a fear of being puffed up with that praise ; so I wrote a prayer of thanks for the gift of memory, and expressed my desires to use it to the Lord, that it might be sanctified to me, and that I might not be puffed up by it. These three prayers I used with some ease of mind for a time, but not long ; for I began again to question whether I prayed right or not. I knew not then that any did pray extempore, but it sprung up in my mind that to use words accord- ing to the sense I was in of my wants, was true prayer, which I attempted to do, but could not ; sometimes kneeling down a long time, but had not a word to say. This wrought great trouble in me, and I had none to reveal myself to, or advise with, but bore a great burthen about it on my mind ; till one day, as I was sitting at work in the parlour, a gentleman that was against the superstitions of the times came in, and looking sorrow- ful, said ' it was a sad day.' This was soon after Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton were sentenced to have their ears cut, and to be imprisoned. It sunk deep into my spirit and strong cries were in me for them, and for the inno- cent people in the nation. It wrought so strongly in me, that I could not sit at my work, but left it, and went into a private room, and, shutting the door, kneeled down and poured out my soul to the Lord in a very vehement manner, and was wonderfully melted and eased. I then felt peace and ■ acceptance with the The Penns and Peningtons. 11 Lord, and was sure that this was prayer [in spirit and in truth], which I never was in like manner acquainted with before, either in myself or from anyone else." It is evident that during the period of early religious exercise thus alluded to, Mary Proude did not open her mind to any person. One would think she might have done so to her friend Madam Springett ; but on the subject which chiefly engrossed her feelings it is prob- able she perceived that lady felt no special difficulties, such as had taken hold of her mind, respecting prayer. In relation to Madam's son William the narrative says, " she sent him to Cambridge, as being accounted more sober than Oxford, and placed him in a Puritan college called St. Catherine's Hall, where was a very sober tender Master of the house, and a grave sober tutor ; for she appointed him one Ellis, who was accounted a Puritan ; she having brought him up in his youth, and had used her influence to get him the preferment of a Fellow in that College." Relative to her own experience Mary proceeds thus : — " Word having been brought to the house that a neighbouring minister, who had been suspended by the bishops for not being subject to their canons, had re- turned to his people again, and that he was to preach at the same place where he had preached three years before, I desired to go. For this I was reproved by those who had the care of me as being not fit to leave my parish church. I could not comply with their mind, but felt I must go. When I came, I found the minister was indeed one of those called Puritans. He prayed fervently and with much sense of feeling. I felt that ] 2 The Penns and Peningtons. his was that sort of prayer which my mind, had pressed after, but that I could not come at it in my own will ; only had just tasted of it that time I have just mentioned. Now I knew this was true prayer, and I mourned sorely that I still kneeled down morning after morning, and night after night, but had not a word to say. I was exercised with this a great time ; T could not go to hear the common prayer that was read in the family at nights, nor could I kneel down when I went to their worship-house. I could but read the Bible, or some other book, whilst the priest read common prayer. "At length I could neither kneel nor stand up to join with the priest in prayers before the sermon ; neither did I care to hear him preach ; but my mind ran after the hearing of the Nonconformist before-men- tioned. By constraint I went with the family in the morning, but could not be kept from going to hear the Puritan preacher in the afternoon. I went through much suffering to secure this, being forced to go on foot two or three miles, and none permitted to go with me. However, a servant out of compassion would some- times run after me, least I should be frightened by going alone. I was very young, but so zealous in this, that all their reasonings and threatenings could not keep me back ; and in a short time I would not go to hear the parish priest at all, but went, wet or dry to the other place. I would go in with the family to hear the Scrip- tures read ; but if I did happen to go in before they had done the prayers, I would sit while they kneeled. These things wrought much trouble in the family, and there were none to take my part but two of the maid servants, The Penns and P&ningtons. 13 ■who were inclined to mind what I said against the reading of their prayers, and so refused to join with them in it. This the governors of the family were much disturbed at, and they made me the subject of their discourse in company, saying that I professed to pray with the spirit, but rejected godly men's prayers ; that I was proud, and a schismatic." This was hard enough against a conscientious tender- spirited girl of seventeen ; but we must remember how trying it was to her guardians to see one so young taking such a stand against established forms, and against what they regarded and had adopted as the right and truly authorized course in family worship. When to this was added the suspicion that she went to hear the Puritan preacher, only to obtain more liberty to meet with some young men whose acquaintance she was not likely to form in the house of her gaardian, no wonder its injustice hurt her much, and that her sense of delicacy was wounded to the quick. In the family of Sir Edward Partridge she had abundant opportunities of meeting with gay company ; and a beautiful young heiress as she was, with the advantages of wealth and educated taste, attracted, as we may well understand, numerous suitors ; but from the special attentions thus directed to her she turned coldly away. Her heart was too much absorbed in the great search after truth, and longing for spiritual communion with God, to be moved by such attentions from any one who was not similarly interested.. Thus she speaks of her feelings at that time : — " I minded not those marriages that were propounded 14 The Penns and Peningtons. to me by vain persons, but having desired of the Lord that I might have one who feared Him, I had a belief, though then I knew none of my own outward rank that was such an one, that the Lord would provide one for me. In this belief I continued, not regarding the reproaches of them that said to me, no gentleman, none but mean persons were of this way, and that I would marry some mean one or other. They were disap- pointed in that, for the Lord touched the heart of him who was afterwards my husband, and my heart cleaved to him for the Lord's sake." This was William Springett. During the previous seasons of deep trial through which his uncle's ward had been passing, William had been at Cambridge pursuing his studies there, and afterwards at the Inns of Court studying law. As his uncle, Sir Thomas Springett, was his guardian, it is probable the nephew had this uncle's house as a second home, and had thus been entirely removed from the scene of Mary's trials when they were most bitterly felt ; and it doubtless was through the influence of this uncle, who was a steady royalist, that William Springett was knighted by the king, that honour having been conferred on him at a very early age — most probably when he was a law student and under Sir Thomas Springett's immediate care and patronage. It seems that as soon as William heard through his mother's letters how the case stood with Mary Proude, he lost no time in hastening home, deserting all the attractions of London, and forsaking the law courts, to which he never returned as a student. As the object The Penns and Peningtons. 15 of his most cherished affection, he asked Mary to give him the right to protect and shield her, to which she con- sented with all her heart ; for to her great joy she found what she scarcely ventured to hope or expect, that his religious feelings, notwithstanding the adverse society to which his London life had been exposed, corres- ponded very nearly with her own. Hence she says, " My heart cleaved to him for the Lord's sake." They were married a few months after William's return, when Mary was about eighteen and he not yet twenty- one. The youthful husband, with the utmost zeal, adopted and carried out the same objections to the use of forms of prayer and to other Church of England observances which his young wife had done previously. She says, speaking of that early time, "We scrupled many things then in use amongst those that were counted honest, good people. We found that songs of praise with us must spring from the same thing as prayer did — the feelings of the heart — and so we could not in that day use any one's song more than their prayer." And she adds, respecting her husband, " Being so zealous against the use of common prayer and superstitious customs, made him a proverb dmougst his intimates and relations. Indeed, he was so sensible of blind super- stition concerning what they called their churches, that, to show his abhorrence of their placing holiness in the house, he would give disdaining words about their church timber. When we had a child he refused to allow the midwife to say her formal prayer, but prayed himself, and gave thanks to the Lord in a very Ig The Penns and Peningtons. sweet and melting way ; which caused great amazement. He never went to the parish church, but went many miles to hear Wilson, the minister I before mentioned; nor would he go to prayers in the house, but prayed, morning and evening, with me and his servants ; which wrought great discontent in the family, whilst we lodged with his uncle, Sir Edward Partridge. He would not let the parish priest baptize the child, but, when it was eight days old, had it carried in arms to this Wilson, five miles distant. There was great serious- ness and solemnity observed in doing this ; we then looked upon it as an ordinance of God. Notes were sent to professing people round about, for more than ten miles, to come to seek to the Lord at such a time, for a blessing upon his ordinance. No person was to hold the child but the father, whom the preacher desired to take it as being the fittest person to have charge of him. It was a great cross and a new business, which caused much gazing and wonderment for him, a gallant and very young man, in the face of so great an assembly to hold the child in his arms. He received large charge about educating his child, and his duty towards him. He was the first person of quality in this country that refused the common mode, which he did in his zeal against the formality and superstitions of the times. " He took the Scotch Covenant against all popery and popish innovations, and was in the English engage- ment when the fight was at Edge Hill, which happened when his child was about a month old. He had a commission sent him to be colonel of a regiment of foot, and he raised eight hundred men without beat of The Penns and Peningtons. 17 a drum, most of them religious professors and pro- fessors' sons. There were near six score volunteers in his own Company ; himself going a volunteer, taking no pay. He was afterwards made a deputy-lieutenant of the county of Kent, in which position he was zealous and diligent for the cause. '* Within a few days after his regiment was enrolled, there was a rising in the vale of Kent of many thousands; to suppress which, he and his newly gathered, un- disciplined soldiers were commanded from their rendezvous at Maidstone. He having placed his men in such order as their inexperience and the time would permit, came to take his leave of me before encountering the enemy. When he came he found me in danger of being put out of the house in case the enemy proceeded so far ; and it put him to great difficulty to provide for my safety, and to return to his regiment at the time appointed, it being reported Prince Rupert was coming over to join the risers. But, being of such quick capacity, he soon devised a course that effected it ; fetching a stage coach from Rochester, in the night, he carried me and my child and maid to Gravesend ; and there, hiring a barge for us to go to London, he took a solemn leave of me, and went post to his regiment. When I came to London I found the whole city in alarm, nothing but noise of drums and trumpets with the clattering of arms, and the loud cry, " Arm ! Arm ! for the enemy is near.' This was at the time of that bloody fight between the Parliament forces and the King's at Hounslow Heath. After being in several other engagements he went back with his 18 The Penns and Peningtons. regiment into Kent. " Not long after he had returned to Kent, his own native county, Sussex, was in danger from the Cavalier party, which had taken Arundel, and fortified the town and castle. Sir William Walker was commander-in- chief against them, his assistance having been sought by the associated counties. My husband looked upon this engagement as a particular service to his own county, and with great freedom went to Arundel, where they had a long siege before the town. After they had taken it, they besieged the castle ; it was very difficult service, but, being taken, he and Colonel Morley had the Government of the castle committed to them. A few weeks after this, the calenture, a disease that was then amongst the soldiers of the town and castle, seized upon him in his quarters near Arundel ; from whence in the depth of frost and snow, he sent for me to London to come to him. This was very difficult for me to accomplish, it being a short time before the birth of our second child. The waters being up at Newing- ton and several other places, we were forced to row in a boat on the highway, and take the things out of the coach into the boat with us. Springs were fastened to the bridles of the horses, and they swam over and brought the coach with them. The coachmen were so sensible of all the difficulties and the badness of the way between London and Arundel, at that time of the year, that in all the neighbouring streets they refused to come with me. Only at length one widow woman, who kept a coach for hire, and had taken a deal of our money ; undertook to let her servant go, even though he should The Penns mid Peningtons. 19 hazard the horses. So I gave him a very great price (twelve pounds) to carrj' me down, with liberty to return whether I was with him or not, within a day's time. It was a very tedious journey ; we were benighted, and in the dark overthrown into a hedge. When we got out we found there was on the other side hardly room to get along, for fear of falling down a very steep precipice, where We would have been all broken to pieces. We had no guide with us but he who had come to me with the message from my husband, who riding on a white horse, we could see him on before. Coming to a garrison late at night, we had to stop the coach to give the commander notice by firing a gun, which was done by the sentinel. The colonel came down immediately to invite me to stay ; and, to en- courage me, said my husband was likely to mend, beseeching me not in my situation to run such a hazard. The coachman, sensible of the difficulties still to be undeigoue, would needs force me to lodge in the garrison, saying his horses could not hold out. To which I replied that I was to pay for all the horses if they suffered, and that I was resolved not to go out of the coach unless it broke down, until it came so near the house that I could compass it on foot. So, seeing my resolution, he pushed on. " When we came to Arundel, we saw a most dismal sight — the town depopulated — the windows all broken from the firing of the great guns — the soldiers making use of the shops and lower rooms for stables, and no light in the town but what came from the stables. We passed through the town on to his quarters. Within a 20 The Penns and Peningtons. quarter of a mile of the house the horses came to a standstill. As we could not see the reason of it, we sent the guide forward for a light and assistance. Upon which the report reached my husband that I was come; but he assured them, they were mistaken, that he knew I could not come, in the situation I was in. Still they afQrmed that I had certainly come. 'Then,' said he, ' raise me up in the bed, that I may be able to see her when she enters.' But the wheel of the coach having pitched close into the root of a tree, it was some time before it could be loosened. It was twelve o'clock at night when I arrived ; and as soon as I put my foot into the hall, from which the stairs ascended to his chamber, I heard his voice saying, ' Why will you lie to me ? If she be come let me hear her voice.' This struck me so that I had not power to get up stairs, but had to be helped up by two. On seeing me, the fever having taken to his head, he in a manner sprang up as if he would come out of the bed saying, ' Let me em- brace thee, my dear, before I die. I am going to thy God and to my God.' I found most of his ofBcers about the bed attending on him, with signification of great sorrow for the condition he was in, they greatly loving him. The purple spots had come out on him the day before, and now were struck in, and the fever had got to his head, which caused him to be in bed, they not having before been able to persuade him to go to bed, though his illness had been for five days before spots came out. Seeing the danger of his condition, and that so many Kentish men,both commanders and others,had died of it in a week's time near his quarters, they entreated The Penns and Peningtons. 21 him to keep his chamber. But such was the activeness of his spirit, and the stoutness of his heart, that they could not get him to yield to the illness so as to stay within, tin they covenanted with him that he might shoot birds with his crossbow out of the window ; and he did do it till the spots went in, and the fever got to his head. Then he became so violent, being young and strong, that they were forced to sit round the bed to keep him in. To my doctor whom I brought down with me, he spoke seriously about dying, and to me most affectionately. To the officers who were around the bed striving to keep him in, he spoke no evil words ; but wittily remarked to the marshal and others, about keeping up a strict watch or their prisoner would escape, and how they were to repair the breach when he thrust his limbs from under the clothes. " Discerning my lips to be cool, he would hardly suffer me to withdraw them from his burning face so as to take breath, crying out, ' Oh, don't go from me ! ' at which the doctor and my maid were very much troubled, looking upon the infection to be so high that it endangered my life and the child's. Two hours at a time I sat by him thus, and after a little pause he called upon me again to lay my mouth to his, and that he would be very quiet. At length, while I was in that posture, he fell asleep ; which they that were by observing, constrained me to go to bed. Considering my condition, and that I might have my maid with him, who could bring me an account, I was prevailed with, and went to bed. When he awoke he seemed much refreshed, took great notice of the servant, and 22 I'he Penns and Peningtons. said, 'You are my wife's maid. Where is your mistress ? How does my boy ? Go to my wife, and tell her I am ready to embrace her, I am so refreshed with my sleep.' She came and gave me this account, and I would have arisen and gone down, but she persuaded me not, saying he would go to sleep again, and my going would only hinder it. So I sent her with a message to him, and went to rest. Thinking from the description she gave he was recovering, I lay late in the morning. When I went down I saw a great change, and sadness upon every face about him, which stunned me. He spoke affectionately to me, with several serious and weighty expressions. At last he said, ' Come, my dear, let me kiss thee before I die,' which he did with that heartiness as if he would have left his breath in me. ' Come once more,' said he, ' let me kiss thee, and take my leave,' which he did as before, saying, ' No more now. No more ever.' He then fell into a great agony, and that was a dreadful sight to me. " The doctor and my husband's chaplain, and some of the chief officers who were by, observing his con- dition, they concluded that they must either persuade me, or take me by force from the bed ; his great love to me, they said, and his beholding me there being the occasion of it. Upon which they came and asked me to go from the bedside to the fire ; that while I stayed where he was he could not die. This word die was so great with horror, that I, like an astonished, amazed creature, stamped with my foot, and cried, ' Die ! die ! must he die ? I cannot go from him.' Upon this two The Penns and Peningtons. 23 of them gently lifted me in their arms, and carrying me to the fire, which was at a distance from the bed, they prevented me from going to him again. At that time I wept not, but stood silent and struck. After I was brought from the bed, he lay for a time very still ; at length they said his sight was gone, and then they let me go to him. And standing there by his bedside I saw on him the most amiable, pleasant countenance I ever beheld — just like that of a person ravished with something he was looking at. He lay about an hour in this condition. Towards sunset he turned quickly about, and called upon a kinsman of his, ' Anthony, come quickly,' at which very instant Anthony came riding into the yard, having come many miles to see him. Soon after this he died, and then I could weep ; but, fearing injurious consequences, they immediately took me up into another chamber, and suffered me no more to look at him." Sir William Springett's remains were next morning taken privately by his officers and soldiers to Ringmer, and there deposited in the family vaults, where several of his ancestors lay, intending that a public funeral should follow as soon as arrangements could be made for it in London. But those who had the management of his pecuniary affairs, discovering that he had ex- pended so much of his own private property that was not likely to be refunded, in equipping, maintaining, and paying the soldiers, declared against it. To meet the heavy cost for the public service, he had not only mortgaged to a considerable extent his own estates, but he had used all the ready money (£1,600) which he 24 The Penns and Peningtons. had got with his wife. So much being thus sunk, the executors prudently determined not to allow further outlay ; and this deciding the question about the public funeral, Sir William Springett's remains were accordingly left to repose at Ringmer, in his own native county of Sussex. In Ringmer church a hand- some mural monument was erected to his memory, which is still in perfect preservation. CHAPTER II. 1640-1658. T!!7HEN dwelling on Sir William Springett's character and religious convictions, his wife mentions some points on which a change had gone forward in his mind, from the time when with so much solemnity he had carried his infant son to the baptismal font. Having in vain looked for any declaration in the New Testament that recommends infant baptism, he at length came to the conclusion that it was an un- authorised rite. Again arose the thought, if infant baptism be incorrectly looked on as producing re- generation — the being born again — without which, our Lord declared to Nicodemus, " a man cannot enter into the Kingdom of God," then it was not merely an unin- fluential and unauthorised rite, but, by giving a false meaning to Christian regeneration, it had become a. positive evil. Its tendency and influence, leading away 26 The Penns and Peningtons. from the true meaning of scriptural regeneration, had done great harm in the church. With respect to the sacramental rite of the Lord's supper, not having experienced it to bring his mind, as he had hoped it would have done, into any closer spiritual communion with the Lord, he was startled. Striving to discover the cause of this, he came at length to the conclusion that there existed a wrong con- struction of our Lord's words, which had led to its establishment in the Church as a congregational religious rite. As he dwelt on this subject, carefully examining the texts of Scripture that bore on the point, this con- viction continued to deepen in his mind till he felt constrained to discontinue partaking of it. Respecting his having turned from the use of forms of prayer, his wife says, " This turning in him proceeded from a glimpse of the dawning of the day when prayer is to be offered up in the spirit and with the understanding ; also that there was a spirit of prayer and supplication, in which any one who felt it might mentally engage without form, yet with true acceptance to God, seems to have been made clear to him. " He also saw," she says, " in the little measure of light accorded him, that priests were not to preach for hire, but were to be sent of the Lord to reach the consciences of the hearers. This made him decline false dead ways, and cleave in heart to the people called Puritans (for in that day those that heard the Lord were nicknamed Puritans). Amongst them it was his delight to be exercised in the worship of God, and to mingle in their chaste con- versation. The Pehns and PeningtoH^. 2T, " His mind throughout life T^as ever for the exei'cis^ of compassion and charitableness, of which there have been many instances given me by persons who have observed him in the places where he was quartered, beside what I have seen myself-, and I had converse with him from the time he was twelve years oldj to his dying day. One instance I shall mention that I had from the Mayor of Maidstone, in Kent. He bro,ugh<[ me a bill for three pounds &-fter his death,, with my husband's hand to it, telling me that as he was walking in the street with him, a poor man was had to prison^ who made miserable moan ; whereat Sir , William stopped the bailiff, and asked what they were taking him to prison for ? He answered, for debt. He repliedj ' You shall not carry hinj there. Mr. .Mayor, lay you down the money, and I will see it discharged.' " He was very generous to the Irish Protestants who came over after the massacre in Ireland ; also to the plundered ministers and maimed soldiers that were wounded in the army. He rarely gave less than a twenty-shilling piece at the private fasts where these sufferings were presented before him, and that was constantly once and sometimes twice a week. I shall mention a remarkable instance of his charity for the sufferers in Ireland. We were at a fast at Milk-street in London, where Thomas Case, a Puritan preacher, set forth the great distress the Irish Protestants were in, and the need they stood in of assistance to get over to England. He related it so afEectingly that it pierced my husband greatly, and as he was taking down the sermon after him, he felt an engagement in his mind 28 The Penns and Peningtons. to give twenty pounds " — a sum in that day probably equal to a hundred pounds at the present time. — " Afterwards he considered that, as this was determined when he was warmed with a clear sense of their miisery, and as he grew cooler that he might change, whereupon he took his notebook, and wrote in it a solemn engage- ment before the Lord to perform it when he came home. When all was over, there was appointed at the door two men of quality to stand with basins, to receive the collections for the Irish Protestants ; and some others that were officers were appointed to receive for the maimed soldiers. My husband, as he passed out, put in five pieces of gold for the Irish, and one piece into the other basin ; and said nothing to me about it till we came to our lodgings ; then he refused to sup, but went up to writing. After some time he called me to fetch him fifteen pounds in a bag. When I brought it, he then spoke to me to this purpose : — ' Now that I have made sure of the thing, I will acquaint thee what it is to do ; ' so he told me the business, and read to me the engagement in his book, and the letter he had written to Thomas Case, giving him an account how it was, but not setting his name to it ; declaring that he had given it to the Lord, and desired to remain un- known. The footboy was sent away with the letter and money sealed up, with the order to turn his coat before he came in sight of the place, that they could not see what livery he wore, and. On delivering the money and letter into his hands for whom they were sent, not to stay to be asked any questions. " He was most aflEectionately tender to me and his The Penns and Peningtons. 29 child — beyond what I had known in any, considering his youth. I do not remember that he ever let an opportunity slip of acquainting me with his condition when absent. He hath often writ letters when he baited, on purpose to send to me by travellers that he might meet on the road. After the battle of Newbury he gave the messenger he was sending to the Parliament to acquaint them with the issue of the battle, a piece, only to knock at the door of my lodgings in Blackfriars, and leave word that he saw him well after the battle- there being time for no more ; which message in all probability saved my life — I being then sick of the measles, which could not come out because of the exercise of my mind by reason of my having heard of the battle. The message was left between three and four o'clock in the morning ; at the hearing of which the oppression was rolled ofE my spirits, like the re- moval of a great stone, and the measles came forth. " I must add that, in addition to such gentleness, sweetness, compassion, afEableness, and courtesy, thy grandfather had a courage that was without harshness or cruelty ; and an undaunted spirit such as was rarely found with the forementioned excellencies. He was also very hospitable ; his generous mind delighted in entertaining those that were engaged in the cause with him, — not in excess, but with great freedom and heartiness, always seasoned with savoury and edifying discourse, — making mention of the Lord's gracious dealings with them." Thus closes Mary Penington's retrospective description of the husband of her youth, in the letter she addressed 3Q The Penns and Peningtons. to her grandson, Springett Penn. As a true and alto? gether reliable, unadorned history, it constitutes, I think, one of the finest and most touching descriptions of a noble gallant young Puritan soldier which the seventeenth century has bequeathed to us. The men Qf Sussex might well be proud of him as a native of their county, and doubtless they would be so if they (Only understood his character. But, during the lapse pf ages, one generation dying out, and another coming in, each cherishing its own favourites for the time being, true and accurate knowledge of the good and the noble sons of past centuries is liable to be forgotten even in their native place. And, were it not for some favourable circumstances, this history of Sir William Bpringett's short life would have been lost like many another. His wife's most tender and graphic descrip- tion, addressed to his daughter and to his grandson, and .the careful preservation of her letters among the Friends, brings him now before us in life-like colours ^fter the lapse of so many years. Probably few in Sussex at this day know aught about him, save what the mural tablet in the church of Ringmer sets forth. ,The inscription on the monument in question is-, as follows : — . Here lyeth the body of SIR WILLIAM SPRINGETT, KNT., Eldest son and heir of Herbert Springett of Sussex, , ., Who married) Mary_ Proude, the only daughter and heir of ■ ^ir John Proude, Knt:, Colo^el in the service of the United Provinces, The Penns and Peningtons. 31 And of Anne Pagge, his wife, of the co-heirs of Edward Pagge of Ewell, near Feversham, in tlie County of Kent, Esq. He had issue by Mary, his wife, one sonne, John Springett, and one daughter, Gulielma Maria Posthuma Springett. He, being Colonel in the service of the Parliament at the taking of Arundel Castle in Sussex, there contracted a sickness of which he died Febiuary the 3rd, Anno Domini 1643, being 23 years of age. His wife, in testimony of her dear affection to him, hath erected this monument to his memory. A few weeks after the death of Sir "William Springett, the bereaved widow was roused from the depth of her desolation and sorrow, by her maternal feelings on the birth of an infant daughter. This was Gulielma Maria.* Her Heavenly Father had in this darling child sent another claim on her affections, another tie binding her to life, and her energy arose to meet surrounding circumstances. In the name Gulielma * As February, old style, was the last month of the year, it may be presumed Gulielma was born in 1644, but we have no exact record' of the date. 32 The Penns and Penmgtons. Maria given to the infant, those of both parents were united. Her mother-in-law, now the chief earthly- friend left to the young widow, came to reside with her, and she remained there during the residue of her life, which only lasted about four years after the death of her son William. Lady Springett had adopted the same views which her husband had arrived at, respecting the unscriptural character of infant baptism, and the injury that had resulted to Christian life from the popular construction put on water baptism. She therefore refused to allow her little daughter to be baptised. When reflecting on the rite of baptism as practiced in the Church, the declaration of the Apostle relative to another ritual ob- servance, which was abolished under the new dispen- sation, was so continually in her mind as a case in point that she could in no degree yield to the entreaties of her friends and relatives. It was very trying to maintain her ground against all their persuasion ; but hard above all it must have been to stand out against the ex- pressed desire of her loved and honoured mother-in-law ; nevertheless, singlehanded and conscientious, she with- stood all who endeavoured to persuade her to have the child formally baptised. She says, " That scripture in the last of the Galatians, of circumcision or uncircum- cision availing nothing, but a new creature, was so often in my mind, that I could not but resolve that it [the baptismal rite] should not be performed. This brought great reproach on me, and made me as a byword among the people of my own rank in the world, and a strange thing it was thought to be by my relatives and ac- The Perms and Peningtons. 33 quaintance. Those who were accounted able ministers, and such as I formerly delighted to hear, were sent to per- suade me ; but I could not do it and be clear. My answer to them was, ' He that doubts is damned if he ■do it.' " She did doubt, and she believed that she had good reason to doubt of infant baptism being an insti- tution authorized by Jesus, and therefore the little Gulielma Maria was never taken to the baptismal font. It seems marvellous of two such young persons, and yet it does really appear as if Sir William Springett :and his wife were at that time, when these views became fixed in their minds, standing totally alone in declining to receive the popular idea of water baptism, ■as being the essential baptism which accompanies re- generation and salvation. It is very certain that Mary Penington says nothing about having studied any writings on the question, save those of the New Testa- ment ; or of having any example before her of any one who altogether on scriptural grounds disapproved of the rite as practised in the Churches, except her deceased husband. It does not appear that the views advocated by them were the same as those held by the Baptists, who, though disapproving of infant baptism, insist ■on adult water baptism as essential, and as that which was commanded by Christ. George Fox did not com- mence his ministry for several years after the death of 'Sir William Springett ; it was not therefore from the J'riends' ideas they had been brought to that conclusion. But it is true that about the time of Guli's birth and after it, there was a minister who held an official place in the University of Cambridge, who entertained very 34 The JPenm and Peningtons. decided convictions agaiaat the notions of water baptisni wihiok prevailed in tlie Cbaroiil of England, of which he- was a member. This was iWilliaih Dell, Master of Gon-' ville and Gains College, Cambridge. How far he had Sufficient Christian faithfulness to preach in that perse- enting age the views he set forth in his writings whiehi were! afterwards, published, I know not. He seemed to have but, little hope of the age he lived in taking a right scriptural view of the doctrine in question, be- cause he says it was " so rooted and built up in thff doctrines of men." Hence he appealed to and wrote- especially for the next generation. So far as I can apcertain, his excellent work on The Doctrine of the Baptisms was not published for eight or ten years after- the period in question ; and; in.his preface to the reader, introducing the work On Baptisms, he warns him that he would "speak muchi otherwise than all former or Ifitgr writers whatever, that he had met with." ;, .Within the four years which elapsed from the death of Sir William Springett, to that' ;of Madam Springett,. John, his first-born child ap.d only son, seems, to have also died, though the child's mother has left us no- specific account of ; the event. Circumstances indicate that it was within that time his brief life closed. Of her mother-in-law's high moral worthand great abil- ity and usefulness, Mary Penington gives her grandson a 'beautiful account. - Speaking of both great-grand- parente she says,, ", Thy dear inother's father was of feligioiis parents it, his father (thy great-grandfather) though a lawyer^, iwas r-eligious rand strict, as I' have he^pd :of him, in, those Ijhiugs wherein the ministration. The Penns and Pening tons, 35 of that time consisted, and in the exercise of what in that day of dim light was accounted holy duties. He died of consumption, leaving thy great-grandmother ivith two sons and a daughter [born after her father's death]. She was married to him about three or four years, and left a widow about twenty-two years of age, She was an excellent woman ; and had a great regard to the well-being of her children, both in their inward and outward condition ; and that she might the better bring them up, she lived a retired life ; refusing all other marriage, though frequently offered, as I have heard her say. She suffered pretty hard things of his. two executors, his brother Sir Thomas Springett, and a brother-in-law ; who thought that she, being so young a widow, would marry again. Through their jealousy on this point, they refused her the management of the education of her children, and put her upon suing them for it ; which she at last obtained, with charges, after some years' suit. '^'She lived a virtuous life, — constant in morning anft evening prayer by herself, and often with her children \ causing them to repeat to her what they remembered of sermons they had heard, and of scriptures. I lived in the house with her from nine years of age, till after I was married to her son ; and after he died, she came and lived with me, and died at my house. In all which time I never, as I remember, heard her say an improper word, or saw her do an evil action. She spent her time very ingeniously ; and in a bountiful manner bfestowed great part of her jointure yearly upon the poor, in providing physic and surgery. She had a 36 The Penns and Peningtons. yearly jointure of about twelve score pounds, and -with it she kept a brace of horses, a man, and a maid. She boarded with her only brother, Sir Edward Partridge. She kept several poor women constantly employed simpling for her in the summer ; and in the winter preparing such things as she had use for in physic, and surgery, and for eyes ; she having eminent judgment in all three, and admirable success ; which made her famous and sought to out of several counties by the greatest persons, as well as by the low ones. She was daily employing her servants in making oils, salves, and balsams ; drawing of spirits ; distilling of waters ; making of syrups and conserves of many kinds, with pills and lozenges. She was so rare in her ability in taking off cataracts and spots on. eyes, that Hopkins, the great oculist, sent many to her house when there was difficulty of cure, and that he could not attend or spare so much time as was necessary to compass it. She cured many burns and desperate cuts ; also dangerous sores that came by thorns ; likewise broken limbs ; many afflicted with the king's evil ; taking out bones. One case of great difficulty I especially remember — a child's head tbat was so burnt that its skull was like a coal ; she brought it to have skin and hair again, and invented a thin pan of beaten silver •covered with bladder to preserve the head in case of a knock or a fall. She frequently helped in consumptions •cases beyond the skill of doctors to help, through her ■diligence and care. " In the villages about her lodged several patients, that had come there some hundreds of miles to be The Penns and Peningtons. 37 under her care ; and sometimes would remain there,, away from their homes, for a quarter of a year at a time. She has sometimes had twenty persons in a morning — men, women, and children — to attend to. I have heard her say she spent half 'her revenue in making the medicines which she needed for these cures. She never would take presents of much value from any one ; only this she would do — if the patients were able, she gave them a note of what things they could buy, and they brought them to her, and she made up the medicine for them ; her man-servant writing the directions she gave, and packing up the salves and medicines. " In the place where she dwelt she was called in her religion, of latter times, a Puritan ; afterwards she was called an Independent. She had an Independent minister in her house, and gave liberty to people to come there twice a week to hear him preach. She constantly set apart the Seventh-day, about three or four o'clock in the afternoon, for her family to leave all their occasions, and this minister preached or prayed with them as a preparation for the morrow. She was a most tender and affectionate mother to thy grand- father, and greatly delighted in his love to me, and always showed great kindness to me. Indeed, she was very honourable in counselling her son liot to marry for an estate, urging him to consider what would make him happy in his choice [' many great offers ' having been made to draw him into marriage alliance]. She would discourse to him in this wise, that she knew me,, and we were known to one another, and said she 38 The Penns and Penifigtohs. would choose me for his wife if I had no portioni She lived to see thy mother three or foUr yealrs old, and was very aflEectionate to. her, and took, great delight in seeing her wisdom." Thus closes her' daughter-in- law's account of th&t admirable Puritan matron. Her husband, Herbert Sptingett, barrister-at-lawj who died in 1621, was at his death, as is stated- on the mural monument to his memory in Ringmer church, " In the sixtie and sixe year of his age. A friend to virtue, a lover of learning, Of prudence great, of justice a furtherer. Eedress he did the wrongs of many a wight, Fatherless and widdows by him possess their right. To search into each cause, and thus end all strife. With patience great he spent his mortal life." Mary Penington describes her own religious feelings as being at this time in a very unsatisfied state. She says she changed her ways often, going from one notion to another. In fact, she went the whole round of the popular sects of that day ; heard their preachers on all occasions ; made the acquaintance of high religious professors ; attended their lectures/ their fasts, their thanksgivings, their prayer meetings ; watched their private walk in life, and noticed the position they took in the world. Instead of meeting with the spiritual instruction and seeing the realization of the Christian life of which she had been in quest, she turned away heartsick, under the impression of a pervading empty show that had assumed the name of religion. At length she made up her mind to abandon The. p.inns (k(t.^.Benitigtons. 39 all outward forms of religious worships and hold iierself unconnected -wiith . any section of Christiansi relying on the ultimate, fulfilment of the promise of "the Lord, " Blessed are, they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." .; Having found no abiding comfort amid religious professors, she at length determined to try the gay .world. She says, " I then heldr my conversation liiiich among people of no religion; being ashamed to be .counted religious, or to do fanything that was called religious ; and I began to loathe i whatever-profession, of ,that sort any one made, holding the professors of eyery sort worse than the profane, they boasted so much of what I knew they had not attained ; I having been jzealous in whatever they pretended to, yet could not find purging of heart, nor an answer from the Lord of acceptation. In this restless state I let in every sort of notion that rose in that day, and for a time applied myself to examine them, and get out of them whatever good could be found ; but still sorrow and trouble was the end of all. I was at length ready to conclude that though the Lord and His Truth were certain, yet that they are not now made known to any upon earth ; and ■I determined no more to enquire or look after God, for that it was in vain to seek Him- So for some time I took no notice of any religion, but minded recreation, as it is called ; and went after it into many excesses and vanities — as foolish mirth, carding, dancing, and singing. I frequented music ?issemblies, and made vain visits where there were j,ovial feastings. I delighted in curiosities, and in what would please the 40 The Penns and Peningtons. vain mind, and satisfy the lust of the eye and the pride of life ; frequenting places of pleasure, where vainly dressed persons resorted to show themselves and to see others in the like excess of folly ; and riding about from place to place with an airy mind. But in the midst of all this my heart was often sad and pained beyond expression." After a round of such fashionable recreations as above specified, she tells us that, taking with her none but little Guli and her maid, she would often in dis- gust forsake for a time city life, and seek entire seclusion in the country, where she would give way to her feelings of distress. She says, " I was not hurried into those follies by being captivated by them, but from not having found in religion what I had sought and longed after. I would often say within myself, what are they all to me ? I could easily leave all this ; for it hath not my heart, it is not my delight, it hath not power over me. I had rather serve the Lord, if I could indeed feel and know that which would be acceptable to Him. One night in my country retire- ment I went to bed very sad and disconsolate ; and that night I dreamed I saw a book of hieroglyphics of religion respecting things to come in the Ctiurch, or religious state. I dreamed that I took no delight at all in them ; and felt no closing of my mind with them, but turned away greatly oppressed. It being evening, I went out from the company into the open air, and lifting up mine eyes to the heavens I cried out, 'Lord, suffer me no more to fall in with any false way, but show me the truth.' Immediately I thought the The Penns and Peningtons. 41 sky opened, and a bright light like fire fell upon my hand, which so frightened me that I awoke, and cried out. When my (laughter's maid (who was in the chamber) came to the bed-side to see what was the matter with me, I trembled a great time after I was awakened." Her mind having fully realized the superficial and unsatisfying character of the fashionable amusements of the gay world, her thoughts again and again turned to the religious feelings of former days. She still clung to the belief that though she had run into vanity, she was yet under her Heavenly Father's care, and that He who had made the blessed promise to that state, knew of the hungering and thirsting after righteousness which often had such possession of her mind. But above all things she abhorred hypocrisy and religious presumption in anyone, and therefore she often dis- trusted herself, and these feelings. She could not for a long time entertain the idea thai it was the Holy Spirit which was giving her these gleams of light and trust, and tendering her heart in prayerful feeling towards God. Thus she details circumstances that unfold her state of mind : — " One day, when going through the city from a country-house, I could not make my way through the crowd that filled the street (it being the day when the Lord Mayor was sworn) but was forced to go into a house till it was over. Being burdened by the vanity of their show, I said to a professor that stood by me, * What benefit have we now by all the blood that has been shed, and by Charles being kept out of the nation, D 42 The Penns and Peningtons, seeing all these follies are again allowed ? ' He answered, none that he knew of, save the enjoyment of their religion. To which I replied, ' That is a benefit to you who have a religion to be protected in the exercise of, but it is none to me.' " Looking back on that period, when she would not allow to her- self that she had any religion at all, she says it was wonderful to her to remember how she, notwithstand- ing, confided in the goodness and care of God. " That help I frequently had from Him whilst in the most confused and disquieted state I ever knew. Trust in the Lord was richly given me in that day when I durst not own myself to have any religion I could call true ; for if I were but taking a servant, or doing any outward thing that much concerned my condition in the world, I never feared, but retired, waiting to see what the day would bring forth, and as things were ofEered to me closed with them, if I felt my heart answered thereto." At this very time she says, " In anguish of spirit I could but cry to the Lord, ' If I may not come to thee as a child, because I have not the spirit of sonship, yet Thou art my Creator ; and as Thy creature I cannot breathe or move without Thee. Help is only to be had from Thee. If Thou art inaccessible in Thy own glory, and I can only get help where it is to be had, and Thou only hast power to help me, what am I to do ? ' " Oh ! the distress I felt in this time, having never dared to kneel down, as formerly going to prayer, 'for years, because I feared I could not call God, Father, in truth ; and I durst not mock Him as with a form. The Penns and Peningtons. 43 Sometimes I would be melted into tears, and feel an inexpressible tenderness ; but not knowing what it was from, and being ready to misjudge all religion, I thought it was some influence from the planets which governed this body. But I durst not regard anything in me being of or from God ; or that I felt any influence of His Spirit on my heart. I was like the parched heath for want of rain, and like the hunted hart longing for water, so great was my thirst after that which I did not know was near. " In the condition I have mentioned, of weary seeking and not finding, I married my dear husband Isaac Penington. My love was drawn to him because I found he saw the deceit of all mere notions about religion ; he lay as one that refused to be comforted until He came to His temple ' who is truth and no lie.' All things that had only the appearance of religion were very manifest to him, so that he was sick and weary of show, and in this my heart united with him, and a desire was in me to be serviceable to him in this his desolate condition ; for he was as one alone, and felt miserable in the world. I gave up much to be a companion to him. And, oh ! the secret groans and cries that were raised in me, that I might be visited of the Lord, and brought to a clear knowledge of His truth and way ; that my feet might be turned into that way before I went hence, even if I never should take one step in it that would bring joy or peace ; yet that I might assuredly know myself to be in it, even if my time were spent in sorrow. " I resolved never to go back into those formal 44 The Penns and Peningtons. things I had left, having found death and darkness in them ; but would rather be without a religion until the Lord manifestly taught me one. Many times, when alone, did I reason thus :— ' Why should I not know the way of Divine life ? For if the Lord would give me all in this world, it would not satisfy me.' ' Nay,' I would cry out, ' I care not for a portion in this life : give it to those that care for it : I am miserable with it. It is acceptance with God, of which I once had a sense, that I desire, and that alone can satisfy me.' " Whilst I was in this state, I heard of a new people called Quakers, but I resolved not to enquire after them nor the principles they held. For a year or more after I had heard of them in the north, I heard nothing of their ways except that they used thee and thou to every one ; and I saw a book written about plain language by George Fox, which I remember I thought very ridiculous ; so gave no attention either to the people or the book, except it were to scoff at them and it. Though I thus despised this people, I had some- times a desire to attend one of their meetings, if I could go unknown and hear them pray. I was quite weary of hearing doctrines discussed, but I believed if I were with them when they prayed, I would be able to feel whether they were of the Lord or not. I endeavoured to stifle this desire, not knowing how to get to one of their meetings unknown ; and if it should be known, I thought it would be reported that I had joined them." An opportunity for acquaintance with the " Friends of Truth " by and bye presented itself The Perms and Peningtons. 45 unsought for, as Mary Penington thus states : — " One day, as my husband and I were walking in a park, a man that for a little time had frequented the Quakers' meetings saw us as he rode by, in our gay vain apparel. He spoke to us about our pride, at which I scoffed, saying, ' He a public preacher indeed ! — preaching on the highways ! ' He turned back > again, saying he had a love for my husband, seeing grace in his looks. He drew nigh to the pales, and spoke of the light and grace of God that had appeared to all men. My husband and he having engaged in discourse, the man of the house coming up invited the stranger in. He was but young, and perceiving my husband was too able for him in the fleshly wisdom, said he would bring a man next day who would better answer all his questions and objections ; who, as I afterwards understood, was George Fox. He came again the next day, and left word that the Friend he intended to bring could not well come ; but some others he believed would be with us about the second hour ; at which time came Thomas Curtis and William Simpson. My mind had been somewhat afEected by the discourse of the night before ; and though I thought the man weak in the management of the argu- ments he brought forward to support his principles, yet many scriptures which he mentioned stuck with me, and felt very weighty. They were such as showed me the vanity of many of my practices ; which made me very serious, and soberly inclined to hear and con- sider what these other men had to say. Their solid and weighty carriage struck a dread over me, for'they came 46 The Penns and Peningtons. in the authority and power of the Lord to visit us. The Lord was with them, and all we who were in the room were made sensible at that time of the Divine power manifestly accompanying what they said. Thomas Curtis repeated a scripture that struck out all my enquiries and objections, ' The doctrine is not mine, but His that sent me. If any man will do His will he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.' Immediately it arose in my mind, if I would for certain know whether or not it was truth which these people upheld, I must do what I knew to be the Lord's will. Much that was contrary thereto in me was set before me to be removed. I was shown my want of obedience to what Christ required ; and that I must join in with what I knew, before I would be in a capacity to receive and under- stand what they laid down for their principles." The effect upon Mary Penington's mind of this ap- plication of the text quoted by Thomas Curtis, was not of a transient character. Such of her practices as were contrary to the te'aching and commands of the Lord Jesus were brought in review before her by the Holy Spirit, now at work in her heart. The axe being unsparingly brought down on the root of the evil that was within, much painful exercise succeeded. She says :—" Terrible was the Lord against the vain and evil inclinations in me, which made me night and day in sorrow ; and if it did cease a little, then I grieved for fear I should again be reconciled to the things which I felt under judgment, and which I had then a just detestation of. Oh ! how I did long not to be The Penns and Peningfons. 47 left secure or quiet till the evil was done away ! How often did this run through my mind, ' Ye will not come to me, that ye may have life.' It is true I am undone if I come not to thee, but I cannot come unless I leave that which cleaveth close unto me, and how can I part with it ? I saw the Lord would be just in casting me ofif, and not giving me [divine] life, if I would not come from my beloved lusts to Him for that life. I never had peace or quiet from sore exercise of mind for many months, till I was by the Lord's judgments brought ofE from all those things which I found his light made manifest to be deceit, bondage, vanity, and the spirit of the world. The giving up of these things cost me many tears. I felt that by the world I would be regarded as a fool, and that my honourable position must be sacrificed if I took up the cross, and acted contrary to the fashions and customs that prevailed in the world and among my acquaint- ances. My relations made this cross a very heavy one ; but at length I gave up all." During the mental struggles above alluded to, Mary Penington does not appear to have sought or main- tained any intimate acquaintance with the Friends, or to have made a practice of attending their meetings ; but it is most probable she had been reading some of their writings. She states, " A little while after the visit of the Friends before mentioned, one night on my bed it was said to me, ' Be not hasty to join these people called Quakers.' " And after she had given up all her worldly reasoning against the pointing of her own enlightened conscience, she adds, " I then 48 The Penns and Peningtons. received strength to attend the meetings of this despised people, which I had intended never to meddle with. I found they were truly of the Lord, and my heart owned them and honoured them. I then longed to be one of them, and minded not the cost or pain ; but judged it would be well worth my utmost cost and pains to witness in myself such a change as I saw in them — such power over the evil of human nature. I had heard it objected against them, that they could work no miracles, but I said they did work great miracles, in that they produced such changes, turning them that were in the world and in the fellpwship of it from worldly things. " In taking up the cross, I received strength against many things that I once thought it not possible to deny myself. But oh ! the joy that filled my soul at the first meeting held in our habitation at Chalfont. To this day I have a fresh remembrance of it, and of the sense the Lord gave me of His presence and ability to worship Him in that spirit which was undoubtedly His own. Oh ! long had I desired to worship Him in the full assurance of acceptation, and to lift up my hands and heart without doubting, which I experienced that day. In that assembly I acknowledged His great mercy and wonderful kindness, for I could then say, ' This is what I have longed and waited for, and feared I never should have experienced'. " Many trials have I been exercised with since then ; and all that came by the Lord's ordering strengthened my life in Him, and hurt me not. But once my mind running out in prejudice against some Friends, it did The Penns and Peningtons. 49 sorely hurt me. After a time of deep and unknown sorrow the Lord removed the prejudice, and gave me a clearness of sight and love and acceptance with His beloved ones. The Lord hath many a time refreshed my soul with His presence, and given me an assurance that I knew that state which He will never leave nor sufiEer me to be drawn from. Though infirmities beset me, my heart cleaveth to the Lord, in the everlasting bond that cannot be broken. "Whilst I see and feel these infirmities, I also feel that faith in Him which gives the victory, and keeps me low under a sense of my own weakness. By that grace which is sufficient, I feel and know where my strength lieth ; so that when I have slipped in word or thought, I have recourse to my Advocate, and feel pardon and healing, and a going on to overcome in watching against that which easily besets me. I do believe the enemy cannot prevail, though he is suffered to prove me, that I may have my dependence fixed on the Lord ; and be kept on the watch continually, knowing that the Lord alone can make successful war against the dragon. I am thus instructed; by the discovery of my own weaknesses, to be tender towards those who also are tempted, and taught to watch and pray against temptation. Sweet is this state, though low ; for in it I receive my daily bread, and enjoy that which the Lord handeth forth continually." CHAPTEE III. 1658-1661. TjTARY PENINGTON'S narrative brought us in the ■' last chapter to the point from which we first started — 1658 — four years after her marriage with Isaac Pening- ton. Their family at that time consisted of three other children besides Gulielma Maria Springett, then in the fifteenth year of her age, a lovely, graceful girl, the delight of her family and friends. Thomas EUwood gives us a peep into the home of the Peningtons at this period, through his graphic des- cription of the first visit he and others of his father's family paid them, after they had settled at Chalfont. The Ellwoods had made the acquaintance of Lady Springett and her daughter in London, several years before her marriage with Isaac Penington., Thomas Ellwood, who was a few years older than Guli, speaks of having been her playfellow in former times, and of having been often drawn with her in her little coach through Lincoln's-inn Fields by Lady Springett's footman. Ultimately the family left London, and settled at Crowell in Oxfordshire, on the Ellwood estate. Hearing that the Peningtons had moved to Chalfont, the Ellwoods, father and son, went to visit The Perms and Peningtons. 51 them ; and the latter in his autobiography speaks of the occasion as follows : — " 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 the acquaintance, he sometimes visited them at their country residence at Datchet, and also at Causham Lodge, near Reading. Having heard that they were come to live on their own estate at Chalfont in Buckinghamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went one day to visit them thfere and to return at night, taking me with him ; but very much sur- prised we were when, being come thither, we first heard, then found, they were become Quakers — a people we had no knowledge of, and a name we had till then scarcely 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, 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 flowers in the garden attended by her maid, who was also a Quaker. But when I addressed 52 The Penns and Peningtons. myself to her after my accustomed manner, with intention to engage her in some discourse which might introduce conversation, on the ground of our former acquaintance, though she treated me with a courteous mien, yet, young as she was, the gravity of her look and behaviour struck such an awe over me, that I was not so much master of myself as to pursue any further converse with her. Wherefore, asking pardon for my boldness in having intruded into her private walks I withdrew, not without some disorder of mind. " We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and lacked nothing to recommend it 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 notwith- standing, till the rest of the company had taken 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. " 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 the Grange, in St. Peter's Chalfont, and took both my sisters and me with him. It was in the Tenth-month, in the year 1659, that we went thither on that occasion. We found a very kind reception, and tarried some days, at least one day the longer, because while we were there The Penns and Peningtons. 53 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 afarmhouse called the Grove, which having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a very large hall, and that was well filled. To this meeting came Edward Burrough, besides other preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Naylor ; but none spake at that time but Edward Burrough, 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 understanding, 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 with them again ; 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 Burrou^ began to speak, and though he spake not long, yet what he said did touch, as I suppose, my father's copyhold, as the phrase is. He, having been from his youth a professor, though not joined in what is called close communion with any one sort, and valuing himself upon the know- ledge he esteemed himself to have respecting the various notions of each profession, thought he now had a fair opportunity to display his knowledge ; and there- upon 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 this he opposed the Calvinistic tenet of particular and 54: The Penns and Peningtons. personal predestination ; in defence of which inde- fensible 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 Nayler interposing, handled the subject with so much perspicuity 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 ; but what James Nayler said had with me the greater force, because he looked like a plain simple countryman, having the ap- pearance of a husbandman or shepherd. As my father was not able to maintain the argument on his side, so neither did they seem willing to drive it on to an extremity 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), when, having taken leave of our friends, we went forth, they with Edward Burrough accompanied us to the gate, where he directed his speech in a few words to each of us severally, according to the sense he had of our several conditions. When we were gone off and they gone in again, they asked him what he thought of us; he answered them as they afterwards 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 The Penns and Peningtons. 55 young man is reached, and may do well if he does not lose it." Isaac Penington's religious experience and his reli- gious conclusions, before his settlement at Chalfont, are unfolded by his own words. He says, : — " My heart from my childhood was pointed towards the Lord, whom I feared and longed after from my tender years. I felt that I could not be satisfied with, nor indeed seek after the things of this perishing world, but I desired a true sense of, and unity with, that which abideth for ever. There was something still within me which leavened and balancecl my spirit almost con- tinually ; but I knew it not distinctly so as to turn to it, and give up to it entirely and understandingly. In this temper of mind I earnestly sought after the Lord, applying myself to hear sermons, and read the best books I could meet with, but especially the Scriptures, which were very sweet and savoury to me. Yea, I very earnestly desired and pressed after the knowledge of the Scriptures, but was much afraid of receiving men's interpretations of them, or of fastening any interpretations upon them myself ; but waited much, and prayed much, that from the Spirit of the Lord I might, receive the true understanding of them, and that He would endue me with that knowledge which I might feel to be sanctifying and saving. " And indeed I did sensibly receive of His love, of His mercy, and of His grace, and at seasons when I was most filled with the sense of my own unworthiness, and had least expectation of the manifestations of them. But I became exceedingly entangled about election and 56 The Penns and Peningtons. reprobation ; having drunk in that doctrine according as it was then held forth by the strictest of those that were termed Puritans, fearing lest, notwithstanding all my desires and seeking after the Lord, he might in His decree have passed by me. I felt it would be bitter to me to bear His wrath, and be separated from His love for evermore ; yet if he had so decreed, it would be, and I should, notwithstanding fair beginnings and hopes, fall away, and perish at last." Under the gloom of that awful perversion of Christ's gospel to man, Isaac Penington's sensitive mind sufEered fearfully for years. Gleams of hope and spiritual brightness at times shone through the clouds, and brought some comfort to his mind ; but no settled peace, no full abiding sense of his Heavenly Father's loving care kept possession of his soul, so long as an apprehension of the truth of that God-dishonouring doctrine continued to find any place in his mind. But at length the time arrived when the triumph of Chris- tian truth drove hence that baneful error, which, under one phase or another, had tended in Penington's mind to destroy a right sense of the supreme justice, love, and mercy of the Lord. They who were made instru- mental in bringing about this happy change were not among the learned theologians of that day, but belonged to the Christian body before alluded to, and which in an especial manner rejected the systematic theology taught by the professors of the popular divinity. He describes the result of his intercourse with the Quakers as follows : — " At first acquaintance with this people that which. The Penns and Peningtons. 57 was of God in me opened, and I did immediately in my spirit own them as children of my Father, truly be- gotten of His life by His own spirit. But the wise reasoning part presently rose up, contending against their uncouth way, for which I did disown them, and ^continued a stranger to them, and a reasoner against them, for about twelve months. By weighing and con- sidering things in that way, I was still further and further off from discerning their leadings by the Spirit of God into those things. But at length it pleased the Lord to draw out His sword against that part in me, turning the wisdom and strength thereof backward ; and again to open that eye in me wherewith He had given me to see the things of his kingdom in some measure from a child. And then I saw and felt them grown in that life and spirit which I, through the treachery of the fleshy-wise part, had been estranged from. And now, what bitter days of mourning I have had over this, the Lord alone fully knows. Oh ! I have known it indeed to be a bitter thing to follow this wisdom as that which could make me truly to under- stand the Scriptures. The Lord hath judged me for it, and I have borne a burden and condemnation for that which many at this day wear as their crown." In another place he speaks of haying " now at length met with the true way, and walked with the Lord there- in, wherein daily certainty, yea, full assurance of faith and of understanding is obtained." " Blessed be the Lord ! there are many at this day who can truly and faithfully witness that they have been brought by the Lord to this state. We have thus learned of Him not by 58 The Petms and Peningtons. the high, striving, aspiring mind, but by lying low, and being contented with a little ; if but a crumb of bread, yet bread ; if but a drop of water, yet water. And we have been contented with it, and thankful to the Lord foi it. Nor was it by thoughtfulness and wise search- ing, or deep considering with our own wisdom and reason that we obtained this ; but in the still, meek, and humble waiting have we found it." The unsatisfied feeling with regard to spiritual communion with God, which for so many years was endured both by Isaac Penington and his wife, does not appear to have arisen out of, or to have been accompanied by, a sense of unforgiven sin. Circum- stances indicate that in both cases the Lord was leaving them to pass through necessary experiences ; until that degree of insight was acquired which prepared them to fill their allotted positions in the church. Isaac Penington became an eminent preacher of the Gospel among the Friends, and also an indefatigable writer. He was ever ready to put forth his literary powers and gentle persuasive influence, in defence of that spiritual religion and gospel Truth which had brought so much comfort to his own soul. Mary Penington seems to have been in an especial manner fitted to be a true helpmate to him ; her practical business capacity supply- ing what was less active in him. Unitedly they went forward with abiding trust in their Heavenly Father's love and care, their spiritual life being made strong in the Lord. To the inquiry, years after he had joined the Friends, if he were yet truly satisfied with the spiritual privileges he enjoyed, Isaac Penington The Penns and Peningtons. 5'3 replied, " Yes, indeed ; I am satisfied at the very heart. Truly my heart is now united to Him whom I longed after, in an everlasting covenant of pure life and peace." Of the early Puritans he retained a high appreciation and affectionate remembrance ; but he regarded them as having eventually missed their way in some religious matters of great importance to spiritual life. He says, " Oh ! that they could return to their early Puritan state, to the love and tenderness that was then in them. May the Lord open again the true spiritual eye in them, and give them to see therewith ! " "When Isaac Penington had anchored on what he felt to be gospel Truth, he was indefatigable in his efforts to draw others into that state which had brought him so much consolation and clearness of spiritual vision. Especially dreading that teaching which did not dwell on or lead to a consciousness of the absolute necessity of the purification of the heart and conduct, he became very close and earnest in pressing home the worthlessness of religious belief which did not bring forth holiness of life. Many of his letters addressed to acquaintances under these feelings are still extant. Some of them were to persons now quite unknown, and various others to his own relations. Those letters to his father which have been preserved are remarkable productions. They seem to have followed each other uninterruptedly, but only two of them have dates, and these belong to 1658, the year in which Isaac Penington and his wife fully joined the Friends. The manuscripts from which I have copied 60 The Perms and Peningtons. the two following letters are preserved with others in the Friends' Library, Devonshire House, London. Believing that if given in full they would be found tedious by the general reader, I have avoided the repetitions and omitted some paragraphs. Their char- acter and tone of feeling will, I trust, be appreciated from the following extracts. No. I. — Isaac Penington to Ms father, Alderman Penington, on the religion of the latter. "Ah, dear father, how strong and tender my affections have been to thee from my childhood, and how they have grown upon me of late years, the Lord knows and will in due time make manifest. My breathings have been strong after thy soul, my sorrow great concerning it, my prayer constant and very vehement for thee. Indeed there was somewhat in my heart which still caused me to fear concerning thy religion, through its beginning and its growth, of its not being what thou took it to be, nor able to affect in the end what thou expectest from it. Now let my love speak freely, and be not offended, for the Lord knows I would not speak one word to grieve or trouble thee, were there not an exceeding great cause." " Thy religion began in the wrong part ; thy fear was raised, and thy affection stirred, so thou didst bend thyself to seek after God to avoid the wrath thou wast afraid of. By this means thou fell in with that religion which was obvious to thee and hast taken up duties and practices which the understanding and affections The Penns and Peningtons. 61 have drawn into. Here thou hast raised up a building, and here lies thy life and thy hope ; thy confidence arises but from the temper of the natural part in thyself." " Now, dear father, what hath thy religion efiEected .? Is thy soul redeemed from sin ? Art not thou a cap- tive to this day to many lusts ? If thou knewest that power wherein is the lawful strife against sin, thy bonds would be broken. But striving against sin in the part wherein sin's strength lies can never bring victory. But oh! dear father, there is power in the death of Christ ; power to bridle the tongue and the passions ; power to bridle prejudices ; yea, and to cut down that in which these things stand. If thou knewest the Truth of Christ, the living Truth, which the Apostles knew and preached, thou wouldst say by experience, this is able to make free from sin, for it takes possession of the heart where sin's throne is ; it is stronger than sin, and its strength would appear if it were but hearkened to and turned to. " Oh ! that thou knewest that Egypt, that Sodom, that Babylon which the Lord calls out of, and that Canaan, that Sion, that Jerusalem which He calls to, that thou mightest set thy face thitherward ; for thy soul must leave the one, and come to the other, or thou wilt miss what thou hopest for in the end. Therefore [seek] to know the Word in thy heart, to know the living Christ, to know the voice of the living God ; to know that which smites thee in secret ; and let not the wound be healed slightly. Let not the deceiver cry, 'Peace! peace! where there is no 62 The Penns and Peningtons. peace ; ' but know the destruction of that wicked one in thee to whom God will never be reconciled. And do not hearken to teachers who teach in the wisdom which is out of the life, which is in the fallen under- standing ; for in that state they themselves cannot but perish, and their doctrine is not able to save any. Therefore, dear father, seek the true Teacher, which is He that smiteth in secret. Oh ! how often hath He knocked at the door of thy heart : do at length let Him in. He comes with the true knowledge, with true life, with true power. Do not thrust him away, but make peace with Him; give up His enemy to Him; let Him beat down the high and lofty one, and raise up the poor, the meek, even that of God in thee which is in captivity. Let not thy talent lie hid in the napkin, or thou wilt not be able to answer for it to God." "I remain thy dearly loving son, filled with grief and sorrow for thy soul. "LP." No. II.— Isaac Penington to his father. Alderman Penington, on gospel ministry. " Dear Father, "The gospel is the power of God unto ealvation ; it is the glad tidings of freedom from sin, and of the baptism of the Spirit, that we may serve God in holiness and righteousness all the days of our life. The ministers of the gospel are those who in the spirit of Christ, by the gift and inspiration thereof. The Perms and Peningtons. 63 preach these tidings to the poor and needy, to the captives, to those that groan under the pressure of the body of corruption. " This gospel, through the great mercy of God, I have at length heard preached. Though thou, through prejudice, calls this speaking of the Spirit through servants and handmaids, prating, yet the Lord can forgive thee ; for surely if thou knew what thou didst herein, thou wouldst not thus offend the Lord — extol- ling preaching by man's wisdom, from a minister made by man, for gospel preaching ; and condemning the preaching of persons sent by God under the immediate inspiration of His Spirit. " As for those whom thou callest ministers, if I were to speak concerning them the very truth from the Lord, thou couldst not receive it ; yet I am far from account- ing them the ' off-scouring of the earth ; ' for I look upon them as wise and knowing, and as of great beauty in earthly learning and wisdom ; but surely not as having ' the tongue of the learned,' in the gospel sense, ' to speak a word in season to him that is weary.' [Yet they abundantly examine] the Scriptures, and toss them about, and wrest them in their uncertain reason- ings and guessings concerning the sense, and in the various doubtful interpretations they give. " And whereas I am blamed for not putting a difference between the profane and scandalous ministers and the reverend and godly sort, my answer is : they are united in one form of ministry. The question is not concerning the persons, but the ministry, in which they are one, and their standing and power of govern- 64 The Perms and Peningtons. ment one, which is not by the power and presence of the Spirit, but by the strength of the magistrate. The true gospel ministry is spiritual, and cannot be upheld by that which is carnal in its call, its maintenance, or its government. When Christ came in the flesh, the severe words He pronounced were not so much against the profane and scandalous amongst the Scribes and Pharisees, as against those that appeared most strict, and were accounted among the Jews the most reverend and godly. And were it not for the appearance of godliness in these men, the persecution of the present times had not been so hot, and the good old work of reformation so much overturned as it is at this day." "The last part of the (third) letter consists of very harsh and unrighteous charges, mixed with bitter expressions which I pass over, appealing to God who is able to clear me. Only 1 confess it is somewhat hard to one part (if me, that my own father should deal thus with me." " About not having comfort in me, and wishing me more comfort in my son, I must needs say this — If that eye were opened which could see the work of God in and upon me, this might afford comfort ; and if the Lord ever vouchsafe to give me such a cause of comfort in any of my children, it will be the joy of my soul. If I were in &nj formal way of religion, I might be a comfort to my father, for he could at least bear with that ; but because the Lord hath seized upon my heart by the power of His Truth, and I can bow to none but The Penns and Peningtons. 65 Him, — no, not to my most dear father — now I am no comfort."—" Twelfth mo. 14th, 1658." From the above letters it will be evident how diametrically different were the religious views and feelings of the father and son. Two or three other letters also exist from the latter to the former ; but to enter into their details would rather fatigue than edify most of my readers. One of them is very long, and from the tenor of both, it seems that the Alderman had continued to speak disparagingly, even fiercely, of the Friends and of his son's religion, and had proceeded to show how much of Holy Scripture he could cite in behalf of the religious views which he himself relied on as sustained by gospel Truth. The latest date in any of Isaac Penington's letters to his father is in the last month of 1658. An event was then approaching in the nation's history which must have claimed the utmost attention and in- terest of Alderman Penington. Whether amid that anxiety the correspondence between him and his eldest son extended any further, or was ever renewed, it is impossible to ascertain. When Richard Cromwell had proved himself unequal to the task of holding the reins of government which had been placed in his bands, one popular change suc- ceeded another without any consolidation of central authority. Most of those who had sat as the late king's judges could read in the signs of the times the probable restoration of the Stuart dynasty. That thought brought more terror to many hearts than they were inclined to manifest. At length the crisis came, and on the first 66 The Penns and Peningtons. day of May, 1660, the famous declaration of Charles the Second from Breda was presented by his commissioner to both Houses of Parliament ; and also to the city authorities, and through them to the nation. The royal promise of indemnity which it contained raised for a few days the drooping hopes of those who had most to fear. Thus the indemnity clause announced : — " "We do by these presents declare that we do grant a free and general pardon, which we are ready on demand to pass under our great seal of England to all our sub- jects whatever, who within forty days after the pub- lishing hereof shall lay hold on this our grace and favour, and shall by any public act, declare their doing so, and that they return to the loyalty and obedience of good subjects ; excepting only such persons as shall hereafter be excepted by parliament —those only to be excepted. Let all our subjects, how faulty soever, rely upon the word of a king solemnly given by this present declaration, that no crime whatsoever committed against us, or our royal father, before the publication of this^ shall ever rise in judgment, or be brought in questioa against any of them, to the least endangerment of them either in their lives, liberties, or estates (as far as lies in our power), or so much as the prejudice of their repu- tations." Of the original members of the Parliamentary High Court of Justice, which condemned the late king, forty- eight were still living ; and nineteen of these, relying upon the word of a Icing so solemnly set forth, delivered themselves up as accepting pardon and promising al- legiance to Charles the Second. Of the remaining The Penns mid Peningtons. 67 twenty-nine, who could not rely on the royal promise as sufficient to ensure pardon, a few secreted themselves in England — the others immediately went abroad. Alderman Penington was one of the nineteen who, re- lying on the word of the King, came in before the ex- piration of the forty days. On the 8th of May, 1660, the two Houses of Parliament proclaimed Charles the Second, King of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and on the 25th he arrived at Dover. Before the arrival of the King, the Parliament anxious to prove to him its great loyalty, decided that all they who had sat as his father's judges should be imprisoned and brought to trial ; and also every one who in an official capacity had had anything to do with his accu- sation or execution. About three months after the the kingdom was restored to Charles, twenty-nine per- sons were brought to trial, and condemned to death as regicides. Included in the twenty-nine were the nine- teen trusting ones who had given themselves up on his declaration of indemnity. Of the nineteen, fourteen were respited from death, the punishment being changed to imprisonment for life, and all their property and estates were confiscated. Ten, among whom were six who had signed the king's death-warrant, and four officials, were condemned to death, and suffered execution. Alderman Penington, with the thirteen others, was committed as a prisoner to that Tower over which he once ruled as an honourable and executive governor ; but his durance there was cut short by hard usage. Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, was devoid of humanity and principle ; and the treatment to which 68 The Perms and Peningtons. he subjected the prisoners was consistent with his character. Lucy Hutchinson, in the memoirs of her husband, Colonel Hutchinson, says :— " The gentle- men who were the late king's judges, and who were de- coyed to surrender themselves to custody by the Houses' proclamation, were kept in miserable bondage under that inhuman, bloody jailer, the Lieutenant of the Tower, who stifled some of them to death for want of air ; and, when they had not one penny but what was given them to support their families (all their estates being confiscated), exacted from them rates for bare unfur- nished prison rooms ; of some, forty pounds for one miserable chamber ; of others, double ; besides unjust fees, for to raise which their poor wives were obliged to engage their jointures, or make other miserable shifts. And yet this rogue had all this while three pounds a week paid out of the Exchequer for every one of them." This unscrupulous man, Sir John Robinson, will come under our notice again. It was in October that the " regicides " were con- demned and their estates confiscated. In the State Papers belonging to that period, which have recently been published, I find this entry, " December 7th, 1660 : Petition of George, Bishop of Worcester, to the King, for grant of a lease of tenements in Whitefriars belonging to the bishopric, value eighty pounds a year, forfeited by Isaac Penington, late Alderman of London." And again," August 8th, 1661 : Grant to George, Bishop of Worcester, of five houses, etc., in Whitefriars, near Fleet-street, lately belonging to Isaac Penington, at- tainted of treason." In the Gentleman's Magazine it The Penns and Peningtons. 69 is stated that Alderman Penington's estates, among which was the seat of the Sharlows, called The Place, being confiscated, were given by Charles the Second to the Duke of Grafton. Finally, we have in the State Papers, under the date of " Dec. 19th, 1661 : Warrant to Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, to deliver the corpse of Isaac Penington, who died in prison there, to his relations." Neither record nor relic beyond what has been intro- duced, have I been able to discover of the condemned alderman, Isaac Penington, except that his silver drinking cup has for many years been in possession of his American descendants. It is now the property of Edward Penington of Philadelphia. It has on it the Tower stamp, the initials I. P., and the date, 1642, the year in which he was chosen Lord Mayor of London. CHAPTER IV. 1642-1661. JFHE tutor -whom Isaac Penington had heretofore employed to teach his three eldest children English, being unable to give them instruction in Latin, another had to be looked for. He who succeeded as teacher at the Grange was Thomas Ell- wood, already introduced as the youthful friend of Gulielma Springett ; and who with his father, as before related, had visited the Peningtons on their settlement in Buckinghamshire. As he continued to be tutor to the children and an honoured inmate of the family for the seven following years, his personal history during that period is much interwoven with theirs. It becomes an interesting element in the social and religious life at Chalf ont, and we must therefore glance at his antecedents. Ellwood's father was an estated gentleman of honourable descent, whose property and family resi- dence were at Crowell, about three miles eastward from Thame, in Oxfordshire. Thame Park was the abode of Lord Wenman, whom he speaks of as his relative, and a person of great honour and virtue — at whose table he was always received as a welcome The Penns and Peningtons. 71 guest. Ellwood says, " I have cause to think I should have received from this lord some advantageous prefer- ment, had I not been called into the service of the best and highest Lord, and therefore lost the favour of all my friends, relations and acquaintances of this world." Thomas was the youngest of the family, and only about two or three years old when they all removed to London as a place of greater safety, on the commence- ment of the civil war. It was during the years which intervened before their return, that this amiable boy became the playmate of Lady Springett's lovely little daughter. He tells us, in his interesting fragment of autobiography, that till he was about fifteen years of age his health was so delicate and his stature so small, that fears were entertained lest he should prove a dwarf. But about this time his constitution and physical vigour underwent a change which banished all such fears. From being a small delicately knit, refined lad, he afterwards became a vigorous, middle- sized young man, delighting in athletic sports, but ever averse to what was coarse or vulgar in mind or manners. He relates the following characteristic incident which occurred at that period : — " My father being in the commission of the peace, and going to a petty sessions at Watlington, I waited on him thither. When we came near the town, the coach- man, seeing a nearer and easier way than the common road, through a corn-field, and that it was wide enough for the wheels to run without damaging the corn, , turned down there. This being observed by a husband- man who was at plough not far off, he ran to us, and 72 The Penns and Peningtons. stopping the coach poured forth complaints in none of the best language for driving over the corn. My father mildly answered him, that if there was an offence com- mitted, he must rather impute it to his servant than to 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 in the town, whither if he came he would make him full satisfaction for whatever damage he had sustained thereby. And so on we went, the man venting his discontent in angry accents as he went back. At the town, upon inquiry, we understood that it was a way very often used without damage, being broad enough ; but it was not the common road, which lay not far from it, and was also good enoiigh, wherefore my father bid his man drive home that way. " It was late in the evening when we returned, and very dark ; 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 should return the way we went. But when they found we did not, but took the common way, angry that they were disappointed, and loath to lose their purpose, they coasted over to us in the dark, and laying hold of the horses' bridles, stopped them from going on. My father, asking the coachman the reason that he went not forward, was answered that there were two men at the horses' heads, who held them back. Whereupon my father, opening the boot, stepped out, and I followed close at his heels. "Going to the place where the men stood, he The Penns and Peningtons. 73 demanded of them the reason of this assault ; they said ■we were upon the corn. We knew we were not on the corn, but on the common way, and so we told them ; but they said 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 persuade them to forbear, and not run themselves farther into danger of the law ; but they rather derided him for it. Seeing therefore fair means would not work upon them, he spoke more roughly, charging them to deliver their clubs (for each of them had a great club in his hand, somewhat like those called quarter-staves) ; thereupon they, laughing, told him they did not bring them thither for that end. Whereupon my father, turning to me, said : — ' Tom, disarm them.' I stood ready at his elbow, waiting for the word of command ; for being naturally of a bold spirit, full of youthful heat, and that fully aroused by the sense I had of the abuse and the insolent behaviour of those rude fellows, my blood began to boil, and my fingers itched, as the say- ing is, to be dealing with them. Wherefore, imme- diately 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 knocked down an ox, intending no doubt to knock me down with it, as probably he would have done, had I not, in the twinkling of an eye, whipped out my rapier, and made a pass upon him. I could not have failed running him through up to the hilt had he stood his ground ; but the sudden and un- expected sight of my bright blade, glistening in the 74' The Penns and Peningtons. 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 companion seeing fled also. I followed the former as fast as I could, but fear gave him wings, and made him swiftly fly ; for although I was accounted very nimble, I could not overtake him, which made me think he took shelter in some bushes, which he knew where to flnd though I did not. Meanwhile the coach- man, who had suflBciently the outside of a man, excused himself for not intermeddling, under pretence that he durst not leave his horses, and so left me to shift for myself. I had gone so far beyond my knowledge that I understood not which way to turn, till by hallooing and by being hallooed to again I was directed where to find my company. " We had easy means to flnd who these men were, the principal of them having been at the inn during the day-time, and both quarrelled with the coachman and threatened to be even with him when he went back ; but since they came off so badly in their attempt, my father thought it better not to know them than to oblige himself to prosecute them. " At that time, and for a good while after, I had no re- gret on my mind for what I had done or had designed to do, in this case, but went on resolved to kill, if I could, any man that should make the like attempt, or put any affront upon us ; and for that reason I seldom went afterwards upon those public services without a loaded pistol in my pocket. But when it pleased the Lord in His inflnite goodness to call me out of the spirit and The Penns and Peningtons. 75 ■ways of the world, and give me the knowledge of His saving Truth, whereby the actions of my f orepast life were set in order before me, a sort of horror seized upon me when I had considered how near I had been to Staining my hands with human blood. And whenso- ever 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 thanksgiving and praises have arisen in my heart, as they do now, to Him who preserved and withheld me from shedding man's blood. "About this time my dear and honoured mother, who was indeed a woman of singular worth and virtue, departed this life ; having a little time before heard of the death of her eldest son, who had fallen under the displeasure of my father, for refusing to resign his interest in an estate which my father sold. Thereupon my brother desired that he might have leave to travel, in hopes that time and absence might work reconcilia- tion. He 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." All the circumstances above related had taken place before Thomas Ellwood's first visit to the Peningtons at the Chalfont Grange. About a year elapsed between the first and the second visit of the Ellwoods, when the addresses of Edward Burrough and James Nayler made so deep an impression on Thomas's mind. That impression did not wear off on his return home ; but it determined him to see more of the Friends. He 76 The Penns and Peningtons, says, " I had a desire to go to another meeting of the Quakers ; and bid my father's man to enquire if there were any in the country thereabouts. He told me he had heard at Isaac Penington's that there was to be a meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday next. Thither therefore I went, though it was seven miles from me. And that I might be rather thought to go a-coursing than to a meeting, I let my grey-hound run by my horse's side." That meeting and what he heard there, he tells us acted like the clinching of a nail, confirming and fixing the good principles that had before sunk so deeply. Light burst in upon his mind, letting him see his inward state and condition towards God. His whole desires, feelings, and trains of religious thought in the succeeding weeks underwent a change. He observes : — "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 had led me into pride, flattery, vanity, and superfluity. I found there were many plants growing in me which were not of the Heavenly Father's planting ; and that all of these, of whatsoever kind or sort they were, or how specious soever they might appear, must be plucked up." The new spiritual birth and awakened perceptions that now arose in his soul brought with them both com- fort, and true earnestness of desire to be conformed to the will of God in all things. Conflicts and trials suc- ceeded, but strength was given adequate to the necessity on every occasion. An enlightened conscience, pointing in the gospel to the words of the Lord Jesus Himself, The Perms and Peningtons. 77 made it clear to him that the Friends were right in maintaining that the follower of Christ must live a life of "truthfulness — must make it the great object of his life "to be true to God, true to his fellow-man, and true to the convictions of his own conscience in all things ; that Ood required from His children and would help them to maintain truth, in heart, in word, and in deed; and that no one who is not governed by the Spirit of Truth and truthfulness, is pleasing God and serving him aright. Then came the pinch in the application of this strict truthfulness to the current manners, popular language, and complimentary titles which prevailed in the world. The Friends had taken a decided stand against what- ever they deemed untruthful in each of these, and young EUwood, after examining every point, believed in his heart that the stand they had made was a right one; and thus believing he acted upon it. So also he united rwith their views in giving up those things that he regarded as springing from a degree of human pride and vanity that should not be countenanced. Expensive personal decoration was discarded ; gold rings, gold lace, and all such ornaments were cast ofiE, and in language and manners the Quaker mode of using no merely compli- mentary titles was adopted by him. The ceremonious uncovering of the head and bowing of the knee were seriously regarded by the Friends as marks of veneration that should not be ofEered to any piortal, but should be considered as due to God alone, and observed in prayerful approaches to Him. We cannot wonder that, viewing these observances in this light, no earthly consideration could induce them to 78 The Penns and Peningtons. comply with the fashionable usages. In these respects, also, Ellwood united with and adopted the principles and practices of the Quakers. He thus describes meeting with some of his former acquaintances after he had made that change, on an occasion when sent by his father to Oxford, with a message to his brother magistrates who sat on the bench during the sessions: — " I went directly to the hall where the sessions were held, and had been but a very little while there 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 (Oxford), both my schoolfellows and fellow-boarders at Thame School, and the third a country gentleman with whom I had long been very familiar. When they were come up to me they all saluted me after the usual manner, putting off their hats and bowing, saying, ' Your humble servant, sir,' expecting, no doubt, in return the same from me. But when they saw me stand still, not moving my cap nor bowing my knee in a 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 a word speaking. 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 springing in my heart ; for I rejoiced that I had not been drawn out by them into any compliance ; and that I had strength and boldness given me to confess myself to be one of The Penns and Peningtons. 79 that despised people." In that age men when dressed, generally wore their hats in the house as well as out of doors, only removing them on occasions of ceremony. Young Ellwood had not only hats and caps taken from him, one after another, till all he possessed were gone, but also every means of procuring others. To this his father had recourse in order to put it out of his power ever to appear covered in his presence — when he found that other and most cruel treatment which he had recourse to was unavailing. But do or say what he would to his son, he found him immoveable in this, though he still acted towards him with filial deference in every- thing, but what appeared to him as encroaching on the honour due to God. The courage manifested in his earlier days in disarming the ruffian who attacked his father's carriage, was not now exercised in defending himself ; that would have been impossible, without exasperating one whom he most gladly would, if in conscience he could, have appeased. All his courage was now exercised in patient endurance of personal abuse from his father, having entered the service, and under the teaching of Him who, " when He was reviled, reviled not again." Several months followed without in any degree reconciling the father to the changes that had taken place in the son, when to the joy of the latter their friends from Chalfont came to pay them a visit at Crowell ; which Ellwood speaks of thus : — " At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Penington and his wife to make a visit to my father, 80 The Perms and Peningtons. and see how it fared with me : and very welcome they were to me, whatever they were to him, to whom I doubt not they would have been more welcome had it not been for me. They tarried with us all night, and much discourse they had with my father, both about the principles of Truth in general, and in relation, to me in particular, which I was not privy to ; but one thing which I afterwards heard of was this : when my father and we were at their house some months before, Mary Penington in some discourse th,ere 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. He spared not liberally to blame him for it ; wondering that so wise a man as he was should take notice of so trivial a thing as the taking off or keeping on of a hat. 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 return home, she desired of my father that, since my company was so little acceptable to him, he would ffive me leave to go and spend some time with them, where I should be sure of a welcome. He was very unwilling I should go, and made many objections, all which she removed so clearly by her answers, that, not judging The Penns and Peningtons. 81 •what further excuse 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 in mind that I had no hat on. That somewhat startled him, for he did not think it fit I should go from home so far, and to stay abroad, without a hat. Wherefore he whispered 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 ; therefore, breaking off the dis- course, he abruptly took his leave of them. " I had not one penny of money about me, nor indeed elsewhere ; for my father as soon as he saw that 1 would be a Quaker, took from me both what money I had, and everything else of value that would have made money — as silver buttons, rings, etc., pretending that he would keep them for me till I came to myself again. But as I had no money, being among my friends, I had no need of any, nor ever honed after it ; though upon one particular occasion I had like to have wanted it." The occasion alluded to occurred in 1660, a few weeks prior to the restoration of Charles the Second. " I had been at Reading," Ellwood says, " 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) to Isaac Penington's, where the meeting was to be that day ; but when I came to Maidenhead, I was stopped by the watchman laying hold on the horse's bridle, and tfelling me I must go with him to the 82 The Penns and Peningtons. constable for travelling on Sunday. Accordingly I suffered him to lead my horse to the constable's door. When we got there, the constable told me I must go before the warden, who was the chief of&cer of the town ; and he bid 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 began to examine me, asking whence I came, and whither I was going. I told him I came from Reading, and was going to Chalfont. He asked why I travelled on that day. I told him I did not know it would give offence to ride or to walk on that day, so long as I did not 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 .=' ' Because,' I replied, 'I did not know nor think I should have needed one.' 'Well,' said he, 'I will not talk with you now— it is time to go to church— but I will examine you further anon ;' and, turning to the constable, ' Have him 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 stared, and turning quickly upon me said, ' How ! no money ! The Penns and Peningtohs. 83 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 mayst 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 ! 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 ! but you have a good coat on your back, and I hope that is your own.' ' But it is not,' said I, ' for I borrowed both the horse and the great coat.' With that the warden, holding up his hands ; 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 Greyhound, and bid the people be civil to him.' Accordingly, to The Greynound I was led, my horse put up, and I put into a large room, and some account given of me, I suppose, to the people of the house. " This was new work to me, and what the issue would be I could not foresee ; but being left there alone I sat down and retired in spirit to the Lord, in whom alone was my strength and safety ; and of Him I begged sup- port, even that He would be pleased to give me wisdom and right words to answer the warden, when I should come to be examined before him again. " After some time, having pen, ink, and paper about me, I set myself to write what I thought might be propei: 84 The Penns and Peningtons. if occasion required, to give to the warden. 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 no money to pay for 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 that I had not freedom to eat of his meat unless I could pay for it. So he went on with his dinner, and I with my writing. But before I had finished what I had on my mind to write the constable came again, bringing with him his fellow constable. This was a brisk genteel young man, a shop- keeper in the town whose name was Cherry. They saluted me very civilly, and told me they came to take 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, he asked me the same questions he had asked 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 80 many hours in the stocks, and asked me which I would choose. I replied, ' I shall not choose either, and I have already told thee I have no money ; though if I had money, I could not so far acknowledge myself an ofEender 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 I was but a young man, and The Penns and Peningtons. 85 might not perhaps understand the danger I had brought myself into, and therefore he would not exercise the severity the law awarded upon me. In hopes that I would be wiser hereafter, he would pass by this offence and discharge me. Then, putting on a counte- nance of the greatest gravity, he said, ' But, young man, I would have you know that you have not only broken ihe law of the land, but also the law of God ; and there- fore you ought to ask of Him forgiveness, for you have highly offended Him.' ' That,' said I, ' I would most willingly do, if I were sensible 1 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 of any law of God that doth forbid me to ride on this day.' ' No ! that is 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 com- mandment. Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour and do all thy work ; but theseventhis the sabbath of the Lord ; in it thou shaltnot do any work.' ' Yes,' I replied, ' I have read it often, and remember it well. But that command was given to the Jews, not to Christians ; and this is not that day ; their Sabbath was the seventh day, but this is the first day of the week. ' How is it,' said he, ' you know the days of the week no better ? You need to be better taught.' " Here the younger constable, whose name was Cherry, interposing said, ' Mr. Warden, the gentleman is right as to that, for this is the first day of the week and not the seventh.' This the old warden took in dudgeon ; 86 The Penns and Peningtons. 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'm sure you are mistaken on this point ; for the Saturday was the seventh day, and you know yesterday was Saturday.' " This made the warden hot and testy, and put him so out of patience that I feared it would have come to a downright quarrel betwixt them, for both were con- fident, and neither would yield. And so earnestly were they engaged in the coijtest, 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 bethinking of me he turned and said, ' You are discharged, and may take your liberty.' ' But,' said I, ' I desire my horse may be discharged too, else I know not how to go.' ' Aye, aye,' 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 ; which done, I immediately mount- ed 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 stand- ing ?' 'No truly' said I, 'I don't forget it, but I have no money to pay with, and so I told the warden before The Penns and Peningtons. 87 he sent him here.' ' Hold, your tongue,' said the con- stable, ' 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 molesta- tion ; though it was as much the Sabbath, I thought, when I went out, as it was when I came in. "A secret joy arose in me as I rode away, that I had been preserved from doing or saying anything which might give the adversaries of Truth advantage against it, and against the Friends ; and praises sprang up in my thankful heart to the Lord my Preserver. It added 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 that my spirit was so far subjected to Him as readily to take warning." With joy and thankful congratulations his friends at Chalfont welcomed his return. They had been anxious about him, knowing he intended to be with them at meeting that day. In allusion to the visit he was then making at the Grange, he says, "Great was the love and manifold the kindness which I received from my worthy friends, Isaac and Mary Penington, while I abode in their family. They were indeed as affectionate parents and tender nurses to me in that time of my religious child- hood. For, besides their weighty and seasonable counsels, and exemplary conversations, they furnished me with the means to go to the other meetings of Friends in that country, when the meeting was not in their own house. But that I might not, on the one hand, bear too much on my friends, nor, on the other hand, forget the house of thraldom, after I had staid 88 The Penns and Peningtons. with them Bome six or seven weeks, from the time called Easter to that of "Whitsuntide, I took my leave of them, and returned home." Before the close of 1660, both Isaac Penington and Thomas Ellwood were made prisoners for obeying- their conscience. They were confined in separate prisons, the former in that of Aylesbury, the latter in Oxford, for continuing to attend their own religious meetings. Thomas Ellwood was not imprisoned in the Castle of Oxford with the other Friends, but separately con- fined in custody of the marshal. Thomas Loe, an Oxford Friend, and one of the prisoners in the Castle, hearing of the circumstance, wrote him a letter, in which he says, "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 faith endure to the end. I believe God will be glorified through our steadfastness in suffering, and His' name exalted in the patience of His chosen ones. When I heard that thou wast called into this 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 to thee. Well, my dear friend, let us live in the counsel of the Lord, and dwell in His strength, which gives power and sufficiency to endure all things for His name sake, and then the blessings of His hea- venly kingdom shall be our portion. Oh ! dear heart, let us give up all freely unto the will of God, that our God may be glorified by us and we comforted together The Penns and Peningtons. 89 in the Lord Jesus ; wMch is the desire of my soul, who am thy dear and loving friend in the eternal Truth, "Thomas Loe." "P.S. We are more than forty here, who suffer in- nocently for the testimony of a good conscience, because we cannot swear, and break Christ's commands. We are all well, and the blessing and presence of God are felt to be with us. Friends here salute thee. Farewell. The power and wisdom of the Lord God be with thee. Amen." EUwood speaks thus of the above letter, " Greatly was my spirit refreshed and my heart gladdened at the reading of this consolating letter from my friend ; and my soul blessed the Lord for His love and tender good- ness to me. But I had cause soon after to 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 encouraging lines from Aylesbury jail, where he was then a prisoner, and from whence he thus saluted me : — "Dear Thomas, "Great hath been the Lord's goodness to thee, in calling thee out of that path in ' which thou wast running towards destruction ; to give thee a living name and an inheritance amongst His people, which certainly will be the end of 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 amongst his chosen lambs. Oh ! that the spiritual eye and heart 90 The Penns and Peningtons. may be kept open in thee, -which seeth and feeleth the value of these things. "Aylesbury Jail, 14th of the Twelfth Month, 1660." "Though these epistolary visits," says EUwood, "were very comfortable and comfirming to me, and my heart was thankful to the Lord for them, yet I honed after personal conversation with my friends ; and it was hard, I thought, that there should be so many faithful servants of God so near me, yet that I should not be permitted to enjoy their company. For though 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. Once, and but once, I prevailed on him to let me see my friends in the Castle ; and it was on these conditions he consented — that I should not go forth till it was dark, that I should muffle myself up in my cloak, and that I would not stay out late ; all which I punctually observed." The magistrates, who had arranged for young Ellwood being kept apart from the Quaker prisoners in the castle, seem to have been influenced by the hope of his being ultimately induced by such means to give up his connection with the Friends. They could but little appreciate the depth of his convictions when they entertained the thought. His father had been from home when he was made prisoner, and at his inter- cession on his return he was promptly released. But the Friends in Oxford Castle and also those in Ayles- bury jail, including Isaac Penington, remained in prison for several months. The Penns and Peningtons. 91 The following letters are from the Penington Man- uscripts, in the Devonshire House Library : — Isaac Penington to his wife. Aylesbury Jail, 17th 1st Month, 1661. " My dear, "Yesterday I, with some few others, was sent for before the court. The judge asked me if I would take the oath. I delivered him a paper, which was an appeal to the court whether it was fitting for us, as the case stood, to take the oath. He thought it had been the paper delivered him before by Friends iti other places, and so asked me again about the oath. I told him the paper was an appeal to him and the court, and desired it might be read, that the court should hear it, which he endeavoured to put o£E ; but I pressing it hard as exceedingly necessary, he promised it should by and by, but called on some other business, and so we were ordered to withdraw for the present, but were called in no more. I am told we are appointed to appear to-mor- row, at the sixth hour in the morning ; what further they will propose to us I do not know. It is believed they will release some and detain others. "William stays to know : whom. I suppose thou mayest expect to-mor- row night. " My dear heart, my dear and tender love is to thee. I know thou dost believe that it is most just that the Lord should dispose of me, and will not desire me un- less He please in the freedom of conscience that I return to thee. I am thine very much, and desire to be thine even more, according to the purity and 92 The Penns and Peningtons. largeness of my love in the inner man. When the Lord pleaseth our innocence shall be cleared, and that which is now our reproach be our beauty and honour in the sight of all the world. " My love to GulL to A. H., and to all Friends in the family, and to my dear little ones. " LP". Isaac Penington to Ms wife. '' My dear, " When I was called before the judge on the second day, he againasked me if I would take the oath. I answered I had put in an appeal to the court respecting it. He did not much press it on me, but took a paper of J.W. containing the substance of the oath, which the justices, as we were told, had looked into and confessed that it was the substance of the oath, and that there wanted nothing but the formality. At last he told me I must put in sureties for the peace, which I said I durst not do. The next morning I was brought before him again with J. W. and J. Brierly. Then he told me he would not require the oath of me, nor yet sureties for the peace, but he had heard I was the son of such a person, &c., and therefore could do no less than require sureties of me for the performance of what was pro- mised in the paper, to wit, that I would neither plot or conceal any plot which I knew or did certainly hear of. This, as far as I remember, was the substance. I was sore distressed, and had not a word to say for a long season ; but my soul breathed to the Lord to preserve ■The Penns and Peningtons. 93 my innocence, and to make me willing to stand as a fool before them, if He did not give me wherewith to answer them. Indeed I felt that I could not do the thing ; but how to avoid it, with the reasonableness and fair dealing which appeared to be on their side, I knew not. At length I told the judge that as to keep- ing out of plotting, &c., I could easily do that, but to come under such a bond I could not. Then he and the offi- cers of the court much disdained and derided me, and asked if I did not take bond of my tenants, &c., which the Lord enabled me to bear with meekness and stillness of spirit. Then I told him that I could give under my hand what he required, which was more than to me than a bond, but it weighed little with him. I likewise told him I was so far from plotting, notwithstanding that I had lost my whole estate, that I did never so much as grumble in my mind, or wish the change of government that I might enjoy my estate again. He seemed to be satisfied concerning my innocence, and said that he believed I would keep my promise, yet he could do no less than require this of me, considering what my father was.* " So he committed me, referring me to the justices to be released either upon my own recognizance, or upon sureties. Since which time three of the justices sent for me to the White Hart, with whom I was a pretty season ; they seemed very willing to release me, urging me much either to enter into bond myself, or put in * It should be remembered that Alderman Penington was thfen a State prisoner in the Tower. 94 The Penns and Peningtons. sureties, but they were tied to these by the judge's order which they could not recede from. I told them I was innocent in the sight of the Lord, and did in my heart believe the Lord would justify me in this at the great day, but that I durst not do what did appear to me to cast any cloud or doubt over my innocency. I asked what I or the sureties were to be bound in ; he said, I in £200, or the sureties in £100 each. I told him if I had any estate left'me that was my own, I could freely sub- scribe myself willing to bear the penalty of £400, if I were found in any such thing. Nay, I did not care to what amount I ran, so free I was from any such danger, but to be bound in the way the case stood I could not. Since this last refusal I have found great peace and satisfaction from the Lord concerning this affair, and great rest in my spirit. Let all that love me bless the Lord for me in this, for I see clearly I had been a miser- able man had I been suffered for the gaining of my liberty to have betrayed mine innocency." We have no account of the precise time or circum- stances under which Isaac Penington und his friends were released from imprisonment, but there are evi- dences which prove it must have been pretty early in 1661. Although he alludes in the above letter to all his estate having been confiscated, thus leaving him no pro- perty he could call his own, yet we find that he con- tinued for years after this to reside at the Grange, which leads to the conclusion that there had been, after the death of Alderman Penington, some arrangement made or tacit permission given,by which the Chalfont estate was not claimed for the four or five following years. CHAPTER V. 1662. TSTHEN relating his own history, Thomas Ellwood gives us a few glimpses into circumBtances in the life of the poet Milton at the period which suc- ceeded the Restoration. He thus tells of the occasion which led to their first acquaintance. " 1 mentioned before that when I was a boy I had made good progress in [classical] learning, and lost it again before I became a man ; nor was I rightly sensible of my loss therein until I came among the Quakers. But then I both saw my loss and lamented it, and applied myself with the utmost diligence at all leisure times to recover it ; so false I found that charge which in those times was cast as a reproach on the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human learning, because they denied it to be essentially necessary to a Gospel minis- try. But though I toiled hard, aud spared no pains to regain what once I had been master of, yet I found it a matter of so great difficulty, that I was ready to say, as said the noble Ethiopian to Philip, 'How can I, unless some man guide me ? ' This I had formerly complained of to my friend Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which put him upon considering and 96 The Penns and Peningtons. contriving a means for my assistance. He had intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, a physician of note in London, and he with John Milton, a gentleman of great repute for learning throughout the learned world. This person having filled a public station in former times lived now a private and retired life in London, and having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to read for him, who usually was the son of some gen- tleman of his acquaintance whom in kindness he took to improve in his learning. " Thus by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pening- ton with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John Milton, was I permitted 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 the favour I desired. But this being a matter which required some arrange- ment to bring about, I in the meantime returned to my father's house in Oxfordshire. " I had previously received directions by letters from my eldest sister, written by my father's command, to sell off what cattle he had left about his house, and to discharge his servants, which I had done at the time called Michaelmas. 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, especially at nights ; an elderly woman, whose father had been an old servant in the family, came every morning and did whatever I had for her to do." Finding through his sister's correspondence that his father had decided to reside no more at Crowell, but finally to dispose of the property, he determined not to The Perms and Peningtons. 97 lose time there, but hasten to carry out his favourite project. He says, " 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 again to my sure friend Isaac Penington ; where, understanding that through the mediation used for my admittance to John Milton, I might come now when I would, I hastened to London. He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. Paget who introduced me, as of Isaac Pen- ington who recommended me ; to both of whom he bore a good respect. Having inquired divers things of me with respect to my former progression in learning, he dismissed me to provide myself such accommodations 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 I could. From thence forward I went every day in the afternoon, except on the first day 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 reading to him, observing that I used the English pronunciation, he told me that if I would p.ot only read and understand Latin authors, but be able to converse with foreigners either abroad or at home, I must learn the foreign pronunciation. To this consenting, he instructed me how to sound the vowels ; so different from the common pronunciation nsed by the English, who Anglice their Latin. " 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 1 had once been very 98 The Penns and Peningtons. ready, that I could both read a Latin author after a sort, and hammer out his meaning. But the 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 Incessant pains The end attains ; and so did I ; which made the reading the more acceptable to my master. For he, 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 discerned by my tone when I under- stood what 1 read, and when I did not ; and would accordingly 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 own chamber in the forenoons. But,alas ! London and I could never agree. My lungs, I suppose, were too tender to bear the city air ; so 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 to the country in order to preserve life ; and much ado I had to get thither. " I chose to go down to Wycombe to John Ranee's house ; both as he was a physician, and his wife a discreet and grave matron, whom I had a very good esteem for and who I knew had a good regard for me. There I lay ill a considerable time, and in that degree of weakness that scarcely any one who saw me expected my life. But the Lord was both gracious to me in my The Penns and Peningtons. 99 illness, and was pleased to raise me up again, that I might serve him in my generation. " As soon as I had recovered sufficient strength to be fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who was then at his house at Crowell to dispose of some things, and in my illness had come to see me) as much money as would meet all the expenses of my illness, which having paid I took leave of my friends there and returned to my studies in Lon- don. 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 read- ing to him, and he explaining to me as occasion required. *' But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to me, scarcely was I well settled in my work when I met with another interruption. A sudden storm, arising from I know not what surmise of a plot, 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 most of the prisons filled with our friends. I was that morning, which was the 26th of the Eighth 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 called Major Rosewell, an apothecary, if I mis- remember not, and at that time under the ill name of a papist. As soon as he was come within the room, 100 The Perms and Peningtons. having a file or two of musketeers at his heels, he com- manded his men to present their muskets at us, which they did ; with intent I suppose to strike terror into the people. Then he made a proclamation, that all might depart if they would who were not Quakers. " It so happened that a young man, an apprentice in London, whose name was Dove — the son of Dr. Dove, of Chinner near Crowell — came that day in curiosity to see the meeting, and finding me there whom he knew, 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 sufEer if it was my lot. When he found the notice given, that they who were not Quakers might depart, he again solicited me to go. I told him I could not, 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 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 to come out of the room. But we who came thither at God's requir- The Penns and Peningtons. 101 ings to worship Him, like that good man of old who said, ' "We ought to obey God rather than man,' 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 into the street, we were received there by other soldiers, who with their pikes ho] den lengthways from one to 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 so active as Major Rosewell. Which observing, I stepped boldly to him as he was passing, and asked if he intended a massacre : for of that in those times there was a great apprehension and talk. The sudden- ness of the question somewhat startled him ; but, recollecting 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 thought fit, in number thirty -two, whereof two were caught in the street who had not been at the meeting, he ordered the pikes to be opened before us ; and giving the word,. ' March,' went himself at our head, the soldiers with their pikes making a lane to keep us from scattering. "He led us up St. Martin's, and turned down to Newgate, where I expected he would lodge us. But to- my disappointment 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, 102 The Penns and Peningtons. sudden he gave a short turn, and brought us before the gate of that prison, where knocking, the wicket was opened, and the master with his porter stood 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 told him that this man was not at the meet- ing, 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 expostulation less acceptable to him from me than it might have been from another. For, looking sternly at me, he said, ' Who are you that take so much upon you ? Seeing you are so busy, you shall be the first that shall go into Bridewell,' and, taking me by the shoulders, he thrust me in. " The porter, pointing with his finger, directed me to a pair of stairs on the further side of a large court, and bid me go up them, and go on till I could go no further. 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 grates, but could not have gone into if I would. I knew that was not the place for me ; wherefore, following my direction, and the winding of the stairs, I went up a story higher, which brought me into a room that I soon perceived to be a court-room or place of judicature. After I had taken a view of it, observing a door on the further side I opened it, but quickly drew back, being almost affrighted at the dismalness of the place. The Penns and Peningtons. lOB 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 rooms judgment was given, and in the other it was executed, on those who for their lewdness were sent to this prison and there sentenced to be whipped. It was so contrived that the court might not only hear, but see, their sentence executed. A sight so unexpected and withall so un- pleasing gave me no encouragement to rest there ; looking earnestly around, I espied on the opposite side a door which gave hopes of a further progress. I stepped hastily to it, and opened it. This let me into one of the fairest rooms that, as far as I remember, I was ever in ; and no wonder ; for though it was now put to this mean use, this house had for many ages been the royal palace of the Kings of England, until Cardinal Wolsey built Whitehall, and presented it as a peace-offering to King Henry the Eighth, who till then had held his court here : and this room was called the King's Dining-room.. In length it was threescore feet, and had breadth proportionable. 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. " Here was my nil ultra, and here I found I might set up my pillar. So, having followed my keeper's direction to the utmost point, I sat down, and consid- ered that rhetorical saying that ' the way to heaven lay by the gate of hell ' ; the black room being regarded as 104 The Penns and Peningtons. bearing some resemblance to the latter, as this compar- atively might in some sort bear to the former. But I was quickly put from these thoughts by the flocking in of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners ; amongst whom, when they were all come together, there was but one whom I knew so much as by face, and with him I had no acquaintance ; for, 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. " As before hinted, it was a general storm which fell that day, but it alighted most heavily on Friends* meetings ; so that most of the men Friends were made prisoners, and the prisons generally were filled. And great work had the women Friends to run about from prison to prison, to find their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, or their servants ; for, according as they disposed of themselves to the various meetings, so were they dispersed to the various prisons. And no little care and pains had they, when they had found them, to furnish them with provisions and other necessary accommodations. " An excellent order, even in those early days, was practised among the Friends of London, by which there were certain individuals 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 m.otherly women, whose names were Anne Travers and Anne Merrick, both widows. They, as soon as they understood there were Friends brought into that prison. 2%e Perms and Peningtons. 105 provided some hot victuals, meat and broth, for the weather was cold ; ordering their servants to bring these things, with bread, cheese and beer ; came them- selves also, and having placed all on a table, gave notice to us that it was provided for those who had not others to provide for them, or were not able to provide for themselves ; and there was no deficiency among us of 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 tenpence, 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 imprison- ment 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 pro- vider. I made no doubt, therefore, that He who sent the ravens to feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies of the field, would find means to sustain me with need- ful food and raiment. "Although the sight and smell of hot food was suflB-Ciently enticing, for I had eaten little that morning, and was hungry, yet, considering the terms of the invitation, I questioned my being included in it, and after some reasoning concluded that, while I had ten- pence in my pocket, I should be but an intruder to that H 106 The Penns and Peningtons. 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 quiet retirement of mind till the repast was over, which was not long ; for there were hands enough at it to make light work of it. When evening arrived, the porter came up the back-stairs, and opening the door told us that if we desired to have anything that was to be had in the house, he would bring it to us ; for there was in the house a chandler's shop, where bread, beer, 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 their money to pay for them. Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out my tenpence as far as I could, desired them to bring me a penny loaf only. When he returned, we all resorted to him to receive our several portions ; when he came to me, he told me he could not get a penny loaf but 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 satisfied was I with it, that I would willingly then have gone to bed, if I had one to go to ; but that was not to be expected there, nor had any one 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. Having lighted divers of them, and placed them in several parts of that large room, we kept walking to keep us warm. The Penns and Peningtons. 107 "After I had thus "warmed myself, and the evening was pretty far spent, I bethought me of a lodging, and cast my eye on the table which stood in the bay-window, the frame whereof looked, I thought, somewhat like a bedstead. Willing to make sure, I gathered up a good armful of the rushes wherein the floor was covered, and spreading them under the table, crept in on them in my clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head on one end of the table's frame instead of a bolster. My example was followed by the rest, who gathered up rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in other parts of the room, and so to rest we went. Having a quiet easy mind, I was soon asleep, and slept till about the middle of the night. Then awaking, and finding my legs and feet very cold, I crept out of my cabin and began to walk about. 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 belonged to families in the city, had bedding brought in of one sort or other, which they disposed at the 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, in which time I did not put off my clothes ; yet, through the goodness of God to 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 acquaintances to Sir Richard Brown, who 108 The Perms and Peningtons. was at that time Master of Misrule in the city, and over Bridewell more especially, were released ; and among these one William Mucklow, who lay on a hammock. He having observed that I only was unprovided, came very courteously to me, and kindly offered me the use of his hammock. This was a providential accommoda- tion to me, which I received thankfully, both as from the Lord and from him. From thenceforward I thought I lay as well whilst I staid there as ever I had done in my life. Among those that remained, there were several young men cast themselves into a club, and laying down every one an equal portion 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. They saw my person and judged me by that, but they saw not my purse, nor understood the lightness of my pocket. But I who alone under- stood it, knew I must sit down with lower commons. Wherefore without giving them the reason as fairly as I could, I excused myself from entering at present into their mess. And before my tenpence was quite spent my Heavenly Father on whom I relied sent me a fresh supply, "William Penington, a brother of Isaac Penington, a Friend, and a 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 on a visit escaped the storm, and so was at liberty ; and understanding when he came back, what had been done, bethought himself The Penns and Peningtons. 109 of me, and hearing where I was came in love to see me. In discourse amongst other things he asked me how it was with me as to money : I told him I could not boast of much, and yet I could not say I had none ; though what I had then 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 the Divine hand in thus opening in this manner to me his heart and hand ; and I received it with thankful acknowledgment, as a token of love from the Lord and from him. " On the Seventh-day he went down again as usual to Chalfont ; and in discourse gave an account of my imprisonment. Whereupon, on his return the Second-day following, my affectionate friend Mary Penington sent me forty shillings, which he soon after brought me. Not many days after this I received twenty shillings from my father, who, understanding that I was a prisoner in Bridewell, sent me this money .to support me there. 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 on a sudden came plen- tiful supplies, shower upon shower, so that I abounded; yet in humility could say, 'This is the Lord's doings.' And without defrauding any of the instru- ments of the acknowledgments due unto them, mine eye looked over and beyond them to my Heavenly Father, whom I saw was the author thereof, and with thankful heart I returned praises and thanksgivings to Him. And this goodness of the Lord to me I thus record, to the 110 The Penns and Peningtons. end that to all into whose hands this may come may be encouraged to trust in Himi whose m.ercy is over all his works, 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 acquaintance with them) took an opportunity to cast myself among them ; and thenceforward so long as we continued prisoners together, I was one of their mess. " The chief thing I now wanted was employment, which scarcely any wanted but myself, for the rest of my company were generally tradesmen, and of such trades as could set themselves to work there. 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 any of their work, I got work from a hosier in Cheap- side ; 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." Thus circumstanced, these prisoners were continued in Bridewell for two months, without being brought before any magistrate to have accusation made against them. And when at last they were brought vip, it seemed merely to have the oaths of allegiance and supremacy tendered. The prisoners complained of the illegality of their imprisonment, and desired to know what they had lain so long in prison for. To this the The Penns and Peningtons. Ill Recorder replied, " If you think you have been wrong- fully imprisoned you have your remedy at law, and may take it if you think it worth your while. The court may send for any man out of the street and tender him the oath ; so we take no notice of 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 premunire you." Acoordingly, as each of the Friends was brought up, and declined to take the oaths, he was set aside and another called. The final process of declaring them outlaws, to be imprisoned for life, was left for a future occasion. When all were gone over, instead of being sent back to Bridewell, they were committed to Newgate, where a circumstance occurred which I shall leave Thomas EUwood to narrate. His description brings strikingly before us the crowded state of the London prisons, showing the recklessness of that spirit of religious per- secution which filled them. No marvel that eventually, at its culmination, plague and pestilence swept over the city. He says : — " When we came to Newgate we found that side of the prison very full of Friends, who were prisoners there before us ; as indeed were all the other parts of that prison, and most of the other prisons about the town ; and our addition caused a still greater throng on that side of Newgate. We had the liberty of the hall, which is on the first story over the gate, and which in the daytime is common to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well as others. But in the night we all lodged in one room, which was large and round, having 112 The Penns and Peningtons. 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 one end, and to the opposite wall on the other end, quite round the room, in three stories 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 ones. And under the lower range of hammocks, by the wall sides, were laid beds .upon the floor, in which the sick and weak prisoners lay. There were many sick and some very weak, and though we were not long there, one of our fellow- prisoners died. " The body of the deceased, being laid out and put in a cofBn, was set in a room called ' The Lodge,' that the coroner might inquire into the cause of his death. The manner of their doing it is this. As soon as the coroner is come, the turnkeys run into the street under the gate, and seize upon every man that passes till they have got enough to make up the" coroner's inquest. It so happened at this time, that 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 inquest. He pleaded hard, begged and besought them to let him go, assuring them he was going on very urgent business. But they were deaf to all entreaties. When they had got their complement, and were shut in together, the others said to this ancient man, ' Come, father, you are the oldest among us ; you shall be our foreman.' When the coroner had sworn the jury, the cofBn was The Penns and Peningtons. 113 Tiiicovered, that they might look upon the body. But the old man said to them, ' To what purpose do you show us a dead body here ? You would not have us think, that this man died in this room ! How shall we be able to judge how this man came by his death, Tinlegs we see the place where he died, and where 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 ishow us the place wherein this man died.' " This much displeased the keepers, and they began to banter the old man, thinking to beat him oflE it. But he stood up tightly to them : ' Come, come,' said he, ' though you made a fool of me in bringing me hither, ye shall not find me a child now I am here. Mistake not ; for 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 he persisted in his resolution, the coroner told them they must shew him the place. " It was evening when they began, and by this time it was bed-time with us, so that we had taken down our hammocks, which in the day hung by the walls, and had made them ready to go into and were un- dressing, when on a sudden we heard a great noise of tongues and trampling of feet coming toward us. By and by one of the turnkeys, opening the door said : ' Hold ! hold ! do not undress ; here is the coroner's 114 The Penns and Peningtons. inquest coining to see you.' As soon as they were come to the door (for within it there was scarcely room for them to'come);the foreman who led them, lifting up his hands, 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 here.' " Whether he did so or not I cannot tell ; but I am apt to think 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, and ordering the porter of Bridewell to attend him to Newgate, 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 spake courteously to us. ' Gentle- men,' 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 who are in it. But, since I cannot do that, I am willing to do what I can for you. And therefore I am here to inquire how it is. I would now have all you who came from Bridewell return thither again, which will give better accommo- dation to you ; and your removal will give more room The Penns and Peningtons. 115 to those that are left behind ; and here is your old keeper, the porter of Bridewell, to attend you thither.' " The sheriff bidding us farewell, the porter of Bridewell came and told us we knew our way to Bride- well without him, and would trust us ; therefore he would not stay nor go with us, but left us to take our own time, so that we were in before bed-time. 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. " We walked two and two abreast, through the Old Bailey into Fleet-street, and so to Old Bridewell. It being about the middle of the afternoon, and the streets pretty full of people, both the shop-keepers at their doors and passengers in the way would stop us, and ask what we were, and whither we were going. When we 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.' " This was indeed a welcome change to the Bridewell prisoners, though in connection with it Thomas Ell wood felt deep sorrow in leaving behind in Newgate some of his very dear friends, especially Kdward Burrough, who, though a young able man when sent there, in a few weeks from this time fell a victim to the pestilential atmosphere of the place. Just a few days before his death the Bi-idewell prisoners were liberated, without any further examination or explana- tion ; the probable inference being that the King had 116 The Penns and Peningtons. interfered on having had his attention drawn to it by the earnest appeal of Margaret Fell. Her letter to the King at this juncture, and her allusion to the liberation of the Quaker prisoners, will be found in the sixteenth chapter of The Fells of Swarthmoor Hall. Before many weeks of 1663 had passed, all the prison doors of the metropolis were opened, and the Quaker prisoners suffered to return home. But the respite was only a short one ; their enemies found means of again assailing them, and giving the King to understand that the City authorities and episcopal clergy would not put up with his interference in connection with the metropolitan prisons and their inmates. Till the plague came with all its horrors, the King never again interfered ; but then at last, when pestilence had overspread the city, he authoritatively deslared, probably at the instigation of the court physicians, that no more Quakers should be sent to the metropolitan jails. I must allow Thomas Ellwood to finish his personal history for 1662 in his own words. He says, " Being now at liberty, I visited my friends that were still in prison, and particularly I visited my friend and bene- factor "William Penington, at his house ; and then went to wait upon my master Milton ; with whom I could not yet propose to enter upon my intermitted studies, until I had been in Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington and his wife, with other Friends in that county. Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather being frosty, and the ways by that means clean and good, I walked it through in a day, and was received by my friends with such demon- .The Perms and Peningtons. 117 strations of kindness as made my journey every way pleasant to me. " I had intended only a visit hither, and therefore purposed, after I had staid 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, the wife of Daniel Wharley, are yet living while I write this. And being himself both skilful and curious in pronunciation, their father 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 he had heard of, and 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 to the highest improvement they were capable of in that, he had taken his leave of them, and gone 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, but had not yet found one. Wherefore, one evening, as we sat together by the fire in his bedcham- ber, he asked me, his wife being by, if I would be so kind to him as to stay a while till he could hear of such an one as he aimed at, and in the meantime enter his children in the rudiments of Latin. " This question was not more unexpected than surprising to me ; the more because it seemed directly 118 The Penns and Peningtons. to thwart my former purpose of endeavouring further to improve myself by following my studies with my master Milton. But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I lay under to these worthy friends of mine shut out all reasoning, and disposed my mind to an absolute resignation to their desire, that I might testify my gratitude, by a willingness to do them any friendly service I was capable of. And though I questioned my ability to carry on the work to its due height, yet as only an initiation was proposed, I consented ; and left not that position till I married, which was in the year 1669, near seven years from the time I came thither. During which period, having the use of my friend's books as well as of my own, I spent much of my leisure hours in reading, and not without improvement to my private studies ; which, with the good success of my labours bestowed on the children, and the agreeable conversation which I found in the family, rendered my undertaking the more satisfactory. " But alas ! not many days had I been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with sorrow for the unex- pected 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, and cruel confinement in Newgate, was taken away by sudden death, to the unutterable grief of very many, and the unspeakable loss of the Church of Christ in general." Thomas Ellwood gave expression to his sorrow in sundry verses on the death of his venerated friend, one of which was an acrostic, Ellwood's Lament for his endeared Edward Burrough, for which the reader is referred to the author's autobiography. CHAPTEK VI. 1662-1669. ^LTHOUGH the spring of 1663 brought some respite to the Friends from the cruel assaults of their enemies, both in the metropolis and the surrounding counties, yet, as the year waned, religious persecution began to rage with renewed violence. That party in the Epis- copal Church, which believed that the terror of physical suffering would succeed in bringing the conscience and conduct of dissenters into conformity with their demands, again determined to try their strength in a fresh struggle with every phase of nonconformity. The Friends were the only dissenters who in this emergency persistently continued to meet publicly for divine worship in their own fashion. They felt bound thereto by allegiance to God, notwithstanding the law of man which interposed to prevent them ; conse- quently they again became the chief victims. In London, Hertfordshire, and the north of England this fresh storm of persecution chiefly raged. The Friends at Chalfont, during the years 1663 and 1664, seem to have remained in the peaceful exercise of their own religious worship. 120 The Penns and Peningtons. Meantime the young tutor at the Grange appears to have made his way steadily with the education of the junior Peningtons. To their sister Guli he was as an attached elder brother, one on whom she could depend for all those little acts of manly courtesy and care which to a nature like his it was a heartfelt pleasure to yield ; often accompanying her in equestrian expedi- tions over the country, and in her walks of exploration through the surrounding woods and fields. In 1664 Gulielma was twenty years of age, and was as remark- able for her goodness and piety as for her beauty and native gracefulness. We are told that her hand was sought by men of all classes, peers and commoners, courtiers and Puritans. But I must allow her friend, who was acquainted with her so intimately from child- hood, to tell us of her at this period, and of his own demeanour towards her. Thomas Ellwood says : — " While I remained in that 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 endow- ments of her mind, which were every way extra- ordinary ; or to her outward fortune which was fair, and which with some hath not the last nor the least place — she was openly and secretly sought and solicited by many, some of almost 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 The Penns and Peningtons. 121 ■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 hope to none, so neither did it administer any matter of ofEence or just cause of complaint to any. " But such as were thus engaged for themselves, or advocates for others, could not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of jealousy ; and a fear that I would improve the opportunities I had of frequent and familiar conversation with her, to work myself into her good opinion, and her special favour, to the ruin of their pretences. And according to the several kinds and degrees of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents ill surmises against me. Some were even inclined to question the sincerity of m.y motives in first coming among the Quakers, urging with a ' Why may it not be that the hope of obtaining so fair a fortune may have been the chief inducement ?' 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 this case, knew very well the terms and motives on which I came among the Friends ; how strait and hard the passage was to me ; how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay fairly another way ; how much I had suffered from my father for it ; and how regardless I had been of seeking any such thing these three or four years I had been amongst them. " Some others, measuring me by their own inclina- tions, concluded I would steal her, run away with her. 122 The Penns and Peningtons. and marry her ; which they thought I might be easily induced to do, from the opportunities I frequently had when riding and walking abroad with her, by night as well as by day, without any other company than her maid. But such was the confidence her mother had in me, that she felt her daughter was safe from the plots or designs of others if I were with her. And so honourable were her thoughts of me, that she would not admit any suspicion. " Whilst I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled some jealous heads concerning me, neither was I so stupid or so divested of human feeling 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 hand. But the force of truth and sense of honour suppressed whatever would have arisen in my heart beyond the bounds of friendship. And having observed how some others had befooled them- selves by misconstruing her common kindness, expressed in innocent, open, free conversation, spring- ing from the abundant affability, courtesy, and sweet- ness of her natural temper, to be the effect of singular regard and peculiar affection for them, I resolved to shun the rock on which I had seen so many run and split ; remembering that saying of the poet, Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum, I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage towards her, and thereby preserving a fair reputation with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her favour The Penns and Peningtons. 123 and kindness in a virtuous and firm friendship, as was fit for her to show or for me to seek." " He for whom she was reserved " — the fortunate one thus alluded to hy Ellwood — was then a total stranger to Gulielma, and at that very time, 1664, like herself, had only just completed his twentieth year. At the period in question, he was very differently surrounded from what she was. Instead of rural life in its cultivated beauty like that which lay around her, and the peace and happiness of a truly Christian home which she enjoyed, he was studying life in continental courts, or making acquaintance with the rank and fashion of France. Before he was eighteen years of age William Penn had been sent to the Continent by his father. Admiral Penn, for the purpose not only of ordinary travel, but especially to have spread before him the allurements of gay courtly life in their most fascinating forms. By this means the father hoped to supplant and drive away the serious impressions his mind had received when an Oxford student, from the Quaker preaching of Thomas Loe, whose prison letter to Ellwood has already been quoted. Young Penn was expelled the University for refusing to wear the college cap and gown ; for dis- cussing among his fellow students the wickedness and absurdity of religious persecution ; and, more espe- cially, for asserting the scriptural truth of Quaker doctrines. No gentle measures awaited his return home after this expulsion. But it was in vain that the stern authoritative admiral insisted on the abandonment of every new religious idea the son had taken up. 124 The Penns and Peningtons. Personal flagellation and solitary confinement folio wed, till the father became aware that the religious convic- tions even of a youth of sixteen or seventeen vs^ere not so to be overcome. At length, when severity failed, continental travel was resolved on ; and no arrange- ments were spared that could render it attractive. William accordingly went abroad under the highest auspices, and with companionship which his father entirely approved of. The courtly life to which he was introduced in Paris, and the brilliant fairy-like scenes that floated before him in the elegant chateaux of French nobles and the ducal palaces of Northern Italy, for a tim« raised up other desires and other visions in the mind of the youth, which were more in unison with those of his ambitious father. In little more than two years young Penn returned without any visible remains of the Quaker predilections of his Oxford life. He had acquired the air and bear- ing of a noble young cavalier, and withal manifested such powers of thought and conversational ability in speaking of what he had observed abroad, that his father and mother were delighted. It was evident he had just seen enough of courtly life to be transiently dazzled by its exterior graces, without having been tainted by its vices. A considerable portion of those two years had been spent in perfecting his theological studies in France under the guidance of Moses Amy- rault, a learned professor of divinity of the Reformed French Church. And now that he had returned home, the admiral, conscious that his active mind must have real occupation, proposed that he should be entered as The Penns and Peningtons. 125 a student of law at Lincoln's Inn. Thus, too, he hoped to perfect the education of the son whom he ex- pected to succeed him in the peerage which was already awaiting his acceptance under the title of Lord Wey- mouth. To the study of the law "William earnestly applied his acute, comprehensive intellect for the following year. But then came a change. In 1665 the plague broke out. Like everyone else who could remove, he left London. But, in view of such sudden calls from life here to life hereafter, very solemn thoughts, and a religious sense of his responsibility to God for the right exercise of the talents that had been given him, took possession of his mind. His father marked the serious thoughtf ulness which succeeded, and his manifest desire to withdraw from fashionable life. In remembrance of the past, he became alarmed, and forthwith resolved to send his son on a visit to his friend, the Duke of Or- mond, then Lord Deputy in Ireland. After making acquaintance with the Ormond family, William was to proceed to the County of Cork, and undertake the m.anagement of the admiral's Shaugarry estate. The viceregal court in Dublin at that period was said to be the purest in Europe, and remarkable for its refinement and mental cultivation. We are told it was to a great extent free from the vulgar excesses that prevailed in the gay dissipated society of the court of the second Charles. Hence it suited young Penn's tastes and ten- dencies, to a degree that the latter never could. He therefore remained in Dublin for a considerable time ; and even joined the Earl of Arran, the Duke's second 126 I'he Penns and Peningtons. son, in a military expedition to quell an outbreak in the County of Antrim. The insurgents having fortified themselves in Carrickfergus Castle, Arran, accompanied by his youthful friend as a volunteer, undertook to dis- lodge them ; and finally they restored peace to the district. His biographer says that young Penn behaved through- out with so much coolness and courage, as to extort general applause from experienced officers. The Duke of Ormond and Lord Arran were earnest in protesting that the ability he had displayed clearly pointed to the army as a profession for which his talents suited him in an eminent degree. However well pleased the admiral was with the Duke's praise of his son's ability and military prowess, he did not wish him to become a soldier ; and hence the last as well as the first military exploit of William Penn was in connection with the Castle of Carrick- fergus. The first portrait for which he sat was painted in Dublin after his return, and in it he was represented in the armour which he wore on that occasion. But an important crisis was now at hand, which changed the whole current of his life. Another and a very different course of discipline was ere long assigned him by the Lord of all, preparing his heart and his hands to weir in the cause of God and His righteousness — not with carnal weapons, but with the spiritual weapons of Divine truth, faith, and love. Penn, on arriving at Shangarry Castle, found abundance of occupation. A great deal of work had to be got through, to bring the affairs connected with the estate into due order ; but, finally, all was settled with The Penns mid Peningtons. 127 so much dispatch and businesslike ability that his father was rejoiced. William Hepworth Dixon depicts, with much graphic power, the events which succeeded : — " The youth had not resided more than a few months at Shangarry Castle, before one of those incidents occurred which destroy in a day the most elaborate attempts to stifle the instincts of nature. Whilst the admiral in England was pluming himself on the triumphs of his wordly prudence, his son, on occa- sion of one of his frequent visits to Cork, heard by accident that Thomas Loe, his old Oxford acquaintance, was in the city and intended to preach that night. He thought of his boyish enthusiasm at college, and wondered how the preacher's eloquence would stand the censures of his riper judgment. Curiosity prompted him to stay and listen. The fervid orator took for his text the passage, ' There is a faith that over- comes the world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the world.' Possessed by strong religious feeling, but at the same time docile and aflEectionate, he had hitherto oscillated between two duties — duty to God, and duty to his father. The case was one in which the strongest minds might waver for a time. On the one side his filial affection, the example of his brilliant friends, the worldly ambition seldom quite a stranger to the soul of man — all pleaded powerfully in favour of his father's views. On the other there were only the low whisperings in his own heart. But that still voice would not be silenced. Often as he had escaped from thought into business or gay society, the 128 The Penns and Peningtons. moment of repose again brought back the old emotions. The crisis had come at last. Under Thomas Loe's influence they were restored to a permanent sway. From that night he was a Quaker in his heart." Again and again he attended the meeting of the Friends in Cork ; and always with the deep conviction that in their assemblies, worship, " in spirit and in truth," was acceptably offered up to " the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort." The truthful, kind, unostentatious demeanour of these persecuted disciples of Christ, with whom he now worshipped won his confidence ; and he resolved, come what would, to cast in his lot with theirs. In their meetings he had experienced such heart-felt spiritual communion as he had never enjoyed elsewhere. He believed his spiritual eyes were now opened to see with some degree of clearness what was of God, and what was not. But it was not long ere a circumstance occurred which must have given him a foretaste of the trials which awaited him if, in defiance of paternal admo- nitions, he should identify himself with the persecuted Friends ; for on the 3rd of Ninth-month, 1667, their meeting in Cork, at which he was present, was broken up by a band of constables and soldiers ; and all the men, eighteen in number, were made prisoners and taken before the mayor. Observing among them the young heir of Shangarry, the magistrate said it was not necessary that he should go to prison if he would give bail for his good behaviour. This Penn declined to do, and, boldly questioning the legality of the whole pro- ceeding, was imprisoned with the rest. From the jail The Penns and Peningtons. 129 l.e wrote to his friend, Lord Ossory, eldest son of the Duke of Ormond, and then holding the presidency of Munster, who promptly interfered to have his young friend released. But the Earl was sorry to find him, on his liberation, in no way disposed to give up his con- nection with the persecuted Quakers. Ossory therefore lost no time in writing to inform the admiral respecting his son's imprisonment, release and continued associa- tion with the Friends. The whole family was dismayed at the intelligence, and the young man was forthwith recalled by the disappointed father. He promptly obeyed the summons, presenting himself as soon as possible before his parents in London. At first, they were a little cheered on noticing no particular change in his manners or dress, except in not uncovering his head when he addressed them. He continued to wear the fashionable cavalier costume ; the long curls, the plume, and the rapier were still in their wonted places, as were the rings and other gold ornaments. No thought had as yet been directed by him to these customary decorations ; but in after times they were all laid aside for what was more simple, though not for any style of dress peculiarly distinguishing the Quakers from other strictly religious people of those times. His father, remembering how he had been before won over, did not at first begin with him harshly. The biographer who wrote the sketch of William Penn's life which accompanied the second edition of his works, published after his decease, dwells as follows on the scenes that ensued between father and son : — " My pen is dif&dent of her ability to describe that 130 The Penns and Peningto'ns. most pathetic and moving contest. The father, actuated by natural love, aiming at his son's temporal honour ; he, guided by a divine impulse, having chiefly in view the Truth of God and his own eternal welfare. His father grieved to see the well-accomplished son of his hopes, now ripe for worldly promotion, voluntarily turning his back on it ; he no less afflicted to think that a compliance with his earthly father's pleasure was inconsistent with obedience to his Heavenly Father. The earthly parent pressing conformity to the fashions and customs of the times, earnestly entreating and be- seeching him to yield to this desire ; the son, of a loving and tender disposition, in an extreme agony of spirit to behold his father's trouble, modestly craving leave to refrain from what would hurt his conscience ; and, when not granted, solemnly declaring that he could not yield ; his father thereon threatening to disinherit him ; he humbly resigning all things of that sort to his father's will, who perceiving that neither entreaty nor threats prevailed, turned his back on him in anger ; and the son lifted up his heart to God for strength to sus- tain him in that time of bitter trial." When all the admiral's endeavours proved ineffectual to shake William's religious resolutions, the disconcerted father, unable any longer to endure him in his sight, fairly turned him out of doors. But his mother, well knowing his deep feeling and devotedness, never suffered her heart to be hardened against her son. She saw him occasionally, and supplied him with the means of procuring the necessaries of life ; whilst the Friends received him cordially in their midst as a brother be- The Penns and Peningtons. 131 loved. In 1668, when in the twenty-fourth year of his age, he came forward amongst them as a minister of the Gospel. The circumstance is thus alluded to in the sketch of his life published with his works : — " Being redeemed by the power of Christ, he was sent to call others from under the dominion of Satan into the glorious liberty of the sons of God, that they might re- ceive remission of sins, and an inheritance among them that are sanctified through faith in Jesus Christ." The same year in which he appeared as a minister he first came forward as a religious writer, his earliest work being Truth Exalted, followed by several controversial works to which it is not necessary further to allude here, the important result of one of them, however, being that he was consigned to the Tower on the extraordinary accusation of blasphemy. That " faith which overcomes the world " was now his in truth ; and its sustaining power kept up his spirit in the solitude to which he was condemned. And though he could not then go forth from place to place as a preacher of righteousness, his pen could send abroad his thoughts even more widely than his voice. Conscious of this, he used indefatigably in his Lord's service the talent he could command. Beside some rejoinders to the attacks of his enemies, which he sent forth from the Tower, he there and then wrote his great work. No Gross, no Grown. As coming from the pen of so young a man, this work, on account of the intimate knowledge of ecclesiastical history and the breadth of thought which it displays, was regarded as a 132 The Penns and Peningtons. marvellous composition, and passed through several editions during the author's lifetime. William Penn, still continuing a prisoner without being brought to trial, notwithstanding all he had written and published, at length addressed a long letter to Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, asking him to interfere. He showed how contrary it was to every principle of justice, and every legal idea ancient or modern, to keep a man imprisoned for holding certain opinions which he really did not hold, without allowing him an opportunity of clearing himself on open trial ; and he asked, even if he did hold all the opinions objected to, by what law could he be legally imprisoned for doing so ; and, if they wished to convince him of error, could they hope to effect it by such means. He says in conclusion : — " I make no apology for my letter as a trouble ; because I think the honour that will accrue to thee by being just, and releasing the oppressed, ex- ceeds the advantage that can succeed to me. And I am well assured any kindness and justice it may please thee to employ on that account cannot miss a plentiful reward from God, and praise of all virtuous men." This letter bears date the 1st of Fifth-month, 1669 and in little more than a month after it was written the writer was released after about eight months' im- prisonment. On the 24th of Eighth-month he sailed from Bristol to Cork, where he arrived on the 26th. By his father's express orders, he was again to under- take the management of the Shangarry estate. From all that can be ascertained, it seems that it was early in the eventful year 1668 that William Penn The Penns and Peningtons. 133 first met with Gulielina Maria Springett. Doubtless, though they had not previously been personally ac- quainted, she had heard something of his history ; and had been told of the great ability and Christian faith- fulness manifested by the young convert, son to the celebrated Admiral Sir William Penn. We may easily imagine how such a mind as hers, and such a heart as his, would be attracted towards each other on their first acquaintance. We may well understand, too, how Thomas Ellwood's generous spirit could rejoice, in a certain sense, in seeing the dawn of mutual love which was not to be mistaken by his practised eye. He saw, without a worai being spoken, that 'he for whom she was reserved ' had come at last ; and then, but not till then, could he find in his heart to devote himself to any one else. Meantime William Penn, however charmed by this good and beautiful girl, was in no position to make any manifestation of his feelings, or even to suffer himself to dwell with certainty on his ever being able to do so. He was still banished from his father's house, and the Admiral's threat to disinherit him had not been re- tracted. It does not even appear that on sending him to Ireland he had had any personal interview with his son. His mother met him, and sometimes he came home to see her in his father's absence. It is also pro- bable that through her the arrangement was made about his returning to Shangarry. The following interesting manuscript document respecting William Penn was obligingly forwarded to the Author by a member of the Huntly family of High 134 The Penns and Peningtons. Wycombe, to whose collection of old MSS. it belongs. As it gives many incidents of Penn's early history which were related by himself to his friend Thomas Harvey, including some not mentioned in any of the memoirs of him which have hitherto appeared, I shall now lay its substance, with occasional extracts, before the reader. Among other things it mentions an earlier meeting with Thomas Loe than that which took place at Oxford, and gives additional particulars of Admiral Penn's efforts to withdraw his son from Quakerism, and of William's first interview with Gulielma Maria Sprin- gett. " An account of the convincement of William Penn, delivered hy himself to Thomas Harvey about thirty years since, which Thomas Harvey related to me in the following brief manner : — " He said, while he was but a child living at Cork with his father, Thomas Loe came thither. When it was rumoured a Quaker was come from England, his father proposed to some others to be like the noble Bereans, to hear him before they judged him. He accordingly sent to Thomas Loe to come to his house, where he had a meeting in the family. Though William was very young, he observed what effect Thomas Loe's preaching had on the hearers. A black servant of his father's could not contain himself from weeping aloud ; and, looking on his father, he saw the tears running down his cheeks also. He [little William] then thought within himself, ' What if they would all be Quakers ? ' This opportunity he never quite forgot — the remem- The Penns and Peningtons. 135 brance of it still recurring at times. He afterwards went to Oxford, where he continued till he was expelled for writinjj a book which the priests and masters of the college did not like. Then he was sent to France, further to prosecute his learning, and after he returned he was sent to Ireland." The manuscript goes on to say that, on his second coming to Cork, being the only one of the family there, and requiring some articles of clothing, he went to the shop of a woman-Friend in the city to procure them, He expected she would have known him, but she did not. He was too much altered from the days of his boyhood, when the Friend had seen him, to be no w recog- nised by her. However, he. told her who he was, and he spoke to her of Thomas Loe, and of the meeting at his father's house ten or eleven years befoi'e. The manuscript says, " She admired at his remembering, but he told her he should never forget it ; also if he only knew where that person was, if 'twere a hundred miles off he would go to hear him again. She said he need not go so far, for the Friend had lately come thither, and would be at meeting the next day. So he went to the meeting, and when Thomas Loe stood up to preach, he was exceedingly reached, and wept much. " After meeting, some Friends took notice of him, and he went to a Friend's house with Thomas Loe. In discourse T. L. having said he should want a horse, his own being not fit to travel, on which William Penn offered him his sumpter-horse which he had brought from France. Thomas Loe not being willing to take it, W. P. thought it was because he was not enough of a ]36 The Penns and Peningtons. Friend to have his horse accepted. He continued to go to meeting ; and one day a soldier came into the Friends* meeting and made great disturbance, on which William Penn goes to him, takes him by the collar, and would have thrown him down stairs, but for the interference of a Friend or two who requested William to let him. alone, telling him the Friends were a peaceable people, and would not have any disturbance made. Then he became very much concerned that he had caused them to be uneasy by his roughness. " The soldier whom William Penn had expelled went to the magistrates, and brought officers and men who broke up the meeting, and took several of them prison- ers, and him among the rest. They were brought before the magistrate, who, knowing W. P., said he did not think he was a Quaker, so would not send him to jail- But William told him, whether he thought it or not, he was one, and if he sent his friends to prison he was willing to go with them. Then the magistrate said he should go with them." The MS. goes on to tell of the interference of the Deputy-Governor of Munster for William's liberation, and also mentions his writing to inform the admiral, who forthwith ordered his son home. " Which order he obeyed, and landed at Bristol, where he stayed some meetings to strengthen himself, knowing his father would not be very pleasant upon him. Josiah Coal went with him to London, also to his father's house, to see how he was likely to be entertained. His father kept his temper while J.C. was there, but before going to bed, observing him use thee or thou,h.Q was very angry." The Penns and Peningtons. 137 The conversation of the father and son on this point, the MS. tells us, resulted in the former saying " he might thee or thou who he pleased, except the King, the Duke of York, and himself ; these he should not thee or thou." But still "William would not give his father to expect that he could in conscience make any such exceptions. On parting from him for the night, the admiral, with evidence of much displeasure, told his son to be ready to go out with him in the coach next morning when called on. William could sleep none that night, his mind being disturbed by a suspicion that his father had determined to take him to Court at once, to see how far courtly surroundings would aid in driving away his Quaker prepossessions. •' When the morning came, they went in the coach together, without William knowing where they were going, till the coachman was ordered to drive into the Park. Thus he found his father's intent was to have private discourse with him. He commenced by asking him what he could think of himself, after being trained up in learning and courtly accomplishments, nothing being spared to fit him to take the position of an ambassador at foreign courts, or that of a minister at home, that he should now become a Quaker. William told him that it was in obedience to the manifestation of God's will in his conscience, but that it was a cross to his own nature. He also reminded him of that former meeting in Cork, and told him that he believed he was himself at that time convinced of the truth of the doctrine of the Quakers, only that the grandeur of the world had been felt to be a too great sacrifice to give 138 The Penns and Peningtons. up. After more discourse they turned homewards. They stopped at a tavern on the way, where Sir William ordered a glass of wine." On entering a room on this pretext, he immediately locked the door. Father and son were now face to face, under the influence of stern displeasure on the one hand, and on the other, prayer- ful feeling to God for strength rightly to withstand or bear what was coming. William, remembering his early experience on returning from Oxford, expected something desperate. The thought arose that the admiral was going to cane him. But, instead of that, the father, looking earnestly at him, and laying his hands down on the table, solemnly told him he was going to kneel down to pray to Almighty God that his son might not be a Quaker, and that he might never again go to a Quaker meeting. William, opening the casement, declared that before he would listen to his father putting up such a prayer to God, he would leap out of the window. At that time a nobleman was passing the tavern in his coach, and observing Sir William's at the door, he alighted. Being directed to the room in which father and son were together, his knock came in time to arrest the catastrophe. He had evidently heard of William's return, and of the admiral's high displeasure. After saluting the former the MS. says that " he turned to the father, and told him he might think himself happy in having a son who could despise the grandeur of the world, and refrain from the vices which so many were running into." They paid a visit before they returned home to another nobleman, and the discourse with him also The Perms and Peningtons. 139 turned on the change in William. Here again the father was congratulated and the son's resolution com- mended. These congratulations were cheering to the young convert, whatever they may have been to the admiral. It would seem that, for a longer time than is generally supposed, William remained under his father's roof after his return from Ireland ; and that in fact he had commenced to preach in Friends' meetings, and had become known as a Quaker preacher, before his final expulsion from home took place. He had been engaged with another preacher in visiting Friends' meetings in the country, one of which had been broken up by a magistrate, who wrote to Sir William, telling him what tumult his son had been making, and the admiral immediately despatched a letter ordering him to come home. The Friend who had been travelling with him advised him to obey his father. William decided to do so, and on his return he came to London ; but, before going to Wanstead, he attended a meeting in the city. After that meeting, happening to be in the house of a Friend who resided in the neighbourhood Gulielma Maria Springett came in and was introduced to him ; this was in the year 1668, and was the first time he ever saw his future wife. The manuscript account continues : — " Returning home, his father told him he had heard what work he had been making in the country, and after some dis- course bid him take his clothes and begone from his house, for he should not be there any longer. Also, that he should dispose of his estates to them that pleased him better. William gave him to understand 140 2%e Penns and Peningtons. how great a cross it was to him to disoblige his father, not because of the disposal of his estates, but from the filial aflfection he bore to him." Thus father and son parted, William declaring his deep sorrow, but his still deeper conviction that he must in the first place obey God. Kissing his mother and his sister Margaret, he left the house with their cries of distress sounding in his ears. William Penn had a brother named Richard, of whom we hear very little. It is probable he was at school or college at this time, as he seems to have been several years younger than William. Before his imprisonment, William Penn attended the deathbed of Thomas Loe. On that occasion he wrote the following account of the last hours of his beloved and venerated friend : — William Penn to Isaac Penington. "I' understand through thy dear wife of thy desire to be informed concerning the sickness and death of dear Thomas Loe. It was thus. When George Whitehead, Thomas Loe, and myself, after thou left us, were at Wickham, at the Duke of Buckingham's [on the busi- ness] relative to Friends' liberty, he was taken suddenly ill, which necessitated him to leave us, and hasten to the house of a Friend who lived near, where, after three hours, we found him from excessive retching very feverish. Business called me to the city, so that I left them. That evening he was brought by coach to Anne Greenhill's, where he remained about a week, at times very ill. By reason of the continual noise her house The Penns and Peningtons. 141 was exposed to, we removed him to Edward Man's ; where we all had hopes of his speedy recovery, inas- much as the retirement of the chamber in which he lay occasioned great rest. But, being infirm and under extraordinary fever, the strength of his constitution could not long support it, and for some time before he left us we daily expected his departure. About four days before he died I fell sick myself ; but, hearing at what point it was with dear Thomas, I could not long keep my bed, but got up and hastened to him. I found him in readiness to depart. Friends, much afEected, stood around his bed. When I came in, and had set myself upon the bedside, so shook was he by the power of the Lord, and overcome by the ravishing glory of His presence, that it was wonderful to all the Friends. Taking me by the hand, he spoke thus : — ' Dear heart, bear thy cross, stand faithful for God, and bear thy testimony in thy day and generation ; and God will give thee an eternal crown of glory, that none shall ever take frojn thee. There is not another way. Bear thy cross. Stand faithful for God. This is the way the holy men of old walked in, and it shall prosper. God has brought immortality to light, and immortal life is felt in its blessedness. Glory, glory to Thee, for Thou art eternally worthy ! My heart is full. What shall I say ? His love overcomes me. My cup runs over, my cup runs over. Glory, glory to his name for ever ! Friends, keep your testimonies. Live to God, and he will be with you. Be not troubled ; the love of God overcomes my heart.' It effected more than all the outward potions given him, for it so enlivened his 142 The Perms and Peningtons. spirits and raised him, that he soon after got up and walked about, saying to us, ' Many times when I have seemed to be going, the Lord has shined upon my tabernacle, and raised it up.' " But it was then the will of the Lord that, after all his labour, perils, and travels, he should there lay down the body amongst his ancient friends. After some little time, so greatly did his distemper increase, and his life sink, that we all gave him up, death appearing in almost every part. He lay some short time speech- less, his spirit being centred, and at last he went away with great stillness, having finished his testimony, and left many demonstrations of his service and much fruit of his diligent labour. My soul loved him while living, and now bemoans his loss when dead. The day following we laid the mortal part in the ground, it having done its Master's work. " With my dear love to thyself, wife, and family, I remain in true love " Thy sincere friend, "Wm. Pbnn. " London, 17th of 8th Mo., 1668." CHAPTEE VII. 1665-1671. UAVINGr glanced at "William Penn's history up to the autumn of 1669, attention must now for a time be more exclusively given to that of the Peningtons. In 1665, religious persecution again disturbed the quiet that had prevailed for the previous few years among the worshippers who weekly assembled in the Penington parlour. Before this disturbance com.- menced, an illustrious poet, well known to some of the family at the Grange, had determined to seek a retreat in their neighbourhood, from the pestilence which was depopulating the capital. This was the summer of the great plague of London. Every week the number of its victims was increasing, whilst death in its most alarming form was spreading terror all around. As many as could leave the doomed city, and were not bound by conscience or by feelings of self-sacrifice to watch over the sick and dying, sought refuge in the country. John Milton, dependent as he was at that time on the sight of others, requested his former pupil to find a house for him near his own home. Thus Ell- wood relates the circumstance : — " I was desired by my 144 The Penns and Peningtons. 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 for him in Giles Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, and intended to wait on him, and see him well settled in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment." " That imprisonment," will be explained by the following extract from Ellwood's autobiography : — " Some time before this, a very severe law was made against the Quakers by name, particularly prohibiting our meetings under the sharpest penalties ; five pounds for the first ofEence so called, ten pounds for the second, and banishment for the third ; under pain of condemnation for felony if escaping or returning with- out licence. This act was looked upon to have been procured by the bishops, in order to bring us to conform to their way of worship. No sooner was that cruel law made, than it was put in execution with great severity. And although the storm, it raised fell with greater weight on some other parts, yet we were not in Buckinghamshire wholly exempted therefrom, as it reached us after a tim.e. For a Friend of Amersham, Edward Perrot, departing this life, the Friends of the adjacent 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 coffin The Perms and Peningtons. 145 ■was taken up and borne on Friends' shoulders through the street towards the burying-ground, which was at the town's end, being part of an orchard which the deceased in his lifetime had given to Friends for that purpose. " It so happened that one Ambrose Bennett, 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 informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there that day, and that most of the Quakers in the country were coming to the burial. Upon this, he set up his horses and stayed ; and when we, not knowing of his design, went innocently for- ward to perform our Christian duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out of the inn upon us, with constables, and a rabble of rude fellows whom he had gathered together. Having his drawn sword in hand, he struck one of the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them to set down the coflRn. But Thomas Dell, the Friend who had been struck, being more con- cerned for the safety of the dead body than for his own, held the coffin fast. The justice observing this, and being enraged that his word, how unjust soever, was not forthwith obeyed, with a forcible thrust threw the coffin 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 gave command for apprehending us, and the constables with the rabble fell on us, and drew some, and drove others into the inn ; giving thereby an opportunity to the rest to walk away. 146 The Penns and Peningtons. " Of those thus taken, I was one and Isaac Penington another. Being with many more put into a room under a guard, we were kept there till another justice had been sent for to join the other in committing us. Being called forth severally before them, they picked out ten of us, whom they committed to Aylesbury jail, for what neither we nor they knew ; for we were not convicted of having done or said any thing which the law could take hold of." " Our great concern was for our friend Isaac Penington, because of the tenderness of his constitution ; but he was so lively in spirit, and so cheerfully given up to sufEer, that he rather en- couraged us than needed any from us." The ten Friends thus committed were kept in prison for a month ; when that time had elapsed, the doors were opened and they were discharged. On his return Ellwood without delay sought his friend Milton, which visit he thus notes, " Now, being released, I soon made a visit to him to welcome him to the country. After some common discourses had passed between us, he called for a manuscript of his ; which being brought he delivered it to me, bidding me take it hom.e and read it at my leisure ; and when I had so done, return him with my judgment thereupon. " When I came home, and had set m.yself to read it, I found it was that excellent poem which is entitled Paradise Lost. After I had with the best attention read it through, I made him another visit, and return- ed him his book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me in communicating it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what I thought of it, The Perms and Peningtons. 147 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 about Paradise Found ? ' He m.ade m.e no answer, but sat some time in a muse, then broke off that discourse and fell upon another subject. After the sickness was over, and the city, well cleansed, had become safely habitable again, he returned thither, and when afterwards I went to wait on him there, which I seldom failed doing whenever my occasions drew me to London, he shewed 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 Chalf ont, which before I had not thought of.' " It is pleasant to hear even this much of Milton in those days of his outward darkness and seclusion, when, abjuring politics, he devoted his thoughts to poetry. But whilst we cordially thank Ellwood for relating these incidents, we would have felt very much more indebted to him, if he had told us all that he could have told about the great poet during his retirement at Chalfont, where he is supposed to have remained till the spring of 1666. And we would have been still further obliged if he had let us know what the ladies at the Grange thought of the " heavenly epic," or if he read it to them. The " pretty box " which Thomas Ellwood took for his quondam master, as he calls Milton, is still standing.* Although a plain farmhouse » In 1867. 148 The Penns and Peningtons. it is of course regarded as the most interesting object in the neighbourhood of Chalfont. Only four weeks elapsed from the time of that visit of Ellwood to Milton when the manuscript was placed in his hands, till Isaac Penington was again imprisoned by order of William Palmer, deputy-lieutenant of the County of Bucks. At the time the order was issued and executed, Mary Penington had not left her room after the birth of one of her children ; I believe her youngest son Edward. The mittimus made out by Palmer was to the effect that the jailor of Aylesbury prison "should receive and keep the body of Isaac Penington in safe custody, during the pleasure of the Earl of Bridgwater." This Earl of Bridgwater, as it appears, had conceived a bitter antipathy to Isaac Pen- ington, because he would neither, when addressing Mm, use the phrase " My Lord," nor sign himself, in writing to him, " Your humble servant." Penington had conscientiously adopted the truthfulness of address advocated by the Friends, and could not call any man "his lord" who was not so; nor call himself the servant of any one to whom he owed no service. The Earl had declared he should " lie in prison till he would rot," if he would not apologize to him for the omission, and address him in the manner which he conceived due to his rank. Isaac Penington's mind was meantime so deeply centred in devotion to the Lord, and in resignation to His holy will in all things, that the prison surround- ings were very lightly regarded when compared with the happiness he felt in the assurance that the persecu- The Penns and Peningtons. 14& tion he was enduring would bring honour and exalta- tion to the cause of Truth. In humble adoration before God his Saviour, every murmuring thought was hushed, as he wrote to her from whom he was so cruelly- separated : — To Ms wife. " 1st of 7th month, 1665. " My dear true love, " I have hardly freedom to take notice of what hath passed so much as in my own thoughts ; but I am satisfied in my very heart that the Lord, who is good, hath ordered things thus, and will bring about what He pleaseth thereby. Why should the fleshly-wise, reasoning part murmur, or find fault ? " Oh ! be silent before the Lord all flesh within me,, and disturb not my soul in waiting on my God for to perceive what he is working in me and for me, and which He maketh these uncouth occurrences conduce into. " One thing have I desired of the Lord, even that I may be His, perfectly disposed of by Him, know- nothing but Him, enjoy nothing but in His life and leadings. Thus must I give up and part with even thee, my most dear and worthy love, or I cannot be happy in my own soul or enjoy thee as I desire. " I find my heart deeply desiring and breathing after the pure power of the Lord to reign in me ; yet dare I not choose, but beg to be taught to wait ; and to be made willing to drink the residue of the cup of suffer- ing, both inward and outward, until the Lord see good, to take it from my lips. 150 The Pefins and Peningtons. " Oh, my dear ! say little concerning me ; plead not my cause, but be still in thy own spirit, and await what the Lord will do for me ; that all the prayers which in the tenderness of my soul I have often put up for thee may have their full effect upon thee. My dear, be my true yoke-fellow, helpful to draw my heart toward the Lord, and from every thing but what is sanctified by the presence and leadings of His life. I feel, and thou knowest that I am, very dearly thine, "J P." Notwithstanding the declaration of the Earl of Bridgwater, Isaac Penington's friends, being aware that he had broken no law, calculated on his release when- ever the assizes came round. But the Earl, also aware of that fact, took means to prevent a trial. Therefore, when the term arrived, no such case appeared. Thus term after term passed away without any trial, or any notice whatever of Isaac Penington's incarceration. It became evident that the mittimus made out by the deputy-lieutenant of the county was being literally obeyed, and that the prisoner was really designed to remain imprisoned during the pleasure of the haughty earl. The Penington family, as before stated, continued to occupy the Grange for some years after the confiscation of Alderman Penington's estates, among which this at Chalfont which he had given to his eldest son was included. What the circumstances were under which the son's family was allowed to remain in possession have not been alluded to in any document I have seen ; nor have I met with any statement relative to the The Penns and Peningtons. 151 bestowal of the confiscated property, save that which I have quoted, which says that Alderman Penington's estates were given by Charles the Second to the Duke of Grafton. But the temporary permission to occupy what had formerly been their own house and home was withdrawn, and they were ejected from the Grange soon after Isaac Penington was cast into prison. Whether the Bridgwater influence had anything to do with this harsh proceeding at such a juncture is not evident, though we may well surmise it had. Be that as it may, the family was broken up, and they made several movements before they could obtain a tolerably comfortable abode. Gulielma with her maid went to Bristol, as Ellwood tells us, on a visit to her former maid, who had been married to a Bristol merchant. Mary Penington herself, with her younger children, went to Aylesbury, to be near her husband. There she took a small house. The tutor had lodgings in the neighbour- hood. Of the many religious letters still in existence which were written by Isaac Penington in the prison at Aylesbury, some were addressed to his implacable enemy the Earl of Bridgwater. They shew very clearly and beautifully the loving and forgiving spirit which influenced the writer, and evince unswerving fidelity to his Divine Master. 152 The Penns and Peningtons. Isaac Penington to the Earl of Bridgwater. " God is higher than man, and His will and laws are to be obeyed in the first place ; man's only in the second, and that in due subordination to the will and laws of God. Now, friend, apply this thyself ; and do that which is right and noble ; that which is justifiable in God's sight ; that thou mayest give a comfortable account to Him when He shall call on thee. That which thou hast done to me hath not made me thy enemy ; but, in the midst of the sense of it, I desire thy true welfare ; and that thou mayest so carry thyself in thy place, as neither to provoke God against thee in this world, nor in the world to come. " Hast thou not afflicted me without cause ? Wouldst thou have me to bow to thee wherein the Lord hath not given me liberty ? Oh ! come down in thy spirit before the Lord. Honour Him in thy heart and ways,. and seek for the true nobility and honour that cometh from Him. Thou hast but a time to be in the world, and then eternity begins ; and what thou hast sown here thou must then reap." " I send thee the enclosed. that thou wouldst read it in fear and humility, lifting up thy heart to the Lord who giveth understanding, that it may be a blessing to thee, for in true love was it writ. "Though the Lord beholdeth, and will plead the cause of His innocent ones, and the more helpless they are the more they are considered, yet I do not desire that thou shouldst suffer either from man or from God,, on my account, but that thou mightest be guided to. The Penns and Peningtons. 153 and preserve, in that which will bring sweet rest, peace, and safety to all who are sheltered by it, in the stormy hour in which the Lord will make man to feel his sin and m.isery. " This is the sum of what I have at present to say, who have writ this in the stirrings of true love towards thee, and from a desire that thou mightest feel the power of God forming thy heart, setting it aright, and causing it to bring forth the fruits of righteousness in thee." " I am thy friend in these things, and have written as a true lover of thy soul. "I.P. " From Aylesbury jail, 24th of vi. mo. 1666." Isaac Penington, on behalf of himself and his friends, to the magistrates who were striving to crush out Quakerism by persecution. " Why do ye persecute and afElict a man who desireth to live in the love and peace of God towards you ? Will nothing satisfy you unless I deny the Lord whom I have sought and been acquainted with from my childhood, and whose favour and presence I cannot but value above all things ? God appeareth not in outward shapes or voices, but in His truth revealed in the hearts and consciences of them that fear Him and wait upon Him ; and he that denieth subjection to any manifesta- tion in the pure light revealed there denieth God, and shall be denied of Him ; this I dare not run the hazard of, through fear of any man. Ye are men — great men, E 154 The Penns and Peningtons. many of you — but I know God to be greater, and that His power and authority over me is greater than yours ; and therefore I am not to be blamed for yielding sub- jection to Him in the first place. " Oh ! think what ye are doing. Oh ! that ye would yet consider ! Can poor worm man contend against his Maker, and prosper ? Alas ! what are we ? But if the Lord our God hath ajspeared to us, and in us, and ye in that respect are offended, and make war with us, do ye not thus contend against God ? What will be the end of these things ; and what are ye bringing this poor nation and yourselves unto ? For of a truth God is righteous, and what ye have sown in the day of your power that ye must reap in the day of His righteous judgment ; all the sufferings, oppressions, and cries of the innocent will then come upon you in full weight and measure, unless ye repent and change your ways. " I write this in love, tenderness, and good will, as the Lord knoweth, however ye may interpret it ; and, after all my sufferings from you, I could freely lay down my life for your sakes, if it were the will of God thus to do you good. " I have been and still am a patient sufferer for well- doing, blessing the Lord who redeemeth and preserveth the souls of His children out of evil doing, and who bringeth His indignation and wrath, with great per- plexity and misery, upon nations and upon persons who set themselves in opposition to Him. Eead Is. xxiv. and Rom. ii. 2, 9 ; and fear before Him, for it is good for man to be abased, and to be found in true fear before his Maker. " LP. " Aylesbury, 23rd 4th mo. 1666." The Penns and Peningtons. 155 It will be observed that the above letters in no degree partake of the usual tone of a prisoner asking for release. Throughout, the writer considers himself as a Christian minister, commissioned by the Lord ; and as such, in addressing evil doers, he is striving under feelings of Christian concern to draw their hearts to God. But we have no evidence of anything he said, having touched the feeling or consciences of either the Earl of Bridgwater or of Palmer the deputy-lieutenant, who were chiefly instrumental in putting him into prison and keeping him there. However, it is probable his words touched some less hardened hearts ; as it appears the Earl of Ancram interposed, and either by persuasion or some other means, induced the deputy- lieutenant to liberate Isaac Penington. His wife and some of his children, with two servants, were then living in the small house in Aylesbury. Thomas Ellwood, and the elder children, were lodging in a farmhouse in the parish of St. Giles Chalf ont. Mary Penington, who at various times was a severe sufferer from internal pain, seems to have gone to London for medical advice, accompanied by her daughter Gulielma, when the following letter was written. It has been copied by kind permission, from the original, now the property of Silvanus Thompson of York ; on the back it is directed to William Penington, Merchant, for M. P. 156 The Penns and Peningtons. To Ms wife. 19th of First-Month, 1667. " My dear love, whom my heart is still with, and whose happiness and full content is my great desire and delight. " Leaving thee in so doubtful a condition, and there being such an earnestness in my mind to hear how it was with thee, it was pretty hard to me to miss of a letter from thee on the Third-day. Thomas Ell wood had one from W.P. on the Fourth-day, wherein there was very good and welcome news concerning thy health. " On Third-day night were called E. H., W. R., and G. S., not having been called at the assizes. They said the judge spake much against the Papists at the assizes. and also gave a short charge relating to the fanatics, And I heard by a Windsor friend that they were for- ward and preparing to be very sharp at Windsor. " Yesterday I saw thy boy Ned at [name illegible'] looking very well and fresh, if not too well ; I mean, too fat. Bill and all thy children are well. Bill ex- pects thy coming home at night. I bid him write to thee to come home ; but he said no, he would go to London to thee. I said, ' if thou canst not get quiet, father will get all thy love from thee ' ; for he was ex- ceedingly loving to me this morning in bed. He said, ' No ! no ! must not get all the love from mother.' My natural love makes me express these things, yet not without some fear lest I should be instrumental to draw thy mind too much into that nature which I myself want to be daily further and further drawn out of. The Penns and Peningtons. 157 " My dear love is to thee, and to my dear Guli, and to my dear S.W. Mind it also to S.H. and J.B. and W., and S.B., and brother Daniel and his wife, and to the Pagets, if thou see them, — which perhaps it might be convenient so to do if thou hast opportunity ; for it seems some have endeavoured to instil into them as if we were neglectful of them, and had not love for them answerable to theirs for us. " My dear, that the Lord may lead us more and more into His precious life, and under his holy power, and into the grace of, and subjection to His pure truth, that therein -we may live to him, and feel the daily change more and more into his holy image ! " Thine in all dearness, truth, and love, "LP. " P.S. — Thomas EUwood desires me to mind his love to thee and Guli Springett. " My soul hath been poured out, my dear, in prayer for thy health and ease, if the Lord might see good ; and for His doing thee good by the pain wherewith thou art afflicted ; and for thy growth and prosperity in His truth. I also desire of the Lord prudence and wisdom, to guide me towards my children." The term of Isaac Penington's liberation, after the release procured for him by the Earl of Ancram, was of less than a month's duration. The two wicked tyrants. Palmer and Bridgwater, contrived at the end of three weeks to have this unresisting Christian gentle- man again imprisoned. He was then confined in a most unhealthy incommodious apartment of Aylesbury jail, which so much debilitated his tender constitution, 158 The Penns and Peningtons. and brought on such a severe attack of illness, that for a considerable time it was thought he would not have recovered. But he did survive, and after recovery still remained incarcerated, whilst his meek patient spirit endured without repining all the evil thus heaped on him, believing, as he did, that his Heavenly Father would cause good to come out of it. Again he had recourse to his pen to convey words of comfort or Christian coundel to those towards whom his spirit was drawn. During his various imprisonments he wrote several religious works, and his correspondence was very extensive. To the Friends of the neighbouring meetings he occasionally wrote epistles, and very often he wrote privately to individuals both at home and abroad. From letters which were written about this time the following are selected : — To Friends in Amersham. " Aylesbury, 4th 3rd mo. 1667. " Friends, " Our (spiritual) life is love, and peace, and tenderness ; bearing one with another, and forgiving one another, not laying accusations one against another, but praying one for another, and helping one another with a tender hand, if there has been any slip or fall ; and waiting till the Lord gives sense and repentance, if sense and repentance in any be wanting. Oh ! wait to feel this spirit, and to be guided in this spirit, that ye may enjoy the Lord, and walk meekly, tenderly, peace- ably, and lovingly one with another. Then ye will be a praise to the Lord, and any thing that may be amiss ye will come over in the true dominion, even in the The Penns and Peningtons. 159 Lamb's dominion ; and that which is contrary shall be trampled upon, as life rises and rules in you. So watch your heart and ways ; and watch one over another in that which is gentle and tender, and knows it can neither preserve itself, nor help another out of the snare ; but the Lord must be waited on to do this in and for us all. So mind Truth, the service, enjoyment, and possession of it in your hearts, and so walk as may bring- no disgrace' upon it, but may be a good savour in the places where ye live — the meek, innocent, tender, righteous life reigning in you, governing over you, and shining through you. " Your friend in the Truth, and a desirer of your welfare therein, " LP." To George Fox. " Aylesbury jail, 15th 5th mo. 1667. " Dear G.F. " I feel the tender mercy of the Lord, and some proportion of that brokenness, fear, and humility which I have long waited for, and breathed after. Oh ! blessed be the Lord, who hath fitted and restored me, and brought up my life from the grave. " I feel a high esteem and dear love to thee, whom ''he Lord hath chosen, anointed, and honoured ; and, dear G.F., I beg thy love and entreat thy prayer's, in faith and assurance that the Lord hears thee, that I may ' be yet more broken, that I may be yet more filled with the fear of the Lord, and may walk in perfect humility and tenderness of spirit before Him all my days. 160 The Penns and Peningtons. "Dear George, thou mayest know my wants and desires more fully than my own heart. Be helpful to me in tender love, that I may feel settlement and/ stability in the Truth, and perfect separation from all/ that is contrary thereto. "I.P. " P.S. — I entreat thy prayers for my family, that the name of the Lord may be exalted, and his Truth flourish therein. Dear G.F., indeed my soul longs for the pure, full, and undisturbed reign of (spiritual) life in me." To his Uncle. " 19th 7th mo. 1668. " Dear Uncle, " There is true and tender love in my heart towards thee, and in that love I cannot but desire that it may be well with thee forever ; and to that end that thou mayest be acquainted with the power and life of religion, feeling it quickening and redeeming thy mind, heart, and soul to the Lord. Many take up a religion, as they apprehend, from the letter of the Scriptures, and strive to conform their heart and practices thereto, which they think will avail. But, dear uncle, whoever receives not the (divine) power into his heart, which is stronger than the power which 'causeth to sin, and which captivateth the mind from the Lord, he is not a true witness of salvation. The Lord hath revealed His precious living virtue, and His pure redeeming power in this our day ; blessed forever .1^ ^ ^ i. 4.1^ 1^^ ^ § ^ :^:?^^l ^ X John Robinson. — What is this person's name ? " Constable. — Mr. Penn, sir. ^'■Robinson. — Is your name Penn ? "Penn. — Dost thou not know me ? "Robinson. — I don't know you. I don't desire to know such as you. "Penn. — If not, why didst thou send for me hither ? "Robinson. — Is that your name, sir? 21 6 The Penns and Peningtons. "Penn. — Yes, yes, my name is Perm. I am. not ashamed of my name. "Robinson. — Constable, where did you find him? " Constable. — At Wheeler-street, at a meeting, speak- ing to the people. "Robinson. — Tou mean he was speaking to an un- lawful assembly "Constable. — I do not know indeed, sir; he was there, and he was speaking. "Robinson. — Give them their oaths. "Penn. — Hold; do not swear the man. I freely acknowledge I was at Wheeler-street, and that I spoke to an assembly of people there. " Robinson. — No matter ; give them the oaths. Mr. Penn, you know the law better than I can tell you, and you know these things are contrary to law. " Penn. — If thou believest me to be better known in the law than thyself, hear me, for I know no law I have transgressed. Laws are to be construed strictly and literally, or more explanatorily and lenitively. In the first sense, the execution of many laws may be extrema injuria, the greatest wrong ; in the latter way applied, wisdom and moderation. I would have thee choose the latter. Now, whereas I am probably to be tried by the late act against conventicles, I conceive it doth not reach me. " Robinson. — No, Sir, I shall not proceed upon that law. " Penn. — What then ? I am sure that law was intended for a standard on these occasions. " Robinson. — The Oxford Act of six months. The Penns afid Peningtons. 217 " Penn. — That of all acts cannot concern me. I was never in orders, neither episcopally nor classically, and one of them is intended by the preamble of that act. "Robinson. — No, no, any that speak in unlawful assemblies, and you spoke in an unlawful assembly." William Penn proved to him the entire illegality of applying the provisions of that act to him. Baffled in his design of making the Oxford Act serve his purpose, Sir John had recourse to the old snare — tendering the oath of allegiance to a man who he knew nothing on earth would induce to swear, because he regarded all swearing as forbidden by Christ ; and one who he knew would rather die than take up arms against the King or government. Penn showed him the injustice, the inapplicability, and the total perversion of the design for which the oath of allegiance was prepared, to tender it to a man whose allegiance was not and could not be doubted. ' The Lieutenant of the Tower, driven from point to point, at length said, " You do nothing but stir up the people to sedition ; and there was one of your friends told me you preached sedition, and meddled with the government. " Penn. — We (Friends) have the unhappiness to be misrepresented. But bring me the man that will dare to justify this accusation to my face, and if I am not able to make it appear that it is both my practice and that of all the Friends to instil principles of peace on all occasions, (and war only against spiritual wickedness, that all men may be brought to fear God and work 218 77*6 Penns and Peningtons. righteousness) I shall contentedly undergo the severest punishment your laws can expose me to. As for the King, I make this offer, if anyone living can make appear directly or indirectly, from the time I have been called a Quaker (since it is from thence you date my sedition) I have contrived or acted anything injurious to his person, or to the English government, I shall submit my person to your utmost cruelties. But it is hard that, being innocent, I should be reputed guilty. " BoMnson. — Well, I must send you to Newgate for six months ; and when they are expired, you will come out. " Penn. — Thou well knowest a larger imprisonment has not daunted me. Alas, you mistake your interests, and you will miss your aim. This is not the way to compass your ends. " Robinson. — You bring yourself into trouble, head- ing parties and drawing people after you. ^^ Penn. — I would have thee and all men know I scorn that religion which is not worth suffering for, and which is not able to sustain those who are afi&icted for it. Mine is ; and whatever be my lot, I am resigned to the will of God. Thy religion persecutes, mine forgives, and I desire that God may forgive you all that are concerned in my commitment. I leave you, wishing you everlasting salvation. " Mobinson. — Send a corporal with a file of mus- queteers with him. " Penn. — No, no. Send thy lacquey ; I know the way to Newgate." The Penns and Peningtons. 219 As Sir John had not been able to get up anything against him that could bring into his own keeping in the Tower, this "gentleman with a plentiful estate," as he termed him, from whom no doubt he had hoped to obtain extortions, he forthwith consigned him to Newgate. This was the second time within three months that he had been cast into that miserable prison, the state of which, and its bad management in that age, have already been exhibited through Thomas EUwood's graphic detail. And from William Penn himself we know it was then much as it had been when Ellwood was one of its occupants. It is wonderful how, in such an abode, Penn was able to command the power of concentration indispensable for the composition of the works which he wrote there, and which from thence were scattered broadcast over England, Scotland, Ireland, and America. It was then he wrote The Great Case of Liberty of Conscience; Truth rescued from Imposture; A Postscript to Truth Exalted; and An Apology for the QuaJcers. The first and most considerable of these works, that On Liberty of Conscience, displays an enlarged charity, great research, and grasp of mind. Besides these, he vwote letters to a Roman Catholic who had taken offence at his Caveat against Popery, which was published before his imprisonment. He also wrote a dignified and temperate letter to the High Court of Parliament, explaining Quaker principles, and showing how unnecessarily and yet how severely their act against conventicles pressed on this loyal and peace- loving people. And he addressed a letter to the 220 • The Penns and Peningtons. SherifEs of London on the state of Newgate prison, and the abuses practised by the jailors on such as either could not, or from scruples of conscience would not, purchase their favours. He and his friends had declined to do so on the latter ground. On looking at the great amount of important work accomplished during these six months, we may well rejoice in the consciousness of how our Heavenly Father can bring good results to His own cause out of the evil devices of wicked men. So it was then, and so it is now. As soon as he was again clear of Newgate, and had paid a visit to his mother at Wanstead, William Penn lost no time till he saw his beloved Gruli. But not even on this occasion did he tarry long in Buckingham- shire. Believing it to be his duty to pay a missionary visit in gospel love to some Christian churches on the continent of Europe, he started for Holland, and visited those Dutch towns where, through the instrumentality of William Caton and others, the Friends' principles had made some way. He thence proceeded to Hanover, and in the free city of Emden he was the ' first who succeeded in obtaining an entrance for Quaker principles. A meeting was ultimately estab- lished there, which ever afterwards looked to William Penn as its founder. He afterwards visited other parts of Germany, made the acquaintance of Princess Eliza- beth of the Rhine, and obtained some knowledge of her friends, the disciples of the famous De Labadie, originally a Jesuit, but then a Protestant of the strictest type. As no family documents are forthcoming relative to • , The Penns and Peningtons. 221 ' the period "which, intervened between his return from . the continent and the close of the year succeeding his settlement at Rickmansworth, I shall extract the bright picture given by his biographer, William Hepworth Dixon : — '' After so long a separation, Penn was, not unreason- ably, anxious to be near Guli Springett once again. Calling to see his mother at Wanstead on his way to London, he made a short stay in the capital, visiting old friends, and reporting the results of his journey, and then posting down to Bucks, where he was received with open arms — by Miss Springett as her affianced husband, and by Ellwood and the Peningtons as the champion of their faith. In their society he seems to have passed a considerable time, dallying with the blissful days of courtship, and slowly making preparations for his marriage. He took a house in the jSrst instance at Rickmansworth, about six miles from Chalfont, which being made ready for Guli's reception, the marriage rites were performed in the early spring of 1672, six or seven months after his liberation from .Newgate, and husband and wife at once took up their residence in their new dwelling. " Their honeymoon lasted long ; the spring and summer came and went, but Penn still remained with his young and lovely wife at Rickmansworth ; neither the flatteries of friends nor the attacks of foes could draw him away from his charming seclusion. During these summer months he neither wrote nor travelled ; that very instinct of activity, and that restless and aggressive spirit, which were the sources of nearly all 222 The Penns and Peningtons. his usefulness, were, so to say, touched with the wand of the enchantress, and laid to rest. Since his expulsion from his father's house he had never known such repose of mind and body. Seeing him sur- rounded by all that makes domestic happiness complete — a charming home, a beautiful and loving wife, a plentiful estate, the prospect of a family, and a troop of attached and admiring friends — those who knew him only at second-hand imagined that the apostle of civil and religious liberty was now about to subside into the quiet country gentleman, more interested in cultivating his paternal acres than with the progress of an unpopular doctrine and the general enlightenment of mankind. But those who reasoned so, knew little of William Penn, and perhaps still less of the lady who had now become his wife. Guli would herself have scorned the man who, through infirmity of purpose, could have allowed himself to Sink into the mere sloth of the affections, and who, by his outward showing to the world, would have repre- sented her alliance as bringing weakness to his character instead of strength. Penn was not that man. His interval of rest over, the preacher again resumed his work." In the summer of 1673 they both went to Bristol, to meet George Fox and other Friends, who had just returned from a missionary visit to the West Indies and America. The family from Swarthmoor Hall were also there to receive them and welcome their return. Before the autumn of that year closed, George Fox and his wife, with their son and daughter, Thomas and The Penns and Peningtons. 223 Mary Lower, paid a visit to Rickmansworth, and from thence they proceeded into Worcestershire, holding meetings among the Friends as they moved along. To some of those meetings many others not Quakers came, and the clergy of the Established Church, finding their congregations lessening, and ascertaining the cause, had Fox and Lower made prisoners, and sent to Worcester jail, because, as the mittimus expressed it, " They held meetings, upon the pretence of the exercise of religion, otherwise than is established by the laws of England." Thomas Lower, who was brother to the Court physician. Dr. Richard Lower, through interest made by his brother was released, although he expostulated, and argued against being liberated, whilst, as he said, his father, whom he had accompanied throughout, taking a part in all his ^proceedings, was to be imprisoned. But it was all in vain. Fox was to be punished and Lower released on other grounds than those of justice. As there were errors in the indictment, and various exceptions were taken by those engaged to defend the prisoner, his case was repeatedly argued both at Worcester and in London, before the sentence of premunire could be established against him. But at length it appeared to be confirmed. Margaret Fox then repaired to London, and waited on the King. Her husband says, " She laid before him my long and unjust imprisonment, and the justices' proceedings in tendering me the oath as a snare, whereby they had premunired me ; so that I, being now his prisoner, it 224 The Penns and Peningtons. ■was in his power and at his pleasure to release me. The King spoke kindly to her, and referred her to the Lord-Keeper, to whom she went, but could not get what she desired ; for he said the King could not release m.e but by a pardon, and I was not free to receive a pardon, knowing I had not done evil. I had rather have laid in prison all my days than have come out in any way dishonourable to Truth. Therefore I chose rather to have the validity of my indictment now tried before the judges of King's Bench." Thus the matter stood when the following letter was written. William Penn to George Fox. London, 1st 10th mo. 1674. " Dear G.F. " My fervent, upright love salutes thee. Thine per post and E. M. I have. For thy business it becomes me not to say [how much] I have endeavoured ; but surely I have with much diligence attempted to get all done as I could desire ; and I am yet resolved to make one push more about it ; so that I cannot write a positive and conclusive account till next Seventh or Second day, by which time I hope to have an answer from this great man. His uncle died, and left him £3,000 per annum, and just married, which did divert the matter. " I wrote concerning the writ of error that it must be received in open sessions, and the record of the judg- ment certified by the clerk up to judges of the King's Bench ; and if then it appear that there is error to bear an Habeas Corpus, thou shalt have one. I have ever thought that was done in kindness. The King knows The. Penns and Peningtons. 225 not that thou refused a pardon, only that we chose rather a more suitable way to thy innocency. I am, and shall stay in town to do my utmost. The Lord God knows that I could come in thy place to release thee : but the Lord's will be done. " Dear George, things are pretty quiet, and meetings very full, and precious, and living, blessed be the Lord forever. " My wife is well, and child ; only teeth, she has one cut. " The name of the everlasting Lord God be blessed and praised for His goodness and mercy, saith my soul. He is our blessed Rock ; the life and joy of our days ; the blessed portion of them that believe and obey. My unchangeable love flows to thee, dear George, and in it I salute thee, thy dear wife, T. L., and S. F. " I am thy true and respectful friend, "William PiJNN." It was upwards of two months after the date of the foregoing letter that the case was opened in the Court of King's Bench before Sir Matthew Hale, Lord Chief Justice of England, and three other judges, by whose decision George Fox was released by proclamation. He says : — " Thus, after I had suffered imprisonment for a year and almost two months for nothing, I was fairly set at liberty upon a trial of the errors of my indict- ment, without receiving any pardon, or coming under any engagement at all." 226 The Penns and Peningtons. In the above letter, where William Penn tells his friend of his child being well, " only teeth, she has one cut," we are in a very simple but certain way furnished with a fact not before known to those who have written about William and Guli Penn's children, viz. that Springett Penn was not, as is generally stated, their first child. It is evident that the baby who, in Tenth- month, 1674, had cut her first tooth, came before him, for Springett was not born till 1675. The fact is that this baby daughter was Margaret, who was so named for her grandmother. Lady Penn. She was their third child ; the two elder ones, 6ulielm.a Maria and William, died before the date of that letter — the little girl only a few weeks after her birth, and William when about a year old. In the same (original) letter there is an allusion to the celebrated Richard Baxter. In that controversial age, two such earnest men as Baxter and Penn could hardly come near together without some collision. A private discussion of their differences did not satisfy the Presbyterian champion. Therefore, when passing through Eickmansworth, he demanded a public opportunity of proving the errors of Quakerism. Penn was not slow in accepting the challenge, or in doing his utmost to provide accom- modation for those who collected from all the surrounding country to witness the discussion. The controversy lasted for seven hours, from ten in the morning till five in the afternoon, and when it terminated each party was so well satisfied with the arguments of its representative, that both sides claimed 2%e Penns and Peningtons. 227 the victory ! Such occurrences are among the peculiar features which marked the religious world in that age. The spirit of controversy was rife in all the sects, and the Quakers were among the most earnest and persevering of them all. Butnowa great, absorbing interest took hold of Pcnn's mind. This was to procure an asylum for Friends, and others who might choose to join them, in the New World, where perfect liberty of conscience, and just administration of laws founded on and regulated by Christian morals, should prevail. But in order to have power to legislate for the internal government of a colony, possession, difiEering materially from that of ordinary settlers, must be obtained. Land-ownership might exist without any legislative power. In process of time, however, a providential hand placed all the requisite conditions within the reach of Penn and his co-religionists. In the year 1675 the ownership of one half the tract of country called New Jersey, came by purchase from Lord Berkley, into the possession of Edward Bylling and John Fenwick, both Quakers ; and as they had a dispute about its division, the matter was referred to William Penn for arbitration. On the dispute being adjusted by his kind offices, Fenwick sailed for the new country, accompanied by several other Friends, to enter on possession of the portion which had been assigned him. Meantime , Bylling's affairs having become embarrassed, he assigned for the payment of his creditors whatever could be realized by the sale of the land he had purchased from Lord Berkley. At his 228 The Penns and Peningtons. earnest request, William Penn united with, two of his creditors as trustees to see the matter fairly carried out. From the trusteeship thus commenced, in which the three Quakers were concerned, resulted the ultimate proprietorship and government of the province by the Quakers. The trustees drew up a description of the country and its products, which they circulated throughout the kingdom, inviting Friends and others to emigrate thither ; but earnestly recommending that " whosoever hath a desire to be concerned in this intended planta- tion should weigh the thing well before the Lord, and not headily or rashly conclude on any such remove ; nor should they oflEer violence to the tender love of their near kindred, but soberly and conscientiously endeavour to obtain their good-will, and the unity of Friends where they live." Among the first purchasers were two companies of Quakers, one from Yorkshire, the other from London, each of which contracted for a large tract of land. In the years 1677 and 1678 five vessels sailed for the province of West New Jersey, with eight hundred emigrants, most of whom were members of the Society of Friends. Commissioners were chosen by the pro- prietors from the London and Yorkshire companies, and sent out to inspect the settlement of the emigrants, and to see that the just rights of any who had previously settled there, as some Dutch and Swedes had done, should not be infringed ; and with instruc- tions to treat with the Indians, recognizing their native rights to those regions as hunting grounds, and to give The Penns and Peningtons. 229 them such compensation as should be mutually agreed on for allowing that section of the country to be diflEerently appropriated. The nature of the articles offered or demanded for the Indian goodwill of the land may seem to us com- paratively small ; but whatever it was that the Quaker commissioners gave them, it was very much more than any others gave in those days for similar lands ; for none others fully recognized the native rights. Smith tells us in his history that, for the tract of country extending twenty miles on the Delaware river, and lying between Oldman's creek and Tirhber creek, which was treated for by those commissioners in the year 1677, they gave the Indians as follows :— thirty match coats, twenty guns, thirty kettles, one great kettle, thirty pair of hose, twenty fathoms of duflBles, thirty petticoats, thirty narrow hoes, thirty bars of lead, fifteen small barrels of powder, seventy knives, thirty Indian axes, seventy combs, sixty pair of tobacco tongs, sixty pair of scissors, sixty tinshaw looking-glasses, one hundred and twenty awl blades, one hundred and twenty fish- hooks, two grasps of red point, one hundred and twenty needles, sixty tobacco boxes, one hundred and twenty pipes, two hundred bells, one hundred Jew's harps, and six anchors of rum. The laBt named item, six anchors of rum, was conceded by the Quaker com- missioners without due experience as to the evil effect of ardent spirits on these natives of the forest. ' Some years after this transaction, when its fearfully de- moralizing influence becanie manifest, the Friends endeavoured to establish total 'abstinence societies 230 The Penns and Peningtons. among them — which of course were not known by that name, although they embraced the principle which it now represents. At one of those meetings we are told eight Indian kings were present, one of whom made the following speech : — " The strong liquor was first sold us by the Dutch ; they were blind ; they had no eyes ; they did not see it was for our hurt. The next people that came among us were the Swedes, who continued the sale of the strong liquor to us ; they also were blind ; they had no eyes ; they did not see it to be hurtful to us ; but if people will sell it to us, we are so in love with it that we cannot forbear it. When -we drink it, it makes us mad ; we do not know what we do ; we then abuse one another ; we throw each other into the fire ; seven score of our people have been killed by reason of drinking it, since the time it was first sold to us. These people that sell it have no eyes. But now there is a people come to live among us that have eyes ; they see it to be for our hurt ; they are willing to deny them- selves the profit of it for our good. These people have eyes ; we are glad such a people are come among us We must put it down by mutual consent ; the cask must be sealed up ; it must be made fast ; it must not leak by day or by night ; and we give you these four belts of wampum, which we would have you lay up safe by you, to be witnesses of this agreement ; and we would have you tell your children that these four belts of wampum are given you to be witnesses betwixt us and you of this agreement." The Quaker commissioners recommended the adop- The Penns and Peningtons. 231 tion of various fundamental laws, which they sent home for the approval of the trustees. Among these a prominent one was, that " No person is to be molested for worshipping God according to his conscience." The rights of conscience and of religious as well as civil freedom were strictly maintained. " The colony of West New Jersey," says Janney, " continued to prosper under the m.anagement of Penn and his associates. Colonists arrived in considerable numbers, good order and harmony prevailed, the country proved to be productive, the air was salubrious, and the Indians, being treated kindly and dealt with justly, were found to be excellent neighbours. The Friends, who had been persecuted with relentless severity in their native land, found a peaceful and happy asylum in the forests of the New World, among a people who had hitherto been reputed as ruthless savages. In the same province, ten years before, Carteret and Berkley required each colonist to provide himself with a good musket, powder and ball ; but now the Friends came among their red brethren armed only with the weapons of Christian warfare — integrity, benevolence, and truth — and they met them without fear or suspicion." The Friends from that day to this, have never altered in their Christian interest for the Indians, and have never withdrawn their care and efforts to keep them from indulging in the use of spirituous stimulants ; consequently the Red men up to the present time regard the American Quakers as their best and surest friends. 232 The Penns and Peningtons. About the time Penn undertook the trusteeship, he removed his fam.iiy from Rickmansworth to the Sprin- gett estate at Worminghurst in Sussex, which property came to him with his wife. Soon after he had got the American aflEairs into order and the Quaker emigra- tion thither fairly started, he joined George Fox, Eobert Barclay, and a few other Friends in a religious visit to the continent of Europe. Whilst on that mis- sionary tour, he kept a journal. If he kept one on any other occasion it has not reached us, and therefore we may hold this to be an exceptional instance. In it he inserted various letters which passed between some persons of eminence and himself, in connection with religious interests in Holland, Germany, and Poland. This journal was ultimately published, and after going through many editions, was republished in 1835. as one of the volumes in Barclay's Select Series of Narratives of the Early Friends. It is consequently so accessible to most readers that I shall not pause over its details, but shall merely quote the opening and closing para- graphs: — " On the 22nd of the Fifth month, 1677, being the first day of the week, I left my dear wife and family at Worminghurst in Sussex, in the fear and love of God, and came well to London that night. The next day I employed myself on Friends' behalf that were in sufiEering(as prisoners), till the evening ; and then went to my own mother's in Essex. On the 24th I took my journey to Colchester," and there he met the Friends who started with him for Rotterdam. On the 2nd of Ninth-month, after an absence of a The Penns and Peningtons. 233 little more thau three months, he again arrived at Worm- inghurst. He says : " I found my dear wife, child, and family all well, blessed be the name of the Lord God of all the families of the earth ! I had that evening a sweet meeting among them, in which God's blessed power made ns glad together ; and I can say, truly blessed are they who can cheerfully give up to serve the Lord ; great shall be the increase and growth of their treasure, which shall never end. " To Him that was, and is, and is to come, the eternal, blessed, righteous, powerful, and faithful One be glory, honour, and dominion for ever and ever ! Amen. "William Pbnn." Another family sorrow is dimly but certainly shadowed forth in the above words, " my dear wife and child." Little Margaret is not therein recognized ; Springett is undoubtedly the dear child alluded to as being well. He was then neaxly two years old. The daughter who is mentioned in Penn's letter to G. Fox, written in 1674, had during the interim been taken hence to join her sister and brother in Heaven., The journal of "William Penn's travels on the Continent in 1677 was written, as he tells us in the preface, for his own satisfaction and the information of some particular relatives and friends. Hence it was not designed for publication, nor was it sent to the press till 1694, seventeen years after its date. It was then brought to light through a copy that had been given to the Countess of Conway, probably by Guli or 234 The Penns and Peningtuns. her mother, that lady being a close friend of the Peningtons. After the death of the Countess the copy in question was found among her papers by a gentle- man who had access to them, and who forthwith applied to William Penn for permission to publish it. On a re-examination of its contents, the author gave the desired permission. At that time the Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, several of whose letters to Penn, with his answers, enrich the pages of the journal, was dead ; and so probably were some other ladies whose religious history it mentions ; therefore, as a private record of religious feeling, the chief objection to its publicity at an earlier period no longer existed. The English people and their representatives in parliament becoming more and more alarmed by the evident favour shown to Romanism by the King and his brother, a loud national call was heard for the revival of severe acts which had formerly been made against Papists. In conformity with this feeling, the parliament was proceeding to re-enact some persecuting laws against them which had fallen into disuse, when "William Penn came forward to present petitions from the Society of Friends asking for discrimination in the laws between a conscientious objection against taking any oath whatever, and a disinclination to promise allegiance to the government and abjuration of the Papacy. The subject was referred to a committee, and William Penn, on the 22nd of March, 1678, was summoned for examination before it. He made a speech, explaining the great hardships the Friends had The Peims and Peningtons. 235 endured in consequence of their scruple against swear- ing, and concluded as follows : — " It is hard that we must thus bear the stripes of another interest, and be their proxy in punishment, but it is worse that some men can be pleased with such administration. But mark : I would not be mistaken. I am far from thinking it fit, because I exclaim against the injustice of whipping Quakers for Papists, that Papists should be whipped for their consciences. No : though the hand, pretended to be lifted up against them, hath, I know not by what discretion, lighted heavily upon us, and we complain, yet we do not mean that any should take a fresh aim at them, or that they should come in our room ; for we must give the liberty we ask, and cannot be false to our principles, though it were to relieve ourselves. And I humbly beg leave to add, that those methods against persons so qualified do not seem to me to be convincing, or, indeed, adequate to the reason of mankind ; but this I submit to your consideration. To conclude : I hope we shall be held excused by the men of that profession (the Roman Catholic) in giving this distinguished declaration, since it is not with design to expose them, but first to pay that regard we owe to the inquiry of this committee and in the next place to relieve ourselves from the daily spoil and ruin which now attend and threaten many hundreds of families in the execution of laws which we humbly conceive were never made against us." Notwithstanding the prevalent excitement, that' speech, marked as it was by a spirit of Christian justice was received with attention and favourable considera- 236 The Penns and Peningtons. tion by the committee. They could not but respect the noble independence and the tolerant, truthful spirit of the speaker, who ventured thus openly to express him- self against the wild current of popular persecution of Roman Catholics. However, the members of com- ■mittee wished to have another interview with him ; some of them, who had known him in early life, felt certain of his candour and truthfulness, but others found it hard to renounce the idea that he was a Jesuit in disguise. On his second appearance he thus ad- dressed them : — " The candid hearing our sufferings have received from you oblige me to add whatever can increase your satisfaction about us. I hope you do not believe I would tell you a lie. I thank God it is too late in the day for that. There are some here who have known me formerly, and I believe they will say I was never that man. It would be strange if, after a voluntary neglect of the advantages of this world, I should sit down in my retirement short of common truth." He then proceeded to explain his own position thus. " I was bred a Protestant, and that strictly too. Reading, travel, and observation for years made the religion of my education the religion of my judgment ; and though the posture I am now in may seem strange to you, yet I am conscientious. I do tell you again, and solemnly declare in the presence of Almighty God, and before you all, that the profession I now make, and the society I now adhere to, have been so far from altering that Protestant judgment I had, that I am not conscious of, having receded from an iota of any one The Penns and Peningtons. 237 principle maintained by those first Protestant reformers of Germany, and our own martyrs at home, against the see of Eome. On the contrary, I do with great truth assure you that we (the Friends) are of the same negative faith with the ancient Protestant church ; and upon fitting occasion shall be ready, by God's assistance, to make it appear we are of the same belief as to the most fundamental, positive articles of her creed, too. And therefore it is that we think it hard, though we deny in common with her, those doctrines of Rome so zealously protested against, yet that we should be so unhappy as to suffer, and that with extreme severity, by those very laws on purpose made against the maintainers of those doctrines which we do so deny. We choose no suffering ; for God knows what we have already suffered, and how many sufBcient and trading families are reduced to great poverty by it. We think ourselves an useful people ; we are sure we are a peaceable people ; and if we must still suffer, let us not suffer as Popish recusants, but as Protestant dissenters. " But I would obviate another objection that hath been made against us, namely, that we are enemies of government in general, and particularly disaffected to that which we live under. I think it not amiss, yea, it is my duty, now to declare to you in the sight of Almighty God, first, that we believe government to be God's ordinance, and, next, that this present govern- ment is established by the providence of God and the law of the land, and that it is our Christian duty readily to obey it in all its just laws ; and wherein we cannot comply through tenderness of conscience, in no such 238 The Penns and Peningtons. case to revile or conspire against the government, but with Christian humility and patience tire out all mistakes about us ; and wait the better information of those who do as undeservedly as severely treat us. I know not what greater securities can be given by any people." The committee, and finally the House of Commons, being at length satisfied that conscientious scruples against swearing alone prevented the Friends from taking the oaths, inserted a clause in the bill designed to relieve them from sufiiering the penalties enacted against disloyalty ; and thus it was sent up to the House of Lords. But before it had gone through the Upper House, a sudden prorogation of parliament prevented its becoming law. The summer of 1679 was not over when the pretended Popish plot, concocted by Titus Gates, threw the nation into the greatest ferment, and the stories of this abandoned impostor about what the Roman Catholics had done, and what they still resolved to do, aroused the utm.ost indignation of the people. Even the Parliament was stupified with credulity and horror, so that all consideration for the Friends was lost sight of in consternation about the Popish plot. Savage persecution again resumed its work with intensified bitterness. Many Roman Catholics were accused, tried, and executed. The storm also came down unrelentingly on the heads of the innocent Quakers, who refused to take the required oaths or to dis- continue or conceal their religious meetings. Any accusations of participation in the plot which were Cy r7i