>-*°* ■\^.;^r^.^\ ^^0^ ^--^\.. ' , o -. ^- ^^^' ■.^^=^^2^/ o'^'^ ^^ ' ■•>'■ •*.., .v^'' /.^^.^,,v/-^<>^ ^^* ,^;:i:t centiirie;^ is lialjle to be for- ^6 Mural monument. G-otteii even in their native place. And, were it not for some favourable circumstances, this history of Sir William Springett's short life would have been lost like many another. His wife's most tender and graphic description, addressed to his daughter and to his granSlson, and the careful preservation of her letters among the Friends, brings him now before us in life-like colours after the lapse of so many ages. Probably few in Sussex at this day know aught about him, save what the mural tablet in the church of Ringmer sets forth. The inscrip- tion on the monument in question is as follows : — Here Ijctli the body of SIR WILLIAM SPRINGETT, KNT., Eldest son and heir of Herbert kSpringett of Sussex, Who married Mary Proude, the only daughter and heir of Sir John Proude, Knt., Colonel in the service of the United Provinces, And of Anne Fagge, his -wife, of the co-heirs of Edward Fagge of Ewell, near Feversham, in the County of Kent, Esq. He had issue by Mary, his wife, one sonne, John Springett, and one daughter, Guliolma Maria Posthuma Springett. He, being Colonel in the service of the Parliament at tlie taking of Arundel Castle in Sussex, there contracted a sickness of wliicli he died February the 3d. Anno Domini 1643, being 23 years of age. His wife, in testimony of her do;ir affection to him, hath erected tiiis monument to liis memory. A few weeks after the death of Sir William Springett, the ])ereaved widow was roused from the depth of her desolation and sorrow, by her ma- ternal feeliirrs on the birth of an infant dauditcr. Birth of Gidlehna Maria Sprliigett. 57 This was Gulielma Maria, above mentioned/'' Her Heavenly Father had in this darling child sent an- other claim on her affections, another tie binding her to life, and her energy arose to meet snrronnd- ins: circumstances. In the name Gulielma Maria given to the infant, those of both parents were united. Her mother-in-law, now tlie 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 jcars 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 dau2:hter to be baptised. When reflecting on the rite of baptism, as practised in the Church, the declaration of the Apostle relative to another ritual observance, which was abolished under the new dispensation, 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 main- tain her ground against all their persuasion ; but hard above all it must have been to stand out against the expressed desire of her loved and honor- ^■- A.-^ Ffhriinvn, old style, was- the la?t month of the year, it inny be presumed Gulielma was boru in It) J 4, but we have no exact record oi' the (late. ^1 La(hj Sprlicjcifs oplnioits ed iiiotlier-in-law ; nevertlielcss, singlehancled and consciGiitious, she withstood all who endeavoured to persuade her to have her child formally baptised. She says, "That scripture in the last of the Gala- tians, of circumcision or uncircumcision availing no- thing, 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 acquaintance. Those who were accounted able ministers, and such as I formerlj' delighted to hear, were sent to persuade me ; but I could not do it and be clear. My answer to them was, ' lie tha.t 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 institution authorized by Jesus, and therefore the little Gulielma Maria was never taken to the baptismal font. Il 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 (done wlien declining to receive the popular idea of water baptism, as being the essential baptism which accompanies regeneration and salvation. It is very certain that Mary Penington says nothing about [laving studied any writings on the question, save those of the New Testaiijcnl: or of ha\'in^' anv on water hiptlsm. ^^ 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 ad- vocated 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 commence his ministry for several years after the death of Sir William Sprin- ge tt ; it was not therefore from the Friends' 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 en- tertained very decided convictions against the no- tions of water baptism which prevailed in the Church of England, of which he was a member. This was William Dell, Master of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. How far he had suffi- cient Christian faithfulness to preach in that perse- cuting age the views he set forth in his writings, which were afterwards published, I know not. lie seemed to have but little hope of the age he lived in taking a right scriptural view of the doctrines in question, because he says it was "so rooted and built up in the doctrines of men." Hence he ap- pealed to and wrote especially for the next gene- ration. So flir as I can ascertain, his excellent work on The Dortruic of tlie Baptlsriis was not pub- 6o Madam Springett lislied for eight or ten years after the period in question ; and in his preface to the reader, intro- ducing the work On Baptisins, he warns him that he would " speak much otherwise than all former or later writers whatever, that he had met with." Within the four years which elaj)sed from the death of Sir William Springett to that of Madam Springett, John, his first-born child and only son, seems to have also died, though the child's mother has left us no specific account of the event. Cir- cumstances indicate that it was within that time his brief life closed. Of her mother-in-law's high moral worth and great ability and usefulness, Mary Penington gives her grandson a beautiful account. Speaking of both great-grandparents she says, " Thy dear mo- ther's father was of religious parents ; his father (thy great-grandfather) though a lawyer, was re- ligious and strict, as I have heard of him, in those things wherein the ministration of that time con- sisted, and in the exercise of what in that day of dim light was accounted holy duties. He died of consumption, leaving thy great-grandmother with 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 the inward and outward condition; and that she might the better bring them up, she lived a retired Her cJiaracter. 6i life ; refusing all other marriage, though frequently offered, as I have heard her say. She suffered pretty liard things of his two executors, his brother 8h^ Thomas Springett, and a brother-in-law ; who tliought that she, being so very 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 and 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 in- geniously; and in a bountiful manner bestowed great part of her jointure yearly upon the poor, in providing physic and surgery. She had a yearly jointure of about tvv^elve score pounds, and with it she kept a brace of horses, a man, and a maid. She boarded with her only brother. Sir Edward Par- tridge. She kept several poor women constantly emplo}' ed simpling for her in the summer ; and in the winter preparing such things as she had use for in physic, and surgery, and for ej^es; she having 62 Ilfv medical and svnjhxd ji;r«c//ce eminent judgment in all three, and admirable suc- cess ; 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 ; draw- ing of spirits ; distilling of waters ; making of syrups and conserves of many kinds, w^ith 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 that 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 pre- serve 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 par- tients, that had come there some hundreds of miles to be 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, Avomen, and children and reH-jlofiH coiidact. 6^ —to o.ttend 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 pre- sents of much vahie 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 medi- cine for them ; her man-servant writing the direc- tions 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 Inde- pendent 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 v/as a most tender and affection- ate mother to thy grandfather, and greatly de- lighted in his love to me, and always shewed great kindness to me. Indeed, she was very honourable in counselling her son not to marry for an estate, nr_>:ing him to consider what would make him hiippy in his choice ['many great offers' having been made to draw him into marriage alliance]. ►S!ie would discourse to him in this wise, that she knew me, and we were known to one another, and said she w^ould choose me for his wile if I had no 64 Ilerhert Sprlngett. portion. She lived to see thy mother three or four years old, and was very affectionate to her, and took great delight in seeing her wisdom." Thus closes her daughter-in-law's account of that admi- rable Puritan matron. Her husband Herbert Springett, barrister-a1>law, 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. Redress 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 feel- ings 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 prevading empty show that had assumed the name of religion. ReligiouH difficulties. 65 At length she made up her mind to abandon all outward forms of religious worship, and to hold herself unconnected with any section of Christians, 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 had my conversation much among people of no religion, being ashamed to be (counted religious, or to do any thing that was called religious ; • and I began to loathe whatever profession of that sort any one made, holding the professors of every sort worse than the profane, they boasted so much of what I knew they had not attained ; I having been zealous 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. vlo 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 5 66 Superficial cliaracter of foolish mirth, carding, dancing, and singing. I frequented music assemblies, and made vain visits where there were jovial feastings. I delighted in curiosities, and in what would please the 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 in an airy mind. But in the midst of all this my heart was often sad and pained bej'ond 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 disgust forsake for a time city life, and seek entire seclusion in the country, where she would give way to her feelings of distress. She say>^;, '^ I was not hurried into those follies by being c;4)tlvated by them, but from not having found in rCiigion what I had sought and longed after. I would often say within myself, what are they all to me ? 1 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 wdiich would be acceptable to Ilim. One night in my country retirement 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 Church, or reli- gious state. I dreamed that I took no delight at Fa.sMonahle amusements. 6j 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.' Immedi- ately I thought the sky opened, and a bright light like fire fell upon my hand, which so frightened me that I awoke, and cried out. When my daugh- ter'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 amuse- ments 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 bless- ed 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 any one, and therefore she often distrusted herself, and these feelings. She could not for a long time entertain the idea that it was the Holy Spirit v>diich 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 : — 68 Unsatisfied religious asjji rations. " 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 whereon the Lord Mayor was sworn) but was forced to 2fo into a house till it was over. Beinsr 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, 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 herself that she had any religion at all, she says it was wonderful to her to remember how she, notwithstanding, confided in the goodness and care of God. " That help I fre- quently 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 tiiat 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 offered 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, Marriage vntli Isaac Penington. 69 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 formally 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. Sometimes I w^ould 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 influ- ence from the planets which governed this body. But I durst not regard any thing 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 hus- band Isaac Penington. My love was drawn to him because I found he saw the deceit of all mere no- tions 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 70 Hears of flte Quakers. 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 knowdedge 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. '- 1 resolved never to go back into those formal 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 could 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 de- sire, and that alone can satisfy me.' " Whilst I was in this state, I heard of a new peo- ple called Quakers, but I resolved not to inquire after them nor the principles they held. For a year or more after I had heard of them in the nortli, I heard nothing of their ways except that they used thee and thctu to every one ; and I saw a book written about Impressed hij ilieir teacldncj. 7: plain language by George Fox, which I remember I thought very ridiculous ; so gave no attention eitlior to the people or the book, except it were to scofF at them and it. Though I thus despised this people, I had sometimes a desire to attend one of their meet- ings, if I could go unknown, and hear them pray. I was quite weary of hearing doctrines discu.ssed, 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 stilie 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 by presented itself 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 briii^ ya Rcll(jlons exercises and a man next day who would better answer all liia questions and objections ; who, as I afterwards un- derstood, 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 affected by the discourse of the night before ; and though I thought the man weak in the management of the arguments he brought forward to support his prin- ciples, 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 consider what these other men had to say. Their solid and weighty carriage struck a dread over me, for they came 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.' Ln- mediately it arose in my mind, if I would for cer- tain know whether or not it was truth which these people upheld, I must do what I knew to be the Mental struggles. 73 Lord's will. Much that was contrary thereto in nio was set before me to be removed. I w^as 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 understand 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 teaching 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 Oil ! how I did long not to be 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 off, 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 "74 TaldiKj vp iJw Crocs, from sore exercise of mind for many montlis, till I was by the Lord's judgments brought off from ail those things whicli 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 w^ould be regarded as a fool, and tha^t my honourable posi- tion 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 maintained 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 VN^orldly reason- ing against the pointing of her own enlightened conscience, she adds, " I then 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. 1 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 Love and acceptance. y^ 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 fellowship 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 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. 76 Watch and pray. 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 suffer me to be drawn from. Though infirmi- ties 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." CHAPTER III. 1658-1661. The Elhvoods' visit to the Peningtons at Chalfont. — Their impressions of their Quaker friends. — James Nayler and Edward Burrough at the Grange. — Discussion on the doctrine of election. — Isaac Penington's account of his early religious feelings and views. — His later spiritual experience. — Letters to his father, the Alderman. — Alderman Pening- ton's impeachment as a regicide. — Charles the Second's declaration from Breda. — Alderman Penington's condemnation. — Imprisonment in the Tower and confiscation of his estates. — Sir John Robinson's cruelty. — Alderma?i Penington's death, Mary 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 Penington. Their family at that time con- sisted of three other children besides Gulielma Maria Springett, then- in the fifteenth year of her age, a lovely, graceful girl, the delight of her flxmily and friends. Thomas Ellwood gives us a peep into the home of the Peningtons at this period, through his gra- phic description of the first visit he and others of his father's family paid them, after they had settled at Chalfont. The EUwoods had made the acquaint- ance of Lady Springett and her daughter in Lon- 77 78 Thomas Ellwood don, several years before her marriage with Isaac Penington. Thomas Ellwood, who was a few years older than Guli, speaks of having been her play- ll41ow in former times, and of having been often drawn with her in her little coach through Lin- cohi'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 Chal- font, the Ellwoods, flither and son, went to visit them ; and the latter in his autobiography speaks of the occasion as folloAvs : — " 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 Eeading. Having heard that they were come to Hve on their own estate at Chalfont in Bucking- hamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went one day to visit them there and to return at night, talking me with him ; but very much surprised we were when, being come thither, we first heard, then ll)iuid, they were become Quakers — a people we hrid no knowledge of, and a name we had till then scarcely heard of So great a change from a free, dirbonair, and courtly sort of behaviour, which we i^rincily had found them in, to so strict a gravity visits CliaJJhid. 79 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 oppor- tunity, by a private conference with them, to under- stand 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 myself to her after my accustomed manner, with intentions to engage her in some discourse which might introduce con- versation, 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 be- haviour 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, vrhich was very handsome, and lacked nothing to recommend it but the want of mirth and pleasant discourse, which we could nei- ther have with them, nor, by reason of them, with one another amongst ourselves; the weiglitiness 8o Meethtg at the Grave. tliat was upon their spirits and countenances keep- ing down the lightness that would have been up in us. We stayed, notwithstanding, 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, a meeting was appointed at a place about a mile from thence, to which we were invited to go, and willingly went. It was held in a farm house, called the Grove, which having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a very large hall, and that was well filled. To this meeting came Edward Burrough, beside other preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Nayler; Ijut 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 de- sire, for they not only answered my understanding, but warmed my heart with a certain heat which James NayJer and Edward BurroufjJi. 8i 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 Burrough 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 pro- fessor, though not joined in what is called close communion with any one sort, and valuing him- self upon the knowledge he esteemed himself to have respecting the various notions of each pro- fession, thought he had now a fair opportunity to display his knowledge; and thereupon began to make objections against what had been delivered. The subject of the discourse was, ' The universal free grace of God to all mankind.' To this he opposed the Calvinistic tenet of particular and per- sonal 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. 6 82 Isaac Peitwgtons 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 appearance of a husbandman or shepherd. As my fiither 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, treat- ing 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 Bur- rough 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 con- ditions. 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 young man is reached^ and may do well if he does not lose it." Isaac Penington's religious experience and his religious conclusions, before his settlement at Glial- Religious experiences, 83 font, 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 per- ishing 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 balanced my spirit almost continually ; 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 under- standing 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 reprobation ; having 84 Isaac Peningtons drunk in that doctrine according as it was then held forth hy the strictest of those that were termed Puritans, fearing lest, notwithstanding all my de- sires 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 be- ginnings 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 suffered 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 Hea- venly 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 amved when the triumph of Christian truth drove hence that baneful error, which, under one phase or an- other, had tended in Penington's mind to destroy a right sense of the supreme justice, love, and mercy ^ I have again and again tliougUt over the appellation of God-dis- honouring doctrine^ as given above, to the doctrine of Unconditional Election and Reprobation, to try if I might not soften it, seeing that it is believed in by many w^ho would be shocked at the thought of enter- taining any opinions that are dishonouring to God. But my conviction is so strong of this being its true character, that I cannot think it right to make any alteration which would lessen the force or fullness of the expression. Rdijlous experiences. 85 of the Lord. They who were made instrumental 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 sys- tematic 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 was of God in me opened, and I did imme- diately in my spirit own them as children of my Father, truly begotten of His life by His own spirit. But the wise reasoning part presently rose up, con- tending 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 considering 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 fleshly-wise part, had been estranged from. And now, what bitter days of mourning I have had over tlii^j, the Lord alone fully knows. Oh ! I have known it indeed to be a bitter 86 Isaac Peuingtoris tiling to follow this wisdom as that which could make me truly to understand 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 having " now at length met with the true way, and walked with the Lord therein, wherein daily certainty, yea, full as- surance 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 the high, striving, as- piring 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 for it. Nor was it by thoughtfulness and wise searciiing, or deep considering with our own wis- dom and reason that we obtained this ; but in the still, meek, and humble waiting have we found it." There was in Isaac Penington's religious experi- ence much spiritual feeling; and occasionally we find in his writings an amount of figurative ex- pression which has sometimes been called mysti- cism. Whether it has a right to be so called, or not, depends on the meaning we attach to the word. If by mysticism in religion, we only mean an earnest longing after, and very high enjojanent of inward spiritual communion with God, and, in writ- JReltfjtoits e.rpcriowes. 87 ingj frequent allusions to such spiritual experience, mingled with figurative phrases, we need not demur to its application to Penington. But if, as is more commonly understood, we mean by religious mysti- cism an ecstatic state of feeling, leading into what is unpractical and mysterious, instead of a calming influence that acts on the conscience and regulates the whole moral life, Penington was no mystic. That mysticism which looks at Bible history and Gospel teaching through a haze that resolves them into fanciful types and figures, dissipating the simple truth and the obvious meaning of Holy Scripture, could not correspond in any degree with Penington's religion. He, though contemplative and retiring, was a true practical Christian. In common with the early Friends, he avoided using terms which had originated in the dogmatic theo- logy. With them he wished to keep to Scripture language, and to avoid artificial terms which were liable to unscriptural constructions. It will be observed that he regarded that which is now called Calvinism as having led his mind into serious error, and away from the reverential caution of his earlier days. It is in relation to its teachings that he says, " I have known it, indeed, to be a bitter thing to follow this wisdom as that which could make me truly to understand the Scriptures." In some other instances he uses still stronger language, when describing the mental suffering and perplexities which had resulted from 88 L.aac Peru nrj tons Lis Laving been iniluenced by sucL doctrine, in- stead of seeking and waiting reverentially and trustingly for tLe enliglitening influence of tlie Holy Spirit. TLis Le afterwards found to make clear wLatever was necessary to be cleared, in order to " God's will being truly made known to tLe heart — savingly, livingly, powerfully." 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. Circumstances indicate that in both cases the Lord was leaving them to pass through necessary experi- ences, until that degree of insight was acquired which prepared them to fill their allotted positions in the church. Isaac Penington became an emi- nent 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 infiacnce, 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 supplying what was less active in him. Unitedly they went forward with abiding trust in their Heavenly Fatlier's love and care, their spi- ritual life being mrido strong in the Lord. To the inquiry, years after Le Lad joined tlie Friends, if lie Religious experiences. 89 were yet truly satisfied with the spiritual privileges he enjoyed, Isaac Penington replied, '' Yes, indeed ; I am satisfied at the very heart. Truly my heart is now united to Him whom I Ionized after, in an ever- lasting covenant of pure life and peace." Of the early Puritans he retained a high appre- ciation and affectionate remembrance ; but he re- garded them as having eventually missed their way in some religious matters of great importance to spiritual life. He says, '^ There was among them great sincerity, and love, and tenderness, and unity in that which was true ; minding the work of God in themselves, and being sensible of grace and truth in one another's hearts j before there was such a rent among them." " By degrees forms and different ways of worship grew among them, and the virtue and power of godliness decreased, and they were swallowed up in high esteem of, and contending each sort for their OAvn forms, whilst themselves had lost a sense of what they were inwardly to God, and what they had inwardly received from God in the days of their former zeal and tender- ness. Oh! that they could see this. 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 e}'e in them, and give them to see therewith !" Yv^hen Isaac Penington had anchored on what he felt to be gospel Truth, he was indefatigable in ]iis efforts to draw others into that state whicli had go Isaac Peiditrjtons 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 relirjious belief which did not bring forth holiness of life. Many of his letters addressed to acquaint- ances under these feelings are still extant. Some of them wer*^ to persons now quite unknown, and various others to his own relations. Those letters to his father which have been preserved are re- markable productions. They seem to have fol- lowed 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. I shall place those which I select in the order of time, as nearly as this can be ascertained from internal evidence. The maiui- scripts from which I have copied these letters are preserved 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 paragraplis. Their character and tone of deep feeling will, I trust, be appreciated from the fol- lowing copious extracts : — Letters to hlb Father'. 91 No. I. — Isaac Penington to his 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. In- deed 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 effect 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 un- derstanding and affections 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 ef- 92 Isaac Peningtons fectcd ? Is thy soul redeemed from sin ? Art not thou a captive to this day to many lusts ? If thou knewest that power wherein is the lawful strife against sin, thy bonds would be broken. But striv- ing 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 peace;' but know the destruction of that wicked one in thee to whom God will never be rec- onciled. And do not hearken to teach'jrs who teach Letters to his Father. c^j ill tlie wisdom which is out of the life, which is in the fallen understanding; 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 cap- tivity. 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 sorrov\r for thy soul. "J. P." No. II. — Isaac Penlngton to his father^ Alderman Penington, on gospel ministry. " Dear Father, " The gospel is the power of God unto salvation ; 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 v/lio in the spirit of Christ, by the gift and inspira- tion thereof, preach these tidings to the poor and Q4 Isaac Penui(jioii\s needy, to the captives, to those that groan under the pressure of the body of corruption. " This gospel, through the great mere}' of God, I have at length heard preached. Though thou, through prejudice, calls this speaking of the Spirit through servants and handmaids, _2J?^a/m^, yet the Lord can forgive thee ; for surely if thou knew what thou didst herein, thou Avouldst not thus offend the Lord — extolling preaching by man's wisdom, from a minister made by man, for gospel preaching ; and condemning the preaching of per- sons 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 accounting 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 abun- dantly 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 min- isters and the reverend and godly sort, my answer is : they are united in one form of ministr3^ The Letters to his FatL ter. 95 question is not concerning the persons, but the ministry, in which they are one, and their standing and power of government one, which is not by tlie power and presence of the Spirit, but by the strength of the magistrate. The true gospel min- istry 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 wards He pronounced were not so much against the profane and scandalous among the Scribes and Pharisees, as against those that ap- peared 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." No. III. — Isaac Penington to his father, Alderman Penington, combating the accusations of the latter against " The Friends of Truth.'' " Ah, dear f[ither, why dost thou so often give me occasion of mourning before the Lord, because of hard and unrighteous charges from thee. How often have I solemnly professed that there never was any desire in me, nor endeavours used by me, to draw my father to this way [the Friends' way] which my father will not equalbr consider, 1:)ut Avill p6 Laac F^uingtoiis have his own apprehension go for granted ! All the desire that is in my soul is this, that my father might have the true knowledge of Christ, and not set up another thing instead of it ; that he might indeed hear His sayings, and do them, and not set up his own or other men's fancies and invented meanings instead of the sayings of Christ. Now, though I am not for ways, or opinions, but only for Christ, the living power of God felt in the heart, yet because my father stumbleth at these things, I cannot but say somewhat more. My father lays dovv n three reasons why he cannot believe this way to be of God, viz. : — " 1st. ' Ox)cVs luay is a ivay of love^ peace, aficl unity. ^ " Answer. — If my father had that eye opened that can see the things of God, and did apply him- self to look therewith, he might see that peace, that love, that unity among this people which other men do but talk of; but if he takes things by the report of the enemies both to God and them, he shall be sure to hear and believe bad enough. They have no war with any thing but unrighteous- ness ; and with that they cannot have peace, no, not though it be in their dearest relations. They love the souls of their enemies, and think no pains or hazard too great for the saving of them. Being persecuted, they bless ; being reviled, they entreat and pray for their persecutors. They are at unity with whatever is of God ; but with the seed of the serpent they cannot be at unity ; for they freely Letters to his Father . 97 v/itncss against the generation of vipers in this pre- sent age, under their several painted coverings, as (Jhrist and his Apostles did against the Scribes and Pharisees. The spirit of the Scribes and Pharisees is now in the world ; and the Spirit of Christ and His apostles is also in the world, and they cannot but fight, each with its proper weapons : the one with stocks, whips, fines, prisons, etc., the other with the spiritual armour of Christ. Thus the one wrestles with flesh and blood, fights with the creature^ hurts that : the other loves the creature, seeks the saving of it, and fights only against the power of darkness which rules the creature." " 2nd. ' God's loay is a way of humility.^ ^^ Ans'wer. — If they had not been broken and humbled by God, they could never have been entered into this way, which the lofty fleshly part abhors. Nor is this a voluntary humility ; but a true Christian humility, which crosseth and break- eth the will [that is opposed to God] all the day long." •^ 3rd. ' That God is a God of order^ not of coii- faslon' " A}iswer. — Blessed be the Lord, who hath re- covered for us some of the true church's order, and delivered out of the confusion of Antichrist. ^Ye know thnt order which is of the Spirit of Christ ; but that which man in his Vvdsdom calls order is but Antichrist's order. To have man's spirit speak, and God's Spirit stopt, is the order of 7 gS Isaac Peniiujtons all the Antichristian churches and congregations. But to have man's spirit stopt and God's Spirit speak is the order of Christ's church, and this order we know and rejoice in." " The last part of the letter consists of very harsh and unrighteous charges, mixed with bitter expres- sions which I pass over, appealing to God who is able to clear me. Only I confess it is somewhat hard to one part of 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 any 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 Him, — ^no, not to my most dear father — now I am no comfort. "Uth of Twelfth Month, 1658." From the above letters it will be evident how diametrically different were the religious views and feelings of the father and son. Two other letters also exist from the latter to the former; but to enter into i\w\v details would rather flitigue than Letters to Ills Fatlicr. gg 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 reli- gion and had proceeded to show ho\Y much of Holy Scripture he could cite in behalf of the reli- gious views which he himself relied on as sustained by gospel Truth. Isaac Penington makes very plain remarks to his father on his religion, as not producing the fruits of righteousness — such re- marks as no proud or self-satisfied spirit could patiently bear, and then he takes up each of the texts referred to, and gives that exposition which he thinks the true one. With the following: words he enters on the consideration of the texts in his fourth letter : " My father in his letter mentioneth many Scriptures which raise his confidence. It is upon my heart to consider of them in dear love to my father's soul." The texts alluded to by Alderman Penington are as follows : — Luke, xix. 10 ; John, i. 12 ; John, iii. 16, IT ; Rom. viii. 30 ; Rom. x. 4 ; 1 Cor. i. 30 ; 2 Cor. V. 19, 21 ; Gal. iv. 4, 5, 6 ; Eph. ii. 13, 14, IG ; Col. i. 21, 22 ; 1 Tim. i. 15 ; Tit. ii. 14 ; Heb. i. 3 ; 1 John, i. 7 ; 1 John, ii. 1, 2, 5 ; Rev. i. 5, 6. No ome can doubt the earnest, loving, truthful feelings which induced Isaac Penington to write the letters in question to his father; though some may doubt the probability of such letters producing con- viction under the circumstances, whilst others will lOO Isaac Peninfjions question the correctness of Isaac Penington's asser- tion in the first letter, that his father's rehgion " began in the wrong part." Doubtless it began very differently to what his did. His did not begin in fear of divine wrath, but in longing after purity of heart. But the first spiritual awakening and early religious convictions of various minds begin so variously, that it does not seem to be for any one to speak dogmatically as to where or how they must begin. But we are certainly warranted in judging the tree by its fruits, and judging the genuineness of religion by its results. Our Lord has expressly directed our attention to the test, men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles. Any one who is living under the influence of the Holy Spirit must in life and conduct be governed by truth. It is quite evident that the dominion of the Spirit of Truth, and the absolute truthfulness which accompanied that dominion in the hearts and lives of Isaac Penington and his wife, suffered no compromise in judging their own conduct or that of another, whether that other was father, friend or enemy. To speak to his father with the plain- ness which marks his expressions in these letters, must have been to such a nature as Isaac Pening- ton's a great difiiculty. But, being among those whom Jesus had ^' sanctified through the Truth," he was ready to sacrifice all that he believed it called for. A writer of eminence in our own days truly Sacrifices to Trutli. loi expresses, in the following declarationj what such sacrifices involves : — " The sacrifice which God requires from us first and foremost is the sacrifice to Truth. Not to authority, not to freedom, not to popularity, not to fear, but to Truth. It is no doubt a hard sacrifice wliich is thus required. Long inveterate custom, cherished phrases bound up with some of our best aftections, the indolent respect of persons, or ac- quiescence in common usage — these are what Truth again and again compels us to surrender. But tliis is precisely the sacrifice which God demands from us at His altar, this is precisely the sacrifice which in our solemn act of self-dedication we declare that we are ready to ofier — ' that we will always prefer Truth to custom ;' that we will give to Truth not the second or the third, but the first place ; that antiquity, novelty, prejudice, fashion must give way before the claims of Truth, wherever it be found. Dear no doubt is tradition ; dear is the long fiimi- liar recollection ; dear and most sacred in its own place and measure is venerable antiquity on the one hand, or bold originality on the other ; but dearer than any of these, dearer and higher in human things, dearer and higher yet in things divine, is Truth ; the duty of seeking and speaking the Truth in love, in the unshaken laith that Truth is great and will in the end prevail. And may He whose name is Truth be with our humblest efforts I02 Churlis (he SccoiuTs to teach the Truth, and honour the Truth every- where !" The Latest date in any of Isaac Penington's let- ters 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 interest of illderman Penin^^ton. Whether amid that anxiety the correspondence between him and his eldest son extended any further, or was ever renewed, it is now impossible to ascertain. When Richard Cromwell had proved himself un- equal to the task of holding the reins of government ■'' which had been placed in his hands, one popular .1 change succeeded another without any consolida- | tion 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 day of May, 1660, the famous declaration of Charles the Second from Breda was presented by his commis- sioner 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 Breda Proclamation . 103 great seal of England to all our subjects wliatevei*, who within forty days after the publishing 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 cX 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 question against any of them, to the least endamagement of them either in their lives, liberties, or estates, (as far as lies in our power) or so much as the prejudice of their reputations." 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 ivord of a Idng so solemnly set forth, delivered themselves up as accepting pardon and promising allegiance to Charles the Second. Of the remaining twenty-nine, who could not rely on the royal promise as sufficient to en- sure pardon, a few secreted themselves in England — the others immediately went abroad. Alder- man Penington was one of the nineteen who, re- h'ing on the word of the King, came in before the expiration of the forty days. On the 8th of I04 Alderman I]nui-'f on May the two IIouhch of Parliament proclaimed Charles the Second, King of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and on the twentj -f.ftli ho 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 wdth his accusation or execution. About three months after the kingdom w^as restored to Charles, twenty-nine persons v/ere brought to trial, and condemned to death as regi- cides. 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 wdio had signed the king's death-warrant, and four officials, were condemned to death, and suffered execution. Alderman Pennigton, with the thirteen others, Avas committed as a prisoner to that Tower over which he once ruled as an honourable and execu- tive governor; but his durance there was cut short by hard usage. Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, w^as devoid of humanity and of prin- ciple; and the treatment to which he subjected the prisoners w^as consistent with his character. Lucy a Prisoner in tlie Tower, 105 Hutchinson, in the memoirs of her husband, Colon ^1 Hutchinson, says : — '^ The gentlemen who were the late king's judges, and who were decoyed to sur- render themselves to custody by the Houses' proclamation, were kept in miserable bondage under that inhuman, bloody jailer, the Lieutenant of the Tower, who stilled 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 unfurnished prison rooms ; of some, forty pounds for one miserable chamber; of others, double ; beside 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 re- cently been published, I find this enfry, " Decem- ber 7th, 1660 : Petition of George, Bishop of Worcester, to the King, for the grant of a lease of tt.Hiements 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, io6 Death of Aide J' ma J I Pcaluytoii. near Fleet-street, lately belonging to Isaac Pening- ton, attainted of treason." In the Gentlemans Magazine it 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 Kobinson, 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 introduced, have I been able to discover of the con- demned 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 Mavor of London. CHAPTER IV. 1642-1661. Thomas Ellwood's early life. — His second visit to Chalfont. — His con- vincement. — Joins the Friends — His father's displeasure — The Pen- ingtons' visit to Crowell. — Young Ellwood returns with them to the Grange. — He is arrested for travelling on the first day of the week. — Quaker and Presbyterian views of the Sabbath. — Thomas Ellwood returns to Crowell. — Is imprisoned in Oxford under keeping of the j\[arshal. — Isaac Penington writes to him from Aylesbury jail, and Thomas Loe from that of Oxford. — Ellwood is released. — Isaac Pen- ington's letter from Aylesbury to his wife. — His trials and difficulties. — Is released from prison. The tutor whom Isaac Penington had heretofore employed to teach his three eldest children English, being iniable to give them instruction in Latin, an- other had to be looked for. He who succeeded as teacher at the Grange was Thomas Ellwood, al- ready introduced as the youthful friend of Gulielma Springett ; and who with his father, as before re- lated, had visited the Peningtons on their settle- ment in Buckinghamshire. As he continued to be tutor to the children and an honoured inmate of the family for the seven following years, his per- sonal history during that period is much inter- woven with theirs. It becomes an interesting 107 io8 Thomas EJlwoocVs element in the social and religious life at Chalfont, and we must therefore glance at his antecedents. EUwood's father was an estated gentleman of honourable descent, whose property and family residence were at Crowell, about three miles east- ward 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 guest. Ellwood says, " I have cause to think I should have received from this lord some advantageous preferment, had I not been called into the service of the best and highest Lord, and thereby lost the favour of all my friends, re- lations, 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 commencement 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 autobiograph}^, 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 that 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 Early Life. 109 man, delighting in athletic sports, but ever averse to what was coarse or vulgar in mind or manners. Pie 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 coachman, 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 husbandman who was at plough not far off, he ran to us, and 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 committed, 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, tlie 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 fiir from it, and was also good enough, wherefore my father bid his man drive home that vvay. no llionias EJhcoocVs " 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 wroto to Sir William. (oUini;- liiin Avhat tiiuuih his son luul Ihhmi makiim". ami [ho ad- miral immoiliatolv ilospaU'lunl a lot tor ordorin?;" liim to oomo Iiomo. Tho Frioml who had hoou tra\ol- limi' with him aiUisod him to ohov his I'atlua-. AVilliam dooidoil to do i^o, ami on his rodini ho oamo lo l.vvmlon; but. holbro eoiiiLi,' to AVanstoad. ho ;Utoiidod a. mootiuir in tho oitv. Al'ior that mootuii::, happouiui;- to bo in tlio houso of a i'^riond Avho ivsidod in tlio noighbourhood, (Inliolma Maria SpriniJ^vtt o:imo in and was introduood to him: this was in tho voar UU'^S. and was tho tirst limo ho ovor sa.w his I'ntiuv w itb. Tlio manusorlpt aooonnt continues : — •• Koturn- ing homo, his lather tt^ld him he had lu\n'd w hat Avork ho had been making- in tlie eountrv. and after sonu^ diiseour>e bid him take his cUnhes and beucme i\\nn his house, lor he should not be tliere anv longer. Also, tliat he sluvuld dispose of his estates to theiu that pleased him better. William ga\e him to iuulerst;md lunv great a cross it was to him to dis- oblige his father, not because oi' the disposal oi' his estates, but tVom tlie (ilial alleciion he bore to him." Thus tather and sou parted. William declariug his deep sorrow, but his still deeper conviction tliat he must in tlielirst place obev Cod. Kissing his mother and liis sister Margaret, he left the house with their cries o( distress siunuling in his ears. \Villiam IVnn had a brother named Kichard. o\' whom w hear viM'v little. 1( is prc>bable he was a!" JjJ^'it IkOUTH <)f Tli.()llic inforrnf^J concc-rnin^; the sickncHS and death of dear 'i'liornas Lo(j. It was thus. When George W^fjitehead, Thomas Loe. and niysrilf, after thou left us, were at Wickharn, at the JJuke of* i^ucking- harn's [ojj the husineHs] relative to Frie-nds' lifjerty, }je was taken suddenly ill. whicfj newissitated him tfj leave us, and hasten to the hrjuse of a Friend who lived near, where, after three hours, we found him from excessive retching yi-vy f('V(^ris}j. I>usines8 called me to the city, so thjit I left them. 7'jiat evening he was brought \)y coach to Anne Greeri- }j ill's, where Pie remjiined about a week, at tiincB \<^'vy ill. I>y renson of the continual noise her [joiise was exposed to, we reuioved him to Edward Ahiii's; where we all had hopes of his speedy re- covery, inasmuch as the retirement of the chamber in whicii he lay occasioned great rest. But, being infirm aiid under extnirjrdinary fever, the strength of* his constitution could not long support it, and for some time before he left us we daily expected his departure. Ab^'uf four ^hiys before lie died I 1^8 La-st hours of Thomas Loe. fell sick myself; but, hearing at what point it was wdth clear Thomas, I coalcl not long keep my bed, but got up and hastened to him. I found him in readiness to depart. Friends, much affected, 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 from 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 j-ou. 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 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 sinned upon my tabernacle, and raised it up.' Last liours of Thomas Log. i^c^ " 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 ^id his distem[)er increase, and his life sink, that we all gave him uy), death appearing in almost every part. He lay some short time speechless, his spirit being centered, and at last he went away with great stillness, having finished his testimony, and left many demonstra- tions 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. Penn. "London, I7th of 8th Mo. 1668." The above is taken by kind permission, from the manuscript collection of Penington letters in posses- sion of John S. Robson of Saffron Walden. CHAPTER VII. 1665-1671. Further persecution of the Friends. — The plague in London. — John Milton removes to Chalfont. — Magisterial tyranny. — Penington and Ellwood imprisoned. — The latter, on being released, visits Milton. — The manuscript of Paradise Lost handed to him to read. — Paradise Regained suggested by Ellwood. — Earl of Bridgwater imprisons Isaac Penington. — Penin^ton's letter to his wife from Aylesbury jail. — Penington writes from prison to the Earl of Bridgwater. — A respite. — Another letter to his Avife. — Writes to the Amersham Friends from Aylesbury jail, — and to George Fox. — Penington's letter to his uncle — to his cousin. — Removed by Habeas Corpus to London. — Dis- missed by proclamation. — Purchases Woodside. — Rebuilding of the old house. — Imprisonment of Isaac Penington in Reading jail. — Is released. — Christian influence in prison. Haying glanced at William Penn's history up to the autLimn of 16 G9, attention must now 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 Aveekly assembled in the Penington parlour. l>eibre this disturbance connnenccd, 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 Milton at Giles Glial font. cot was tiie summer of the great plague of London. Every week the number of its victims was increas- ing, 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 con- science 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 Ellwood relates the circumstance : — " I was desired by my quondam master, Milton, to take a house for him in the neighborhood 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 im- prisonment." " 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 penal- ties ; five pounds for the first ofience so called, ten pounds for the second, and banishment for the third; under pain of condemnation for felony if escaping or returning without license. This act was looked upon to have been procured by the 101 A QuaJicrs fiuieral. bishops, in order to bring us to conform to their way of worship. No sooner was that cruel haw 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 time. For a Friend of Amersham, Edward Perrot, departing this life, the Friends of the adjacent country re- sorted 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 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 Bonnet, 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 forward to perform our Christian duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out Magisterial tyranny, 203 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 coffin. 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 tliereu23on the justice gave command for appre- hending 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. " Of those thus taken, I was one and Isaac Pen- ington 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 com- mitting us. Being called forth severally before them, they picked out ten of us, whom they com- mitted to Aylesbury jail, for what neither we nor they knew ; for we were not convicted of having either 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 3 but he was so lively in spirit, and 204 ''Paradise Found T so cheerfully given up to suffer, 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 wel- come him to the country. After some common discourses had passed between us, he called for a manuscript of his ; which being brought he deli- vered it to me, bidding me take it home 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 myself 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 returned him his book, with due acknowledg- ment of the favour he had done me in communi- cating it to me. He asked me ho-w I liked it, and what I thought of it, which I modestly but freely told him ; and after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, ' Thou hast said much here oi Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to say about Paradise Found f He made me 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 Penington again imprisoned. 205 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 showed me his second poem, called Paradise Re- gained^ 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 Clialfont, 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 se- clusion, when, abjuring politics, he devoted his tlioughts to poetry. But whilst we cordially thank Ellwood for relating these incidents, we would have felt very much more indel^ted 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 Grano:e 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, it is of course regarded as the most interesting object in the neighbourhood of Chalfont. Only four weeks elapsed from the time of tluit 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 2o6 An 02')prcsmv€ peer. 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 Pen- ington 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 Penington, because he would neither, when addressing him, use the phrase " My Lord," nor sign himself, in writing to him, "Your humble ser- vant." 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 dee23ly centred in devotion to the Lord, and in resigna- tion to His holy will in all things, that the prison surroundings were very lightly regarded when com- pared with the happiness he felt in the assurance that the persecution he was enduring would bring honour and exaltation to the cause of Truth. In humble adoration before God his Saviour, every munnurlnii: thought was hushed, as he wrote to lier I'roni w horn he was so cruelly separated : — Letter of Isaac Penbigton. 207 To his 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 mur- mur, 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 occur- rences 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 tlie 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 suftering, both inward and outward, until the Lord see good to take it from my lips. •' Oh, my dear ! say little concerning me ; plead 2o8 Illegal imprisonment. 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, help- ful 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. Notwithstanding the declaration of the Earl of Bridgwater, Isaac Penington's friends, being aware that he had broken no law, calculated on his release whenever 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, conti- nued to occupy the Grange for some years after the confiscation of Alderman Penington's estates, "^ The autograph original of the above letter l)elonged to the late James Midgley's collection of ancient MSS. and is now in possession of his daughter. His famllfj scattered. 209 among wliicli this at Chalfont which he had given to his eldest son was included. What the circum- stances were under which the son's family w^as 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 bestowal of the confiscated property, save that which I have quoted, which says that Alderman Penington's es- tates 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 influ- ence had anything to do with this harsh proceed- ing 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 move- ments before they could obtain a tolerably comforta- ble 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 neighborhood. Of the many religious letters still in existence Avhich were written by Isaac Penington in the prison at Aylesbury, some were addressed to his implacable enemy the Earl of Bridgwater. They 14 2IO Letter of Isaac Ptnninjton show very clearly and beautifully the loving and forgiving spirit which influenced the writer, and evince unswerving fidelity to his Divine Master. The two following have been copied from the Penington MSS. belonging to J. S. Eobson of Saffron Walden. Isaac Penington to tlie 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 afilicted 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 tliy heart and ways, and seek for the true nobility and honour that cometh from Him. Thou hast but a time to 1)e in the world, and then eternity begins; to the Earl of Bridgwater. 1 1 1 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 tliey 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, and preserve, in that which will bring sweet rest, peace, and safety to all who are shel- tered by it, in the stormy hour in which the Lord will make man to feel his sin and misery. " 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 Aylesburj' Jail, 24th of vi. mo. 1666." The next document, which was written, as the i date indicates, two months before the preceding, i was probably that which Isaac Penington speaks ,; Of havins: enclosed in the above letter. It was i 212 Letter of Isaac Penington evidently addressed to those magistrates who had countenanced the proceedings of the Earl of Bridg- water, as well as to the earl himself. Isaac Penington^ on heJialf of himself and his friends, to the magistrates loho were striving to crush out Quakerism hy ^persecution. " Why do ye persecute and afflict 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 ac- quainted with from my childhood, and whose fa- vour 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 mani- festation in the pure light revealed there denieth God, and shall be denied of Him ; this I dare not ruu the hazard of, through fear of any man. Ye are men — great men, many of you — but I know God to be greater, and that His power and autho- rity over me is greater than yours ; and therefore I am not to be blamed for yielding subjection to Him in the first place. " ! 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 appeared to to the persecuting iinialstrates. 213 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 right- eous, and what ye have sown in the day of your power that ye must reap in the day of His right- eous 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 perplexity and misery, upon nations and upon persons who set themselves in opposition to Him. Read 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. " L P. "Aylesbury, 23rd 4th mo. 1666." 214 Mary Panhifjions Illness. It will be observed that the above letters m no degree partake of the usual tone of a prisoner asking for release. Throughout, the writer eon- siders 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 evi- dence of any thing he said having touched the feel- ings or the consciences of either the Earl of Bridg- water, 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, with the elder chil- dren, were lodging in a farmhouse in the parish of St. Giles Chalfont. 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 Penin'^ton, Merchant, for M. P. Letter from Isaac Penutf/toa. 215 To his '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 Ellwood had one from W. P. on the Fourth-day, wherein there was very good and wel- come 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 Pa- pists at the assizes, and also gave a short charge relating to the fanatics. And I heard by a Windsor friend that they were forward, and preparing to be very sharp at Windsor. "Yesterday I saw thy boy Ned at \^aame ille- gible'] looking very well and fresh, if not too well ; I mean, too fat. Bill and all thy children are well. Bill expects 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 exceedingly 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 2i6 Pfiiiii'jtuii to his- tcife. 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. " 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 Pagetts, if thou see them, — which perhaps it might be convenient so to do if thou hast opportunity; for it seems some have endea- voured to instil into them as if we w^ere 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, " I. P. " P.S. — Thomas Ellwood 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 alllictcd ; and for thy growth and prosperity in His truth. I also desire of the Lord prudence and Avisdoui^ to guide me towards my children." His ivrlt'uKjs in prison. 217 Tlie term of Isaac Penington's liberation, after tlio 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 gentleman again imprisoned. He was then confined in a most unhealthy incommodious apartment of Aylesbury jail, which so much debili- tated his tender constitution, 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 counsel to those towards whom his spirit was drawn. During his various imprisonments he wrote several religious works, and his correspond- ence was very extensive. To the Friends of the neighbouring meetings he occasionally wrote epis- tles, and very often he wrote privately to indi- viduals both at home and abroad. From letters which were written about this time the following are selected : — 2i8 Lttkr fivin Ibnac PcniiKjtoii To Friends in Amersham. " Aylcsbuiy, 4th 3i-d mo. 166T. " 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, peaceably, and lovingly one Avith another. Then ye will be a joraise to the Lord, and any thing that may be amiss ye will come over in the true dominion, even in the Lamb's dominion ; and that which is con- trary shall be trampled upon, as life rises and rules in you. So watch your hearts and ways; and watch one over another in that which is gentle and tender, and kno^vs 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, enjo3anent, and possession of it in your hearts, and so walk as niny bi'iug no dis- u-race n])()n it, but uuiv l)e a i^'ood savour in the places where ye live — the meek, innocent, tender, righteous life reigning in you, governing over you, and shininu" throuuli you. to George Fox. 219 " Your friend in the Trutii, and a desirer of your welfare therein, " I. P." " Dear G. F. To George Fox, "Aylesbury jail, 15th 5th mo., 1667. " 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 the Lord hath chosen, anointed, and ho- noured ; and, dear G. F., I beg thy love and entreat thy prayers, 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. " 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. "L P. " P. S. — I entreat thy prayers for my family, that 2 20 Peuington to his U7ide. the name of the Lord may be exalter!, 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 Ms uncle. " 19th nh 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 quick- ening and redeeming thy mind, heart, and soul to the Lord. Many take up a religion, as they ap- prehend, from the letter of the Scriptures, and strive to conform their hearts 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 ci^.useth to sin, and which captivateth the mind from the Lord, he is not a true witness of salva- tion. The Lord hath revealed His precious living virtue, and His pure redeeming power in this our day; blessed forever be His name! Oh ! that thou miuhtest partake thereof, and in it receive the seal of thy everlasting redemption. •^Oh, dear uncle ! dost thou thirst after the living Peniitxjton to his coiisin. iii waters ? Dost thou feel in thy heart a cry to the Father of spirits daily ? This is precious with the Lord, and this the Lord will answer and accept. '^ But, indeed, many have a name to live, and think they live now to God, and shall live with Him forever, and yet are dead in His sight, being not in union with that which quickens, but only in a notion concerning it. Oh, dear uncle, cry to God night and day, thou mayest be of the number of the true sheep which hear and know the shepherd's voice, and in the certain leadings of His spirit fol- low Him, the Lamb, whithersoever he goes. " In the truth of my love I have sent thee the enclosed, w^hich may the Lord God of mercy, love, and power make serviceable to thee. I am thy truly affectionate nephew, sensible of thy love to me, and ansAvering it in returns of unfeigned love to thee. "I. P." To his Cousin. "Dear Cousin, " Thou hast had many wander- ings and outgoings, as well as others. Oli ! return now with others to the She]3herd and Bishop of souls, and feel thy mind stayed upon Him, that thou mayest go out from Him no more. The path He hath now revealed is plain, so that he who runs 222 Ptnington to Jus cousin. may read, and a fool noed not err therein. But there is a wisdom which cannot know it, and will not wallv tliorein, which wisdom is near thee. ! take liccd of it. '' The Jews had the Scriptures, and searched them which foretold of the coming of Christ in the flesh, and yet could not thereby know Him when He came. How then was He to be known ? why, by the revelation of the spirit. So John the Baptist knew Him. For the same that sent John to baptize discovered Him to him. And so the disciples knew Him. ' Flesh and blood hath not revealed this to thee, but my Father.' And can any know his ap- pearance in this day but by the revelation of the spirit ? And can any be saved by Him but they that receive Him in spirit? Can any be saved from Satan's power but by the power of God working in the heart against it ? It will not serve any to think to be saved by righteousness and cleanness being imputed to them, for they must also feel cleanness within. ' Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew a right spirit within me,' said David. " Dear cousin, I have prayed for thee many times, especially whilst in prison, and I have felt for thy sore distress. But there is no reaping beneflt from my prayers, but as thou comest into the new way, and walkest with God in the new and living covenant. This is the plain despised path which the wisdom in all sorts of professors overlooks ; and so they miss i\iQ one thing necessary, and get up a Isaac Pe/nnr/foa's Uhcration. 223 notion concerning Christ, instead of [coming to] Christ himself;' Isaac Penington had taken no legal steps to pro- cure his own release ; and from his letter to his wife of 7tli month, 1665, it seems that he did not wish her to " plead his cause." Those who had procured his imprisonment seemed determined that he should remain in prison until he consented to apologise. Under these circumstances a relative of Mary Pen- ington, whose name is unknow^n, took out a writ of Habeas Corpus early in 1668, which brought him to London for trial ; and as it was then ascertained that there was no case whatever to try — no record against him — he was at once liberated. Most other men would have sued for false imprisonment those who had illegally caused them so much suffering: but not so Isaac Penington. Some unprincipled men, who had observed his unresisting spirit, refused to pay him money which they owed him, and one of Mary Penington's relatives commenced a lawsuit to deprive her of one of her estates. The case was throw^n into Chancery, and was lost, because neither she nor her ]iusband would take an oath to verify their claims. Mary Penington herself tells us of these trials, adding, " Thus we were stripped of my husband's estate, and wronged of a great part of mine. After this, we were tossed up and dow:: from place to 224 Mary Penlngtous difficulty. place, to our great weariness and charge ; seeing no place to abide in, in this country, near to meetings, which had formerly been held at our house at Chal- fo]it- We were pressed in our spirits to stay amongst the Friends here, if any house could be found with conveniencies, though it were but ordi- narily decent. " We sought in many places within the compass of four or five miles from that meeting, but could find none. Yet having still such a sense of its being our right place, we had not freedom to settle any- where else ; so we boarded at Waltham-abbey during the summer, for our children's accommodation at the school there, and left our friends to enquire further for us. But in all that time of seeking it had never entered into our thoughts of buying a place. Nay, we rather endeavoured to have a state of disentan- glement, and to procure a habitation without land. But, seeing no place like to fit us in the country near those people, I told vny husband I was not willing to go from them into any other place, except it were to our own estate in Kent. This he liked not to do, taking exception against the air, and against the dirtiness of the place. This put me into a great strait. I could not bear, except to go to Kent, to leave those we had been instrumental in gathering to the Truth, and who had known our sufferings respecting our estate, and who com- passionated us. We and they had suffered together, and had been comforted together. They had a Mary Peninijtons difficidty. 225 sense of our former condition, and were compassion- ate of us; we being in their sight so stripped, they expected no great things, such as would ansvv^er to our rank in the world; but rather wondered we Avere able to live so decently, and to pay every one their own. Our submitting thus to mean things, which our present condition occasioned, was honor- able before them, but strangers would have despised it, which would have been uneasy to us. " Thus it was that the temper amongst our acquaintances and countrymen here helped us to bear the meanness and the great straitness, so much more than we had ever known before, having been born to and having lived in great plenty. One day, when we were about going to Waltham Abbey, R. T. coming to see us, and bewailing our going out of the country, and having no place near them to return to, said, ' Why will you not buy some little place near us?' I refused this with great neglect, saying our condition would not ad- mit of such a thing, for we had not an hundred pounds beside our rents, and that we must sell some of my land if we do so. He told me he had an uncle who would sell a place that was about thirty pounds a 3'ear, which stood near the meeting- house at Amersham, and was in a healthy place, and that the house being trimmed might be made habitable. My husband was not there at that time; but soon after R. B. came, and I told him what E. T. had proposed; he seemed to encourage the 15 226 Mary Penington thing, and said he had heard there were some rooms in the house that might serve. '' That night Thomas Ell wood came out of Kent, and told me he had much to do to come back without selling my farm at West Bur. I laid these things together, and said, 'I think this must be our way, if we can sell West Bur to buy this that R. T. has offered, and with the overplus money put the house in a condition to receive us.' Next day I took Anne Bull with me, and went on foot to Woodside, to John Humphries' house, to view it, and its situation. I came in by Hill's-lane through the orchard ; but it looked so ruinous, and unlike what could be trimmed up for us, that I did not go into the house. So it quite fell through till we were going away, having been disappointed of a house at Beaconsheld, which my husband had been in treaty about. Upon this we pressed again to see the house, which I did, Thomas EUwood and H. B. going with me; my husband having said he left the decision to me. So I went into the house, and they viewed the grounds; and in hall' an hour's time I had the form of the thing in my mind, what to sell, what to pull down, what to add, and cast how it would be done with the overplus money. So I gave up to have them to treat for it, and let us know at Waltham ; which they did, and sent us word the title was clear, but they judged it £50 too dear. When I received that message, I had my mind much to the Lord in this thhig; that if it pu} chases Woodslde. 227 were the place He gave us liberty to be in, He would order it for us. I had requested of my hus- band that, seeing he had lost all, and the children had no provision but my estate, and that we were so tossed about, and had no dwelling-place for our- selves or our children, I might build some little thing for them. My husband was averse to build- ing ; but I, weighing that could I part with some land, and buy the place with the money, and put it in condition for us and them, and he not to be troubled with the building, but that it should be made over to Friends for me and the children ; then he, considering that the estate was mine, and that he had lost all of his, and that thus that suiTering had been brought upon me, was willing that I should do what I would. And he added that he took delight that I should be answered in this, though it was contrary to his temper either to own a house or to build one. " So I sent word to our friends that they should conclude for it ; that I did not matter £50 if they thought well of it in other respects. Then it went on. I was often in prayer to the Lord that I might be preserved from entanglements and cumber, and that it might be such an habitation as would mani- fest that the Lord was ai^ain restoring' us, and had a rcgjird to us. When it was bought, I went in- dustriously and cheerfully about the business, th jugh I saw many unusual incumbrances present t.iemselves before me; under which I still cried to 228 Hov: Mary Penincjfon the Lord that I might go through in His fear, and not cumber or darken my mind. "After we had conckided for it, we met with a groat interruption ; the woman being advised to make prey upon us by an unreasonable demand for her consent. I earnestlj^ desired of the Lord to make way for us to get clear of the whole matter, though with great loss, rather than that we should run into entanglements in the management of it, the dread of running into debt was so heavy on me. But I got over that, and went on to plant, and to make provision for building, till the surveyor put me out of my own way. He put us upon rear- ing from the ground a new part, and my husband falling in with his plan, I could not avoid it. It brought great trouble upon me ; for I did not see my way clear as before. Having stepped from my own plan, and not knowing how to compass this charge, I took no pleasure in doing anything about it. At length I fell ill, and could not look after it, and great was my exercise ; one while fearing the Lord dkl not approve of Vvdiat I had done ; another while saying within myself, I did not seek great things nor vain glory in wishing a fine habitation. For as I cast it at first, and did not intend to do more, it would have been very ordinary. After many close exercises and earnest prayers, I came to a clearness that I had an honest intent in what I did, the full expense being undiscerned. I then felt my mind stayed, and acted without disquiet '„ huilt a house at Amersliam. :V-9 and the building was afterwards managed by me rather in delight, through an assurance that the undertaking was a right one. " Part of the house fell down from the new cast- ing of it, and in the falling I was most remarkably preserved. This wrought in me a care how to compass what had to be done. After a time I felt an innocent enjoyment arise in my mind, and I went on very cheerfully, never looking out with apprehension; and when there was occasion for money to be paid, I found I still had it, having contracted my family expenses. My rents came in steadily, and by selling old houses, and bark, and several other things, the expenses of the building were met, and I then had pleasure instead of pain in laying out the money. Indeed my mind was so daily turned towards the Lord in conducting this affair, and so continually was I provided with money, that I often thought, and sometimes said, that if I had lived in the time when building of houses' for the service or worship of the Lord Avas accepted and blessed, I could not have had in such work a sweeter, stiller, or pleasanter time. '^ T set all things in order of a morning before I went to meeting, and so left them unthought of till I returned ; rarely finding them so much as to rise in my mind when going to, or when at meetings. Thus was my mind kept sweet and savory; for I had nothing in all that affair that disquieted me, having no further anxiety than that nothing should 230 Mary Pcitln^itoiis liouse cowpletcd. be wasted ; and this I perceived by eye, without disquieting care being administered that would pi^oduce anger or fretting. I Lay down sweetly and very pleasantly at night, awaked with a sweet sense of the work before me in the morning, was emj)loyed all day thereat, but had no burden on my mind. This seasoned me, and kept me jDlea- sant and in health, and now I am free to leave this account of it with my children. " The building was completed in less than four years ; I could have compassed it in much less time, but then I should have been straitened for money ; doing it by degrees, it stole on undiscerned in point of charge. Now all is finished except the wash- house ; and I have taken up one hundred pounds ; and during that time we have not omitted being helpful to others in giving or lending in our places." It appears that the rebuilding of Woodside House commenced early in 1669 ; and having been, as Mary Penington states, nearly four j^ears in hands, it was probably finished about the close of 1672 or early in 1673. While in progress, the Peningtons occupied Berrie House near Amer- sham ; and several of the children were then at school at Waltham-abbey. The rebuilding must have been done in a very substantial manner, for we find the house is still, after a lapse of nearly two centuries, a tenantable habitation. It is now a farmhouse, and well known in Amersham as the ah ient residence of the Peningtons. Penh uj ten IS last imprisonment. 231 Sad to relate, in 1672 Isaac Peniiigton was again made a prisoner. On this occasion his imprison- ment was in Reading jail, and arose ont of a visit he paid to Friends who were there confined. It appears from Besse's account/'' that a magistrate who was very bitter against the Friends, hearing from the jailer of Penington being there, sent for him, tendered to him the oath of allegiance, and then made his refusal to swear the ostensible rea- son for imprisonment. He continued a prisoner there for the space of twenty-one months, till Charles the Second released by letters patent such Friends as were imprisoned throughout the nation on suits of the Crown. Isaac Penington then left for the sixth and last time the confinement of a prison. A Friend, who was his fellow sufferer in several of his imprisonments, gives the following description of his conduct. " Being made willing by the power of God to suffer with great patience, cheerfulness, contented- ness and true nobility of spirit, he was a good ex- ample to me and others. I do not remember that ever I saw him cast down or dejected during the time of his close confinement ; or ever heard him speak hardly of those that persecuted him ; for he ^' See p. 31, vol. i., of "-4 Collection of the Sufferings of the People called Quakers for the Testimony of a good conscience^ from, the time of their bcinj first distinguished hg that 7iame in the gear 1650, to the time of the Act com- monly called the Act of Toleration, granted to Protestant Dissenters in the first year of the reign of King William the Third and Qu^en Mary, in the year 1689," 2 vols. foliO; Lond. 1753. 232 PenirKjtorf'S last h]q)ri.'Oir?ric}if. was of that temper to love enemieSj and to do good to them that hated him ; having received a mea- sure of that virtue from Christ his master that taught him so to do. Indeed, I may truly say, in the prison he was a help to the weak, being made instrumental in the hand of the Lord for that end. Oh ! the remembrance of the glory that did often overshadow us in the place of our confinement ; so that indeed the prison was made by the Lord, who was powerfully with us, as a pleasant palace. I was often, with many more, by those streams of [spiritual] life that did many times flow through him as a vessel, greatly overcome with a sense of the pure presence and love of our God, that was plentifully spread abroad in our hearts." What a testimony to the heavenly mindedness and truly Christian experience of that good man ! During the period of Isaac Penington's imprison- ment and his wife's building occupation, some other events occurred in the family which must be refer- red to in another chapter. CHAPTER VIII. 1666-1669. Quaker meeting at Hedgerly. — Ambrose Bennett, the magistrate, breaks it up. — Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, remonstrates. — Bennett again imprisons Friends. — Release from prison. — Solemn meeting of Friends for the restoration of those who had been drawn away by John Perrot. — Perrot's mission to the Pope. — His imprisonment in Rome. — Release and return home. — Extravagant proceedings. — Establishment of meetings for discipline by George Fox. — Ellwood's choice of a wife. — Details of his courtship. — Is accepted. — Adven- turous journey with Gulielma M. Springett. — Ellwood's bravery. — Gulielma's return home. — Ellwood's marriage. — Isaac Pcnington's son lost at sea. — Ellwood's grief. — His poetical eflFusions. Whilst Isaac Penington remained a prisoner at Aylesbury, Thomas Ellwood, as the tutor of his sons, had considerable care of the family affairs, and he sometimes gives us an interesting glimpse into their history as well as his own. He tells us that " There was in those times (1666) a meeting once a month in the house of George Salter, a Friend of Hedgerly, to which he sometimes went. Morgan Watkins being then with us, he and I, with Guli and her maid, and one Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of the College of Physicians, Lon- don, with a daughter of theirs (neither of whom 233 234 Bratalitij of Aiuhrosc Bennett. were Quakers, but as acqaaintances of Mary Pen- ington were with her on a visit) walked over to that meeting. '' The pLace was about a mile from the house of Ambrose Bennett, the justice Avho the summer before had sent me and some other Friends to Aylesbury prison, from the burial of Edward Parrot of Amersham. He, by what means I know not, getting notice not only of the meeting, but, as we supposed, of our being there, came himself to it; and as he came, catched up a stackwood stick, big enough to knock any man down, and brought it with him hidden under his cloak. Being come to the house, he stood for a while without the door, out of sight, listening to hear what was said, for Morgan was then speaking in the meeting. But certainly he heard yery imperfectly, if it was true what we heard he said afterwards among his com- panions, as an argument that Morgan was a Jesuit, viz : that in his preaching he trolled over Latin as fluently as ever he heard any one ; whereas J^Iorgan, good man ! was better versed in Welsh than in Latin, which I suppose he had never learned : I am sure he did not understand it. " When this martial justice, who at Amersham had with his drawn sword struck an unarmed man, who he knew would not strike again, had now stood some time abroad, on a sudden he rushed in among us, with the stackwood stick held up in his hand ready to stril^, crying out, ' Make way there !' Jadiili Parher. 235 and an ancient woman not getting soon enougli out of his way, he struck her with the stick a shrewd blow over the breast. Then, pressing through the crowd to the place where Morgan stood, he plucked him from thence, and caused so great a disorder in the room that it broke the meeting up ; yet would not the people go away, but tarried to see what the issue would be. " Then, taking pen and paper, he sat down at the table among us, and asked several of us our names, which we gave, and he set them down in writing. Amongst others he asked Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, what her name was, which she readily told him. Thence taking occasion to dis- course him, she so overmastered him by clear reason delivered in fine language, that he, glad to be rid of her, struck out her name and dismissed her ; yet did not she remove, but kept her place amongst us. When he had taken what number of names he thought fit, he singled out half a dozen ; wdiereof Morgan was one, I another, one man more, and three women, of which the woman of the house was one, although her husband then was, and for divers years before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet for tithes, and had no one to take care of his fimily and business but her, his wife. " Us six he committed to Aylesbury jail: which when the doctor's wife heard him read to the con- stable, she attacked him again, and having put him in mind that it was a sickly time, and that the 236 Ellwood again in prison, pestilence was reported to be in that place, she, in handsome terms, desired him to consider in time how he would answer the cry of our blood, if by his sending us to be shut up in an infected place we should lose our lives. This made him alter his purpose, and by a new mittimus he sent us to the house of correction at Wycombe. And al- though he committed us upon the act for banish- ment, which limited a certain time for imprison- ment, yet he, in his mittimus, limited no time, but ordered us to be kept till we should be delivered by due course of law ; so little regardful was he, though a lawyer, of keeping to the letter of the law. "We were committed on the 13tli day of the month called March, 1666, and were kept close prisoners there till the 7th day of the month called June, which was some days above twelve weeks, and much above what the act required. Then were we sent for to the justice's house, and the rest being released, Morgan Watkins and I were required to find sureties for our appearance at next assizes ; Morgan being, in his second mittimus, represented as a notorious offender in preaching, and I as being upon the second conviction, in order to banishment. There we lay till the 25th day of the same month ; and then, by the favour of the Earl of Ancram, being brought before him at his house, we were discharged from the prison, upon our p'omise to appear, if at liberty and in health, at the assizes; Per rot and Luff at Rome. 237 which we did, and were there discharged hy procla- mation. " After we had been discharged at the assizes, I returned to Isaac Penington's family at Dottrel's in Chalfont, and, as I remember, Morgan Watkins with me, leaving Isaac Penington a prisoner in Aylesbury jail. The lodging we had in this firm- house proving too strait and inconvenient for the family, I took larger and better lodgings for them in Berrie House at Amersham. " Some time after was that memorable meeting appointed to be holden at London, through a divine opening in that eminent servant of God, George Fox, for the restoring: and brinirinGr in a^ain of those who had gone out from Truth, and from the holy unity of Friends, by the means and ministry of John Perrot. This man came pretty early among Friends, and too early took upon him the minis- terial office ; and being, though little in person, yet great in opinion of himself, nothing less would serve him than to go and convert the Pope. In order thereunto, having a better man than himself, John Luff, to accompany him, they travelled to Eome, where they had not been long ere they were taken up and clapped into prison. LuiT w\as put into the Inquisition, and Perrot in their Bedlam for mad- men. Luff died in prison, not without v*x'll groiuided suspicion of being murdered there. But Perrot was kept in Eome for some time, and now and then sent over an epistle to be printed here, v\aritten in 238 John Perrot a troiihJe to Friends. such an affected and fantastic style, as might have induced an indifferent reader to believe they in Rome had suited the place of his confinement to his condition." Without going into all of Ellwood's details about this John Perrot, I may brietiy state that Friends, through great efforts and interest, succeeded in pro- curing his release. But after his return home he went off into much eccentricity ; so that those who had been his friends could not approve of his pro- ceedings, and then he declared against them. The report of his great sufferings at Rome, and the assumption of great sanctity of manner and ap- pearance gained him the compassion of many kind- hearted Friends, on whose feelings he wrought in declaring for extreme notions and observances, which more experienced, stable, religious minds could not unite with. But, so earnest was Perrot, and so persevering, that he got up a party which supported him. Thomas Ellwood says, although he never had any esteem for the man, either in regard to his natural parts or ministerial gift, yet he had sympathized in degree with those who had taken up his cause, till the Lord opened his under- standing ; which was some time prior to the calling of the meeting in question, of which he speaks thus : '' When that solemn meeting was appointed at London, for a travail of spirit on behalf ol' those who had thus gone out, that they might rightly return, and be sensibly received into the unity of George Fox. 239 the ]jody again, my spirit rejoiced, and with glad- ness of heart I went to it, as did many others both, of city and country. With great simplicity and humility of mind Ave did there acknowledge our error, and take shame to ourselves. And some that lived at too remote a distance in this nation, as well as beyond the seas, upon notice reaching them of that meeting, and the intended service of it, did the like by writing, in letters directed to and openly read in the meeting ; which for that purpose was continued many days. " Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the Lord to travel through the country, from county to county, to advise and encourage Friends to set up monthly and quarterly meetings, for the better ordering of the affairs of the church ; in taking care of the poor; and for exercising true gospel discipline in dealing with any that might walk disorderly under our name ; and to see that such as marry amongst us act fairly and clearly in that respect. '' When he came into this country, I was one of the many Friends that were with him at the meet- ing for that purpose. Afterwards I travelled with Guli and her maid into the West of England, to meet him there, and to visit Friends in those parts ; :md v\^e went as far as Topsliani in Devonshire be- fore we found him. He had been in Cornwall, and was then returning, and came in unexpectedly to Topsham wliere we were. Had he not then come 240 Elhvood thinks of marriage. thither, we were to have left that day for Cornwall. But then we turned back, and went with him through Devonshire, Somersetshire, and Dorset- shire, having generally very good meetings ; and the work he was chiefly concerned in went on very prosperously. " By the time we got back from that journey, the summer was pretty far gone; and the following winter I spent wdth the children of the family as before, without any remarkable alteration in my circumstances until the next spring (1669), when I found in myself a disposition of mind to change my single life for a married state. The object of my affection was a Friend whose name was Mary Ellis, whom for divers years I had had an acquaint- ance with, in the way of common friendship only ; and in whom I thought I saw those fair prints of truth and solid virtue which I afterwards found in her to a sublime degree. What her condition was in a Avorldly view as to estate, I was wholly a stranger to, nor did I desire to know. I had once, a 3'ear or two before, had an opportunity to do her a small piece of service in which she wanted some assistance ; wherein I acted with all sincerity and freedom of mind, not expecting or desiring an}^ advantage, but in the satisfaction of being able to serve a friend and help the helpless. " That little intercourse of common kindness between us ended without the least thought (I am verily persuaded on her part, and well assured on EllioootTs coiirtslilp. 241 my own) of any other relation than that of a free and fair friendship. Nor did it lead us into any closer conversation, or more intimate acquaintance one with the other, than had been before. But some time after, and that a good while, I found my heart secretly drawn towards her. Yet was I not hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a satisfactory settlement of mind therein, before I took any step thereto. " After some time, I took an opportunity to open my mind therein unto my much honoured friends Isaac and Mary Penington ; who then stood paren- tum loco (instead of parents) to me. They, having solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their unity therewith ; and indeed their approbation was no small confirmation to me. Yet took I still further deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the Lord, and asking Him for direction before I addressed myself to her. At length, as I was sitting all alone wait- ing upon the Lord for counsel and guidance, I felt the words sweetly arise in me, as if I had heard a voice which said, ' Go, and prevail.' Faith spring- ing up in my heart, I immediately arose and went, nothing doubting. " When I came to her lodgings, which were about a mile from me, her maid told me she was in her chamber. Having been under some indispo- 8 lion which had obliged her to keep her chamber, she had not yet left. I therefore desired the maid to acquaint her mistress that I was come to give 16 242 EJlwooiCs courtsliip. her a visit ; whereupon I was invited to go up to lier. And after some little time spent in common conversation, feeling my spirit weightily concerned, I solemnly opened my mind unto her with respect to the particular business I came about ; which I soon perceived was a great surprisal to her ; for she had taken an apprehension, as others also had done, that mine eye had been fixed elsewhere, and nearer home. " I used not many words to her ; but I felt as if a divine power went along with the words, and fixed the matter expressed by them so fast in her breast, that, as she afterwards acknowledged to me, she could not shut it out. I made at that time but a short visit. Having told her I did not expect any answer from her then, but desired she would in the most solemn manner weigh the proposal made, and in due time give me such an answer thereunto as the Lord should give her, I took my departure, leaving the issue to the Lord. " I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw would take me up two weeks' time. Wherefore, the day before I was to set out, I went to visit her again, to acquaint her with my journey, and excuse my absence ; not yet pressing her for an answer, but assuring her that I felt in myself an increase of alfection to her, and hoped to receive a suitable return from her in the Lord's time ; to whom in the meantime I committed l)oth her, myself, and the concern between us. And indeed I found at An adventure on the road, 2^^ my return that I could not have left it in a better hand ; for the Lord had been my advocate in my absence, and had so far answered all her objections, that when I came to her again she rather acquainted me with them than urged them. From that time forwards we entertained each other with affection- ate kindness, in order to marriage ; which yet we did not hasten to, but went on deliberately. " While this affair stood thus with me, I had oc- casion to take another journey into Kent and Sussex ; which yet I would not mention here but for a particular accident which befel me on the way. The occasion of this journey was to accom- pany Mary Penington's daughter, Guli, to her uncle Springett's in Sussex, and from thence among her tenants. "We tarried in London the first night, and set out next morning on the Tunbridge road. The Seven Oaks lying in our way, we put in there to bait ; but truly we had much ado to get either pro- visions or room for ourselves or horses, the house was so full of guests, and those not of the better sort. For the Duke of York being, as we were told, on the road that day for the "Wells, divers of liis guards and some of the meaner sort of his re- tinue had nearly filled all the inns there. I left John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this journey, and was her menial servant, to take care for the horses, while I did the like as well as I could for her. When I got a little room to put her into, I went to see what relief the kitchen would afford us ; 244 ^^'^ adventure on the road. and with much ado, by praying hard and paying dear, I got a small joint of meat from the spit. " After a short repast, being weary of our quar- ters, we quickly mounted and took the road again, willing to hasten from a place where we found nothing but rudeness. A knot of fellows followed us, designing, as we afterwards found, to make sport for themselves. We were on a spot of fine, smooth, sandy way, whereon the horses trod so softly that we heard them not till one of them was upon us. I was then riding abreast with Guli, and discoursing with her ; when, on a sudden, hearing a little noise, and turning mine eye that way, I saw a horseman coming up on the further side of her horse, having his left arm stretched out, just ready to take her about the waist, and pluck her off backwards from her own horse, to lay her before him on his. I had but just time to thrust forth my whip between him and her, and bid him stand off. At the same time, reining my horse to let hers go before me, I thrust in between her and him, and, being better mounted than he, my horse run him off. But his horse, though weaker than mine, being nimble, he slipped by me, and got up to her on the near side, endeavouring to seize her; to prevent which I thrust in upon him again, and in our jostling we drove her quite out of the w^ay, and almost into the next hedge. " While we were thus contending, I heard a noise of loud laughter behind us, and, turning my head A)t adventure on tlie road. 45 that way, I saw three or four horsemen more, who could scarcely sit their horses for laughing, to see the sport their companion made with us. From thence I saw it was a plot laid, and that this rude fellow was not to be dallied with, wherefore I ad- monished him to take warning in time, and to give over, lest he repented too late. He had in his hand a short thick truncheon, which he held up at me ; laying hold on it with a strong gripe, I suddenly wrenched it out of his hand, and threw it at as great a distance behind me as I could. " Whilst he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called up honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest man, and of a temper so thoroughly peaceable that he had not hitherto put in at all. But now I roused him, and bid him ride so close up to his mistress's horse on the further side that no horse might thrust in between, and I would endeavour to guard the near side. But he, good man, not thinking perhaps that it was respectful enough for him to ride so near his mistress, left room enough for another to push in between. And, indeed, as soon as the brute had recovered his truncheon, he came up directly hither, and had thrust in, had not I by a nimble turn chopped in upon him, and kept him at bay. I then told him I had hitherto spared him, but I wished him not to provoke me further. This I said with such a tone as bespoke high resciiLiiicnt of fii'j abuse put upon us, and withal I pressed so close upon him with my 246 All adcenture on the road. horse, that I suffered him not to come up any more to GuH. " His companions, who kept an equal distance behind us, both heard and saw all this, and there- upon two of them advancing, came up to us. I then thought I was likely to have my hands full, but Providence turned it otherwise. For they, seeing the contest rise so high, and probably fear- ing it would rise higher, not knowing where it might stop, came in to part us ; which they did by taking him away, one of them leading his horse by the bridle, and the other driving him on with his whip, and so carried him off. " One of their company stayed behind, and it so happened that a great shower just then falling, we betook ourselves for shelter under a thick, well spread oak which* stood hard by. Thither also came that other person whom I observed wore the Duke's livery. Whilst we put on our defensive garments against the weather, he took the oppor- tunity to discourse with me about the man who had been so rude to us, endeavoring to excuse him by alleging that he had drunk a little too liberally. I let him know that one vice would not excuse another ; that although but one of them was ac- tually concerned in the abuse, yet he and the rest of them were ' abettors of it, and accessaries to it ; that I was not ignorant whose livery they wore, and was well assured their lord would not maintain them in committing such outrages upon travellers An adventure on flic wad. 247 on the road, to our injury and his dislionour; that I understood the Duke was coming down, and that they might expect to be called to an account for this rude proceeding. He begged hard that we would pass the offence, and make no complaint to their lord ; for he said he knew the Duke would be very severe, and that it would be the utter ruin of the young man. When he had said what he could, he went off before us, without any ground given him to expect favour ; and when we had fitted our- selves for the weather, we followed at our own pace. " When we came to Tunbridge, I set John Gigger foremost, bidding him lead on briskly through the town, and, placing Guli in the middle, I came close up after her. We were expected, I perceived ; for, though it rained very hard, the street was thronged with men who looked very earnestly on us, but did not offer any affront. We had a good way to ride beyond Tunbridge, and beyond the Wells, in by- ways among the woods, and were the later for the hindrance we had on the way ; when, being come to Herbert Springett's house, Guli acquainted her uncle what danger and trouble she had met on the way, and he w^ould have had the persons prose- cuted, but since Providence had so well preserved her and delivered her from it, she chose to pass by the offence. '' When Guli had finished the business she went upon, we returned home, and I delivered her safe 248 EUicooiTi to licj- glad mother. From that time forward 1 continued my visits to my best beloved friend until we were married, which was on the 28th of the Eighth month (October), 1669. We took each other in a select meeting of the ancient and grave Friends, holden in a Friend's house, where, in those times, not only the monthly meeting for bisiness but the public meeting for worship Avas sometimes kept. A very solemn meeting it was, and in a weighty frame of spirit we were, in which we sensibly felt the Lord was with us, and was joining us ; the sense whereof remained with us all our lifetime, and was of good service, and very comfortable to us on all occasions. " My next care was to secure my wife what money she had, and which with herself were be- stowed on me. For I held that it would be an abominable crime in me, and w^ould savour of the highest ingratitude, if I, though it were but through negligence, should leave any room for my father, in case I should be suddenly taken awa^^, to break in upon her estate, and deprive lier of any part of that which had been and ought to be her own. Wherefore, A\dth tb.e first opportunity (as I remember, the very next djiy, and Ijefbre I knew particularl}- wluit she liad) I made my will, and tliereb}' secui'ed to her whatever I was possessed of, as well as all that which she brought, Avitli that little which I had before I married her. " Towards the latter piirt of the summer follow- Ibaac Peuin(jto}i8 son drowned. 249 ing, I went into Kent again, and in my passage through London received the unwelcome news of the loss of a very hopeful youth, wdio had formerly been under my care for education. This was Isaac Penington, the second son of my wortliy friends Isaac and Mary Penington, a boy of ex- cellent parts, whose great abilities bespoke him likely to be a great man, had he li\ed to be a man. He was designed to be a merchant, and before he was thought ripe enough to be entered thereunto, his parents at somebody's request gave leave that he might go a voyage to Barbadoes ; to spend a little time, see the place, and be somewhat ac- quainted with the sea. He went under the care and conduct of a choice Friend and sailor, John Grove of London, who was master of a vessel which traded to that island. He made the voyage thither very well, found the watery element agree- able, had his health there, liked the place, was nmch pleased with his entertaimnent there, and was re- turning home with a little cargo in return for goods he had taken out as ventures from his divers friends; when, on a sudden, through unwariness he dropped overboard, and the vessel being under sail with a brisk gale blowing he was irrecoverably lost. " This unhappy accident took from the afflicted master all the pleasure of the voyage, and he moaned for the loss of this youth as if he had been his own, yea, onl}" son ; for, as he was in himself a man of worthy mind, so the boy by his witty 250 'I'/tunui'S ElliCoodu (jncf. and liiuKlsomc behaviour in general, and courteous carriage towards him in particukir, had very much wrought into his favour. " As for me, I thought it was one of the sharj)- est strokes I had ever met with ; for I had loved the child very well, and had conceived great hopes of general good from him ; and it grieved me the deeper to think how deeply it would pierce his afflicted parents. " Sorrow for this disaster was my companion on that journey, and I travelled the roads under great exercise of mind, revolving in my thoughts the manifold accidents which attend the life of man, and the great uncertainty of all human things. I could find no centre, no firm basis for the mind of man to rest upon, but the Divine Power and will of the Almighty. This consideration wrought in my spirit a sort of contempt of the supposed hap- piness and pleasure of this w^orld, and raised my contemplation higher. This, as it ripened, came into some degree of digestion in the following lines, Avhich I inclosed in a letter of condolence T sent by the first post into Buckinghamshire to my dear friends, the afflicted parents. Upon my return home, going to visit them, we sat down, and sol- emnly mixed our sorrows and tears together." His '' SoJltaru Thoujhtsr 251 SOLITARY THOUGHTS ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF ALL HUMAN THINGS. " Transibunt cito, quas vos mansura putatis." What ground, alas ! has any man To set his heart on things below, Which, when they seem most like to stand, Fly like an arrow from a bow ? Things subject to exterior sense Are to mutation most prepense. If stately houses we erect, And therein think to take delight. On what a sudden are we checked, And all our hopes made groundless quite ! One little spark in ashes lays What we were building half our days. If on estates an eye we cast. And pleasure there expect to find, A secret providential blast Brings disappointment to our mind. Who's now on top ere long may feel The circling motion of the wheel. If we our tender babes embrace. And comfort hope in them to have, Alas ! in what a little space Is hope laid with them in the grave ! What promiseth content Is in a moment from us rent. But is there nothing, then, that's sure For man to fix his heart upon ? Nothing that always will endure When all these transient things ai-e gone ? 252 ElliooocTs poetry. Sad state where man, with grief oppress'd, Finds nought wherein his mind may rest. Oh yes ! there is a God above, Who unto men is also nigh, On whose unalterable love We may with confidence rely. No disappointment can befall While trusting Him that's All in All. In Him o'er all if we delight, And in His precepts pleasure take. We shall be sure to do aright. 'Tis not His nature to forsake. A proper object He alone For man to set his heart upon. T. E. Kent, 4th, Uh mo. 1670. I add two hymns written by Thomas Ellwood about the same time, in consequence of mental trouble induced partly by the persecuting spirit abroad, and partly by his father's conduct towards him and his wife soon after their marriage. They have some poetical merit, and much pious feeling. TO THE HOLY ONE. Eternal God ! Preserver of all those (Without respect of person or degree,) Who in thy faithfulness their trust repose, And place their confidence alone in Thee, Be Thou my succour ; for thou know'st that I On Thy protection, Lord, ivlonc rely. EIlwoo(Ts ijoetry. 253 Surround me, Father, with thy mighty power; Support me daily b}^ thine holy arm ; Preserve me faithful in the evil hour ; Stretch forth thine hand to save me from all harm ; Be thou my helmet, breastplate, sword, and shield, And make my foes before thy power to yield. Teach me the spiritual battle so to fight That when the enemy shall me beset, Armed cap-a-pie with armour of thy light, A perfect conquest o'er him I may get, And with Thy battle-axe may cleave the head Of him who bites that part whereon I tread. Then, being from domestic foes set free. The cruelties of men I shall not fear, But in Thy quarrel. Lord, undaunted be. And for Thy sake the loss of all things bear. Yea, though in dungeons lock'd, with joy will sing A song of praise to Thee, my God, my King. T. E. Sussex, 11th mo. 16G9. A SONG OF PRAISE. Thy love, dear Father ! and thy tender care Have in my heart begot a strong desire To celebrate th}- name with praises rare. That others, too, thy goodness may admire. And learn to yield to what thou dost require. Many have been the trials of my mind, My exercises great, great my distress ; Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed; My sorrows then rav pen cannot express, Nor could the best of men afford redress. 254 Ell'wood's poetrjj. When thus beset to Thee I lift mine eye, And with a mournful heart my moan do make, How oft with eyes o'erHowing did I cry, My God, my God, oh do not me forsake, Regard my tears, some pity on me take ! And to the glory of th}' holy Name, Eternal God ! whom I both love and fear, I hereby do declare I never came Before thy throne, and found thee loth to hear, But always ready with an open ear. And though sometimes thou seem'st thy face to hide, As one that had withdrawn thy love from me, ' Tis that my faith may to the full be tried, And that I thereby ma,y the better see How weak I am, when not upheld by thee. For underneath thy holy arm I feel, Encompassing with strength as with a wall, That if the enemy trip up my heel. Thou ready art to save me from a fall. To thee belong thanksgivings over all ! And for thy tender love, my God, my King, My heart shall magnif}^ thee all my days ; My tongue of thy renown shall daily sing ; My pen shall also grateful trophies raise, As monuments to thy eternal praise. Thomas EUwood was an industrious and volu- minous writer. The History of his Life, written by himself, is a most interesting and characteristic piece of autobiography. It reached a second edi- tion within the year after his death, and has since EJlwoocTs prose luorks. 2^^ been frequently reprinted. His longest work is his Sacred History of the Holy Scriptures of tli.e Old and the New Testament; digested into due metliod loith respect to order of time ami place, iclth observations tending to illustrate some passages therein. It is full of his own raciness and mother witj is very pleasant reading, and reached a fourth edition in 1778. His other prose writings are nearly all on controversial subjects in defence of the doctrines of Friends, and have never been re- published. The titles of some of them are charac- teristic of the age, and will sufficiently indicate their tenor : The FouiKliition of T^'-thes Shaken ; An Antidote against the infection of W. Rogers' book ; A Seasonable Disswasive from Persecntion ; A Fair Examination of a Foul Paper; Rogero-Mastix, a Rod for W. R. ; etc. His greatest poetical eifort is his Havldels, the life of David, King of Israel, a sacred poem in five books, which, as the author in his preface informs us, was composed not with a view to publication, but for his " own diversion." It first appeared in 1712, during his lifetime, and reached its fourth and last edition in 1792. Many of his shorter pieces on serious subjects are interspersed through the autobiography, and generally owe more of tlieir interest to the subjects than to the execution. I have now before me an octavo volume of great 256 EUwoo(Ts manuscrljjt 2^oems. antiquarian and personal interest to all admirers of EUwood. It contains about eighty leaves of strong paper tinted by age, is bound in green and gold, with gilt edges, and is in excellent preservation.* It contains Ellwood's shorter poems, written by his own hand, and severally signed with his initials. Most of them are serious or devotional ; several are merely transcripts of those in the autobiography ; but others are of a more secular character, such as A Satyrick Poem on the Wickham Plaj^. its Actors and Abettors ; A Prospect ; A Direction to my Friend inquiring the way to my House ; On an Envious Rayler ; To my Courteous Friend, Edmond Waller, the Poet, etc. Although Ellwood had Milton for his " master," and Waller for his " courteous friend" and neigh- bour at Beaconsfield, his OAvn poems are not of a high order, but they evince a pious, kindly, playful disposition, a sense of humour, a love of nature and natural beauty, considerable taste and learning, and are always perfectly intelligible, which cannot be alleged of more eminent poets in times nearer to our own. Of all the pieces in this volume the "^" For the inspection of this interesting MS. volume, and liberty to select from it, I am indebted to the kindness of my friend Anna Huntley of High Wycombe, into whose possession it came through her father, the late Joseph Steevens of that place. EJlwoocTs cjnfapJi on Milton. 257 j following is the most remarkable. It was pro- i bably written shortly after Milton's death, which ! occurred in 1674, and evinces that, " though fallen on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, ,! And solitude," j the great poet had in his Quaker pupil one who fully appreciated his sublime genius, and foresaw \ the grandeur of his future reputation. Upon the Excellently learned JOHN MILTON. An Epitaph. Within this arch embalm'd doth lie One whose high fame can never die ; i Milton, whose most ingenious pen | Obliged has all learned men. Great his undertakings were, (None greater of their kind,) ■ Which sufficiently declare The worth and greatness of his mind. ' Mean adversaries he declin'd, And battle with the chiefest join'd. Xot e'en the Ro3^al Portraiture ' Proudly could before him stand, ' Bat fell and broke. 1 Not able, as it seems, t'endure The heavy stroke 1 Of his Iconodades hand. ^ '■7 258 ElhcoocTs epitaiyli on Milton. Thus the so-fam'd Eikon Basilike Became the trophy of his victory. On his triumphant chariot too did wait One who had long the crown of learning wore, And of renown had treasur'd up good store, But never found an equal match before, Which puff'd him uj), and made him too elate. i This was the great Salmatius, he whose name ! Had tower'd so high upon the wing of fame, j And never knew till now ' What 'twas alas ! to bow ; ' For many a gallant captive b}^ the heel \ Had he in triumph dragg'd at's chariot- wheel. 1 But now is fain to stoop, and see the bough | Torn from his own to deck another's brow. This broke his heart ; for, having lost his fame, ' He died 'tis hard to say whether thro' grief or shame. j Thus great Salmatius, in his winding sheet, ' Lies prostrate at far greater Milton's feet — Milton in whom all brave endowments meet! The majest}' of Poesy he reviv'd, The common road forsaking, And unto Helicon a new track making, To write in measures without rhyme contriv'd. He knew the beauty of a verse well made ! Doth in a just and due proportion lie I Of parts, true feet, right cadence, symphony, i (A thing ])y vulgar poets lightly weighed,) ] Not in the tinkling chime j Of a harsh and far-fetch'd rhvme. ' Ellwoods epitajyli on Milton. 259 Two great examples of this kind he left, (The natural issue of his teeming brain) ; One shows how man of Eden was bereft; In t'other man doth Paradise regain, So far as naked notion can attain. Nature in him a large foundation laid. And he had also superbuilt thereon A structure great, indeed, and fair enough. Of well-prepar'd and finelj'-polish'd stuff, Admir'd by all but equalled by none. So that of him it might be said (And that most truly too,) Nature and Art Had play'd their part, As if they had a wager laid Which of them most for him should do. His natural abilities Were doubtless of the largest size ; And thereunto he surely had acquir'd Learning as much as could be well desir'd. More known his learning was not than admir'd. Profound his judgment was and clear; His apprehension of the highest strain ; His reason all before it down did l)ear, So forcible, demonstrative, and plain It did appear. Lofty fancy, deep conceit, St3de concise and language great Rendered his discourse complete, On whatsoever subject he did treat. Invention never higher rose In poetic strains or prose. iGo ElhooocTs cpltapJi on Milton. In tongues he so much skill had got, He might be called The Polyglott. Even they 'gainst whom he writ Could not but admire his wit, And were forced to confess (For indeed it was in vain To deny a thing so plain,) That their parts than his were less. Unto him the Muses sent, — And that, too, not in compliment ; For doubtless 'twas his due, As all that knew him knew — The title of Blast Excellent, Of which title may he rest Now and evermore possess'd I T. E. CHAPTER IX. 1670. William Penn recalled from Ireland. — Reconciliation with his father. — Decline of the Admiral's health. — Conventicle Act. — William Penn a prisoner with William Meade. — His letter to his father from prison. — • Penn and Meade at the bar. — Indicted for a riot. — The jury refuse to bring them in guilty. — The Recorder repeatedly insists that they must reconsider their verdict. — They persist in presenting the same. — Are confined to the juryroom for two nights and two days without food. — Ultimate triumph of jury, and liberation of the prisoners. — Jurymen and prisoners committed for pretended contempt of court. — Penn's letters from prison to his dying father. — Release from prison. — The jurymen bring an action against the Recorder for false imprison- ment. — Triumph of the jury. — Death of Admiral Sir William Penn. — His last advice to his son. — The Admiral's monument.— William Penn's ability as a controversialist. "William Penn had been about eight months in Ireland attending to the affairs of the Shangarry estate, when he was recalled in consequence of his father's declining health. The admiral by that time had fully realized the strength of his son's religious convictions. No longer hoping to influ- ence them by worldly considerations, or to see them altered, he was anxious only for a reconcilia- tion, wliich took place immediately on William's return. This was a great joy to his mother, and a 261 262 Adinlral Peru i 8 lieaJtlt dcdbies. comfort to both father and soiij between whom mutual confidence was entirely restored. The ad- miral's health did not improve. Hard service and active energetic work of both body and mind, under many varieties of circumstance and climate, had done a work not to be undone. The hardy seaman, perceiving that inroads on his constitution had been made which could not be remedied except by total rest, gave up his public duties, and retired from the Navy Board. But the rest and retirement came too late ; health did not follow. However, a great change in his religious views and feelings came over his mind, Avhen his son could speak to him and act as he did with the freedom indicated by the events and letters which follow. Doubtless, William's presence was then very comforting to the admiral. The remembrance of the part in life which his son had so early chosen, must have acted as a continual reminder that he himself had, in his worldly aspirations, been tread- ing a very different path ; that he had in fact been merely pursuing shadows wdiicli had fled before him, and which now neither in retrospect nor in hope could yield happiness. The honours of the gay world, on which he had once calculated so eagerly, had altogether lost their charm, a cloud had fallen on them, as the thoughts and prospect of death and eternity opened before him. From this ]ioint of view he was now disposed to commend William's unflinchinG: adherence to his own con- The Conventicle Act. 26 ^ victions of truth, which had led to his imprisonment the previous year. No opposition whatever was now made to his frequenting the Friends' meetings in the city, at which WiUiam was not only a regular attender but at which he often preached. The admiral's family residence was then at Wanstead. The spirit of religious persecution had at this juncture reached a great height in London, the Conventicle Act having been recently renewed, with additional clauses to render it more severe than ever against dissent from the Established Church. All dissenters except the Friends endeavoured to hide themselves or their meetings to avoid its penalties. But when the city authorities took upon them to nail up the doors and windows of the Friends' meeting-houses, they met in the yard, or, where no such space existed, assembled in the adjoining street. And thus it was on the First-day, the 14th of Seventh-month, 1670, that those who attended Gracechurch-street meeting, finding the meeting-house closed against them, assembled in the space in front, where William Penn addressed them at a considerable length. A band of mus- keteers came up to arrest him, and were making a great commotion to get to him, when William Meade interposed, and asked them to wait till he finished speaking, and that he would then engage him to be forthcoming. They, finding great difii- culty to get through the crowd, waited accordingly, and then took both Penn and Meade to prison. 264 WllUam Pcnn a in-ltoncr. This arrest was made knovvii next morning to Admiral Penn by the following letter. William Penn to his Father. "Second-day morning, 15th, 6th mo. 1670. " My dear Father, " This comes by the hand of one who can best allay the trouble it brings. As true as ever Paul said it, such as live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution. So, for no other reason, am I at present a sufferer. Yesterday I was taken by a band of soldiers, with one Cap- tain Meade, and in the evening carried before the Mayor ; he proceeded against me according to the ancient law; he told me I should have my hat pulled off, for all I was Admiral Penn's son. I told him I desired to be in common with others, and sought no refuge from the common usage. I discoursed with him about the hat ; but he avoided it. Because I did not readily answer him as to my name, William, when he asked me in order to a mittimus, he bid his clerk write one for Bridewell, and there would he see me whipped himself, for all I was Penn's son that starved the seamen. Indeed these words grieved me, and they manifested his great malice to the whole company, about one hun- dred people. I told him I could very well bear bis severe expressions concerning myself, but was sorry to hear him speak those abuses of my fa- William Penn a prisoner, 26^ ther that was not present ; at which the assembly seemed to murmur. In short, he committed that person and me as rioters ; and at present we are at the sign of the Black Dog in Ne^vgate market. "And now, dear father, be not displeased nor grieved. What if this be designed of the Lord for an exercise of our patience ? Several Indepen- dents were taken from Sir J. Dethick's, and Bap- tists elsewhere. It is the effect of commotion in the spirits of some, which the Lord will rebuke : and I doubt not that I may be at liberty in a day or two to see thee. I am very well, and have no trouble upon my spirits besides my absence from thee at this juncture ; otherwise I can say I was never better, and what they have to charge me with is harmless. " Well, eternity, which is at the door (for He that shall come will come, and will not tarry) — that shall make amends for all. The Lord God everlasting consolate and support thee by His holy power, and preserve thee to eternal rest and glory. Amen. "Thy faithful and obedient son, " William Penn. " My duty to my mother. " For my dear father, Sir William Penn^ The Captain Meade who was Penn's companion in prison had recently joined the Friends. He had been a Cromwellian officer, and at one period 266 ' The Indlctmeitt. of his life, as may be inferred from the indictment, was a linen-draper, but his position by inheritance was that of an Essex country gentleman, owning considerable landed property in that county. He was afterwards married to one of the Fells of Swarthmoor Hall. At the time of their arrest Penn and Meade appear to have had little pre- vious acquaintance. They were brought to trial on the 1st of Septem- ber, sixteen days after their arrest. Ten justices were on the bench, including the Lord Mayor and the Recorder. The jury being impanelled, the in- dictment declared "that William Penn, gentleman, and William Meade, late of London, linen-draper, with divers other persons to the jury unknown, to the number of three hundred, the 15th day of August, in the twenty-second yQiXY of the King, about eleven of the clock in the forenoon of the same day, with force and arms, &c. in the parish of St. Bennet Gracechurch, in Bridge ward, London, in the street called Gracechurch-street, unlawfully and tumultuously did assemble and congregate themselves together, to the disturbance of the peace of the said lord the King. And the aforesaid William Penn and William Meade, together with other persons to the jury aforesaid unknovrn, then and there assembled and congregated together; the aforesaid William Penn, by agreement between him and William Meade before made, and by abet- ment of the aforesaid William Meade, then and The indictment. 267 there in the open street did take upon himself to preach. and speak, and then and there did preach and speak unto the aforesaid William Meade and other persons there in the street aforesaid, being- assembled and congregated together; by reason whereof a great concourse and tumult of people in the street aforesaid then and there a long time did remain and continue, in contempt of the said lord the King and his law ; to the great disturbance of his peace, to the great terror and disturbance of manj^ of his liege people and subjects, to the ill example of all others in the like case offenders, and against the peace of the said lord the King, his crown and dignity." There were many errors in the above indictment. The date was incorrect ; none were armed ; none had used force but the soldiers ; there had been no agreement beforehand between the accused per- sons; William Meade did not speak to William Penn, not having been able to get near him ; there was no tumult but what was made by the soldiers; and in the evidence for the prosecution no proof whatever was adduced that established, or went to establish, those statements. William Penn had preached; that is, the witnesses supposed it was preaching, but admitted they had not heard an\'- thing he said. However, it had been all in the open street, not in any conventicle ; therefore the Conventicle Act did not reach the case. Notwith- standing all this, the bench determined it should 268 William Penn impugm be adjudged "an unlawful assembly, congregated together to disturb the peace of the King, and William Penn and William Meade conspiritors against his Majesty's royal crown and dignity." Every difficulty that could be suggested to prevent an open full defence was raised by the presiding magistrates. When the case for the prosecution closed, Wil- liam Penn having at length secured silence in the court, came forward himself to conduct the defence. " Penn. — We confess ourselves to be so far from recanting, or declining to vindicate the assembling ourselves to preach, pray, or worship God, that we declare to all the world, that we do believe it to be our indispensable duty to meet incessantly upon so good an account; nor shall all the powers upon earth be able to divert us from thus reverencing and adoring our God who made us. " Sheriff Brown. — You are not here for worship- ping God, but for breaking the laws. " Penn. — I affirm I have broken no law ; nor am I guilty of the indictment that is laid to my charge; and to the end that the bench, the jury, myself, and those who hear us may have a more direct understanding of this procedure, I desire you would let me know by what law it is 3'ou prosecute me, and on what law you ground your indictment. " Recorder. — Upon the common law. " Penn. — Where is that common law ? " Recorder. — You must not think I am able to the indictment. 269 sum up so many years and ever so many adjudged cases, which we call common law, to answer 3 our curiosity. " Penn. — This answer, I am sure, is very short of my question ; for if it be common^ it should not be so hard to produce. " Recorder. — Sir, will you plead to your indict- ment? " Penn. — Shall I plead to an indictment that hath no foundation in law ? If it contains that law you say I have broken, why should you decline to pro- duce that law, since it will be impossible for the jury to determine or agree to bring in their verdict, who hath not the law produced by which they should measure the truth of this indictment. " Recorder. — You are a saucy fellow ; speak to the indictment. " Penn. — I say it is my place to speak to matter of law. I am arraigned a prisoner. My liberty, which is next to life itself, is now concerned. You are many against me, and it is hard if I must not make the best of my case. I say again, unless you show me and the people the law you ground your indictment upon, I shall take it for granted your proceedings are merely arbitrary." On making this declaration, the magistrates unitedly set at the prisoner, and by dint of vehe- ment vituperation tried to bear him down. He replied calmly and logically, till the Recorder, to stop the magisterial uproar, said, addressing the 270 William Penn impugns prisoner, " The question is, whether you are guilty of this indictment." " Penn. — The question is not whether I am guilty of this indictment, but whether this indictment be legal. It is too general and imperfect an answer to say it is common law, unless we know both where and what it is ; for where there is no law there is no transgression ; and that law which is not in being, so far from being common law, is no law at all. " Recorder. — You are an impertinent fellow. Will you teach the court what law is ? It is lex non scripta — that which many have studied thirty or forty years to know — and would you have me tell you in a moment ? " Perm. — Certainly, if the common law be so hard to be understood, it is far from being very com- mon ; but if the Lord Coke in his Institutes be of any weight, he tells us that common law is com- mon right, and common right is the Great Charter of privileges confirmed by 9 Henry III. c. 29 ; by 25 Edward I. c. i ; and by 2 Edward HI. c. 8. " Recorder. — Sir, you are a very troublesome fellow, and it is not for the honour of the court to allow you to go on. " Penn. — I have asked but one question, and you have not answered me, though the rights and pri- vileges of every Englishman are concerned in it. " Recorder. — If I should snf^T you to ask ques- tions till to-morrow morning, you would be never the wiser. the indictment. 271 '' Penn. — That would depend upon the answers. " Recorder. — Sir, we must not stand to hear you talk all night. '^Peun. — I design no affront to the court, but to be heard in my just plea. And I must plainly tell you, that if you deny me the oyer of that law which you suggest I have broken, you do at once deny me an acknowledged right, and evince to the whole world your resolution to sacrifice the privi- leges of Englishmen to your sinister and arbi- trary designs. '^ Eeco7'der. — Take him away. (To the Lord Maijor.) My Lord, if you take not some course with this pestilent fellow, to stop his mouth, we shall not be able to do anything to-night. " Lord Mayor. — Take him away 5 take him away; turn him into the dock. " Penn. — These are but so many vain exclama- tions. Is this justice or true judgment? Must I be taken away because I plead for the funda- mental laws of England? However (addressing the jfu'jj) this I leave upon your consciences ; who are my sole judges, that if these ancient funda- mental laws, which relate to liberty and propertj^, and are not limited to particular persuasions in matters of religion, must not be indispensably maintained, who can say he has a right to the coat upon his back? If not, our liberties are open to be invaded, our fimilies enslaved and led away in triumph, and our estates ruined. The Lord 272 Tyranny of the Bencli. of Heaven and earth will be judge between us in this matter." The bench would listen to nothing further from the prisoner, but had him forcibly dragged into the bale-dock — a deep place, like a well, at the farthest extremity of the courthouse, in which he could neither see nor be seen. Then William Meade came forward to speak to the indictment, and with outspoken plainness told them of the falsehoods with which it was filled. " Therein I am accused," said he, " that I met vi et armis, illicit^ et tumult tuose. Time was when I had freedom to use a carnal weapon, and then I thought I feared no one ; but now I fear the living God, and dare not make use thereof to hurt any man : nor do I know that I demeaned myself as a tumultuous person ; for I am a peaceable man." Turning to the jury, the old soldier, now become a peace-loving Quaker, told them that if the Recorder would not inform them what constituted a riot, a rout, and an unlaw- ful assembly, he would quote for them the opinions of Lord Coke. On doing which the Recorder made a scornful bow, and derisively thanked him for the information. Meade met this by a ready retort. The Lord Mayor declared he deserved to have his tongue cut out, and the bench decided that he also must be removed into the bale-dock. The Recorder, then, in the prisoners' absence, delivered his charge to the jury, and they retired for consultation. Three hours luiviug elapsed, the Tlte jury hrlnfj in a verdict, 273 jury returned agreec^ in tlieir verdict; and the pri- soners having been phiced at the bar, the names of the jurymen were called over. " Glerh. — Look upon the prisoners at tlie bar; how say you ? Is William Penn guilty of tlie matter whereof he stands indicted in manner and form, or not guilty ? '^Foreman, — Guilty of speaking in Gracious- street. " Court.— l^ that all ? " Foreman, — That is all I have in commission. " Recorder. — You had as good say nothing. '-'Lord Mayor. — Was it not an unlawful assem- bly ? You mean he was speaking to a tumult of people there ? " Foreman. — My Lord, this was all I had in com- mission." Uproarious was the wrath of the Lord Mayor and of the whole bench. They tried to intimidate, they threatened, they vituperated, and refused to accept the verdict. Finally, they ordered the jury to be locked up till they brought forth another. They returned in half an hour with a written ver- dict which they had all signed, only differing from the first by declaring William Meade Not guilty. The magistrates were furious against the jury, and refused to accept what they presented. Penn, who was now present, ^appealed to them to hold to their rights — rights which were dear to every true Englishman. The Recorder's dictum was in the 274 -^^^^ jury locl-ed up. following words, " Gentlemen, you shall not be dis- missed till we have a verdict the court will accept ; and you shall be locked up without meat, drink, fire, or tobacco. We shall have a verdict by the help of God, or you shall starve for it." The jury repeatedly said, "We are all agreed," and declared that therefore they could come no nearer to the wishes of the court. " Recorder. — Gentlemen, you must be content with your hard fate; let your patience overcome it, for the court is resolved to have a verdict, and that before you can be dismissed." Several persons were then sworn to see that the jury be kept all night without meat, fire, drink, or any other accommodation. The court then ad- journed till the next morning, " Sunday, the 4th instant." Seven o'clock on Sunday morning found the magistrates assembled, the prisoners at the bar, and the court-house filled to overflowing with anxious spectators, when the twelve jur3^men appeared. Silence being proclaimed, and the jurymen's names called over, the clerk demanded, " Are you agreed upon your verdict?" '' Jury. — Yes. '' Clerh. — Who shall speak for you? " Jury. — Our foreman. " Clerh. — What say you? Look upon the prisoner at the bar. Is William Penn guilty of the matter Penn rebiilces the Bencli. 275 whereof he stands indicted in manner and form as aforesaid, or not guilty ? " Foreman. — William Penn is guilty of speaking in Gracious-street. " Lord Mayor. — To an unlawful assembly ? " Edward Bitsliell. — No, my lord ; we give no other verdict than what we gave last night; we have no other verdict to give." Then followed another scene of vehement pres- sure. The jury were again ordered to retire, and again on their return gave in the same verdict. The Recorder, who regarded Edward Bushell as the main stay of the jury, called him a factious fellow, and threatened to set a mark upon him, and the Lord Mayor declared he would slit his nose. " Penn. — It is intolerable that my jury should be thus menaced. Is this according to fundamental law ? Are not they my proper judges by the Great Charter of England ? What hope is there of ever having justice done when juries are threatened and their verdict rejected? I am grieved to see such arbitrary proceedings. Did not the Lieutenant of the Tower pronounce one of them worse than a felon ? Do you not condemn for factious fellows those who do not answer your ends? Unhappy are those juries who are threatened to be fined, and starved, and ruined, if they give not in verdicts contrary to their consciences. " Recorder. — My Lord, you must take a course with that same fellow. 276 Penn and Meade declared not guilty, " Lord Mayor. — Stop liis mouth : jailer, bring fetters, and stake him to the ground. " Penn. — Do your pleasure : I matter not your fetters. ''Recorder. — Till now I never understood the policy and prudence of the Spaniards in suffering the Inquisition among them ; and certainly it will never be well with us till something of the Spanish Inquisition be in England." The jury was again forced to return to the jury- room, and remain there for another day and night. Early next morning, the court having reassembled, the jury entered, and the usual questions being put, the same verdict was tendered, and again refused. Folding up the paper, the foreman, after a mo- ment's consultation, declared he had in commission from the jury to return the verdict of iVb^ Ouilty. " Clerh. — Then hearken to your verdict. You say that William Penn is not guilty in manner and form as he stands indicted ; you say that William Meade is not guilty in manner and form as he stands indicted, and so you all say. '' Jury. — Yes, so we all say." A burst of deep sympathetic congratulation filled the crowded court-house during the moments of confounded amazement that overspread the bench, which the Kecorder checked by addressing the jury. ''Recorder. — I am sorry, gentlemen, you have followed your own judgments and opinions, rather than the good and wholesome advice given you. and sent hach to 2\cicj(ite. 277 God keep my life out of your hands ; but for this the court fines you forty marks a man, and im- prisonment till paid." At this juncture, Penn stepped forward and said, " I demand my liberty, being freed by the verdict of the jury." " Lord Mayor. — No, you are in for your fines. " Penn. — Fines for what ? " Lord Mayor. — For contempt of court. " Penn. — I ask if it be according to the funda- mental laws of England that any Englishman should be fined or amerced but by the judgment of his peers or jury ? Since it expressly contradicts the 14th and 29th chapters of the Great Charter of England, which says, ' No freeman ought to be amerced but by the oath of good and lawful men of the vicinage.' " Recorder. — Take him away, take him away out of the court." They then hurried the prisoners to the bale-dock, and from thence sent them to Newgate, for the non-payment of the imposed fines, and after them were sent the twelve jurymen, in consequence of refusing to pay the fines laid on them for not bringing in a verdict that pleased the bench. As soon as the prisoners were back again in their Newgate quarters, William Penn lost no time in writing as follows, to relieve the suspense at Wan- stead : 278 William Penns Letters. William Penn to his fatJier. "5th ofFth month, 1670. " Dear Father, " Because I cannot come, I write. These are to let thee know that this morning about seven we were remanded to the sessions. The jury, after tw^o nights and two days being locked up, came dowai and offered their former verdict ; but that being re- fused as not positive, they explained themselves [by pronouncing the prisoners] Not guilty. Upon this the bench were amazed, and the whole court so satisfied that they made a kind of hymn. But that the Mayor, Eecorder, and Eobinson might add to their malice, they fined us for not pulling off our hats, and have kept us prisoners for the money — ^n injurious trifle, which will blow over, as we shall bring it to the Common Pleas, because it w^as against law, and not sessed by a jury. "'' How great a dissatisfaction their actions have begot may reasonably be conjectured by the bare mention of them. 1st. — That the jury w^as about six times rejected in their verdict ; and, besides ille- gal menaces, were kept two days and two nights W'ithout bed, tobacco, provisions, &c. 2nd. — That a session should be held on the first day of the •week. 3rd. — That the jury, the only judges by- law, should be fined forty marks each [for the ver- dict they brought in,] and to be prisoners till they have paid it. However, their verdict for us is ac- to 1i!H Father. 279 cepted, because they (the magistrates) dare not deny it. " This is the substance. The particuhir circum- stances I shall personally relate, if the Lord will. I am more concerned at thy distemper and the pains that attend it, than at my own mere im- prisonment, which works for the best. " I am, dear father, " Thy obedient son, " William Penn." Robinson, named in this letter, was, next to the Recorder and the Lord Mayor, the most active of the presiding magistrates. He was the infamous Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, whose cruelty and avarice are so strongly stigmatized by Lucy Hutchinson in connection with Colonel Hutch- inson's imprisonment, and that of the others who were implicated in the trial of Charles the First. Day by day William heard of his father, and wrote to him. The next letter was as follows : — WlUiani Penn to his father, Aclmiral Penn. "Newgate, 6th, Ttli mo. 1670. " Dear Father, " I desire thee not to be troubled at my present confinement ; I could scarce suffer on a better account, nor by a worse hand, and the will of God be done. It is more grievous and un- 2 So Will id in Icniis letters easy to me that thou should be so heavily exer- cised, God Almighty knows, than any worldly con- cernment. I am cleared by the jury, and they are here in my place, and resolved to lie till they get out by law. Every six hours they demand their freedom, by advice of counsel. " They (the court) have so overshot themselves, that the generality of people much detest them. I entreat thee not to purchase my libert}^ They will repent them of their proceedings. I am now a prisoner notoriously against law. I desire in fer- vent prayer the Lord God to strengthen and sup- port thee, and to anchor thy mind in thoughts of the immutable blessed state which is over all per- ishing concerns. " I am, dear father, " Thy obedient son, "William Penn." Another day arrived, and again the imprisoned son wrote to Wanstead : — William Penn to his father, Admiral Penn. " Xev,-g:ite. Tth September, 1670. " Dear Father, " I am truly gricn^ed to liear of thy present illness. "If God in Ills holy will did see meet tliat I should be freed, I could hcartih' cm]:)race it ; yet, To his Father. dSi considering I cannot be free but upon such terms as strengthen their arbitrary and base proceedings, I rather choose to suffer any hardship, and I am persuaded some clearer way will suddenly be found to obtain my liberty ; which is no vray so desirable to me as on the account of being with thee. "I am not without hope that the Lord will sanctify the endeavours of thy phj-sician unto a cure, and then much of my solicitude will be at an end. My present restraint is so far from being humour, that I Avould rather perish than release myself by an indirect course, or to satiate their re- vengeful, avaricious appetites. The advantage of such freedom would Ml very short of the trouble of accepting it. Solace thy mind in the thoughts qf better things, dear father. Let not this wicked world disturb thy mind, and whatever shall come to pass, I hope in all conditions to approve myself thy obedient son, ^^' William Penn." The foregoing details of that extraordinary trial, taken in connection with these affectionate letters of the son to his father, place before us materials from which the tone, temper, courage, charact^'r, and feelings of William Penn may be clearly com- prehended by tlic reader who chooses to study them. The}^ will be found to stand the highest test of what is truly just, noble, dauntless, patri- otic, and Christian. 232 TJiC rlylds of jarlcs. The (ILsposal of the case of fines on the jury for their verdict is detailed by Mr. Dixon, in his Life of William Perm, as follows. " Up to this period the usage of the courts with regard to verdicts had never been reduced to a legal and positive form. From the daj^s of the Tudors it had been the occasional practice of the bench to inflict fines on contumacious and incon- venient juries ; for centuries it had practically re- mained an unsettled question of law, whether the jury had or had not a right so far to exercise its own discretion as to bring in a verdict contrary to the sense of the court. This great point was now to be decided. Bushell and his fellow jurors, at Penn's suggestion, brought an action against Sir Samuel Starling, and Sir John Howell, the Lord Mayor, and the Recorder of London, for unjust imprisonment. On the 5th of September they wxre committed to Newgate, counsel was engaged, and application immediately made to the Court of Common Pleas ; but it was not until the 9th of November that a writ of Habeas Corpus was issued to the governor of the jail, to bring up the person of Edward Bushell. Newdegate, Size, Waller, and Broome appeared as counsel for the prisoners ; Scroggs and Maynard for the King ; that is, for Starling and Howell, the King's justices. Free- man has preserved the heads of this famous appeah '' The defence was taken on the ground that the jury had brought in a verdict contrary to the laws TIlg riijlits of juries. 283 of England, to manifest evidence, and to the di- rection of the court. Newdegate urged against ♦this defence, that so far as the laws of England were concerned, the defence was bad, inasmuch as the question of law cannot occur until the facts are proved. Here the facts were not proved to the sat- isfaction of the men who were called upon by the constitution to investigate them ; consequently, the laws not being invoked, they could not be violated. The second point of the defence Broome met by showing that it is the special function of the jury to judge of the evidence submitted to it, and that in the eye of the law^ that body is presumed to be a more competent judge of whether evidence is good or bad than the court. This argument also met the last point of the defence ; the bench might be deceived in its opinion; the jury, being agreed amongst themselves, are presumed to be infallible. The bench therefore, though at liberty to ofter sug- gestions to the jurymen for their consideration, may not lawfully coerce them. "The Court of Common Pleas adopted these views. Sir John Vaughan summed up the argu- ment on both sides, and gave a learned exposition of the question as a piece of historical hiw, ending with a verdict for Edward Bushell on behalf of himself and his fellow prisoners. They were con- sequently ordered to be set at liberty in open court. Ten of the other eleven judges agreed in the ver- dict given by Sir John Vaughan. Chief Baron 284 Admiral Perms dying advice Turner merely abstained from giving an opinion on the point, as he had not been present in court to hear the argument of counsel. The verdict may therefore be considered as the unanimous expres- sion of the twelve judges." Thus the course adopted by the Lord Mayor and Recorder being condemned by the Court of Com- mon Pleas, Bushell and his fellows left Newgate victorious. The fines imposed upon Penn and Meade appear to have been paid by some unknown friend the same day on which the last letter was written by Penn to his father. All hopes of the recovery of the admiral soon passed from his son's mind after his return to Wan- stead. The account of his dying father's advice to him, which he inserted in a subsequent edition of his No Gross^ No Croivn, is as follows : — "^ Son William, I am w^eary of the world ! I would not live over my days again if I could com- mand it with a Avish, for the snares of life appear greater than the fear of death. ^' It troubles me that I have offended a gracious God. The thought of that has followed me to this day. Oh ! have a care of sin ! It is that which is the sting both of life and death. '- Three things I commend to you. '' First ^ let nothing in this world tempt you to wi'ong }'our conscience : so you will Ivcep })^ace at home, which will be a feast to you in the day of trouble. to Jns son William. 285 " Second! ij. — Whatever you design to do, lay it justly, and time it seasonablj^ '^Lastly. — Be not troubled at disappointments, for if tliej^ may be recovered, do it ; if they cannot, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content ; there is often peace and profit in sub- mitting to Providence, for afflictions make wise. If you could have helped it, let not your trouble exceed instruction for another time. " These rules will carry you with firmness and comfort through this inconstant world." At another time he inveighed against the pro- faneness and impiety of the age, and expressed his apprehension that divine judgments would fall upon England, on account of the wickedness of her nobility and gentry. Just before he died, looking with compassion at his son, he said, " Son William, if you and your Friends keep to your plain way. of preaching, and to your plain way of living, you will make an end of the priests to the end of the world." He afterwards added : " Bury me by my mother. Live in love. Shun all manner of evil, and I pray God to bless you all ; and He will bless you." Thus having spoken, the spirit of this brave sea- man left its earthly tenement. His desire to be buried near his mother was carried out, and there, in the parish church of Redcliff in the city of Bristol, where his remains were laid, a monument was erected to his memory with the following inscription : — 286 Adnnj'aJ Ponis epitaplt. To the just memory of SIR WILLIAM PENN, Knight and sometimes General, born at Bristol, Anno 1G21, Son of Captain Giles Penn, several years Consul for the English in the Mediterranean, of the Penns of Penlodge in the County of Wilts, and those Penns of Penn in the County of Bucks ; and by his Mother from the Gilberts in the County of Somerset, originally from Yorkshire. Addicted from his youth to maritime affairs, he was made Captain at the years of 21, Rear-Admiral of Ireland at 23, Vice-Admiral of Ireland at 25, Admiral of the Straights at 29, Vice-Admiral of England at 31, and General in the first Dutch War at 32 ; whence returning, in Anno 1655, he was chosen a Parliament-man for Weymouth ; 1660 made Commissioner of the Admiralty and Navy, Governor of the Town -and Port of Kinsale, Vice-Admiral of MunBter, and a Member of the Provincial Council ; And in Anno 1G65 was chosen Great Captain Commander under his Royal Highness, in that signal and most successful Fight against the Dutch Fleet. Then he took leave of the sea, his old element, but continued still his other employs till 1069, at which time, through bodily infirmities ■ contracted by the care and fatigue of public affairs, he withdrew, prepared and made for his end ; and with a gentle and even gale, in much peace, arrived and anchored in his last and best Port, at Wanstead, in the County of Essex, the 16th of September, 1676, being then but 49 years and 4 months old. To his Name and Memory his surviving Lady hath erected this remembrance. Pen II visits BachJiujliamslilre. 287 Admiral Penn, baviiig provided for liis wife, his son Eichard (who survived him only three years) and his only daughter, Margaret Lowther, ap- pointed William his executor and residuary lega- tee, a bequest which entitled him to estates in England and Ireland w^oi'th about £1500 a year, and to his fixther's claims on government for money lent to the state and arrears of salary amounting to nearly £15,000. And further, having anticipated that William would have much to endure from the intolerant spirit of the age, he had shortly before his death sent a message to the Duke of York, with his dying request that h'e w^ould endeavour to pro- tect him and would use his influence with the King to secure his protection also. The Duke gave his solemn promise to do so, and seems never to have forgotten it. When his father's funeral was duly solemnized, and the immediate claims wdiich devolved upon him as executor were settled, William Penn visit- ed Buckinghamshire. Part of the family property lay there, and another treasure, far more precious to him, was also in that county. Of his visits to Gulielma Maria Springe tt, or to his other Amer- sham friends, during his sojourn in their neighbour- hood on this occasion, neither letter nor narrative remains to tell us. We have abundant details, however, of a public controversy wdiic^h he held at West Wycombe with a Baptist minister and his supporters; but into this or his numerous other •2 88 Pemi\^ coitrovcrsial lahoitrs. discussions yv'itli disputants w]io assailed his reli- gious tenets I have no thought of following him. The activity and compass of William Penn's mind were something w^onderful, and it did a w^onderful work in that da}-, when religious controversy was a necessity to a society whose principles were vehe- mently assailed on all sides. This young champion of the Quaker faith seemed raised up by the Lord to continue the warfare, when others had been cut off by the pestilence and privations to which they had been consigned by their persecutors. He, recognizing the call of his Divine Master, and His guiding care in the posi- tion which thus devolved on him, embraced it cordially. He dwelt on his dying father's thoughts and advice with feelings overhowing with thankful- ness to God. So changed were they from those of earlier days, so Christian-like v\^ere they, and so en- couraging to him to pursue with unwavering course the religious path he had entered, that they now sti- mulated his zeal. Yes ! pursue that path he must, ' with God's help, let come what would ; nothing but physical inability should deter him from upholding the Truth as promulgated by the Lord Jesus, and now maintained in its integrity by the Friends. He preached, he wrote, he disputed, whenever calumny and opposition to the Truth presented themselves, whether from Episcopalian, Presby- terian, Independent, or Baptist. With reference to this period of his career, he has been aptly Penns controversial labours, 289 termed " The sword of the new sect, kept perpet- ually unsheathed to meet its enemies in battle." Moses Amyrault, who has been before alluded to as William Penn's French preceptor at Saumur, with whom he had read the ancient Fathers, and studied early Church history, belonged to the Cal- vinistic section of Protestants. He had written many works on theology, several of which were read throughout Protestant Europe. His inquiring English pupil must, under such a master, have gone into all the reasoning and systematizing of the dogmatic theology of that day. It is clear that he fully understood the peculiar doctrines of the Calvinistic system, and the authorities to which it owed its origin and progress in the Christian church. Having seen, as he believed, much evil resulting from its adoption, William Penn earnestly withstood it, and he was all the better prepared by tlie training he had had under Amyrault, to meet the arguments of those who canie forward in its defence. 19 CHAPTER X. 1672-1679. Sir John Robinson again imprisons William Penn. — Sends him to Newgate. — State of that prison. — Penn's prison occupation. — Release. —Visits the Continent. — His marriage. — Settles at Ruscombe. — Visit of the Swarthmoor family. — Imprisonment of George Fox. — William Penn writes to his friend in prison. — Controversy between Penn and Baxter. — -Penn as a controversialist. — As an arbitrator. — Quaker trusteeship in connection with New Jersey. — Purchase of land from the Indians. — Government of New Jersey. — The Penns settle at Worminghurst. — Family concerns. — Another Continental visit. — • Penn's speeches before the Parliamentary Committee. — His address to Protestants. Some of the magistrates who had been thwarted- in their purpose respecting the two Quaker prison- ers, and who were also smarting under the defeat .^ experienced in the suit of the jury against them, were determined on revenge, and could not rest till they again tried some plan by which Penn, the chief aggressor, might be brought within their power. Of these. Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, was the leader. Cruel and unscru- pulous, he was cunning as well as cruel; and to effect his purpose on this occasion, he set spies to watch Penn's movements after his return from 290 WiUlam Penn cifjain imprisoned. 291 Buckinghamshire, in order to discover some pretext on which to apprehend him. Daring the interim Penn had prepared a detailed account of his trial, in which he pointed out what was contrary to constitutional law and to the an- cient charters in the late proceedings. This he published under the title of The Peoples Ancient and Just Liberties Asserted. The whole affair and the subsequent publication inanifested so much legal ability and undaunted determination on the part of the writer, that the more cautious among the magistrates who had sat on the bench did not wish to interfere with him again. However, Sir John, Avho was a nephew of ArchbishojD Laud, and son to the Archdeacon of Nottingham, having vin- dictive feelings towards dissenters, and seeing that he could get Penn into his power by tendering the oath of allegiance in case of other failures, was de- termined to persevere in searching for an occasion. Having discovered that on a certain morning he intended to be at the Friends' meeting at Wheeler- street, a constable and guard of soldiers were sta- tioned outside after the meeting assembled, till William Penn stood up to preach. The sergeant and constable then entered, and pulling him down, handed him over to the military guard, ^vho con- ducted him forthwith to the Tower. He was kept there till evening, when Sir John Robinson, with the Lord Mayor, Sir Samuel Stirling, Sir John Sheldon, and some who were not on the bench on the 292 Penn and Sir Joint Rohinson, previous occasion, arrived. Robinson took care this time that the trial should be of such a character as not to require a jury in order to obtain a conviction. The examination was conducted by himself, the public being excluded. " Sir John Rohinson. — What is this person's name ? " Consfahle. — Mr. Penn, sir. " Rohinson. — Is your name Penn ? " Peynn. — Dost thou not know me ? '^Rohinson. — I don't know you. I don't desire to know such as you. ''Penn. — If not, why didst thou send for me hither? "Rohinson. — Is that your name, sir? "Penn. — Yes, yes, my name is Penn. I am not ashamed of my name. " Rohinson. — Constable, where did you find him? " ConstaUe. — At Wheeler-street, at a meeting, speaking to the people. " Rohinson. — You mean he was speaking to an unlawful assembly. " Constahle. — I do not know indeed, sir; he was there, and he was speaking. " Rohinson. — 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. " Rohinson. — No matter ; give them the oaths. Mr. Penn, you know the law better than I can Penn and Sir John Rohinson. 293 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. ''Rohinson. — 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. " Rohinson. — The Oxford Act of six months. " Penn. — That of all acts cannot concern me. I was never in orders, neither episcopally nor classi- cally, and one of them is intended by the preamble of that act. "Rohinson. — 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 294 Penn and jSir JoJin Rohinson. swear, because he regarded all swearing as forbid- den by Christ ; and one who he knew would rather die than take up arms against the King or govern- ment. Penn showed him the injustice, the inap- plicability, 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 prin- ciples of peace on all occasions, (and war only against spiritual wickedness, that all men may be brought to fear God and work righteousness,) I shall contentedly undergo the severest punishment your laws can expose me to. As for the King, I make this offer, if any one 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 govern- ment, I shall submit my person to your utmost Penn and Sir John Robinson. 295 cruelties. But it is hard that, being innocent, I should be reputed guilty. " Rohinson. — 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 imprison- ment has not daunted me. Alas, you mistake your interests, and you will miss your aim. This is not the way to compass your ends. " Rohinson. — You bring yourself into trouble, heading 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 afflicted for it. Mine is ; and whatever be my lot, I am resigned to the will of God. Thy religion per- secutes, mine forgives, and I desire that God may forgive you all that are concerned in my commit- ment. I leave you, wishing you everlasting salva- tion. '' Rohinson. — Send a corporal with a file of mus- queteers with him. " Penn. — No, no. Send thy lacquey ; I know the way to Newgate." As Sir John had not been able to get up any thing against him, that could bring into his own keeping in the Tower this " gentleman with a plen- tiful estate," as he termed him, from whom no doubt he had hoped to obtain extortions, he forthwith 1q6 Penns wj'ltu/r/s- in Ncirgate. consigned liim 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 w^as then much as it had been when Ellwood w^as 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 w^rote there, and which from thence were scattered broadcast over England, Scot- land, Ireland and America. It was then he a\ rote The Great Case of Liherty of Conscience; Truth Rescued from Imposture; A Postscidpt to Truth Exalted; and An Apology for the Quakers. 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 wrote 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 ad- dressed a letter to the sherifis of London on the state of Newgate prison, and the abuses practised by the jailors on such as either could not, or from He visits the Continent. 297 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 con- sciousness 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 Guli. But not even on this occasion did he tarry long in Buckinghamshire, believing it to be his duty to pay a missionary visit in gospel love to some Christian churches on the continent of Eu- rope, he started for Holland, and visited those Dutch towns where, through the instrumentality of William Caton and others, the Friends' prin- ciples 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 es- tablished there, which ever afterwards looked to William Penn as its founder. He afterwards visited other parts of Germany, made the acquaintance of Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, and obtained some knowledge of her friends, the disciples of the f i- rnous De Labadie, originally a Jesuit, but then a Protestant of the strictest type. apS WiUiain Pcidi's marriage. As no family documents are forthcoming relative to the period which intervened between his return from the continent and the close of the year suc- ceeding 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 un- reasonably, 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 bliss- ful days of courtship, and slowly making prepara- tions for his marriage. He took a house in the first instance at Rickmansworth, al^out six miles from Chalfont, which being made ready for Guli's recep- tion, the marriage rites were performed in the early spring of 1672, six or seven months after his lib- eration from Newgate, and husband and wife at once took up their residence in their new dwelling. '- Their honey-moon lasted long ; the spring and summer came and went, but Penn still remained with his young and lovely wife at Rickmans- worth; neither the flatteries of friends nor the at- tacks of foes could draw him away from his charming and lioney-moon. 299 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 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 surrounded 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 pro- gress of an unpopular doctrine and the general enlightenment of mankind. But those who rea- soned 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 affec- tions, and who, by his outward showing to the world, would have represented 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 joo George Fox and Thomas Lotoer. 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 Mary Lower, paid a visit to Kickmansworth, and from thence they pro- ceeded 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 con- gregations 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 accom- panied throughout, taking a part in all his proceed- ings, w^as to be imprisoned. But it was all in vain. Fox was to be punished and Lower released on other grounds than those of justice. Meantime William Penn used all his skill and influence in aid of his imprisoned friend. He got his mother. Lady Penn, to write to Lord Windsor, who was lord- lieutenant of the county, and with whom she was imprisoned iii Worcester. ' 301 intimately acquainted, entreating him to exert his influence not to allow the oath of allegiance to be tendered at the sessions to George Fox, which it was feared might be done in order to ensnare him, in case the other accusation ^vas likely to be passed over. Lady Penn's letter was unavailing, and was perhaps forgotten by Lord Windsor, amid other interests which were crowding around him. Be that as it may, they did tender the oath, and then sent Fox back to prison, to be brought up on the next occasion as a disloyal subject, and, when condemn- ed on the law of premunire, to be imprisoned for life and deprived of all his property. As there w^ere errors in the indictment, and va- rious exceptions were taken by those engaged to defend the prisoner, this case was repeatedly argued both at Worcester and in London, before the sen- tence 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, w^hereby they had premunired me; so that T, being now his prisoner, it 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 me but by a pardon, and I was not free to receive a pardon, 302 ' Letter from William Pemi. knowing I had not done evil. I had rather have hiin 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 lOtb mo. 1G74. " Dear G. F. " My fervent, upright love salutes thee. Thine per post and E. M. I have. For thy busi- ness it becomes me not to say [how much] I have endeavoured ; but surely I have with much dili- gence 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 con- clusive 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 judgment 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 liave one. I have ever thought that was done in kindness. The King knows not that thou refused to George Fox. 303 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 meet- ings very full, and precious, and living, blessed be the Lord forever. ^' J. Faldo's book twice answered by me is re- printed, or some think it is the remainder unsold bound up with an epistle in favour of it, subscribed by twenty-one priests, as Manton, Baxter, Bates, &c., but it shall be their burden. They will repent them when they know what they have done. As for the sufferings, I have spoken to G. W. &c. They say that there is not stock for such a work ; that they have neither press nor materials for such a considerable work, and that £1500 will scarcely do it. "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 ol^ey. 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 Penn." 304 Fox released from prison. The foregoing letter is addressed thus : — " To Edward Barne, " Physician in " Worcester.* "G. F," 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 indictment, without re- ceiving any pardon, or coming under any engage- ment at all." 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 flict not before known to those who hilrve written about William and Guli Penn's children, viz., that Sj^ringett 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 grand- * From the original in the possession of Silvanus Thompson, York. ReJ'Kjlous controvermj. ^05 inother, Laclj Penn. She was their third child; the two elder ones, Gulielma 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. It does not appear what was the nature of the controversy alluded to in the letter to Fox, in which Faldos and Penn were engaged. The re- mark which follows, that Richard Baxter was one among other ^priests who had taken part with Fal- dos, and that they would repent it when they knew what they had done, gives no clue to the cir- cumstance, though it leads us to infer that Wil- liam Penn thought they sided with his antagonist through some misapprehension of the case. In that controversial age, two such earnest men as Baxter and Penn could hardly come near toge- ther without some collision. A private discussion of their differences did not satisfy the Presbyterian champion. Therefore, when passing through Rick- mansworth, 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 accommodation for those who collected from all the surrounding country to witness the discussion. The controvers}^ 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 repre- sentative, that both sides claimed the victory ! 3o6 Penn called to a neio sphere. Such occurrences are among the peculiar features which marked the religious world in that age. The spirit of controversy was I'ife in all the sects, and the Quakers were among the most earnest and persevering of them all. Into the religious disputations which drew forth the active powers of William Penn in vindicating the principles of " The Friends of Truth," I cannot think of entering ; indeed I apprehend they would be tiresome to the reader as well as to the writer in these days, when our enjoyment of, and need for, such keen controversy has subsided. But then it was a necessity resulting from the spirit of the times; and as Penn in those days never shrank from a defence of the Truth when an enemy gave battle, he was seldom out of controversial harness. But now a great absorbing interest took hold of his 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 con- science, and just administration of laws founded on and regulated by christian morals, should pre- vail. But in order to have power to legislate for the internal government of a colony, possession, differing 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 requi- site conditions within the reach of Penn and his co-religionists. Government of Neiv Jersey. 307 In tliG jear 1675 the ownership of one half the tract of country called New Jersey, came by pur- chase from Lord Berkley, into the possession of Edward Bylling and John Fen wick, 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. Mean- time Bylling's affairs having become embarrassed, he assigned for the payment of his creditors what- ever could be realized by the sale of the land he had purchased from Lord Berkley. At his earnest request, William Penn united with two of his cre- ditors 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 emi- grate thither; but earnestly recommending that " whosoever hath a desire to be concerned in this intended plantation should weigh the thing well before the Lord, and not headily or rashly con- clude on any such remove ; nor should they offer violence to the tender love of their near kindred, but soberly and conscientiously endeavour to obtain jo8 Indian ricjhis recognised. their good-v\'ill, 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 mem- bers of the Society of Friends. Commissioners were chosen by the proprietors 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 instructions to treat with the Indians, recognizing their native rights to those re- gions as hunting grounds, and to give them such compensation as should be mutually agreed on for allowing that section of the country to be differently appropriated. The nature of the articles offered or demanded for the Indian goodwill of the land may seem to us comparatively 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 Timber creek, which was treated for by Purchase of lands. ^or) 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 duffles, 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 last named item, six anchors of rum, was con- ceded by the Quaker commissioners without due experience as to the evil efiect of ardent spirits on these natives of the forest. Some years after this transaction, when its fearfully demoralizing influ- ence became manifest, the Friends endeavoured to establish total abstinence societies 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 S vs^ecle.^, who continued the sale of the strong liquor to us ; they also were jio Indian teetotal Isin. 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 caimot 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 themselves 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 chil- dren that these four belts of wampum are given you to be witnesses betwixt us and you of this agreement." The Quaker commissioners recommended the adoption 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." Tlie rights of conscience and of religious as well as civil freedom were strictly maintained. New JcvHcij prospers. 3 j i " The colony of ^^ est New Jersey," says Janiiey, "continued to prosper under the management of Penn and his associates. Colonist-s arrived in con- siderable numbers, good order and harmony pre- vailed, 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 — inte- grity, 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. About the time Penn undertook the trustee- ship, he removed his family from Rickmansworth to the Springett estate at Worminghurst in Sussex, which property came to him with his wife. Soon 3 12 Pen It rcclslts ilte Cuntlnent. after lie had got tlie American affairs into order and the Quaker emigration thither fairly started, he joined George Fox, Robert Barclay, and a few other Friends in a* religious visit to the continent of Europe. Whilst on that missionary 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 reli- gious 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 Sei'ies 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 paragraphs : — " 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 suffering (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 Irim for Rotterdam. On the 2iid of Ninth-month, after an absence His return liome. 3M of a little more than three months, he again arrived at Worminghnrst. He says : " I found my dear wife, child, and family all Avell, 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 to- gether ; 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 Penn." Another fjimily sorrow is dimly but certainly shadowed forth in the above words, " My dear wife ' and child." Little Margaret is not therein recog- nized ; Springett is undoubtedly the dear child alluded to as being well. Lie was then nearly two years old. The daughter who is mentioned in Penn's letter to a friend, written in 1674, had during the interim been taken hence to join her sister and brother in Hea^ven. The journal of AYilliam 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 J 14 Pcjtits mannscrijjt diary. 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, pro- bably by Guli or 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 gentleman who had access to them, and who forthwith applied to William Penn for per- mission to publish it. On a re-examination of its contents, the author gave the desired permission. At that time the Princess Elizabeth of the Khine, 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 pub- licity at an earlier period no longer existed. That which appeared to be the original manu- script of that journal, which William Penn himself wrote in 1677 for the information of his personal friends, came into my hands since I commenced the compilation of this work. It is in perfect preserva- tion and is well written, but has the antiquated abbreviations which prevailed at that time, and which render old manuscripts so difficult to be read by those who are unaccustomed to them. But as I liave since heard of the existence of another manu- script copy, with siuiilar claims, it may be doubted whether William Penn himself wrote both. The English people and their representatives in Parllamcntarjj commlltce. 315 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 endured in consequence of their scruple against swearing, 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 agahist them, hath, I know not by what discretion, lighted heavily upon us, and we complain, yet we do not mean that any should 3 1 6 Penn again he/ore the take a fresh aim at them, or that they should come hi our room ; for we must give the Hberty 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 quali- fied do not seem to me to be convincing, or, indeed, adequate to the reason of mankind ; but this I sub- mit to your consideration. To conclude: I hope we shall be held excused by the men of that pro- fession (the Roman Catholic) in giving this distin- guishing 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 consideration 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 himself against the wild current of popular persecution of Roman Catholics. How- ever, the members of committee wished to have another interview with him ; some of them, who had known him in early life, felt certain of his can- dour and truthfulness, but others found it hard to renounce the idea that he was a Jesuit in disguise. ParViamentanj committee. 3 1 7 On his second appearance he thus addressed them. '' The candid hearino; onr sufFerin2i:s have received from you oblige me to add whatever can increase your satisfaction about us. I hope you do not believe I v/ould 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 principle maintained by those first Protestant reformers of" Germany, and our own martyrs at home, against the see of Rome. On the contrary, I do with great truth assure jow that we (the Friends) are of the same negative faith with the ancient Protestant church ; and upon fitting occa- sion shall be ready, by God's assistance, to make it appear we are of the same belief as to the most 3i8 PeniLS speecli. fundamental, positive articles of her creed, too. And therefore it is that we think it hard, though we deny in common wdth 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 as^ainst 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 sufficient 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 dis- affected 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 w^e believe government to be God's ordinance, and, next, that this present government is established by the pro- vidence 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 case to revile or conspire against the government, but with Christian humility and patience tire out all mistakes aljout us ; and wait the better information of those who do as undeservedly as severely treat us. I Titus Gates i^lot, 319 know not wliat greater securities can be given by any people." The committee, and fnially the House of Com- mons, 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 suffering 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 utmost indignation of the people. Even the Parliament was stupefied 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 exe- cuted. The storm also came down unrelentingly on the heads of the innocent Quakers, who refused to take the required oaths or to discontinue or con- ceal their religious meetings. Any accusations of participation in the plot which were brought against them were easily refuted. 320 Penns address to Protestants. Whilst matters stood thus, William Penn^ then in his country home at Worminghurst, wrote his Address to Protestants. A copy of the first edition of that work, published in the year 1679, during the season of the public fast and humiliation ordered in view of the plot, by Parliament, is now before me. It is in two parts. The first animadverts on the prevalent immoralities of the age, and the general disregard of God's laws throughout the nation, pointing especially to the responsibility of those in power, and the criminality of not using such power for the suppression of vice. The second part of the address takes a review of the religious errors prevailing among English Protestants, in matters of opinion, fiiith, and practice. This portion ex- hibits so clearly the religious principles of William Penn, that I would gladly give copious extracts from it if space permitted. CHAPTER XL 1673--1682. Cessation of Isaac Penington's religious persecution. — Penington's letters — to his brother Arthur, a Roman Catholic — to Joseph Wright respecting his brother — to his sister Judith — to the Countess of Con- way. — Peace and happiness at Woodside. — Isaac and Mary Penington visit their property in Kent. — Isaac Penington's death. — Mary Pen- ington's memorial of her husband. — She anticipates her own decease. — Arranges her outward affairs and makes her will. — Takes her sons to school at Edmonton. — Her illness there. — Returns home. — Continued illness. — Her resignation, patience, and peace of mind. — She visits Worminghurst, and dies there. — Thomas Ellwood's lines on the death of his friends Isaac and Mary Penington. After the settlement of Isaac Penington at Woodside he suffered no further religious persecu- tion. His constitution had been greatly impaired by the treatment lie had previously endured, but the latter years of his life passed on peacefully, his affectionate wife watching carefully over his de- clining health. Their children grew up around them with indications of piety which made their parents' hearts thankful, and hopeful in view of the future. William and Gulielma Penn were near enough to ensure occasional intercourse between the two families ; and we may imagine how happj^ the intercourse must have been between such culti- 21 321 322 Letter from Isaac Pen'mgton vated religious minds, bound together as they were by the closest ties of love and relationshijD. Isaac Penington had a brother Arthur, who had not only joined the Roman Catholics, but had en- tered into orders, and become a priest. Of his his- tory beyond what may be drawn from two of Isaac's letters, no traces can be discovered. One of these letters was addressed to Arthur, the other to a mutual friend. Isaac Penington to his brother Arthur. "20th Tth mo. 1GT6. " Dear brother, " How can I hold my peace, and not testify of the love, mercy, and good-will of the Lord towards me, and invite others to the redeeming power of which the Lord in his goodness hath made me a partaker ? "And now, brother, a few words respecting thy return to what I sent thee — not for contention's sake, (the Lord knows my dwelling is in that life and peace which shuts it out,) but in the tender love and care of my heart concerning the eternal welfiire of thy soul. All may agree in notions about the regenerating power, but all do not re- ceive the regenerating power [into their hearts], nor are all truly regenerated in the sight of God ; nor come to witness the head of the serpent crushed, and his works destroyed, and kingdom laid waste to Ids hrotlier Artliar. 2>'^^ inwardly by this power ; whicli must be witnessed if a man be translated out of the kingdom of dark- ness into the kingxlom of the dear Son. " But that the w^ork of regeneration is only be- gun in this life, and not finished till the other life, is a great mistake. For the Scriptures testify that salvation is to be wrought out here, and not here- after. Christ had all power in heaven and earth, and He sent forth His Spirit to carry out the work here, and His sanctifying power is able to sanctify thought, soul, body, and spirit. Holiness is not only to be begun here, but perfected in the fear of God. The whole armour of God is able to defend the whole man from all the assaults of the wicked one, for greater is He in the saints that preserves from sin, than he that tempts to sin. " There is a holy hill of God, a spiritual Zion, a mountain whereupon His house is built, which the wing of the Almighty overshadows ; and His sheep that are gathered by the great Shepherd and Bishop of the soul feed there, and none can make them afraid. The flesh will be rebellimi: a^^ainst the Spirit until it be destrojed by the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. But when a man is dead to sin, sin hath no more power over him. And this is true blessedness, begun by the pure power of the Word of Life in the heart. " Blessed be the Lord, who hath brought many wanderers and distressed ones to the sight of the True Church, and to delightful obedience to her 324 Letter from Isaac Peidngton whose voice is not different to Christ's, but one with it ; and such are in fellowship with the Father and Son, and with the saints Avho dwell in the lidit. These are clothed with the Lamb's inno- cency and righteousness, and do not dwell in dark- ness nor in sin ; having crucified the old man with his affections and lusts, and put off the body of the sins of the flesh by the circumcision of Christ, and put on the new man created in Christ Jesus in the righteousness and holiness of Truth. They that are here dwell not in fancies, nor feed on fancies, but on eternal life, in the pure pastures of life, where the Shepherd of the inward spiritual Israel feeds his holy flock day by day. "As for the Romish church, or any other church built up in the apostacy, the Lord has given me to see through them to that which was before them, and will be after them. And, oh ! dear brother, if thou couldst l)ut rightly wait for and meet with the holy, regenerating, purifying power which in tender love I have testified to thee of, it would lead thee to that which is the True Church indeed, which hath been persecuted by the dragon and the false church. "' The Lord hath made me thy brother in the line of nature. Oh ! that thou wert my brother in that Truth which lives and abides for ever ! Oh ! that tliou knew the church of the first-born — the * Jerusalem which is above, which is free, which is to Joseph Wright. 325 the mother of all who are born of the regenerating virtue and power ! "I. P." There is no evidence of the time which may have elapsed between the writing of the preceding letter and the undated letter which follows. To Joseph Wright. " I entreat thy son to acquaint my brother Arthur that I took very kindly and was glad of his affectionate expressions towards me ; having been somewhat jealous that though my religion had enlarged my love towards him, yet his religion might have diminished his to me. I bless the Lord on his behalf, that he enjoys his health so well ; and for myself, though formerly exceedingly weakly, yet the inward life and comfort which the Lord daily pleaseth to administer to me, increaseth the health and strength of my natural man beyond my expectation. Blessed be my tender and merci- ful Father, who hath visited one so distressed and miserable as I was for so many years. " And whereas he saith he is like me in speech, l)ut most unlike me in opinion, pray tell him from me that my religion doth not lie in opinions. I was weary and sick at heart of opinions, and, had not the Lord brought that to my hand which my soul wanted, I had never meddled with religion. But as I had felt in my heart that which was evil. 326 Letter from Isaac Penutgton and wliicli was not of God, so the Lord God of my life pointed me to that of Him in my heart which was of another nature, teaching me to wait for and know His appearance there ; in subjection I have experiencfid Him stronger than the strong man that was there before. And now truly I feel union with Him, and His blessed presence every day. What this is unto me my tongue cannot utter. " I could be glad, if the Lord saw good, that I might see my brother before I die ; and if I did see him, I should not be quarrelling with him about his religion, but embrace him in brotherly love. As for his being a papist, or an arch-papist, that doth not damp my tender affection to him. If he be a papist, I had rather have him a serious than a loose papist. If he hath met with anything of that which brings forth an holy conversation in him, he hath so far met with somewhat of my religion, which teacheth to order the conversation aright, in the light and by the spirit and power of the Lord Jesus. " My religion is not a new thing, though more fully revealed now than in many foregoing ages. It consists in that which was long before popery was, and will be when popery shall be no more. He that would rightly know the True Church must know the living stones whereof the True Church is built, against which the gates of hell cannot possibly prevail. Oh ! the daily joy of my heart in feeling my living membership in this churchy where to Jiis sister Judith. 327 the true "gold," the "white raiment," the pure "eyesalve" (with which the eye, being anointed, sees aright) is received by such as the world knows not. Blessed be the name of the Lord ! " I desire my sincere, entire affection, as in God's sight, may be remembered to my dear brother. ''I. P." No further traces of intercourse between the.-^e brothers have come to light. They had a sister Judith, to whom her elder brother occasionally wrote. Two of his letters to her, one written in 1678, the other without date, are in the manuscri[)t collection of Penington letters in the Devonshire House. The following, without date, is selected for insertion. Isaac Penington to his sister Judith. " Dear sister, " Is thy soul in unity with God, or art thou se- parated from Him ? Whither art thou travelling ? Oh, whither art thou travelling ? Is it towards the eternal rest and peace of thy soul, or from thy soul's life towards spiritual death ? Every day thou art sowing somewhat which thou must hereafter reap. What art thou daily sowing ? Will th^i crop at last be comfortable to thee ? Oh ! dear sister, if thou art not able to bear the pains of the earthly body, should the Lord therein set his hand upon thee, how wilt thou be able to bear the misery 3^8 Letter from Isaac PcnliKjton which is prepared for souls that go out of this world unrenewed in nature, and unreconciled to God. And, indeed, my sister, to repent, and to believe, and be united to Christ, and grow up in the nature of another spirit, that there mav be a reap- ing of what is spiritually sown, are things of great weight, fully as necessary as the Scripture expres- seth. Now is thy time of being gathered to the Lord. If the time the Lord hath given thee be lost, what will become of thy soul ? The enemy will do all he can to keep thee asleep ; but the Lord hath not been wanting in sometimes awaken- ing thee. If ever thou enter into the eternal rest, thou must hearken to the voice, and walk in the path that leads to that rest. " Dear sister, I lay not stress on the outward forms of religion ; but this I am sure of, every one that is saved must feel the power of spiritual life, and know of the secret rebukes of the Lord in heart, and be subject to Him therein. Take heed what thy heart chooseth, for that will be thy portion forever. If the spirit of this world prevail, and thou choose this world, thou art undone. If, under the awakening of God, thy soul chooses life, and His fear be planted in thy heart, His wisdom ^vill teach thee to take up the cross daily to the nature and spirit in thee which are not of Him. " I have writ this in the pity and love of God unto thee, who herein is seeking thy soul. -' Thy truly loving brother, I. P." to the Countess of Conioay. j2q The Countess of Conway, to wlioui a manii- script copy of William Penn's travels in Holland was presented, as has been mentioned in the last chapter, was a correspondent of Isaac Penington. Several of his letters to her are extant. I select tlie followin.2: for insertion here. Isaac Penington to the Countess of Conway. " Dear Friend, '- As I was lately retired in spirit and waiting upon the Lord, having a sense in me cf thy long, sore, and deep affliction and distress, there arose a scripture in my heart to lay before thee, namely, Heh. xii. 5, 6, 7, which I entreat thee to call for a Bible and hear read, before thou pro- ceedest to what follows. " Oh ! my friend, after it hath pleased the Loi d in tender mercy to visit us, and turn our minds from the world and from ourselves towards Him, and to beget and nourish that which is pure and living and of Himself in us, }' ( t, notwithstand- ing this, there remains somewhat at first, and perhaps for a long time, which is to 'oe searclx d out by the light of the Lord,^ and brought down and subdued by His afflicting hand. When there is somewhat of an holy will formed in the day of God's power; and the soul is in souie m asure brought to live to God, yet all the earthly will and wisdom is not thereby presently removed ; hidden 3 JO Isaac Penlnrjto)LS letters. things of the old nature and spirit still remain perhaps, though they appear not, but sink into their root that they may save their life. And these man cannot possibly find out in his own heart, but as the Lord reveals them to him. But how doth the Lord point them out to us ? Oh ! consider this. B}^ His casting into the furnace of affliction, the fire searcheth. Deep, sore, distressing afiOiiction finds out both the seed and the chaff", purif) ing the pure gold and consuming the dross. Then at length the quiet state is witnessed, and the quiet fruit of righteousness brought forth by the searching and consuming operation of the fire. Oh ! that thy soul may be brought to victory over all which is not of the pure life in thee, and that thou mayest feel healing, refreshment, support, and comfort from the God of thy life. May the Lord guide thee daily, and keep thy mind to Ilim. Help, pity, salvation will arise in His due time ; (but not from anything t^iou canst do ;) and faith will spring up, and patience be given, and hope in the tender Father of mercy, and a meek and quiet spirit be witnessed. Look not at thy pain as sorrow, liow great soever. Look from them, beyond them, to the Deliverer whose tender spirit is able to do thee good by them. " Oh ! that the Lord may lead thee, day by day, in the right way, and keep thy mind stayed upon Him in whatever belalls thee, that the belief in His lovCj and hope and trust in His mercy, when thou Isaac Peningtons letters. .331 art at the lowest ebb, may keep thy head above the billows. " The Lord God of ray life be with thee, pre- serving and ordering thy heart for the great day of His love and mercy, which will come in the appointed season, when thy heart is fitted by the Lord for it." Isaac Peningtons religious letters are numer- ' ous ; some are in print and many still in manu- script. Judgment is required in selecting from ] them what may be interesting to readers in general | of the present day. They are of a peculiar cast^ corresponding of course with the mind from which they emanated ; and that mind was by no means ' of a common order. In some of them his indivi- ! dual religious experience may have been soraetimes 1 made to an undue extent the standard by which the genuineness of the religious feelings of other minds | was tested. It is common for persons of earnest religious minds not duly to recognise that which the Apostle tells us of the diversities of operation j through the same Spirit. We are all more or less \ liable to be thus influenced ; but some are con- i scions of the danger, and others are not. The | latter will often, even when sincerely desiring to I judge charitably and rightly, come to positively erroneous conclusions respecting the religious feel- j ings of those who cannot see as they do. ] It is pleasant to know that in life's evening the j 332 Death of Isaac Penlncjtoii. family at Woodside were suffered to enjoy without molestation the peace and comfort of their humble home. It was not on what they lost of this world's wealth that the father and mother were then dis- posed to dwell, but on what they had gained in the sense of Divine approval, and the assurance of the Lord's presence being with them and their children. This added far more to their happiness than all the wealth the world could bestow. In true thankfulness and contentedness they could praise their Heavenly Father's care, which had cir- cled around them amid fierce persecution, and now filled their hearts with love and devout trust in Him. In the autumn of 1679 both husband and wife went into Kent to Mary Penington's native place ; and, after visiting the tenants on her estate there, they remained a short time at one of the farms called Goodenstone Court. Just at the time they had fixed to return to Woodside, Isaac Penington took ill. His disease was one of acute sufiering, and in a few days the closing scene of earthly life arrived. His soul ascended to its home on high, and his wife tells us her spirit was suffered at that moment to join his, and rejoicingly to see the Heavenly mansion prepared for him. His remains were interred in the burial-ground belonging to his beloved friends of Chalfont at Jordans, where a small white headstone now marks Mary Peningtons testimony. 1^22 the spot with the name and date, " Isaac Penwg- ton, 1679." His age was sixty-three. Many testimonies were published respecting the Christian life and worth of this good man. I would gladly insert those from his wife, his son John, and William Penn, if space permitted. But as this is not the case, and as his devotion to God, his meekness of spirit, and his Christian character may be gathered from what has been already written, I shall confine myself to an extract from that of Mary Penington : — " Whilst I keep silent touching thee, oh ! thou blessed of the Lord and His people, my heart burnetii within me. I must make mention of thee, for thou wast a most pleasant plant of renown, planted by the right hand of the Lord ; ' and thou tookest deep root downwards, and sprangest up- -wards.' The dew of heaven fell on thee, and made thee fruitful, and thy fruit was fragrant and most delightful. " Oh, where shall I begin to recount the Lord's remarka]:)le dealings with thee! He set His love on thee, oh ! thou who wert one of the Lord's peculiar choice. Thy very babyish daj^s declared of what stock and lineage thou wert. Thou desiredst ' the sincere milk of the word as a new-born babe,' even in the bud of thy age ; and who can declare how thou hadst travelled towards the Holy Land in the very infancy of thy days ? Who can tell what thy 334 Mary Peidngiou's testimony 80ul felt in thy travel ? Oh the heavenly, bright, living openings that were given thee ! God's light shone round about thee. Such a state as I have never known of in any other, have I heard thee de- clare of. But this it did please the Lord to with- draw, and leave thee desolate and mourning — weary of the night and of the day — naked and poor in spirit — distressed and bowed down. Thou re- fusedst to be comforted, because thou couldst not feed on that which was not bread from heaven. " In that state I married thee ; my love was drawn to thee, because I found thou sawest the deceit of all notions. Thou didst remain as one who refused to be comforted by anything that had only the appearance of religion, till ' He came to His temple who is Truth and no lie.' For all those shows of religion were very manifest to thee, so that thou wert sick and weary of them all. '' This little testimony to thy hidden life, my dear and precious one, in a day when none of the Lord's gathered people knew thy face, nor were in aii}^ measure acquainted with thy many sorrows, have I stammered out, that it might not be forgot- ten. But noAV that the day hath broken forth, and that thou wert so eminently gathered into it, and a fiithful publisher of it, I leave this other state of thine to be declared by the sons of the morning, who have witnessed the rising of the bright star of righteousness in thee, and its guiding thee to the Saviour, even Jesus, the First and tlie Last. They, respect uuj Iter Jiusband, 33^ I say, who are strong, and have overcome the evil one, and are fathers in Israel, have declared of thy life in God, and have published it in many testi- monies." "Ah me ! he is gone ! he that none exceeded in kindness, in tenderness, in love inexpressible to the relation of a wife. Next to the love of God in Christ Jesus to my soul, Avas his love precious and delightful to me. My bosom one ! my guide and counsellor ! my pleasant companion ! my tender, sympathizing friend ! as near to the sense of my pain, sorrow, grief, and trouble, as it was possible ! Yes, this great help and benefit is gone ; and I, a poor worm, a very little one to him, compassed about with many infirmities, through mercy was en- abled to let him go without an unadvised word of discontent or inordinate grief. Nay, further, such was the great kindness the Lord showed me in that hour, that my spirit ascended with him that very moment the spirit left his body, and I saw him safe in his own mansion, and rejoiced with him there. From this sight my spirit returned again, to per- form my duty to his outward tabernacle. " This testimony to Isaac Penington is from the greatest loser of all who had a share in his life, " Mary Pexington." "Written at my house ;it Woodside, the 27th of 2nd month, 1G80, between Twelve and One at niffht, whilst watchin[r bv my ^ick child.'' ^^6 Mary Peningtons About four months after the foregomg date Mary Penington took William and Edward, her two youngest sons, to place them at school at Edmonton. Before leaving home she made her will, and arranged her family affairs, under the im- pression that her life was not likely to be of long duration. She also wrote a letter during that inter- val to her grandson Springett Penn, to be given to him after her death, when he had attained an age able to understand it. The letter in question is that from which I have obtained most of the infor- mation respecting Sir William Springett which is contained in the earlier pages of this work. It commences as follows : — " Dear child, " Thou bearing the name of thy worthy grandfather Springett, I felt one day the thing I desired was answered, which was the keep- ing up his name and memory. He dying before thy mother was born, thou couldst not have the opportunity of her putting thee in remembrance of him. So I am inclined to mention this good man to thee, that thou mayest preserve his memory in thy mind, and have it for a pattern; that, following him as he followed Christ, thou mayest not only continue his name in the family, but, walking in his footsteps, partake of his renown, by being the vir- tuous ofi'spring of this truly great man." personal narrative. ^37 During tlie interval in question she added the following record to her own personal narrative : — " Now the Lord hath seen good to make me a wddow, and leave me in a desolate condition as to m}' guide and companion ; but He hath mercifully disentangled me, and I am in a very easy state as to my outward being. I have often desired of the Lord to make way for me, waiting on Plim without distraction. Living a life free from cumber, I most thankfully and humbly, in deep sense of His gracious kind dealings, receive the disposing of my lands as from Him. I have cleared great part of the mortgage, and paid most of my bgnd debts, and I can compass very easily the ground in my hands. " In this Fourth-month, 1680, I have made my will, and disposed of my estate, and have no con- siderable debt on it, and leave a handsome provi- sion for J. P. and M. P., and the younger ones, to fit them for a decent calling. I have also left provi- sion for my debts and legacies. I call it a comely provision for my children, considering they are pro- vided for out of my lands of inheritance, having nothing of their father's. Though mourning for the loss of my worthy companion, and exercised with the sickness and w^eakness of my children, in my outward condition and habitation I am to my heart's content. No great family to cumber me ; living private, with time to apply my heart to wis- dom in the numbering of my days ; believing them 23^ Mary Penhujtons to be but few, I stand ready to die. Still I feel that death is the king of fear ; and that strength to triumph over him must be given me in the needful time. The Lord must then stand by me, to resist that evil one who is often busy when the tabernacle is dissolving. " Oh ! Lord, what quiet, safety, or ease is there in any state but in feeling thy living power ? All happiness is in this, and nothing but amazement, sorrow, perplexity and woe out of it. Oh ! let me be kept by that power, and in it walk with God in His pure fear ; and then I matter not how unseen I am, or ho^ little friendship I have in the world. Oh Lord ! Hhou knowest what I have yet to go through, but my hope is in thy mercy to guide and support me ; and then I need not be doubtful, nor in concern about what is to come upon me. "The foregoing I writ before I went to Edmon- ton, which was in Sixth-month, 1680. And as if I were to go thither on purpose to be proved by the Lord, according to what I had before written, and to be exercised by Him in all things that were in my view when I set my house in order, it pleased the Lord, in a week's time after my going there, to visit me with a violent burning fever, beyond what I ever felt. Indeed, it was very tedious. I made my moan in these words, ' Distress ! distress !' feel- ing as if that comprehended sickness, uneasiness, want of rest and comfortable accommodation ; it being a school, and so unquiet, with but little at- personal narrative, 239 tendance, and away from my own home, where I could have had every thing I needed. " I had scarcely any time in all that illness, that I could have taken even so much as a quarter of an hour for the settling of my affairs. The kindness and mercy of the Lord having put into my heart to consider that it might be as it was with my dear husband, that I should never return home again. These memorable dealings of the Lord with me I now recount this 3rd day of the Second month, 1681, in a thankful humble sense of His mercy, being in my bed still unrecovered of that forementioned illness, which commenced eight months since. " Now it is upon me, in the holy fear of the Lord, to declare to you, my dear children, of what great service it was to me in my sickness, that I had nothing to do but to die when the Lord visited me. The Lord was pleased to assure me I should have a mansion, according to His good pleasure, in His holy habitation. Through this knowledge I was left in a quiet state, out of any feelings of the sting of death ; not having the least desire to live, though I did not witness any measure of triumph and joy. I could often say it is enough that I am in peace, and have not a thought day nor night of anything that is to be done in preparation for my going hence. "After having been fourteen days ill at Edmon- ton, my fever greatly abated, and in a month's time from that I came from thence to London in some 3 40 Ma ry Pei i iiigtons dearee of strength. After being seven w ( eks there, the Lord brought me home again to my own house. But that night I was smitten again with sickness, of v,4iich I remain weak and low to this day. "2Tth of 4th mo. 1681. — As I was waiting this morning on the Lord with some of my f[imily, I found an inchnation in my mind to mention the continuance of my illness to this day, which from the time of being first visited wants not many weeks of a year. In all that time, such has been the goodness of the Lord to me, that, as was said of Job, ' in all this he sinned not, nor charged God foolishly,' so may I say that, through the presence of God's power with me, I have not had a murmur- ing thought or a complaining mind. This has been my constant frame. It is well I have had no grievous thing to undergo, except these late sore fits of pain so full of anguish. The Lord hath graciously stopped my desires after every pleasant thing. I have not found in my heart to ask of Him to restore me to my former health and strength ; that, I might have the pleasantness of my natural sleep, or be able to walk about the house, or go abroad in the air, to take a view of the beautiful creation. All that I have desired during this long exercise in reference to my condition hath been some ease in my fits of pain. For this I have earnestly cried to the Lord for directions to some means of help, that I might have the pain removed. But, save in these fits of sufiering, I personal narratlce. j^i have not asked anything of the Lord concerning life or health. I have waited upon Him with less distraction than when in health, and have many times said within myself, Oh ! this is very sweet and easy. He makes my bed in my sickness, and holds my eyes waking to converse with Him. " Death hath been many times before me, on which occasions I have rather embraced it than shrunk from it ; having for the most part found a kind of yielding in my spirit to die. I had all my days a great sense of death, and subjection to the fear of it, till I came to be settled in the Truth ; but now the fear of death, that is, the state after death, is removed. Yet there remaineth still a deep sense of the passage ; how strait, hard, and difficult it is; even in some cases to those over whom the second death hath no power." No further records have been discovered respects ing Mary Penington, who died on the IStli of Seventh-month, 1682, at Worminghurst, where she was staying with her daughter Gulielma Penn. From thence her remains were taken for interment to Jordans, where they were laid beside those of her husband. In the autograph volume of Thomas Elhvood's poetical pieces described in last chapter, I find the follov/ing heretofore unpublished lines, wliicli refer in terms touchinfrly descriptive to Mary Pening- t'ju's lincieriuf'' illnesti aiter her liu-j blind's decease. 42 Memorial lines hij Thomas Ellwood. ON HIS DEAR DECEASED FRIENDS ISAAC AND MARY PENINGTON Since first made one as one they lived together, In heart and mind, in life and spirit one, Till death in part this unity did sever, B^- taking him, and leaving her alone. In silent grief his absence to bemoan. He being gone, she could not long survive But daily from his death began to die. And rather seemed to be, than was, alive, Joj^less till by his side she came to lie, Her spirit joined to his again on high. CHAPTER XII. 1681-1684. William Penn applies to Charles 11. for a grant of land in America. — Obtains a charter for Pennsylvania. — Penn's motives in this undertak- ing. — His code of laws. — His coadjutors in the work. — Algernon Sidney. — Penn's letter to Sidney. — Hepworth Dixon on the early Quakers. — Death of Lady Penn. — Penn's farewell letters on leaving England. — Emigration to Pennsylvania.— His treaty of peace with the Indians. — Purchases of land from them.— Gulielma Penn in her husband's absence. — Poetical address by Thomas Ellwood to his friend in America. — Letter from Gulielma Penn to Margaret Fox. — William Penn's return. — His letter to Margaret Fox. William Penn's publication of his Address to Protestants in the year 1679 was succeeded by a period of electioneering politics, in consequence of his earnest desire that his friend Algernon Sidney should be returned as representative to parliament for Guilford. The high opinion he entertained of Sidney's integrity and legislative ability induced him to make all the honourable efforts he could for his return. But they were unavailing ; for though he had a majority of votes, court influence was so strong in favour of his opponent, that Sidney was set aside by political manoeuvres. In consequence of his connection with New Jer- sey, Penn's thoughts had previously been directed 243 344 Wdlliun Pcjut ohialiis to Aiiierica as a grand theatre for the iiiaiiifestation of what just legislation and good government could effect. The recent defeat of his friend Sidney in- creasingly disgusted him with what he saw at home. The unpaid debt which the King still owed to him as Admiral Penn's heir, was therefore now regarded as a providential opening through which another free colony might be established beyond the Atlan- tic. His heart and hopes became intensely fixed on the realization of this project, which he thought would enable him to prove, in the face of an unbe- lieving world, that national government may be successfully conducted on the strict basis of Chris- tian morality. With the high and holy enthusiam of an enlightened mind, and all the religious ear- nestness of an unflinching persecuted Christian, he entered into the subject, and petitioned the King to sanction his project. It was opposed on various sides by intolerant men both in church and state ; but still Penn persevered. Those Avho were open to conviction he succeeded in convincing, and those who were not, sunk into a minority when it became evident that the royal inclination leaned towards the request ; and as the King felt it would be an easy way of getting clear of a debt winch he could not repudiate, he became iucreasingly favourable to Penn's jiroposal. At length the deed of pro- prietorsliip was ])repared, and the Kings signature attached to it under the date 4th of March, 1081. On that occasion the following letter was written : — a (jrant of PeRnsylixDila, 345 William Peiin to Ids friend Rohcrt Taritcr, a Dublin nitrclicud. "Dear Friend, "After maii}^ waitings, vvatcbings, solicitings, and disputes in council, this day my province was confirmed to me under the great seal of England, with large pov/ers and privileges, by the name of Pennsylvania, a name the King would give it in honour of my father. I proposed New Wales, but the Secretary, a Welshman, refused to have it called New Wales Sylvania. Then, instead of Wales, they added Penn to it. Though I much opposed it, and went to the King to have it altered, he said it was past, and he would not take it upon him ; nor could twenty guineas more to the Under- Secretary vary the name. I feared lest it should be looJved on as vanity in me, and not respect, as it truly was, in the King to my father, whom he often mentions with praise." In another letter to Roljert Turner, Penn saj'S that he never had his mind so exercised to the Lord about any outward substance, adding, " Let the Lord now guide me by His wisdom, and pre- serve me to honour His name, and serve His Truth and people, that an example and standard may ]je set up to the nations. There may be room to set it up ilicre^ though none here." Throughout we may see that the mainspring of William Pcnn's project was a desire to promote the 2^6 WiUlaiii Pcmts code Glory of God on cartli, aiid the establissliment of justice, peace, and good-will among men. These were his governing motives, and they are equally conspicuous in his legislation, and in the adminis- tration of his provincial government so far as he could control it. But if such good desires had not been aided by a comprehensive mind, a talent for organization, and great capacity for business, they would have utterly failed in setting up the standard which he wished to erect. A less active mind with such views would have been overwhelmed b}^ the crowd of business, and the varied responsibilities which pressed upon him, after the deed of proprie- torship was placed in his hands. He had at that time a wide acquaintance with the leading mem- bers of the Society of Friends, several of whom had been associated with him in the legislation for, and management of Eastern New Jersey. He knew those wdio were capable of aiding him in his object, and he availed himself of their assistance. '^ It must not be supposed," says Jaiuiej, " that the aduiiral)le constitution and code of laws which have shed so much lustre on William Penn's name, w^ere the unaided result of his single genius. Al- though there w^as proljably no man then living whose mind was so free from prejudice, and so fully enlightened on the subject of government, yet there were among his iViends, concerned with him in the enterprise, several persons of enlarged minds and liberal ideas, who performed an important though for Pcnnsijlcania. 347 subordinate share, in the work. They had frequent conferences together, and the code they adopted was the result of their united labours. " It must also be considered that the doctrines and discipline of the Society of Friends, which were first promulgated by George Fox, had a controlling influence on tiie mind of Penn, and furnished him with views and principles, which, being engrafted into his constitution and laws, gave rise to their most salutary and remarkable features." Janney then proceeds to compare and contrast the laws of Penn with those drafted for the Carolinas by John Locke, his great contemporary, and adds, " How shall we account for the remarkable disparity? Both men were possessed of talents and virtues of the highest order, combined with humane and tole- rant feelings. Is not the superiority of Penn's frame of government to be attributed to the pecu- liar influence of his religious associations ? He was united in fellowship with a people whose principles and practice were essentially democratic ; they ac- knowledged no priestly distinction of clergy and laity; they placed a low estimate on hereditary rank, and they laid the foundation of their church discipline on the supremacy of that divine principle in man which leads to universal fraternity." Assuredly Penn's American biographer is right. His social and religious surroundings, after he liad joined the Friends, had trained William Penn's mind in a direction opposite to that which leads to 348 William Penns code class legislation. When he established just laws for all, without special privileges for any class, and liberty of conscience on its broadest religious basis; and declared that no armed soldiery was to be em- ployed by the government in its concerns, or to be raised or recognized within the province ; and that no oaths whatever were to be required of witnesses in the courts of justice; he was only bringing into national operation what his Quaker feelings and principles had previously caused him to regard as Christian morals. In relation to crime and its suppression the great feature of his code was the substitution of preven- tion and reformation for legal vengeance. All the prisons were to be workhouses, in which the refor- mation of prisoners was to be aimed at. The means of education were to be placed within the reach of all, and men of every colour were to be equally protected by the laws. Then and for ages after the penal code of England aw\arded death as the punishment of a great variety of crimes. Penn at one bold stroke exempted from the punish- ment of death about two hundred offences which were then capital in England. Wilful murder was the only crime for which death was awarded in Pennsylvania. Its retention even in that case ap- pears to liave resulted from a conA'iction that if it were al)olished, the government at liome would have interposed to re-enact it. Such laws were but the national embodiment of those that have for Pennsylvania. 349 been upheld in the Society of Friends from its first organization. Lociie's frame of government for Carolina rested on the assumption that privileged classes are neces- sary in a state. What these privileges were to be both in church and state was elaborately defined. Dixon says that the Earl of Shaftesbury united with Locke in the work, and that " These two liberal and enlightened men had draAvn up a form of government which England received as the per- fection of Vvdsdom." Yet their constitution and code proved an utter failure. He adds, " To un- derstand how much Penn was wiser than his age, more imbued with the principles which have found their nobler utterances in our own, he must be mea- sured not only against the fanatics of his sect, and unlettered men like Fox, but against the highest types of learning and liberality which it afforded. Between John Locke and William Penn there is a gulf like that which separates the seventeenth from the nineteenth century. Locke never escaped from the thraldom of local ideas ; the one hundred and seventy years which have parsed away since Penn founded the state which bears his name, seem only to have carried Europe so much nearer to the source from which his inspiration flowed." It is not evident that W. Hepworth Dixon him- self very clearly perceived the source from which Penn's inspiration flowed. Most certainly he has not traced it, if he did ; nor has he done justice to jy Lifter frum William 'PtJin Penn\s friends and co-workers in their great under- taking. Janney understood them and their history better, and he has brought forward the real circum- stances of the case ; showmg the Quaker influences which had prepared Penn for the work, and the assistance he received from some of his fellow professors, who cordially aided without equalling him in sustaining and developing the new experi- ment. Dixon introduces Algernon Sidney as if he were Penn's chief counsellor and only coadjutor; "so that it is quite impossible," he says, '' to separate the exact share of one legislator from the other, so intricate and continuous was their mutual aid," in fr,aming the constitution and preparing the laws for the government of Pennsylvania. This statement does not appear to have any other foundation than the writer's own deductions, — and, as appears to some of us, utterly unwarranted deductions — from a single letter written by Penn to Sidney. Dixon refers to that letter as his authority, and he gives the date as 13th of October, 1681, but does not quote from it. The reader will find it below.* * Williivn Penn to Algernon Sidney. "13th October, 1681. " There are many things make a man's life uneasy in the world, •which are great abates to the pleasure of living, but scarcely one equal to that of the unkindness or injustice of friends. "I have been asked by several since I came last to town if Colonel Sidney aud I were fallen out, and when I denied it and laughed at it, io AUjcrtion Sidneij. 351 I must here say a few words for George Fox and the early Quakers in general, " whose fanaticism," and " grotesque follies," as Dixon terms them, have b:3en placed before his readers in glowing colours. It is true he admits the fanaticism was shared at that time by the rest of the religious world, and that what was grand and genuine m their enthusi- asm belonged to the Quakers themselves. Not- withstanding this admission, his reference to the they told me I was mistaken, and, to convince me, stated that he had used me very ill to several persons if not companies, saying, 'I had a good country, but the basest laws in the world, not to be endured or lived under ; and that the Turk was not more absolute than I.' This made me remember the discourse we had together at my house about me drawing constitutions, not as proposals, but as if fixed to the hand; and as my act to which the rest were to comply, if they would be con- cerned with me. I could not but call to mind that the objections were presently complied with, both by my verbal denial of all such constructions as the words might bear, as if they ivcre imposed and not yet free for debate. And also that I took my pen and immediately altered the terms, so that they correspond (and, I truly thought, more properly) with thy sense. Upon this thou didst draw a draft as to the frame of government, gave it to me to read, and we discoursed it with considerable argument. It was afterwards called for back by thee to finish and polish ; and I suspended proceedings in the business ever since. "I met with this sort of language in the mouths of several : I shall not believe it ; 'twere not well in me to an enemy, less so to a friend. But if it be true, I shall be sorry we ever were so well acquainted, or that I have given so much occasion to them that hate us, to laugh at me for more true friendship and steady kindness that T have been guilty of to any man- I know living. It becomes not my pretensions to the things of another life to be much in pain about the uncertainties of this. Be it as it will, I am yet worthy of a line. " Thy real friend, " ^YILLIAM PeNX." 352 Defence of the carl I J Quakers. Friends as fanatics is repeated. And he describes their proceedings in a style which leaves the im- pression that they well deserved the title. But his pictures, drawn from the statement of their enemies, are not correct; and, being distorted by their color- ing, they do great injustice to a most devoted, persecuted. Christian people. It is quite true, how- ever, that their enemies ascribed to them every grotesque folly which Penn's biographer recapitu- lates. But who would think of taking any man's history from the report of his bitter enemies? Such untested statements are unworthy of a his- torian, and unwarrantable in a history having any pretension to fidelity. The whole reminds us of that which Isaac Pen- ins^ton said in one of his letters to his father, and which w^ill be found at page 96 of this volume, respecting the extravagant stories then afloat about the Quakers. He tells him *^ if he takes things by the report of the enemies both to God and them, he shall be sure to hear and believe bad enough" of them. It is clear that Penn's biographer has founded the false character he gives George Fox and the early Friends upon the report of their enemies. The poet Whittier has beautifully portrayed the true Quaker of the olden time in the following stanzas : — Stanzas hj) Wldttier. 353 The Quaker of the olden time ! So cahn, and firm, and true, Unspotted by its wrong and crime, He walked the dark earth through. The lust of power, the love of gain, The thousand lures of sin Around him had no power to stain The purity within. With that deep insight which detects All great things in the small, And knows how each man's life affects The spiritual life of all, He walked by faith and not by sight, B}^ love and not by law ; The presence of the wrong or right He rather felt than saw. He felt that wrong with wrong partakes ; That nothing stands alone ; That whoso gives the motive makes His brother's sin his own. And, pausing not for doubtful choice Of evils great or small, He listened to that inward voice ] Which calls away from all. ] j Oh ! spirit of that carl}^ da}^ So pure and strong and true, j Be with us in the narrow way 1 Our faithful fathers knew. ! Give strength the evil to forsake, I The cross of Truth to bear, j And love and reverent fear to make j Our daily lives a prayer! jr4 Penn sails for America, William Penn's mother lived to see her son's experiment shadowed forth, but not to witness its consummation. She died early in 1682. This bereavement cast so deep a sorrow over his feelings, that for some time his health was affected. In writing to a friend he says, " Both thy letters came in a few days one of the other. My sickness on my mother's death, who was last Seventh-day in- terred, permitted me not to answer thee so soon as I desired." Lady Penn appears to have continued to live chiefly at Wanstead, from the time the family returned there, in 1659 or 1660, on leaving Ireland. Her remains were laid beside those of her son Richard in Walthamstow church. The pressing calls on Penn's attention which his approaching departure for America occasioned, soon drew him into active life. Beside royal char- ters, and provincial laws, and his plans for the new city, and municipal regulations, he had a vast deal of other work to do for the infant colony. At length all was ready, and he embarked at Deal on board the sliip Welcome^ in company with about one hundred passengers, who were mostly Friends from Sussex, and weighed anchor on the first of Seventh month, 1682. To trace his movements thenceforward through the wide-spread duties that devolved on him as Governor of Pennsylvania, can- not be attempted in a sketch like this. He had many difliculties to cope with, many wants to pro- vide for, and many sacrifices to make, lie made His letter to Jils cliUdren. 355 these sacrifices without hesitation, and met all dif- ficulties with energy, perseverance, and patience. These circumstances are associated with the early history of Pennsylvania; but his feelings on leav- ing his wife and children, and his religious aspira- tions for them and his friends, are not equally known. It is therefore to them that we shall more es23ecially direct our attention. William Penn left home with so strong a sense of the danger and uncertainty attendant on the path which lay before him, that he made provision for his family as if he was never to see them again. On this occasion he addressed a long letter to his wife, in which he states his views respecting the education of their children ; whilst to them he speaks of their duties in early life as well as in mature age. He especially enjoins early devotion to God, and earnestness in serving Him on earth, adding, ''Love and fear the Lord, keep close to meetings, and delight to wait on the Lord God of your father and mother among His despised people, as we have done. Count it your honour to be members of that society, and heirs of that living fellowship which is enjoyed among them, and for the experience of which your father's soul blesseth the Lord for ever. " Next, be obedient to your dear mother, a woman whose virtue and good name is an honour to you. She hath been exceeded by none in her time for her plainness, integrity, industry, human- 35^ Pernios letter to his vnfe. ity, virtue, and good understanding — qualifica- tions not usual among women of her condition and quality. Therefore honour and obey her, my dear children, as your mother; and as your father's love and delight. She loved 3'our father with a deep and upright love, choosing him before all her many suitors. Though she be of a delicate consti- tution and noble spirit, yet she descended to the utmost care and tenderness for you in your infancy as a mother and as a nurse, performing for you the most painful acts of service. I charge you before the Lord to honour and obey, love and cherish }'our dear mother." The following' extract from the letter to his wife shows how highly he appreciated her, and that his ideas respecting the training of children were far in advance of the age in which he lived : — " My dear wife, '^ Remember thou wast the love of my youth, and much the joy of my life — the most beloved as well as the most worthy of all my earthly comforts ; and the reason of that love was more thy inward than thy outward excellencies, which yet were many. God knows and thou know- est I can say it Avas a match of His making ; and God's image in us both was the first thing, and the most amiable and engaging ornament in our ej'es. Now I am to leave thee, and that witliout kno^ving PeniLS Idter to Ids loife. 357 V, lietlier I shall ever see thee more in this world. T;ike my counsel into thy bosom, and let it dwell with thee in my stead while thou livest. '' Firstly. — Let the fear of the Lord and zeal and love for His glory dwell • richly in thy heart, and thou wilt watch for good over thyself and thy dear children and famih^ "Secondly. — Be diligent in meetings for worship and business ; stir up thyself and others therein ; it is thy duty and place. Let meetings be kept once a day in the family, to wait upon the Lord who has given us so much time for ourselves. And, my dearest, to make thy family matters easy, divide thy time and be regular. Grieve not thyself with careless servants ; rather pay them and "let them go, if they will not be better by admonition. " Thirdly. — Cast up thy income, and see what it daily amounts to, by which thou mayest have it iu thy sight to keep within compass. I beseech thee to live low and sparingly till my debts are paid ; and then enlarge as thou seest convenient. Ke- member thy mother's example, wdien thy father's public-spiritedness had worsted his estate, which is my case. I knoAV thou art averse to the pomps of the world — a nobility natural to thee. I write not ;is doubtful, but to quicken thee for my sake, know- ing that God will bless thy care. I need not bid thee to be humble, for thou art so; nor meek and patient, for it is thy natural disposition : but I pray thee bo oft in retirement with the Lord, and guard 2^0 Pciriis letter to his v'lfe. against encroacliing friendships [of the world] ; keep them at arm's end. ^' Fourtlihj. — And now, my dearest, let me com- mend to thy care my dear children ; abundantly beloved by me, as the Lord's blessings, and the sweet pledges of our mutual and endeared affec- tion. Above all things, endeavour to bring them up in the love of virtue, and in that holy plain way of it which we have lived in, that the world in no part of it get into my family. I had rather they were homely than finely bred as to outward be- haviour ; 3^et I love sweetness mixed with gravity, and cheerfulness tempered with sobriety. Religion in the heart leads into true civility, teaching men and women to be mild and courteous in their be- haviour. ^'Fifthly. — Bring them up in love of one another. Tell them it is the charge I left behind me, and that it is the way to have the love and blessing of God to rest upon them. Sometimes separate them, but not long ; and allow them to give and send each other small things, to endear one another with. Once more I say, tell them how it was my counsel that they should be tender and affectionate one to another. For their learning be liberal. Spare no cost — for by such parsimony all is lost that is saved — but let it be useful knowledge they are taught, such as is consistent with truth and godliness. The exercise of ingenuity mixed w^ith industry is good for the body and mind too. I Peiiits letter to Margaret Fox. 2S9 recommend the useful parts of mathematics, build- ing houses or ships, measuring, surveying, dialling, and navigation. But agriculture is especially in my eye. Rather keep an ingenious person in tiie house to teach them than send them to schools. Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross it ; let them not dwell too long on one thing, but make an agreeable change before they become weary. Let all their diversions have some little bodily labour in them." The above letter was dated Worminghurst, 4tli of Sixth-month, 1682. The following is addressed to Margaret Fox of Swarthmoor Hall, wife to his friend George Fox, wdio was then at Enfield near London. The ori- ginal is in the possession of Silvanus Thompson, York. William Penn to Margaret Fox, a Yery dearly honoured and beloved M. F. " In the precious love of God I salute thee, that by which He hath made us who were once strangers to the Lord and to one another, very near and very dear; and most sweet is our fellowship. Oh ! that the nations knew it well ! They shall yet know it, and rejoice in the salva- tion that is come to us. " Dear Margaret, I am a-going. Remember me 360 Penns letter to xilarjaret Fox. in the Father's love, and nuij God be with thee, and bless thee and thine, with His temporal and His eternal blessings. This day I have had a precious meeting w'ith the Friends of this city ; many public Friends being there. Oh ! the dissolv- ing love of God ! — all tender, meek, and loving. May God be wdth us all forever, staying or going ! To thee, dear Margaret, and dear Thomas Lower and yours, this is my tender farewell in the Lord. (I pray Him to) let all things be and prosper with me, as mine eye is to be of service to the Lord in this thing. Some have been unkind, but my soul breathes for them and forgives them; and truly n peace flows as a river. Oh ! dear Margaret, ih y the Lord be with us, and keep us in our several places, and do us good forever. Dear George I left yesterday at Enfield, much better. My soul loves him beyond [expression], and his dear love and care and counsel are in my heart. ' A sw^eet parting we had. So, dear Margaret and dear Thomas Lower, let me hear from you, that I may rejoice in your love. I have nought else to 1 add but my wife's dear love, w^ho is sweetly con- senting and satisfied. " Thy very loving friend and brother, " Wm. Penn. I "London, ]4th of Gtli mo. 1682. i i j ''Thy daughter and son Rous are well. She and daughter went and came with us to and from En- Penns letter to Stephen Cjisjj. j6i field. Salute me to dear Leonard Fell and Ko!jcrt Withers, and friends thereaway." He published three other letters under the title of William Penns Last Farewell to Engkmd. They were dated from on board the Welcome, whilst lying in the Downs, 30th of Sixth-month, 1682. The first is A Salutation to the Faithful; | the second, A Re-proof to the Unfaithful ; and the I third, A Visitation to the Inquiring. All three manifest earnest religious feeling, and contain ex- hortation and advice suited to the various states addressed. Under the same date, which was the day before the Welcome weighed anchor, he also ! wrote to his friend Stephen Crisp. One passage of that letter is as follows : — I " Dear Stephen, We know one another. I need not say much to thee ; but this I will say, that thy parting dwells with me, or rather thy love at my j parting. How innocent, how tender, how like the 1 little child that has no guile ! The Lord will j bless that ground (Philadelphia). I have also had ; a letter from thee which comforted me ; for many are my trials, yet not more than my supplies from \ my Heavenly Father, whose glory I seek. And ] surely, Stephen, there is work enough to be done, and room to work in. Surely God will come in for a share in this planting- work, and that leaven shall -7 62 Pants arrlcdl lit America. 1( a\en tlie lump in time. I do no not believe the Lord's providence had run this way towards me, but that He has an heavenly end and service in it. S J with Him I leave all, and myself, and thee, and His dear people." Thus committing all to God, and strong in foith and hope, the Governor of Pennsylvania bade fixre- well to his family and friends, as the Welcome bore him from the shores of his native land. The voyage was made in about eight weeks, which was then considered a good passage. But, whilst crossing the Atlantic, thirty of the emi- grants who had sailed from the Downs died of the small-pox. The survivors, as long as they lived, had many a tale to tell of that sad passage, of William Penn's care and tenderness towards the sick, and his comforting exhortations and prayers with those who died on board. Business cares and studies soon gathered around him, into which he entered with that administrative capacity and dispatch for which he Avas remarkable. Amid all these, the grand features of nature in the New World failed not to impress his imagination, and draw forth lively descriptions in his letters home. The woods, the flowers, the shrubs, and the native fruits of Pennsylvania were most charming to him. The site of his new city was a continual source of interest and occupation, whilst emigrants from Great Britain, Ireland, and Germany, were flocking Treaty loitli the Indians. 2^ 3 to Pennsylvania as to a land of promised freedom and plenty. From Watsorts Annals we learn that the assem- bly to which Peini's frame of government and laws were submitted was held at Chester, three weeks after his arrival; and the first provincial assembly which was convened at Philadelphia, and was composed of seventy-two members, met in the Friends' meeting-house on the 10th of First-month, 1683. The representatives were elected by ballot. Watson says that " the only law added to the pro- vincial code on that occasion was one enacted to prevent law-suits, by the institution (5f three ' Peace-makers,' after the manner of ordinary arbi- tration, to be chosen by each county court, that they might hear and end all differences." This, like many others in the Pennsylvania code, was merely enacting as a law that which was an estab- lished rule of Quaker discipline ; for law-suits are discouraged among the Friends, arbitration being the substitute. But it was William Penn's treaty of peace and brotherhood with the Indians which especially marked his first visit to America ; and, beyond any other event in his career, has attracted the attention of the civilized world. Yet neither he nor the Friends associated with him were con- scious of doing anything more than what simple Christian morality and human brotherhood sug- gested. They had ignored all war and bloodshed 364 Treaty ivlth tlte Indians. for the settlement of disputes, as contrary to the gospel of Christ. Therefore they went among the Indians unarmed. They were not satisfied with merely paying them for specified portions of the country which they desired to occupy, but they felt that these sons of the forest should be told why they came among them unlike the other colonists, — without weapons of war. The title of the Indians and their right to com- pensation had been repeatedly recognized from the time of the first settlement of the Friends in New Jersey — that therefore was not new. Nor was it, as many suppose, the design of William Penn at the time of the famous treaty to pay them all off hand, then and there, for their lands. On the contrary, there were various separate purchases made at different times and from different tribes who occupied different localities. It does not ap- pear that there was any purchase whatever in connection with the great treaty. Presents were given and speeches made on both sides, which embodied clearly defined promises of justice and peace, to the exclusion of all violence. In case of differences arising at any time, they were to be settled by arbitration ; the arbitrators, twelve in number, to be fairly chosen by the parties con- cerned — half to be Englishmen and half Indians. Although the Indians made stately and eloquent speeches in answer to William Penn, of their replies Treaty loWi tlie Indians. 2,^^ little s.eeins to have been preserved except their pledge " to live in love with Onas [Penn] and his children as long as the sun and moon shall endure." When the account of this treaty reached Europe most of her politicians awaited with sneering smiles the consummation they expected to follow. " Go- ing among the cruel Indian savages without arms, and pledging themselves never to use violence towards them ! What folly ! What madness !" But they waited and watched long^ and still no violence or bloodshed ensued. Whilst the sur- rounding colonists were ever and anon at war with the Indians, and the scalping-knife and tomahawk brought death and terror to many a hearth, the Quakers of Pennsylvania and all their possessions remained uninjured — Safe that quiet Eden lay, When the war whoop stirred the land ; Thence the Indian turned away From their homes his bh)ody hand. " He remembered the treaty with the sons of Onas, and kept it inviolate." The Friends of Penn- sylvania on their side acted truthfully and honestly towards the Redmen ; and the Indian people, even when at war with other English colonies, and when the original parties to the treaty had died off, re- garded the lives and property of the children of Onas as sacred. Such was the treaty of peace and ^66 Treaty loltlt tlie Indians. amitj on which Voltaire remarked, that " it >vas the only one ever made without an oath, and the only one that never was broken." We are told of two purchases of land from the Indians in 1683, whilst William Penn remained in the province. They lay in different directions. As regards one of these, the extent of country paid for was to run as far back as a man could walk in three days. It is stated that Penn himself, with several of his friends and a number of the Indian chiefs, began to walk over this land at the mouth of the Neshaminy, and walked up the Delaware. They are described as having, in a day and a half, got to a spruce-tree near the mouth of Baker's Creek, when the Governor decided that this would include as much land as would be wanted at present. A line was then run, and marked from that spruce-tree to Neshaminy, and the remainder left to be walked out when it should be wanted for settlement. It is said they walked leisurely after the Indian manner, sitting down sometimes to smoke their pipes, to eat biscuit and cheese, and drink a bottle of wine. It is certain they arrived at the spruce-tree in a day and a half, the whole distance being rather less than thirty miles. Two years afterwards, when William Penn had n^turned to England, a purchase was made in another direction. A copy of the deed drawn up on this occasion is now before me, and I shall give it verijatiin. Deed of purchase. 367 Copy of a Deed of Purcliase between William. Penn and the Indians in 1685. This Indenture witnesseth that we, Packenah, Jark- liam, Sikalls, Partquesott, Jervis, Essepenauk, Felktroy, Jlekcloppaw, Ecomer, Mackloha, Metthconga, Wissa, Po^ve3^ Indian kings, Sachemakers, right owners of all lands from Quing Quingus, called Duck Creek, unto Up- lands, called Chester Creek, all along hy the west side of Delaware River, and so betwx^en the saicl creeks back- wards as far as a man can ride in two days with a horse, for and in consideration of these following goods to us in hand })aid and secured, to be paid by William Penn, proprietary and governor of the province of Pennsylvania, and territory thereof, viz, 20 guns, 20 fathoms match-coat, 20 fathoms strong water, 20 blankets, 20 kettles, 20 pounds powder, 100 bars of lead, 40 tomahawks, 100 knives, 40 pairs of stockings, 1 barrel of beer, 20 pounds red lead, 100 fathoms of wam- pan, 30 glass bottles, 30 pewter spoons, 100 awl blades, 300 tobacco pipes, 100 kinds of tobacco, tobacco tongs, 20 steels, 300 flints, 30 pairs scissors, 30 combs, 60 looking- glasses, 200 needles, 1 skipper of salt, 30 pounds of sugar, 5 gallons of molasses, 20 tobacco boxes, 100 jewsharps, 20 hoes, 30 gimlets, 30 wooden screw boxes, 100 strings of beads. Do hereb}^ acknowledge, etc. Given under our hands at Newcastle 2nd day of 8th month, 1685. [The above is a true copy taken from the original by Epiiraim Morton,* of Washington County, Penns^dvania, formerly a clerk in the Land Office.] "•■■ I am indebted for this document to a Friend in Rochdale, in whose family it has been for upwards of fifty years. 368 Elhoood and Justice Fotlterhj. The Indians as well as the colonists were at liberty still to hunt over all the lands which were sold to the Governor, so long as they were not in- closed with fences or walls that would keep out the deer. It has been already stated that Mary Pening- ton visited her daughter at Worminghurst, and died there two weeks after William Penn sailed for America. We next hear of Gulielma Penn through her friend Thomas Ell wood, who in 1683 was brought into some difficulty about a book he had published. The work got into the hands of Sir Benjamin Tichbourne of Rickmansworth, who on reading it inferred that the author had some covert designs to serve, and made it a matter of serious examination. Another magistrate, Justice Fotherly, uniting with Tichbourne, demanded a searching investigation, and appointed a day when the author was bound to appear. In the mean time, before that day arrived, an announcement reached Thomas Ellwood from Wor- minghurst, that his friend Guli Penn was very ill, aiid wished to see him. He hastened first to Justice Fotherly, and explained to him that it would greatly oblige him if the examination of his book could be proceeded with that morning, so as to permit him to go into Sussex to see his friend William Penn's wife. At the same time he staled that she was dangerously ill, and had sent an ex- press requesting that he wouhi lose no time in EUwood and the Ma^jJ strafes. 369 giving to her ; as he had been her intimate friend from childhood. Ellwood says, " While I thus delivered myself, I observed a sensible alteration in the justice ; and when I had done speaking, he first said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's illness, of whose virtues and worth he spoke very highly, but not more than was her due. Then he told me that for her sake he would do what he could to further my visit to her. '' But," said he, " I am only one, and of myself can do nothing in it. Therefore you must go to Sir Benjamin Tich bourne, and see if you can prevail with him to meet me now." He did so, and ex- plained the occasion of his visit. Both he and his lady, who was present, expressed great concern for Guli Penn's illness. Ultimately the justices al- lowed him to go, desiring him " to give their hearty respects and service to Madam Penn, with good wishes for a good journey." Having reached Worminghurst pretty early next morning, he found his friend in a hopeful state and daily improving, so that after a little time he returned home. In the Wycombe manuscript collection of Ell- wood's poems are the following unpublished lines, dated Fifth month, 1683, which were written about this time. 24 370 Letter from GnUelma Penn TO MY FRIEND IN AMERICA. I env}' not nor grudge the sweet content I hope thou takest under thy shady tree, Where many an hour is innocentl}'- spent, Erom vexing cares, from noise, and tumult free, Where godly meetings are not riots made, Nor innocents by stratagems betrayed. But, for mine own part, I expect not yet Such peaceful days — such quiet times to see ; My station in a troublous world is set. And dail}" trials still encompass me ; This is my comfort, that my God is near To give me courage, and my spirit cheer. The blustering winds blow hard, the foaming seas Raise their proud waves, the surging billows swell ; No human art this tempest can appease ; He's only safe who with the Lord doth dwell. Though storms and violence should yet increase, In Him there is security and peace. The following letter is from Gulielma Penn :— To Margaret Fox. Worminghurst, 2nd 6th mo. 1G84. " Dear friend M. F. In a sense of that love and life by which we are united to God and made near one unto another, I salute thee. And, dear Mar- garet, I cannot express the sense I have of thy love and reiiard to me and mv dear husband ; but it is to Margaret Fox. 371 often before me with very great returns of love and affection, and desires for thy prosperity and preser- vation among God's people. I should be exceed- ingly glad if it were my lot once more to see thy flice, but at present I see little likelihood. Yet methinks, if thou foundest a clearness, it would be happier if thou wert nearer thy dear husband and children, but I leave it to the Lord's ordering and thy freedom. " There have been great reports of my husband coming with J. Purvis, A. Parker's brother-in-law ; but he has returned without him, and brought letters. My husband was then very well on the 8th of the Fourth-month, and has some thoughts of coming, but when he did not mention. This puts a stop at present to my going ; but with the Lord I desire to leave It, and commit him and myself to His holy ordering. "I truly rejoice to hear thou art so well, and thy daughters, and their children, and that Thomas Lower had a little time to see them. I perceive they are bad about you, and that thy sufferings are large ; but the Lord can, and I believe will, make it up. In Him is thy great reward for thy mani- fold exercises. They begin to be troublesome in this country also. They have not yet been here, but threaten it, they say. " I desire my very dear love to thy son and daughter Lower, and to thy son and daughter 37^ Letter from William Pen Abraham. We are all pretty well, I bless the Lord. ^' Thy truly loving and affectionate friend, " GuLi Penn." While Guli was writing the ahove, her husband was crossing the ocean on his return home. His arrival in England was announced to their vene- rated friend at Swarthmoor Hall in the following letter : — William Penn to Margaret Fox. ''London, 22nd, 8th mo. 1684. " Dear M. Fox, '' Whom my heart loveth and lionour- eth in the Lord, remembering thee in the ancient love and path of life which is most glorious in mine eyes ; yea, excellent above all visible things. Dear Margaret, herein it is I enjoy the fellowship of thy spirit above time and distance, floods, and many waters. " It is now a few days above three weeks since I arrived well in my native land. It was within seven miles of my own house that we landed. I found my dear wife and her children well, to the overcoming of my heart because of the mercies of the Lord to us. I have not missed a meal's meat or a night's rest since I went out of the country, and wonderfully hath the Lord preserved me through many troubles in the settlements I have made, both as to the government and the soil. I to Mar(jaret Fux. 373 find many wrong stories let in of nie, even by some I love; but, blessed be the Lord, they are the effects of envy, for things are sweetly well with Friends there, and many grow in wisdom. And in the outward things they increase finely. The love of divers Friends, especially those of Lanca- shire and Cheshire, was to thee. Our meetings are blessed, and I think there are eighteen in number in the province. Poor C. Hurst and brother died soon after arrival. Fixing on a low marshy place, for the river's sake, (though a dry bank was not a stone's cast from them,) they had agues and fevers, but no seasoning in any other settlement. " My dear wife relates thy great love to her in my absence, and so she also wrote me word, which affected my heart and soul. I return thee my ten- der acknowledgment. My salutation is to thy dear children, and to Thomas Camm, Leonard Fell, and other faithful brethren. " I have seen the King and the Duke. They and their nobles were very kind to me, and I hope the Lord will make way for me in their hearts, in order to serve His suffering people as well as my own interest. ^' I shall be glad to hear of thy well being, and am with much affection thy faithful friend and brother in the Truth. " William Penn."* * The originals of the two foregoing letter;-; arc in the Thirnheck collections of old MSS., Briitoi. CHAPTER XIII. 1684-1693. William Penn's difficulties about the boundary line of his province. — His outlay without due return. — His influence with James II.— Is accused of being a Jesuit. — His correspondence with Dr. Tilotson. — William Penn at Chester during the King's progress. — King James driven from the Throne. — The Prince and Princess of Orange invited to assume the Crown. — William Penn suspected of treasonable corres- pondence with the exiled James II. — Letter from Gulielma Maria Penn to Margaret Fox. — Death of George Fox. — William Penn arrested. — Examined before the King and Privy Council. — Is im- prisoned. — His writings during his seclusion. — His province seques- trated. — Confiscation of his Irish estates. — Is restored to liberty. — Death of Gulielma Penn. When William Penn left Pennsylvania in the autumn of 1684, he expected to return with his wife and family, as soon as he could secure from the King and those concerned a definite settlement of the boundary line between his province and that of Lord Baltimore. But, in the winter of that year Charles II. died. Nothing had been effectually settled on the matter in question before that event, and hence the Governor of Pennsylvania was com- pelled to remain and watch for an opportunity to obtain a decision. It will be seen by the letter in last chapter from 374 WlUium Pcniis domestic eco)io\ny. 375 Gulielma Penn to Margaret Fox, that the thought of her going to her husband in America had been before them, and she seemed most anxious to carry out his wishes. To live in PhiLadelphia, his own city, the birthplace and home of religious freedom, the beau ideal of his own creation, the spot on earth of all others in which his brightest hopes were centred, was from first to last the desire of "William Penn. He says, in a letter to Thomas Lloyd, dated 16th of First-month, 1685, "Keep up the people's hearts and love. I hope to be with them next fall, if the Lord prevent not. I long to be with you; no temptations prevail to fix me here." Certainly, there was nothing to ^^ him, but much to delay him. The fall came and passed away, but no settlement of the boundary was obtained. Again, when writing to Pennsjdvania, he says, '^ We are all well through the Lord's mercy, and long to be with you, especially the children." William Penn and his wife had systematically contracted their family expenditure, so as to allow as much as possible of their private income being applied to the expenses incident to the planting of a new colony, and the establishment of a new city. Most of the colonists were able working people ; others took considerable property with them ; so that the Governor did not calculate that the de- mand on his purse would be so long continued as it eventually was. His nature was so generous, so unoclfish, that whilst his attention was absorbed in 9 "6 TJic hoaiidanj qacstlon. plans for the accommodation and prosperity of the settlers, he was liable to forget that much of what he laid out would never be returned to him. The sense of justice of corporate bodies, composed of settlers of every creed and class, was not in his ab- sence always to be relied upon, and of this he was sometimes made painfully conscious. He remon- strated when each returning vessel brought call after call for money, bill after bill to be paid by the Governor. At length, in 1686, he peremptorily or- dered that he be not drawn on for another penny ; being then, as he stated, £5,000 in debt on their behalf; and no supplies, no quit rents, coming to him to help to clear it off. Writing to his agent he says, " If I cannot be supplied, I resolve to turn over a new leaf There is nothing my soul breathes more for in this world, next to my dear family's life, than that I may see poor Pennsylvania again, and my wife has given up to go." But it was long before the boundary question was even partially adjusted. ,Lord Baltimore, him- self a Roman Catholic, with many friends at court, was determined not to yield to William Penn's sug- gestions, whilst the latter was too sensible'^f the importance of a settlement to the peace of the colonies to leave it undefined. In the mean time there were other affiiirs of great interest which claimed his attention. When the late King died, there were fourteen hundred Quakers Ijing in the prisons of England for conscience sake. To obtain Lord 2Iacaalays calumnies. jyy their freedom lie exerted himself to the utmost. But a full year elapsed before they were released ; then, by the King's proclamation, the prison doors were opened, and all who were confnied on account of their religion were allowed to walk forth as free men. It was not merely for those of his own society that Penn interposed to have such griev- ances removed as it was in the power of the King to prevent. The removal of every oppressive mea- sure was an absolute pleasure as well as a matter of conscience to him, whoever were the sufferers. Possessing more of King James's confidence than any one else outside the Romish pale, and more than most of those within it, he obtained mercy or justice for many a suppliant by his intercession. It was against this part of Penn's career that the late Lord Macaulay directed those calumnies which have been so ably refuted by Paget, Forster, Dixon, Janncy, and others. A clue to the paltry motive which inspired them will be found in a re- markable anecdote, related at page 108 of William Tallack's Friendhj Sl'ctclics of America. The poet Whittier refers to this subject with his wonted magnanimity in the following lines : — How vainly he laboured to sully Avith blame The white bust of Peiiu in the niche of his fame ! Self-will is seli-wounding, perversity blind, Oil himself fell the stain for the Quaker designed ! For the sake of his true-hearted fiither l)efore him, For the sake of the dear Quaker mother that bore him, 378 Irnpatatlous (ujauhst WtUunn Penn. For the sake of his gifts and the works that outlive him, And his brave words for freedom, we freely forgive him ! Gerard Croese says that '' William Penn was the Quakers' sole patron at court, and on whom the hateful eyes of his enemies were intent. The King- loved him as a singular and entire friend, and often honoured him with his company in private, and that not for one but many hours together, delaying to hear the best of his peers at the same time waiting for an audience." This friendship for Penn was the brightest feature in the life of that unfortunate monarch. But of course such favour brought to the subject of it the inveterate envy of courtiers. As the King's measures and his religion became more and more odious to the nation, the ears of the people were open to every evil rumor that could be invented against those whom he favoured. It was declared that Penn was not merely a Papist, but a Jesuit in disguise. Con- scious of innocence, the victim of these calunniies was slow to regard them in any other light than as absurd slanders, which nobody who wished to knoAv tlie truth would believe. But when at length he was told that even Dr. Tillotson, afterwards Arch- bishop of Canterbury, who knew him and had regarded him as a friend, had been instrumental in circulating the report, he felt that he should no longer keep silent, and the following correspond- ence ensued : — William Pcnn to Dr. TlUut bOU. 319 William Pcnn to Dr. Tillotson. " Charing-cross, 22d 11th mo. 1685. " Worthy Friend, " Being told that Dr. Tillotson suspected me, and so reported me a Papist, — I think a Jesuit, — and being closely prest, I take the liberty to ask thee if any such reflection fell from thee ? If it did, I am sony one I esteemed ever the first of his robe should so undeservedly stain me, fo'r so I call it. And if the story be false, I am sorry they should so abuse Dr. Tillotson as well as mj^self, without cause. I add no more but that I abhor two principles in religion, and pity those that own them. The first is obedience upon authority witli- out conviction ; and the other, tJie destroying them that differ from me for God's sake. Such religion is without judgment, though not without teeth. Union is best, if right ; else charity : and, as Hooker said, the time will come when a few words spoken with meekness, humility, and love, shall be more acceptable than volumes of controversies, which commonly destroy charity, the very best part of true religion. I mean not a charity that can change with all, but bear all, as I can Dr. Til- lotson in what he dissents from me ; and in this reflection, too, if said ; which is not yet believed by thy Christian and true friend, "William Pexx\." 2'So Dr. T'dlotsou to WlUlaui Penn. Dr. Tillotson to William Penn. "Honoured Sir, " The demand of your letter is very just and reasonable, and the manner of it very kind : therefore, in answer to it, be pleased to take the following account. . " The last time you did me the favour to see me at my house, I did, according to the freedom I always use where I profess any friendship, ac- quaint you with something I had heard of a cor- respondence you held with some at Rome, and particularly with some of the Jesuits there. At which you seemed a little surprised; and, after some general discourse about it, you said you would call on me some other time, and speak further of it. Since that time I never saw you but by accident and in passage, when I thought you always declined me, particularly at Sir Wil- liam Jones's chamber, which was the last time I think I saw you ; upon which occasion I took notice to him of your strangeness to me, and told what I thought might be the reason of it, and that I was sorry for it, because I had a particular esteem of your parts and temper. The same I believe I have said to some others, but to whom I do not so particularly remember. Since 3'our going to Pennsylvania I never thought more of it, till lately, being in some company, one of them pressed me to declare whether I liad not heard Dr. TUlotsou to William Feim. 381 something of you which had satisfied me that you Avere a Papist. I answered, 'No! by no means.' I told him what I had heard, and what I had said to you, and of the strangeness that ensued upon it ; but that this never went further with me than to make me suspect there was more in tliat re})ort which I heard than I was at first willing to believe; and that if any made more of it, I should looJ| upon him as very injurious both to Mr. Penn anct myself. "This is the truth of that matter; and whenever you will satisfy me that my suspicion of the truth of that report I had heard was groundless, I will heartily l^eg your pardon for it. I do fully concur with you in ahliorrence of the tioo principles you mention, and in your approbation of that excellent saying of Mr. Hooker, for which I shall ever highly esteem him. I have endeavoured to make it one of the governing principles of my life, never to abate anything of humanity or charity to any man for his difference from me in opinion, and parti- cularly to those of your persuasion, as several of them have had experience. I have been ready on all occasions to do them offices of kindness, being truly sorry to see them so hardly used; and though I thought them mistaken, yet in the main I be- lieved them to be very honest. I thank you for your letter, and have a just esteem of the Christian temper of it, and rest your faithful friend, '^'JOIIN TiLLOTSON." 382 WUlldm Poin to Dr. TlUotfion. William Penn to Dr. Tillotson. "Cliariug-cross, 2Tth 2n(l month, 1686. " Worthy Friend, "Having a much less opinion of my own memory than of Dr. Tillotson's truth, I will allow the fact, though not the jealousy : for, besides that l^cannot look strange when I am well used, I have ever treated the name of Dr. Tillotson with regard. I might be grave and full of my own business ; but my nature is not harsh, my education less, and my principles least of all. It was the opinion I had of the doctor's moderation, simplicity, and integrity, rather than his parts or post, that always made me set a value on his friendship) ; of them perhaps I am a better judge, leaving the others to men of deeper talents. I blame him nothing, but leave it to his own better thoughts, if in my affair his jea- lousy was not too nimble for his charity. I should hardly have endured the same thought of Dr. Tillotson on the like occasion, and less to speak of it. " For the Roman correspondence I come freely to confession. I have not only no such thing with any Jesuit at Rome (though Protestants may have without offence) but I hold none with any Jesuit priest or regular in the world of that communion. And I know not one any where, and yet I am a Catholic, though not a Roman. I have feeling for mankind, and do re not deny others what I crave William Penn to Dr. TlUotson. 383 for myself, I mean lil^ertj for the exercise of mj religion ; thinking faith, piety, and providence bet- ter security than force. " Dr. Tillotson may be confident I am no Roman Catholic, but a Christian whose creed is the Scrip- tures of Truth, of which I hold a nobler evidence chan the best church authority in the world." [Penn goes on to recommend Dr. Tillotson, in order clearly to understand his views, to read his Address to Protestcods, from, page 133 to the end; and to the first four chapters of his No cross. No crown. These he thought should convince him how far away he was from papacy] "to say nothing of our most unceremonious and unworldly way of wor- ship, and their pompous cidt ;' adding, "'Here I shall leave the business, with all due acknowledg- ments of thy friendly temper, and assurance of the sincere good wishes and respects of thy affectionate and real friend, • "William Penn." After the receipt of the aljove letter. Dr. Tillot- son appears to have waited on William Penn to apologise, and to express his entire conviction of Penn's views having been misrepresented. How- ever, that did not prevent the public from continu- ing to say that the doctor believed him to be a Papist, and a letter had even been placed in his hand reiterating the statement. This he forwarded to the Doctor, requesting him to state in writing 384 i)y. TUlotron to Vuiliam Pcup. the suj^stance of what he had said verbally, which produced the following reply. Dr. Tillotson to William Penn, ''April 29th, 1686 " Sir, "I am very sorry that the suspicion I had entertained concerning you, of which I gave you the true account in my former letter, hath oc- casioned so much trouble and inconvenience to you ; and 1 do now declare with great joy that I am fully satisfied there w\as no just ground for that suspicion, and therefore do heartily beg your par- don for it. And ever since you were pleased to give me that satisfaction, I have taken all occasions to vindicate you in this matter ; and shall be ready to do it to the person that sent you the enclosed, whenever he will please to come to me. I will take the first opportunity to visit you at Charing- cross and renew our acquaintance, in which I took great pleasure. " I rest your faithful friend, "John Tillotson." When such a man as Tillotson could be so far misled by popular gossip as to suspect William Penn of being a Roman Catholic, or favorable to their doctrines, and to repeat that apprehension, we need not wonder that shallow thinkers and jealous Penns influence at Court. 385 courtiers would go still further. It is evident, however, that when Tillotson was questioned on the subject he was candid, and honourably and gladly acknowledged his error when the matter w^as clearly explained. But William Penn was more than candid : his was the conduct of the true Christian, who " sufFereth long and is kind ;" — " is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoice th not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." In the letter to James Harrison, his steward at Pennsbury, in 1687, he says, "As yet I cannot get clear, for besides that I am not in my private affairs fit to remove for a stay as that I intend when I come there, I am engaged in the public business of the nation ; and Friends and others in authority would have me see the establishment of the liberty that I was a small instrument to begin in this land. The Lord has given me great en- trance with the King, though not so much as 'tis said, and I confess I should rejoice to see poor England fixt and the penal laws repealed that are now suspended ; and if it goes well with England, it cannot go ill with Pennsylvania. Unkindly used as I am, no poor slave in Turkey desires more earnestly I believe for deliverance, than I do to be w^itli you ; therefore be contented for a while, and God in his time will bring us together." Again he writes, " 8th of Seventh-month, 1687. I am straitened for time, being just come home from the King s progress through Berkshire, Glou- 25 386 King James s '-' Declaration ^ cestershire, Shropshire, Cheshire, Hampshire, and so home. I had two meetings on a First-day at Chester in the tennis court, where were about a thousand people, while the King was there." This is the King's visit to Chester, and William Penn's meeting mentioned in the diary of Dr. Cart- wright, Bishop of Chester, recently published by the Camden Society, wherein he says of King James, " He went to his devotions in the shire hall, and Mr. Penn held forth in the tennis-court, and I preached in the cathedral." William Penn held large meetings in various places, as he moved along Avith the royal party, as at Bristol ; and at Chew in Somersetshire, where the people assem- bled in the open air, there being no building sufficient to contain the crowds. In the spring of the year 1688 King James put forth his Declaration for universal liberty of conscience, and the suspension of the test act. Together with this was published an order of coun- cil, requiring the clergy to read the declaration in their churches. This order was extremely offen- sive to those of the Established Church. " They disapproved of the measure, as being in their view calculated to subvert the Protestant religion ; but the chief ground on which they opposed it, w^as the unpopular prerogative claimed by the King to dis- pense with or suspend at his pleasure the laws of the realm." The Archbishop of Canterbury and six other bishops addressed him, respectfully ex- cvnd deposition. '3^1 plaining to him the reasons for which they could not comply with his command, and they were fortliAvith sent to the Tower. On that occasion William Penn exerted all his influence and power of persuasion to induce the King to liberate them, but he utterly failed. However, they were soon brought to trial, and triumphantly acquitted. It was well known that Penn was opposed to the tests which excluded all dissenters from par- liament. He had written against them in a work entitled Qood Advice to the ClvwrcJi of Emjland. Though printed anonymously^, the authorship was known, and he suffered public odium accordingly. The national indignation was aroused, and was not again to be appeased by King James. In the autumn of 1688 the throne was declared vacant, and the Prince and Princess of Orange were in- vited to take possession of it. William Penn might then have returned to Pennsylvania had he chosen to do so ; but he well knew that such a step would be interpreted unfa- vourably, and he therefore remained to brave the storui. He was soon placed under arrest, and, after being most scrutinizingly examined, nothing could be brought against him which would war- rant his detention. Again and again, as each fresh faljrication was prepared by his enemies, he was brought before the council, but still nothing could be proved. His truthful transparent answers cai'- ricd conviction to the minds of all who were not 388 Pernios letter to Ids council. influenced by bitter party spirit. '^ His manly avowal," says Janney, '' of his continued friendship for the exiled King, who had been his own and his father's friend, was in accordance with his candid and noble character, but in striking contrast with the conduct of some who then frequented the court of the reigning monarch." As the year 1689 waned, there seemed nothing to prevent the Governor of Pennsylvania from re- turning to his province in the ensuing autumn. He had always kept up a regular correspond- ence with his provincial council as a body, and with several of the chief officers of the State, in order to maintain good feeling and a sense of his authority among them. One of his letters written about this time to the council, which Avas composed of Quakers, con- cludes thus : — " And now, Friends, I have a word more to you. It is this; that faith, hope, and charity, are the great helps and marks of true Christians ; but, above all, charity, divine love. Blessed arc they that are come to it, and hold the Truth in it, and work and act in it. Poor indeed they are in their own spirit, but rich in God's. Oh ! come into this love more and more ; it will preserve peace in the Church, peace in the state, peace in families, aye, and peace in particular bosoms. God Almighty draw, I beseech him, all your hearts into this hea- GMielma Perm to Margaret Fox, 389 venly love more and more, that the work of it may shine out to God's glory and your comfort. " For matters here, as to myself, I am well and free, and for the church of God liberty continues. But in the nations of Europe great wars and ru- mours of w^ars. '' I am, in the Truth which makes us near to God and one to another, your faithful friend and brother, " William Penn." The letter which follows has the date of 1690, as an endorsement; and there is reason to infer that it was written in the spring of that year. With the exception of one in the preceding chap- ter it is the only letter from Gulielma Maria Penn that I have ever seen. To Margaret Fox. " Dear and honourable friend, M. F. " With salutations of true, constant, faith- ful love is my heart filled to thee. I feel it in that which is beyond words — in the unity of the spirit of Truth. '• It rises in my mind, as I am writing, something that I saw concerning thee in my sleep long ago — about the time of the beginning of these bad spirits. I thought I saw thee and dear George and many Friends in a meeting, where the power of the Lord 390 G id Id ma Penn to Margaret Fox. was greatly manifested; and methought there came in dark wicked spirits, and they strove exceedingly against the [Divine] life that was in the meeting. Their chief aim was at thee and George, but mostly at thee. They strove to hurt thee, but, methought, thou gottest so over them that i\\Qy could not touch thee, but only tore some little part of thy clothes, and thou escaped unhurt. Then a sweet rejoicing and triumph spread throughout the meeting. That dream was long ago, and the Lord has so brought it to pass that thy life now reigns over them all. It was thee they began with, but the Lord has given and will [further] give thee the victory, to the joy and comfort of thy people. " Dear Margaret, I received thy acceptable letter long since, but have delayed writing to thee, in the hope to give a fuller account of m.j husband and of our going. But the winter and spring have been so severe that letters have been hindered ; and now that many are come, none of them of late dates are for me, because my husband has been in daily ex- pectation of seeing us there, and I am sorr}' for his disappointment. I should have been truly glad to have seen him before going, as thou sayest, but am contented, and desire not his coming merely to fetch us, as I know he has a great deal of business to attend to ; and also know it is not for want of true love or the desire to see us that keeps him, but it is that he must first mind the duties of the place in which he now stands, and do that which is right, Gidielwa Pemi to Margaret Fox. 391 and in which he has peace. If the Lord gives clearness and drawings to come, I would be glad, but see no likelihood at present. " We have been much hindered, and are still, l)y reason of the Friend who does our business here being under some trouble ; having many years ago been bound for a man who is lately dead, and whose creditors are now coming on him ; so that I cannot depend on his remaining here, and know not where to get another that is fit to leave things to at present, which is a great strait to my mind ; my husband writing every letter for us. " I am truly refreshed in the remembrance of thee, and thy lines are very dear to me. I desire thy prayers to the Lord on our behalf, that He may attend us with his sweet and lieavenly pre- sence in our undertaking, and then it will be well with us, whether staying or going. " Dear Margaret, in a sense of this, and in true love I bid thee farewell, and am thy affectionate friend in my measure of the blessed Truth, " GuLi Penn." "P.S. — My very dear love salutes thy daughter Lower, whose sufferings I have a sense of. My love also to thy daughter and son Abraham, and to Isabel if with you."* ■^ From Sylvanus Thompson's collection of MSS. 2^2 Penn accused of trcascncJile The duties of the phice in which William Penn then stood required much wisdom, as his devoted wife well knew. But doing " that which Avas right, and in which he had peace," braught with it a hap- piness wdiich the world could not take away. Autumn came and went, but Gulielma and the children were still unable to visit their transatlantic home. Their cherished plans as to the time for leaving had been overruled, but that prospect was still before them, when, on the loth of Eleventh- month, 1690, William Penn was summoned to the deathbead of his honoured friend George Fox. In a letter of that night, addressed to the absent wddow of the deceased, he says : — " Thy dear husband and my beloved friend finished his glorious testi- mony this night. Oh ! he is gone and has left us with a storm over our heads ; surely in great mercy to him, but an evidence to us of sorrows coming." A storm was indeed gathering over their heads, and it soon burst. A man named Fuller, wdio hoped to be rewarded by those who wxre Penn's enemies, had under oath accused him of conspiring w^itli some others to invite the return of the deposed king. It is possible that, even while writing to Margaret Fox, he may have heard that some accu- sation had been got up against him. His words seem like it, and we are told that the guards sent to arrest him intended to have taken him prisoner wliile attending his friend's funeral; but, having mistaken the hour, they arrived too late. However, correspondence with James 11. 393 they apprehended hhn afterwards, and he was brought for examination before the privy council. He begged to be taken before King WiUiam and questioned in his presence. This request was com- pHed with, and during the investigation which fol- lowed he admitted he had loved King James for the uniform kindness he had met with from him, and, having loved him in his prosperity, he could not dislike him in his adversity. He was willing, he said, to meet his former kindness by any private service in his powder, but in no wise nor under any circumstances had he allowed or could he ever al- low those feelings to influence him to violate his duty to the state. After the most searching examination, the King, having heard his manly and straightforward avowal, wished to discharge him ; but some of the council objected, and he was retained a prisoner in his own hired lodgings in the city. He was not permitted to go abroad, but was allowed to see any friends who might wash to visit him there. He was thus treated as a suspected person, whom it was neces- sary to watch. He again had recourse to his pen, and the three succeeding years of seclusion gave rise to several valuable works. His "fruits of solitude," as he termed them, were numerous and important. One of these publications, which was of great use in that day, and very highly valued by Friends, is entitled, A Key opening the loay to every capacity, hoiv to 394 Peiuis torltu,'US ichlle a prisoner. distiiicjuisli the Relujion ivofessed hij tlie People caUcd Quakers from the Perversions and Misrepresenta- tions of their Adversaries. This work went through twelve editions during the lifetime of its author. Another was entitled An Essay toivard tlie Present and Future Peace of Europe. It proposes that Eu- rope should recognize a General Diet or Congress of Nations, in which every nation should be repre- sented by deputies, and in which national diifer- ences might be settled on just principles without recourse to war. A third is entitled Some Fruits of Solitude, in Reflections and Maxims relatin(j to the Conduct of Human Life. The reflections and maxims which it embodies exliibit the experience of a wise and practical Christian, expressed in brief and pithy aphorisms. A fourth was The Fruits of a Father s Love, with others of more temporary interest. Here again we may recognize the over- ruling hand of our Heavenly Father, whose servant, whilst condemned to solitude by unreasona])le men, was enabled therein to bring forth much fruit. Meantime Fuller, on whose accusation William Penn had been imprisoned, was proved through an- other train of circumstances to be a peijured im- postor. By direction of the House of Commons he was brought to trial, and being found guilty was condemned to severe punishment. Notwithstand- ing this, there were other circumstances unfavour- able to the liberation of Penn. The King had been urged to confiscate his estates, and to this he had His liberty restored. 395 so far yielded as to include his Irish property among the confiscated lands in that country. But King William himself desired to get possession of Pennsylvania. He did not like the precedent of a government established on a basis of peace, with- out any military provision, and early in 1692 an order in council was issued depriving William Penn of his government, and annexing it to that of New York, This was a dreadful blow, for in his settle- ment he had sunk all he could spare from the in- come he derived from his estates, in addition to what had originally been paid for it. But it was not from pecuniary considerations that his greatest trouble arose ; his vested property might still to a certain extent be respected ; it was the impending danger to all his plans for a just, free, and peaceful government which pained him most deeply. Yet, through all, hope never forsook him ; he believed that his government would yet be restored, and his freedom also. But he would not suffer any of his friends to ask, as a favour from the King, for either the one or the other. They must be given him as his right, or not at all. Towards the close of 1693 his personal liberty was restored by the King's order, the intelligence being conveyed through the Secretary of State. In writing to Thomas Lloyd, to inform him and his other Pennsylvania friends of the happy change, he says, " From the Secretary I went to our meeting at the Bull and Mouth ; thence to visit the sane- 39^ Death of GuVielma Maria Penn. tuary of my solitude; and, after that, to see my poor wife and children, the eldest being with me all this while. My wife is yet weakly ; but I am not without hopes of her recovery, who is one of the best of wives and women." It was a happiness and a blessing to the gentle invalid to have her husband and her son again by her side ; but disease had made too deep an inroad on her delicate constitution to be removed. She lived for three months after their return, and then departed for her heavenly home on the 23rd of the Twelfth-month, 1693, in the fiftieth year of her age. She died at Hoddesden, and was buried at Jordans, near the remains of her four children and her mother. Her husband writes concerning her : — " She would not suifer me, after I recovered my liberty, to neglect any public meeting upon her ac- count, saying often, ' Oh ! go, my dearest ; do not hinder any good for me. I desire thee go ; I have cast my care upon the Lord ; I shall see thee again.' About three hours before her end, on a relation taking leave of her, she said, ' My dear love to all Friends,' and, lifting up her djdng hands and eyes, prayed to the Lord to preserve and bless them. About an hour after, causing all to withdraw, we were half an hour together, in which we took our last leave. At her departure our cliildren and most of our family were present. She gently ex- pired in my arms, her head upon m^^ bosom, with Penns testimony respecting her, 397 a sensible and devout resignation of her soul to Almighty God. " I hope I may say she was a public as well as a private loss ; for she was not only an excellent wife and mother, but an entire and constant friend, of a more than common capacity, and great modesty and humility; yet most equal and undaunted in danger ; religious as well as ingenious ; without affectation ; an easy mistress, and good neighbour, especially to the poor : neither lavish nor penurious ; but an example of industry as well as of other virtues : therefore our great loss, though her own eternal gain." CHAPTER XIV. 1694. William Penn's testimony respecting George Fox. — Penn applies suc- cessfully to Queen Mary for a restoration of his chartered rights in Pennsylvania. — Springett Penn's illness. — His death and character. — Removal of the Penn family to Bristol. — William Penn and his son visit Ireland. — He removes with his family to Pennsylvania. — Is cordially welcomed. — Pennsbury past and present. — Slaves employed there. — Efforts in England to break Penn's charter. — Is obliged to return to defend it. — William Penn jun. in Pennsylvania, — His conduct and character. — Philip Ford's fraudulent claims. — Logan's opinion of him. — Penn in the Fleet prison. — Efforts wbf