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 iril^IA^I PE^:^ 
 
 IV m^i u 1718 
 
THE L.IFE 
 
 OP 
 THE 
 
 SETTLER OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 FOUNDER OF PHILADELPHIA, AND ONE OF THE FIRST LAWGIVERS 
 IN THE COLONIES, NOW UNITED STATES, IN 16S2. 
 
 CONTAINING ALSO, 
 
 HIS CELEBRATED TREATY WITH THE INDIANS HIS PURCHASE OK 
 
 THEIR COUNTRY VALUABLE ANECDOTES OF ADMIRAL PENN ALSO 
 
 OF KING CHARLES II., KING JAMES II., KING WILLIAM, AND QUEEIf 
 ANNE, IN WHOSE REIGNS WILLIAM PENN LIVED CURIOUS CIRCUM- 
 STANCES THAT LED HIM TO BECOME A QUAKER WITH A VIEW OF 
 
 THE ADMIRABLE TRAITS IN THE CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE 
 CALLED FRIENDS OR QUAKERS, WHO HAVE DONE SO MUCH TO 
 MELIORATE THE CONDITION OF SUFFERING HUMANITY. 
 
 BY M. li. WEEMS, 
 
 Author of the Life of Washington, ice. 
 
 Character of William Penn, by Montesquieu. 
 "William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made PEACE hii 
 
 firincipjl aim, as the latter did WAR: yet they resemble one another in the singu- 
 ar way of living to which tiiey reduced their people — in the astonishing ascendant 
 tiiey gained over freemen ; and in the strong passions which they subdued." 
 Charactrr of William Penn, by Edmund Burke. 
 " Wlliam Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world. 
 Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men whose virtues and generosity have 
 contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the Freedom and Happiness of 
 ntankixd; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and limes UR- 
 Jcnown, to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives." 
 
 PUBLISHED BY URIAH HUNT, No. 101 MARKET ST., 
 
 JLND SOLD BY TUB BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOCT THE UNITED 8TATB*. 
 Stereotyped Vy L. Jol-iisotu 
 
 183G. 
 
f\ 
 
 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to wit, 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty-seventh day of July, in the fifty- 
 fourth year of the Independence of the United States of America, A. D. 18-2i), 
 URIAH HUNT, of the said District, has deposited in this office the title of a book, 
 the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: 
 
 " The Life of William Penn, the settler of Pennsylvania, the founder of Phila- 
 delphia, and one of the tirst Law-givers in Ihe Colonies, now United States, in 1682. 
 Containing also his celebrated treaty with the Indians — his purchase of their coun- 
 try — Valuable anecdotes of Admiral Penn— also of King Charles II., King James 
 II., King William, and dueen Anne, in whose reigns William Penn lived — Curious 
 circumstances that led him to become a Quaker — with a view of the admirable 
 raits in the character of the people called Friends or Quakers, who have done so 
 much to meliorate the condition of suffering humanity. By M. L. Weems, author 
 of the Life of Washington, &c." 
 
 Character of William Penn, hy Montesquieu. 
 
 "William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made peace his prin- 
 cipal aim, as the latter did war: yet they resemble one another in the singular way 
 of living to which they reduced their people — in the astonishing ascendant they 
 gained over freemen ; and in the strong passions which they subdued." 
 Character of William Penn, by Edmund Burke. 
 
 "William Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world. 
 'Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men whoso virtues and generosity have 
 contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happiness of man- 
 kind ; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and limes unknown, 
 to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives." 
 
 In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled "An Act 
 for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, 
 to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned ;" 
 and also to an Act, entitled, " An Act Supplementary to an Act, entitled, ' An Act for 
 the encouragement of learning, by securmg the copies of maps, charts, and books, 
 to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned,' 
 and extending the benetits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching, 
 historical and other prhits." 
 
 D. CALDWELL, 
 Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ^VIIililAM FENN, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 If, by your ancestors, yourself you rate; 
 
 Count me those only who were good and great. 
 
 If ever a son of Adam and of Eve had cause to 
 glory in the flesh, that son was honest, broad-brimm'd 
 William Penn. " A generation there is," says Solo- 
 mon, " O how they can lift up their eyebrows, and 
 how they can roll their eyes ;" swelling and strutting 
 like the star-taiPd birds of the dunghill, because their 
 fathers before them were knights or baronets ! though 
 all beyond were shoe-blacks or rat-catchers. But not 
 so the noble founder of Pennsylvania. He was oi the 
 " well born,'''' in the worthiest sense of the word. For 
 fifteen generations^ the best and bravest blood in Eng- 
 land had flowed in the veins of his family, unstained 
 by a single act that history should blush to record. 
 No scoundrel sycophants were made drunk at their 
 tables, while the poor tenant's children cried for 
 bread ; nor the needy hireling pined for his pay, while 
 their proud drawing-rooms were filled with costly car- 
 pets and sideboards. No unsuspecting stranger, after 
 sharing their splendid hospitalities, was fleeced of his 
 purse by their gambling arts, and then turned out of 
 doors, to curse the polished robbers. No ! Such stains 
 A 2 
 
6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of pride and villany were never known to sully the 
 Penn coat of arms. For, on the contrary, the Hood- 
 tide of wealth, won by their high-toned virtues, was 
 constantly turned into such active channels of private 
 and public usefulness, that they were the boast and 
 blessing of all the country. And to this day, often, as 
 the traveller through Buckinghamshire, charmed with 
 the stately mansions, shining amidst clovered meadows 
 and fields of golden grain, inquires, ^'-what lovely 
 farms are these F''^ the honest rustic, with joy bright- 
 ening on his sun-burnt face, replies, " why, sir, this 
 is Fenn's Dale ! or Penn's House ! that, is Penn's 
 Wood ! or Penn's Land ! 
 
 As like generally begets like ; and the ring-dove that 
 saddens the grove with his cooings, is never sprung 
 from the fire-ey'd falcon : so many have supposed that 
 our gentle William Penn must have descended from a 
 long succession of Quaker ancestors. But this is al- 
 together a mistake ; for he was the first of that sect 
 ever heard of in his numerous family. Indeed, so far 
 from having been a meekly looking friend, his father 
 was a fierce iron-faced admiral in the British navy : 
 and not as in these halcyon days neither, when British 
 captains, like ladies' lap-dogs, can sleep on velvet 
 cushions, and move about in clouds of sweet-scented 
 bergamot and lavender. But he was a sea captain in 
 the bloody days of Van Tromp, and the Duke of York, 
 when the great rival republics of England and Hol- 
 land were rushing forth, in all their thunders and light- 
 nings, striving for the rule of the watery world. And 
 it is but justice to record of him that, so many were 
 the proofs which he had given of an extraordinary va- 
 lour and skill, he was appointed to the command of a 
 man of war, at the green age of twenty-one. And he 
 continued gallantly fighting, and rapidly rising, till after 
 passing all the degrees of admiralship, such as rear- 
 admiral, vice-admiral, admiral of the blue, admiral of 
 .the red, &c. he had the highest honour of all, conferred 
 
WILLIAM PENN. T 
 
 on him ; the honour to be next in command to the 
 brave Duke of York in the Dutch war of 1665. And 
 the triumph of the British flag in the great and terrible 
 sea-fight in that year was so largely due, under God, 
 to his courage and seamanship, that he was created a 
 knight; aiid was always received at court with the 
 utmost cordiality. Though then but in the middle 
 of his days, (45) yet his constitution was so wrecked 
 by hard services, that he left the sea, and set him- 
 self in good earnest, to prepare for his last great voy- 
 age — to heaven. And it is generally thought that 
 he is safely moored there too : for he was a man, 
 in many respects, of a noble heart : and, for a sailor, 
 uncommonly devout ; as would appear, among many 
 other still better proofs, from the following epitaph, 
 written by himself, on one of his unfortunate sailors, 
 who, drowned with many others on the coast of Deal, 
 was picked up and buried in the church-yard near that 
 place : — 
 
 The boist'rous winds and raging seas, 
 
 Have tost me to and fro ; 
 But spite of these, by God's decrees, 
 
 I harbour here below — - 
 
 Where safe at anchor I do ride 
 
 With many of our fleet ; 
 In hope one day, again to weigh, 
 
 Great Admiral Christ to meet. 
 
 From what has been said of him, most of my read- 
 ers are, I suppose, so well pleased with our honest 
 admiral as to be ready to pray that, if ever he had a 
 son, that son proved to him a Barnabas, a " son of 
 consolation." 
 
 Well, glory to him whose goodness often prepares 
 the richest answer to prayer, even before it is formed 
 in the generous breast ! 
 
 And still greater glory to him who has made us ca- 
 pable of that amiable philanthropy whereby we can 
 
-8 THE LIFE OP 
 
 €end back our sympathies to the generations that are 
 past, and take a hvely interest in the joys of those 
 who hved long before our day. By virtue of this 'tis 
 pleasing to learn of our good admiral that he mar- 
 ried — married early — and begat a son : but not in 
 his own image. For, while the father lived only to 
 represent the miseries of that iron age spoken of by 
 the prophet, when wretched men, blinded by their 
 passions, could rush into bloody fight for filthij hicre, 
 the son lived to give some blessed signal of that golden 
 age to come, when filled with ail the sweetness of di- 
 vine love, men should deem it ^'- glory to suffer the 
 spoiling of their goods for conscience sake.'''' This child 
 of honour was born to the admiral in the year 1644, 
 
 When the incarnate God descended on the earth, the 
 temples of horrid war were shut that selfsame year; and 
 silver-tongued angels were heard to chaunt their an- 
 thems of " Glory to God for coining in the flesh to re- 
 store the golden age of peace and good will anions: 
 mcn.^'' It is not pretended that any testimonials of 
 this high character were given at the birth of this true 
 disciple of the Benevolent Saviour : but it appears, 
 from the unanimous testimony of his historians, that the 
 dove-like spirit of meekness descended upon him even 
 in the cradle. 
 
 And here I cannot but relate an anecdote of little 
 William^ which v/iil serve to show how soon the ideas 
 of moral rigiit, if not innate, may be planted in our na- 
 ture. Ac-cording to that famous historian, Xenophon, 
 the schoolmasters among the ancient Persians, took 
 much less pains to teach their children the knowledge 
 of letters than to inspire them with the love of Justice; 
 because, in their opinion, "Honest deahng among men 
 is far more important to happiness than all human 
 learning." They neglected no opportunity to incul- 
 cate this on the youthful mi&d. U, for example, they 
 saw a little man with a big coat, and a l,>ig man with 
 II little coat, they Vv'ould straight CAl to catechising the 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 9 
 
 child as to what ought to be done in that case. If the 
 child said, exchange the coats ; they answered no : that 
 might be convenience, but not justice. For if the 
 little man, by his virtues, had got himself a big coat, 
 would it be justice to take it away from him and give 
 it to a big man whose idleness had brought him to 
 rags ? 
 
 That the Admiral had taken pains to educate his 
 son in this sublime style, may, I think, very fairly be 
 inferred from the following story of little William 
 when only seven years old. Among his father's ten- 
 ants was a poor man named Thomas Pearce, just such 
 an honest good natured soul as every body loves. The 
 Penn family set great store by him, and especially 
 little William, whom honest Thomas had so often car- 
 ried in his arms, and returning from the Fair, had 
 brought him many a cake and apple. On some sud- 
 den emergence, the Admiral had got Tom with his 
 cart to assist him. After looking, with an air of much 
 sympathy on the poor man, where he wrought till the 
 sweat in big drops trickled down his pallid face, little 
 William came to the Admiral, and said ^'•father anH 
 you going to pay poor Tom Pearce for working for 
 you so .^" 
 
 What makes you ask that, William, replied the Ad- 
 miral. 
 
 Why, because, father, I think you ought to pay him. 
 
 Why so, my son ? 
 
 Why, because, father, I donH see why he should work 
 so hard for you for nothing. 
 
 Well, I dare say, William, I shall pay him. 
 
 But, father, if you don't pay him money, Vll tell you 
 what you ought to do. 
 
 What, my son ? 
 
 Why, father, when poor Tom comes to want any loork 
 done, you shoidd send your wagon to help him. 
 
 My cart, you mean, William, for you see I have only 
 his cart. 
 
10 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Yes, father, hut your 7vagon is not so much bigger 
 ■than his cart as you arc richer than poor Tom.'^'' 
 
 God bless my son, cried the Admiral, embracing him, 
 I hope you'll be a brave, honest-iiearted English- 
 jviAN, as long as you live," 
 
 From a child, William was given to be sedate and 
 thoughtful, which contributed much towards his im- 
 provement of those many providences, such as sick- 
 ness, whether of himself or his parents, death of rela- 
 tions, frightful dreams, thunder-gusts, and so on — 
 which, like "/me on line, and precept on precept,''"' are 
 meant of God to lead even children to wisdom. His 
 mother, of whom he was doatingly fond, often seized 
 such providences to make good impressions on his 
 mind. And these impressions were still more deep- 
 ened by the dismal scenes which his father, sitting 
 by the family fire-side, would often describe, when 
 maddening nations "^o dozen in ships on the mighty 
 waters,^'' to mix in bloody fight, among roaring winds 
 and waves. Sometimes he would tell of the great 
 ships of w^ar — how, pierced by a thousand bullets in 
 the dreadful fight, they suddenly disappear with all their 
 shrieking crews, going down swift into their watery 
 graves, while the dark mountain billows, closing over 
 their hapless heads, leave no sign that there any ship 
 had ever sailed before. At other times he would paint 
 the hostile navies, in close and furious combat, hid in 
 clouds of smoke and flame, when, all at once, their 
 magazines taking fire, they blow up with the sound of 
 a thousand thunders, while hundreds of ill-fated sea- 
 men, torn limb from limb, by the horrid blast, are 
 thrown miles into the air, nor ttiey nor ships ever seen 
 again. 
 
 The earnestness with which little William would 
 listen, and his changeful looks, often bathed in tcars^ 
 strongly bespoke his kindred feelings, and how truly 
 he mourned the wretched victims of war. But among 
 the many things which the Admiral would tell, to im« 
 
WILLIAM PEiVN. tt 
 
 prove the heart of his son, the following seems well 
 worthy of remennbrance, as it marks that constantly 
 superintending providence which directs the affairs of 
 men. 
 
 On board of the Admiral's ship was a young officer 
 of the name of Fenton, the only son of his mother, and 
 she a widow. Fenton was giddy and dissipated in a 
 high degree, which cost his mother many a tear. One 
 day, as drowned in sorrow, she took leave of him 
 going on ship-board to fight the enemy, she repeated 
 all her former good advice, giving him, at the same 
 time, a beautiful little Bible, which she put into a side 
 pocket made by her own hands, over his left breast. 
 The two fleets met, and a most bloody conflict ensued. 
 The ships grappled each other ; and the eager crews,, 
 quitting their cannon, fought hand to hand, with pistols 
 and cutlasses, as on dry ground. In the mortal fray, 
 the decks all covered with the dying and the dead, 
 Fenton was attacked by a stout Dutchman, who, pre- 
 senting his pistol to his heart, drew the trigger. The 
 ball struck. Feeding the shock, Fenton concluded he 
 was mortally wounded, but being naturally brave, he 
 continued to fight on with great fury, though not with- 
 out secretly wondering that he did not fall. On the 
 ceasing of the battle, which terminated in favour of 
 the British, he began to search for his wound. But 
 not a scratch could he find, nor even a drop of blood.. 
 This, no doubt, was great good news to him who had 
 given himself up for dead. He then thought of his 
 Bible, and drawing it from his side pocket, found it 
 miserably torn by the ball, which, but for that strange 
 stop, would have been buried in his heart. The 
 thoughts of heaven and of his mother rushed on his 
 mind. And, for the first tiii>e in his life, he fell on 
 his knees and adored a God. Carefully opening his 
 Bible, he found that the ball, after penetrating one half 
 of the sacred volume, had stopped exactly at that fa 
 mous verse — " Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth^ 
 
12 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth ; 
 and walk in the ways of thy heart and in the sight of 
 thine eyes ; but know thou, that for all these things 
 God shall bring thee into judgment l" Fenton was so 
 struck with this, as a call from heaven, that he imme- 
 diately altered his life ; and from a worthless reprobate, 
 became a Good Christian — that is, A Real Gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 As a man must ask his wifc^ whether he is to be ^ 
 rich man or a beggar ; so, a child must ask his mother^ 
 whether he is to be a wise man or a fool, a saint or a 
 demon for ever. It was in her warm bowels that he 
 first received his " substance^ yet being imperfect ;" and 
 his first pulse of life from her throbbing heart. It was 
 in her fond arms that he found his dearest cradle, and 
 his sweetest pillow on her snowy orbs. There were the 
 first eager drawings of his thirsty lips ; and there the 
 wanton pattings of his fingers, as filled with the fra- 
 grant nectar and gladdened through all his frame, he 
 fell back on her arms, and laughed and jumped and 
 crowed to her strong kissings and chirpings. And still 
 with the rolling years, this tender attachment to his 
 mother continued, " growing with his growth, and 
 strengthening with his strength," because her banners 
 over him M^ere love. Is he frightened? he runs to 
 her for safety. Is he aggrieved? he carries all hig 
 complaints to her dear bosom. And while his father, 
 that hardier parent, can turn away from him and sleep 
 and snore insensible to his moans, he feels his mother's 
 arms still pressing him closer and closer to her heart ; 
 or hears her tender sighs, as, bathing him with tears, 
 she kisses his feverish lips, and answers him groan for 
 groan. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 13 
 
 O happy the child, whose mother, after thus winning; 
 his love, seeks to improve it as a ladder, whereby he- 
 may ascend to Heaven on the pleasant steps of early 
 piety and virtue. This was the favoured lot of young; 
 William Penn. From concurrent testimony of all his- 
 torians of that day, his mother was a daughter of wis- 
 dom. Far different from the credulous millioTi, who, 
 how often soever deceived by the world, will yet go> 
 on, like passionate lovers, to woo and woo again the 
 same perfidious mistress. And though sent home cha- 
 grined and sad from many a joyless ball and rout, will 
 still hope better things from some subsequent adven- 
 ture. — Jli/e ! that zvill do — another suit of diamonds and 
 of silks ! — A new and richer coach and still moreflam-^ 
 ing harness.'''' Thus fond of being led on, like children^ 
 by the butterfly attractions of hope. Not so the wiser 
 Mrs. Penn. Disappointments served but to startle her 
 into thought — and to spring suspicions of this world's 
 vanity. As a delicate bird of the skies, accidentally^ 
 lighting on a barren^ and defrauded of the nectarine 
 food she seeks, instantly lifts the ivory beak and pea- 
 sive eye of disappointment, then, spurning the inhospi' 
 table soil, she spreads her golden plumes and with 
 chirping joy springs towards her native element. Just 
 so it was with the mother of young William Penn, 
 Born for a better, she soon discovered that this world 
 was not the place of lier rest. — " A land of shadows^ 
 where hardly any thing is real but trouble ; and nothing 
 certain but death." Instantly she gave her heart to 
 God. She sought an equal happiness for her son. 
 How could a mother of her sensibility, behold his 
 soft flaxen locks and tender cheeks of youth without 
 tears of solicitude that he might have the Lof.d for his 
 God? 
 
 Such were the views of Mrs. Penn with regard to 
 
 her son. And correspondent was the education which 
 
 she gave him. Oh how different from that which many 
 
 an unfortunate child, now-a-days, receives from an ig- 
 
 B 
 
14 THE LIFE OF 
 
 norant mother, who at the first step leaves out God 
 and Heaven with all the present and eternal advantages 
 of piety ! '-''Come, make haste son,'*'' says she, " and learn 
 your booksya.T\d you shall be a great man by and by^ 
 iy learning his book, she meanSy at most, nothing be- 
 yond a showy, college education, which, though it may 
 increase his pride and arrogance, seldom adds any thing 
 to his DIVINE and social affections^ which alone 
 render young men amiable and happy.. And by being 
 a great man she means only a great scholar ; a great 
 physician; a great lawyer ; making a great deal of 
 money ; building, great houses and so on — and after 
 all, the dupe of his passions, and as miserable as 
 pride, envy, hate, intemperance, and duelling can 
 render him ! The mother of WilHam Penn did not 
 thus direct his immortal affections to mortal goods, 
 thereby filling up his life with feverish hopes and 
 anguish fears ; and all for vanities which he might 
 never win, or soon must lose for ever. Nor did she 
 imitate that other class of mothers^ who,.if they do,, at 
 times, show as though they would lead their children 
 to piety, do not seem to understand wherein it consists^ 
 Many a mother for example, just as her little son is^ 
 dying for sleep, will pull him to her knee, and say 
 " Come, darling, your bed is ready : now say yoixt 
 prayers first. Well, darling,. who made you? 
 
 Half asleep he drawls out — Gon. 
 
 Well,, who redeemed you I 
 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 Well, who sanctified you ? 
 
 The Holy Ghost. 
 
 What did God make you for ? 
 
 To serve him. 
 
 How are you to serve him I 
 
 In spirit and truth. 
 
 Well said, darling ! continues the mother; and 
 praises him for a good boy ; though what the poor thing 
 nas been saying about ^Redeemed'" — " Saiictified^''— 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 15 
 
 * Holy Ghost,'''' and " Spirit and Truth,'''' he no more un- 
 derstands than the parrot does when he prates poor Poll ! 
 poor Poll ! Now what is this but a delusion of Satan lull- 
 ing the silly mother into the fatal conceit that she is 
 making a great Christian of her son, while she is actually 
 keeping him in that ignorance of God which is the 
 true cause of all vice and misery. But Mrs. Penn did 
 not thus catechize her son on the mysteries of Revela- 
 tion Tvhile as yet he was ignorant of the first truths of 
 natural religion. No ! she well knew that before he 
 could " come to God, he must believe that he zs" — ^and 
 that before he could " love him with all his hearf'' he 
 must " know him'''' to be that infinitely great and good 
 being who alone is worthy of all love. It was her be- 
 Hef that the works of God in the creation were pur- 
 posely set off in such a style of grandeur and beauty, 
 and convenience in order to startle all, even the young, 
 into a sense of the perfections of the Creator. Hence, 
 Paul argues that — ^" (he invisible things of God, even 
 his eternal power and Godhead, are clearly seen by the 
 things that are made, insomuch thai if men do not adore 
 him as God, they are without excuse,'''' And hence it is 
 that David so vehemently calls upon all men to ''•give 
 thanks unto the Lord.'' Why ? why " because he is good 
 and his mercy endurethfor ever,'''' — " To him who by wis- 
 dom created the Heavens ^ for his goodness endurethfor 
 evcr,'^ ^^ To him who made the sun to rule the day, 
 and the moon and stars to rule the night ; for hi« good- 
 ness endureth for ever" — "to him who stretched forth 
 the green earth above the mighty waters ; for his good- 
 ness endureth for ever" — " to him w^ho created man 
 but a little lower than the angels -, for his goodness 
 endureth for ever." And indeed it was in these his 
 wondrous works, as in a glass, that the pious in all 
 ages have employed themselves seeing and conversing 
 with the Creator and singing him ceaseless hymns of 
 praise. " We ought,''' says Socrates, " to sing a hymn 
 of praise to God when we are ploughing the sweet scent- 
 
16 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ed earth.'''' — " We ought to sing a hymn of praise to 
 God., when we behold the leaving harvest ; or the or^ 
 chards laden with delicious fruits.'''' — " We ought to sing 
 a hymn of praise to God, when we look around upon the 
 beauties of the fields or survey the glories of the hea- 
 Dens.'''' So much for Socrates, David, and Paul, the 
 three brightest ornaments of the three grand dispensa- 
 tions of religion — Socrates for the Light of Nature, 
 David for the Lav\^ by Moses, and Paul for the Gospel 
 by Jesus Christ — all of whom clearly and harmonious- 
 ly teach us that in educating a dear child for heaven, 
 parents should never think of contenting themselves 
 with'a few shallow notions and shibboleths, but should 
 " dig deep^'' and lay an immovable foundation in the 
 glorious being and attributes of God, as so easily and 
 sweetly discoverable in his wonderful works around 
 us. What parent then, or what child but must read 
 with the liveliest pleasure and interest, the following 
 curious dialogue between little William Penn and his 
 mother ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 William, a fine, plump, fleshy boy, five or six years 
 old, standing at his mother's knees, waiting for her to 
 talk with him ; while she, after pressing him to her 
 bosom, thus, in a sprightly voice, addresses him^^ 
 " Well, William, I want to see if you can answer mo- 
 ther one great question.'''' 
 
 " Well, mother," replied William, his eyes sparkling, 
 ^' come tell me what it is.'^^ 
 
 Well, William, said she, can you tell mother who 
 imade you ? 
 
 Yes, to be sure, mother, that I can, easy enough. God 
 cdid make me, didn't he ? 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 17 
 
 How do you know that, my son ? 
 
 Heigh, mother, didn't you tell me so a matter of a 
 hundred times and more? 
 
 But suppose, William, I had not told you that God 
 made you, do you think you could have found it out ? 
 
 Here William paused — at length replied, indeed 
 mother I don't know. 
 
 Why not, my son, it seems very easy. 
 
 Well then, mother, come tell me. 
 
 Well now, my son, you see that stone that lies there 
 at your feet, don't you ? 
 
 Yes, mother, to be sure I do. And what of that 
 stone, mother? 
 
 That stone is somethings isn't it my son ? 
 
 Yes, to be sure, it is something. 
 
 But how do you know it is somethings William ? 
 
 Heigh, mother, don't I see it ; and don't Jfeelit that 
 it is something ; and a mighty hard and big and heav^ 
 something too. — Here good reader, let us pause and 
 note how soon the divine light of reason darts on the 
 minds of children ! What master of the mathematics 
 could give a better definition of matter , or as the text 
 has it, of something, than little William here does 
 *' Don''t I see it, mother," says he ; don't I feel it that 
 it is something, and a mighty hard and big and heavi/ 
 something too ! 
 
 Well, but, William, continued his mother, how came 
 it to be this something ? 
 
 Indeed, mother, I don't know. 
 
 Well, but does it not strike you, my son, that since 
 it is something, it must have been made so, or, it must 
 have made itself so ? William paused, as if quite at a 
 loss, but at length said : I don't see, mother, how it 
 could have made itself 
 
 Why not, my son ? 
 
 What, this stone made itself! replied he, like one 
 suddenly struck, as at the idea of something quite ab- 
 surd and ridiculous ; this stone made itself! why, dear 
 B 2 
 
18 THE LIFE OF 
 
 me, mother, 'tis such a dead thing ! it can't see ; it can't 
 hear ; it can't stir. I don't see any seyise it had to make 
 itself a stone, or any thing eJse. 
 
 No indeed, William, nor can the greatest philoso- 
 pher of them all see it neither: for in that case it must 
 have had a great deal o^ sense^ which I am sure it has 
 not. Well, now, William, since it is plain that this 
 stone did not make itself, who do you think could 
 have made it ? 
 
 Indeed, mother, I don't know, unless it was father. 
 As he sails the great ships, perhaps he did make it. 
 When he comes home we will ask him mother, won't 
 we ? 
 
 Oh no, said Mrs. Penn, shaking her head and smil- 
 ing ; oh no, William, your father did not make it, my 
 son ; nor could all the men in the world, put together, 
 jxiake it, nor even a single grain of sand. 
 
 William appeared much at a loss at this. But after 
 some silence he went on again with his questions— 
 *' Well then, mother, who did make that stone?" 
 
 Why, my son, answered Mrs. Penn, since it is plain 
 that it had no sense to make itself; and since all the 
 men in the world put together could not have made 
 it, it follows that it must have been made by some 
 mighty one who had wisdom and power to make all 
 things. 
 
 Aye, that's God^ isn't it mother? 
 
 Why yes, to be sure, my son, it is God. It is he 
 made this stone, and all the stones, and all the trees, 
 and all the cattle, and the birds, and the fishes, and all 
 the people, and the mountains, and the skies, and every 
 thing. 
 
 And did not God m.ake me too^ mother, asked Wil- 
 liam? 
 
 Yes, to be sure he did, my son. 
 
 But yet, mother, I'm your little boy, an't I ? 
 
 Yes, that you are, William, and a dear little boy too, 
 ii)Ut still God did make you for all that. Since all the 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 19 
 
 men in the world, as I said just now, could not make 
 one grain of sand, then O how could I make such a 
 beautiful little boy like you. 
 
 And so don't you know any thmg, mother, how 1 
 came to be made? 
 
 No indeed, my son, no more than that stone there. 
 When I married your dear father, I did not know any 
 better than that stone, whether I was to have you or 
 not. Or whether you were to be a little boy or not ; 
 or whether you were to have fine black eyes or not. 
 I make you, indeed, William ! when I cannot make 
 even "one hair of your head white or black." And O 
 how could I have made so fearful and wonderful a 
 frame as yours, when even now that it is made, it is 
 all a perfect mystery to me. See ! I place my hand 
 upon my son's heart, and I feel it beating against my 
 fingers ; but still I know nothing about how it beats. 1 
 put my hand upon his sweet bosom, and feel it heav- 
 ing as he breathes, but still I am ignorant of it all. 
 And when I look at him every morning, as he break- 
 fasts on his little basin of milk and bread, Oh I'm lost ! 
 I'm lost! I'm lost! 
 
 Heigh, for what, mother? cried William, surprised. 
 
 Why for wonder how his milk and bread, white as 
 snow, should be turned into blood red as crimson ; and 
 how that blood soft as milk should be turned, some 
 into sweet little teeth, white and hard as ivory ; and 
 some into soft flowing hair like silk ; some into sweet 
 polished cheeks like rose buds ; and some into bright 
 shining eyes like diamonds ! Could I have made you, 
 William, after this wonderful manner ? Oh no my son, 
 no — not all the men on earth, nor all the angels in 
 heaven, could have done it. No, none but the great 
 God could have made you. 
 
 As good Mrs. Penn uttered these words, which she 
 did with great emphasis, William appeared lost in 
 thought ; however, after some silence, and with a 
 
20 THE LIFE OF 
 
 deep sigh, he looked up to his mother, and thus went 
 on with his questions again. 
 
 Well, mother, what did God make me for? 
 
 Why, for his goodness' sake, my son, which loved you 
 BO, he wanted to make you happy. 
 
 How do I know, mother, that God loves me so ; I 
 did never do any thing for him ? 
 
 Well, son, and what did you ever do for me, and 
 yet I have always loved you very dearly, havn't I. 
 
 Yes, mother, but I always see you ; but I did never 
 see God. 
 
 True William, nor did you ever see your grand-fa- 
 ther Pennwood ; but still you know that he loved you, 
 don't you ? 
 
 Yes, mother, that 1 do know that grandfather Penn- 
 wood loves me, for he is always sending me such 
 pretty things. He sent me, you know, mother, my 
 pretty tame rabbits, and my pretty little horse, and a 
 great many other pretty things. 
 
 Well then my son, if God gives you a great many 
 more pretty things than grandfather Pennwood ever 
 did, won't you say that he loves you too ? 
 
 Yes, that 1 will, mother. 
 
 Done ! 'tis a bargain, William. And now, my son, 
 brighten up your thoughts and tell your mother who 
 gives you every thing. Who gave you these beautiful 
 eyes ? Who gave you these sweet rosy checks ? Who 
 gave you this lovely forehead ? Who gave you these 
 dear ivory teeth ? And these nimble little feet for you 
 to run about — and these pretty fingers to handle every 
 thing? And who gave you all the sweet apples, and 
 pears, and cherries, for you to eat ? And the birds to 
 sing, and the bees to make honey-comb for you ? And 
 this beautiful earth with all the sweet flowers, and 
 corn, and trees ? And then who gave you these bright 
 heavens away up yonder, and the sun, the moon, and 
 the stars, all, all to shine so bright for you — O my dear, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 21 
 
 dear son, did grandfather Pennwood ever give you any 
 thing like all this? 
 
 Here, William, his bosom labouring as with sighs of 
 wonder, replied, O mother, did God give me all these 
 things ? 
 
 O yes, to be sure, William, all these things ; and 
 ten thousand thousand times more than you can ever 
 count. 
 
 Well then, mother, God must love me very much 
 indeed, to give me all these things. But mother, what 
 does God want from me that he gives me so many 
 beautiful things ? 
 
 Why, William, all that he wants of you, my son, is 
 that you should love him very much. 
 
 Well but, mother, what good will that do to God 
 though I should love him very much ; I am only a little 
 boy, I can't reach up to the skies to give him any thing ? 
 
 True, William, but still God wants you to love him 
 very much ; not that you may give him any thing, but 
 that he may give you a great deal more. 
 
 How, mother ? 
 
 Why, son, because he knows that if you love him 
 very much, you will be sure to be a good boy. 
 
 How so, mother ? 
 
 Why, my son, don't you know that if you love any 
 body very much, it will be sweet to you to do what 
 will please them ? 
 
 Yes, mother, that is sweet. And don't I always run 
 to do what will please you? When you told me just 
 now to run down into the garden to bring you up 
 some roses, didn't I set off and run away, like my little 
 buck that grand-pa' Pennwood gave me ? 
 
 Yes, that's what my son did run like a little buck, I 
 could hardly see his feet, he did run so fast. And when 
 he came back, O how beautiful did he look ? Not all 
 the roses in the garden could blush like his cheeks — 
 laot all the morning sloes could shine like his eyes— 
 
22 THE LIFE OF 
 
 not all the buds of pinks could smell so sweet as his 
 quick panting breath when, with his arms round her 
 neck, and his flaxen locks floating on her bosom, he 
 did hug and kiss his mother. 
 
 Well then, come mother, let me hug and kiss you 
 again. 
 
 God bless my sweet little son for ever, cried Mrs. 
 Penn, pressing him to her snowy bosom, and smother- 
 ing him with kisses. Soon as the delicious transport 
 was over, little William, with cheeks and eyes glow- 
 ing with vermilion and diamonds, called out, well, 
 mother, now tell me what 1 must do for you again, 
 and see how I will run and do it. 
 
 There now, William, cried Mrs. Penn, there now ! 
 didn't I tell you so ? Did'nt I tell you that if you love 
 any body very much, you will be so happy to do 
 every thing for them ? Then, O my son, how readily 
 will you do every thing to please God, if you do but 
 love him? 
 
 What will I do to please him, mother? 
 
 Why, my son, you will be good^ and that's the way 
 to please him. 
 
 But what is it that makes any body good, mother ? 
 
 Why, to be always praising God, my son, to be al- 
 ways praising God, that's the first and great thing, to 
 be good, to be always praising God. And there's no- 
 thing in the world my son, but God, who deserves to 
 be praised. He alone, William, is great, and there- 
 fore he alone is to be praised. He alone is good, and 
 therefore he alone is to be praised. He alone is from 
 EVERLASTING to EVERLASTING, and therefore he alone 
 IS to he praised. He alone made all the worlds, and 
 all the people, with all the riches, and beauties, and 
 glories that are in them, and therefore he alone is to 
 be praised. 
 
 Here, little William, sensibly affected with his mo- 
 ther's eloquence on this great subject, made a pause ; 
 
WILLIAM PENN. QS 
 
 at length he said to her, But, mother, is praising God, 
 all that is to make me good ? 
 
 O no, my son, there's another blessed thing you 
 must do — you must not only praise God for all the 
 great things he has done for you, but you must also 
 every day prai/ to him that he will give you a con- 
 tinual sense of this ; so that you may feel such grati- 
 tude and love for him as always to do v/hat you know 
 will please him. And from constantly doing^ this, my 
 dear son, you will feel such a joy and sweetnejis in your 
 heart as will make you love every body. And then, 
 William, you will be sure never to do them any harm 
 — you will never tell stories upon them — never take 
 any thing from them — never quarrel nor fight with 
 them, but will always do them good as God is always 
 doing you good. 
 
 Well, mother, replied W^illiam, looking at her with 
 great tenderness, " and will God love me then, and be 
 always good to me like you?" 
 
 O yes, my dear child, that he will love you like me ; 
 and ten thousand thousand times better. And then, 
 though father and mother die and leave you, yet God 
 will never die and leave you, but will be with you all 
 your days long, to bless you in every thing. And wherr 
 the time comes for you to die, he will send his Great 
 Angels to bring you to himself in his own glorious 
 heaven, where you will see all the millions of beautiful 
 angels. And there perhaps, my son, you may see me, 
 your mother — ^but, I hope, not as now, pale, and 
 sickly, and often shedding tears for you — but ten thou- 
 sand times beyond wiiat I could ever deserve ; even 
 like one of his own angels, the first to embrace and 
 welcome you to that happy place. 
 
 As the Parent Eagle calling her young to his native 
 skies, when she sees the breaking forth of the sun over 
 all his golden clouds, thus did this tender mother im- 
 prove the precious hours of the nursery to sow the 
 seeds of religion in the soul of her son. The reader 
 
24 THE LIFE OF 
 
 will see m due season that this, her labour of love was 
 not in vain. The seed fell on good ground. The 
 dews of heaven came down : and the happy mother 
 lived to feast on fruits, the richest that God can bestow 
 on a parent this side of eternity, the sweet fruits of a 
 dear child's virtues. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Little William going to school. 
 
 Many a tender mother, after having reared her son 
 to be the sweet companion of her solitude, looks for- 
 ward, with an aching heart, to the day when he is to 
 be taken from her to go to school. " How can she 
 live without him, whose love-glistening eyes were al- 
 ways dearer to her soul than the rising-sun, and his 
 gay prattling tongue than the song of morning birds." 
 Not so our wiser Mrs. Penn. With her, the blossom 
 had all its charm : but still her thoughts were on the 
 richer fruit. William, 'tis true, was lovely as a child ; 
 but she longed to see him glorious as a man — she 
 longed to see him brilliant in conversation — noble in 
 action — and always approached by his friends v.'ith 
 that mingled affection and respect so gratifying to a 
 parent's feelings. Soon therefore, as he had attained 
 his ninth year, he was sent to a grammar school at 
 Chigwell. The preference was given to this academy^ 
 not so much because it was somewhat convenient to 
 one of the admiral's estates, but because of the 
 teacher, a worthy clergyman, who had the reputa- 
 tion of taking great pains with his pupils to raise the 
 fail- fabrick of their education on the solid basis of 
 PIETY and morals. Prayers, morning and evening, 
 with reading a chapter from the gospels, with short 
 
WILLIAM PENN. . $5 
 
 and affectionate comments, was the constant practice 
 in his school. This was a great recommendation with 
 Mrs. Penn, who had seen so many promising young 
 men suddenly lost to all virtue and character in life, 
 merely for lack of religious principles. But though 
 Mrs. Penn had herself chosen this situation for her son,, 
 yet when the time came to make preparations for his 
 leaving her, she could not help feeling a tender melan- 
 choly. Nor could William, notwithstanding the spright- 
 liness of youth, entirely escape the soft infection. For 
 several days before he was to go away, it was observed 
 that he seemed to have lost his spirits. In the midst 
 of his play, he would break off and come and sit by 
 her side, in silence, reposing his cheeks on her bosom. 
 And often, when he lifted his eyes to look at his mother, 
 they w^ere seen watery and sad. But, stifling her own 
 sighs, she would press him to her breast, and kissing 
 away his tears, would say, " never mind, my son, never 
 mind ; our parting is unpleasant, but it is for good, for 
 great good both of your honour and my joy. But still I am 
 pleased to see you so sad at parting from your mother. 
 It shows that you remember how much I have loved you. 
 But though we part,William,it is only in the body; which 
 is but small cause of grief. The mind is all,, my son^ the 
 mind is all; and we can be together in the mind. Andso, 
 though I shall not see you, every day, with these bodily 
 eyes, I shall see you with my mind's eye, which is a 
 great deal better. And, O, how often, and how sweet- 
 ly shall I see my son ; every morning coming out from 
 his chamber in dress so neat and clean — and with such 
 sweetness of countenance saluting his school-mates — 
 and so respectfully approaching his teacher ! And then 
 the looks of his teacher so bright with pleasure and 
 approbation of his graceful manners and rapid progress 
 in his studies ! — ^and the eyes of all the boys shining 
 upon him with such brotherly affection !" 
 
 Here William looked at his mother and heaved a 
 sigh, as if he secretly feared he should hardly attain 
 
m THE LIFE OF 
 
 such honours ; when Mrs. Penn, in a hveUer tone, thus 
 went on : — " Yes, WiUiam, it is often dehghtful to my 
 thoughts to see my son in such company : but I often 
 see him in higher company still. I see him every 
 morning and evening on his knees^ with placid coun- 
 tenance and meekly beaming eyes, lifted in devotion 
 to his Creator."" 
 
 Marking William's looks, as with redoubled atten- 
 tion he hung upon her words, she still went on : 
 
 " Aye, William, there's the true grandeur and glory 
 of all ! O, to think that I should ever have a son to 
 
 CONVERSE WITH GoD !" 
 
 " Well, mother," said Wilham, " Don't I always 
 pray with you night and morning, as you taught me ?"' 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Penn, " that you do, William ^ 
 and that gives me good hope you will continue that 
 pious practice at school. But lest the company of so 
 many boys, and some of them perhaps giddy^ should 
 divert you from it, I want to make a bargain with you, 
 my son." 
 
 " What's that, mother ?" said William, eagerly, 
 
 *'Why, here's a handsome watch, William," said 
 she, taking one from her bosom ; " that I have bought 
 for you. It keeps good time, just hke my own. Now^ 
 William, I give you this watch, that at a particular 
 hour of the day, no matter what company or business 
 is before you, you will retire to your chamber, and there 
 spend one quarter of an hour in devotion. 1 will also,, 
 at the same moment, retire to my closet, for the same 
 important purpose. And O, what joy will it be to my 
 heart to think that while I am in the act of adoring 
 God, my son is adoring him also ; that while others are 
 making th^ir court to dying worms, my son is bowing 
 before the Eternal King, and seeking those honours 
 that will last for ever." 
 
 William took the watch from his mother, giving her 
 at the same time the most solemn promise that he 
 would meet her every day at the appointed hour of 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 27 
 
 devotion ; and assuring her, too, what pleasure it would 
 give him to think he was worshipping God at the same 
 moment with his dear mother. 
 
 Having discharged this high duty to her son, and the 
 hour being come for his departure, Mrs. Penn took 
 leave of her little William with that dignified kind of 
 sorrow which alone can reach the heart of real piety. 
 While William, having on this, as on all other occasions, 
 such good cause to glory in his mother as his dear 
 guardian angel, took leave of her with a joy mingled 
 with his tears that made them delicious. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 William, now in his ninth year, is at Chigwell 
 school, among a crowd of strangers. But though inno- 
 cence like his feels not the bitterness of grief, yet the 
 separation, and for the first time too, from a mother so 
 dear, must wring some drops from his youthful heart, 
 it is visible to every eye, nor least of all to his worthy 
 preceptor. And if this amiable man, at first sight, felt 
 guch respect for him, as the son of the brave admiral 
 Penn, that respect was mellowed into the kindest sym- 
 pathy, when he saw his cheeks of youth shrouded with 
 sorrow. This melancholy was of advantage to William. 
 It caused him to think so dearly of his mother's last 
 command, that every day, punctually as the appointed 
 hour arrived, he would retire to his chamber to pray. 
 But although, as he himself candidly acknowledged, 
 this pious act was at first performed principally on ac- 
 count of bis mother's request and his own promise ; yet 
 he soon began to find a delight in it. He soon found, on 
 entering his chamber, a crowd of precious ideas press- 
 ing upon his mind. — He felt that " he was acting the 
 dutiful child to a beloved mother — that beloved mo- 
 
38 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ther was at the same moment in her chamber to meet 
 him — and both of them engaged in the most ennobling 
 of all services — the worship of God." 
 
 Christ has said, " Suffer the little children to come 
 unto me." And some are of opinion that, in uncor- 
 rupted minds, like those of children, it requires nothing 
 but a little consideration to bring them to be religious ; 
 and that if young people, who are yet tolerably innocent, 
 would but retire awhile, every day, into some secret 
 place, and indulge a few serious thoughts, such as — 
 how they came into existence — where they are now — 
 and where they soon must be — they could not but be 
 startled into a solemn conviction of the being and at- 
 tributes of God ; their dependence on him ; and the 
 great wisdom of devotion. This appears to have been 
 remarkably verified in the case of young Penn. It ap- 
 pears from all his biographers, that he had not been 
 long engaged in this pious work of daily retiring by 
 himself, like the youthful Samuel, to meditate and pray, 
 before he was met, like that holy child, with a wonder- 
 ful answer. One day, while alone in his chamber, he 
 was suddenly surprised by a light of a most extraordina- 
 ry lustre, which he called " an external glory." And 
 at the same time he experienced in his heart a light- 
 soMENESS and joy which he had never felt before. And 
 though he could not define either this internal or ex- 
 ternal something ; yet to his dying day, he spoke of it 
 as " A VISITATION FROM GoD," who had thus lovingly 
 condescended to invite him to the "honours of a pious 
 
 LIFE." 
 
 Some gentlemen, and those too so modest as to think 
 themselves the only wits in the world, will probably 
 laugh at this as a mere childish weakness in young 
 William Penn. But such persons ought to remember 
 that William Penn is not the first nor the last who has 
 been affected in this way in their devotions. Thou- 
 sands and millions of souls, especially at first turning 
 their backs on a false and wicked world, and coming 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 29 
 
 to God in tender upright prayer, have felt the same 
 " LIGHTSOMENESS AT HEART," which he speaks of as 
 a " visitation from God^''"' a call to the " honours of a 
 PIOUS LIFE." And where is the wonder of all this ? 
 Is man, for whom God created, and has so long sus- 
 tained these heavens and this earth, is man of so little 
 value, that his Maker will not visit him with smiles of 
 approbation for doing what w^ill exalt him to the great 
 end of all, i. e. temporal and eternal happiness ? Be- 
 sides, is not every man and woman on earth daily re- 
 ceiving visitations from God, and calls to the honours 
 of a pious life ? What is every transport which the 
 soul feels on obtaining the victory over lust, but a visi- 
 tation from God ? What is every secret blush of shame, 
 or palpitation ef heart from guilt, but a visitation from 
 God, and a strong call to a good life ? After this ex- 
 traordinary affair at Chigwell, we hear nothing of 
 young William worth relating, until his fifteenth year, 
 when we meet him again at Oxford college. From a 
 very important occurrence there, we have good rea- 
 son to conclude that if he had not doubled his talents, 
 (his religious impressions) at Chigwell, he had not bu- 
 ried them in the earth. Hearing that a strange sort 
 of preacher, by some called a Quaker, was about to 
 preach in Oxford, William thought he would go and 
 hear him. The appearance of the preacher, who had 
 neither reverend, nor right-reverend tacked to his 
 name, but simple Thomas Loe, excited his surprise. 
 He had been accustomed, both in the London and Ox- 
 ford churches, to see divinity dressed up in great state 
 of velvet cushions and embroidered pulpit cloths, and 
 its ministers pompously habited in rich gowns and 
 cassocks of silk and crape, with surplices and sashes 
 of many a various hue and emblem. Guess then what 
 he must have felt, when, at the rising of Thomas Loe 
 to speak, he beheld a plain, fleshy, round-faced man, in 
 a broad-brimmed hat and drab coat of the humblest 
 .•cloth and cut, and a close snu;^ neckcloth, all shining 
 c 2 
 
30 THE LIFE OF 
 
 clean and neat. Nor was he less surprised at friend 
 Loe's preaching, which struck him as entirely different 
 from that of all the London and Oxford preachers he 
 had ever heard. These latter were, all of them, great 
 SCHOLARS ; and for fear their hearers should forget this, 
 they kept them constantly on the stare at their high 
 flown language. And to complete their delirium of 
 wonder, they would every now and then throw them 
 a scrap of Latin or Greek, selected with ostentation 
 and most pompously pronounced. But, far on the 
 contrary, soon as friend Loe had got up and taken the 
 beaver from his head, he began to address his hearers 
 in the simple and affectionate manner that a father 
 would use with his children whom he knew to be dis- 
 orderly and unhappy. We regret that we cannot set 
 before our readers an exact copy of the famous sermon 
 that first set the great William Penn to seek eternal 
 life. But it was the aim of the orator to affect his 
 hearers with a pungent sense of the miseries of man 
 in this life, while separate from God by sin ; also that 
 "joy unspeakable^'''' which springs up in his soul from 
 " repentance and faith working by love^ The lookf? 
 and tones of friend Loe, while reasoning on this high 
 subject, must have been of the highest style of sacred 
 eloquence. Flowing from a fountain of the strongest 
 light and love in his own soul, they penetrated the soul 
 of young William Penn, and excited his deepest as{)ira- 
 tions after a happiness which he heard so feelingly 
 described, but which he did not knov%^ how to obtain. 
 After bearing this burden for three days, he went to 
 the principal of the college, who, according to the po- 
 lite language of the day, was a learned divine , and 
 told him his uneasiness. The principal inquired the 
 cause ; and, on learning that he had been at a " quaker 
 sermon^'''' he laughed all his feelings to scorn, as mere fa- 
 naticism and nonsense , and advised him to " keep to 
 the good old church, hear sermons, and take the sacra- 
 ment, and all would soon be well auain.*" William 
 
WILLIAM PENN 31 
 
 went to church — as indeed he ever had done — but he 
 found not there the comfort which his soul longed 
 after. Cold read prayers ; cold read sermons ; noisy 
 organs, with crowds of gay ones and great, professing 
 to worship God, but evidently idolizing themselves and 
 one another. 
 
 Oh how illy did such vanities suit the seriousness of 
 a mind like his ! No wonder that he turned from them 
 disgusted, and went away as restless and unsatisfied as 
 he came. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 William Penn does not inform us how long he 
 continued under this cloud. Probably not long. He 
 who asks nothing but the salvation of his offend- 
 ing children, is not hard to be intreated when he sees 
 the contrite heart, and honest wish, for the blessedness 
 of reconcihation with their heavenly father. O, would 
 mourners but remember that " God is Love," and 
 that " there is joy in heaven over one sinner that re- 
 penteth," they would not mope and mourn as many 
 do, yea, and for great part of their lives. Our Saviour 
 has given us the true pattern in the case of the prodi- 
 gal son. There does not appear to have been much 
 time lost betwixt the conviction and conversion of 
 that young man. " Soon as he came to himself," for 
 you see that while going on in sin, he is represented 
 as one quite out of his head, — " soon as he came to 
 himself," and found at what a mad rate he had been 
 driving on — what a princely fortune he had squan- 
 dered — and into what a woful condition he had brought 
 himself — and also remembered what a wealthy and 
 loving father he still had left him, he instantly resolved 
 to face about and pack of)" home ag'>in. The moment 
 
32 THE LIFE OF 
 
 he took up tliis resolution, the blessed work was all 
 but done. For, " while he was yet a great way off, 
 his fatlier saw him ; and had compassion on him, and 
 ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him." The 
 young man began to make a speech^ but the father stop- 
 ped him short. He saw that his poor self-ruined child 
 was a penitent. And that was all he wanted. Be- 
 sides, rtrue love " will have mercy and not sacrifice." 
 his^on is naked and cold, and hungry and wretched. 
 This is no time, the father thinks, to hear fine speeches. 
 With all the vehemence of parental love yearning over 
 his own flesh and blood a sutiering, he cries aloud to 
 the servants, " bring hither the best robe and put it 
 upon him ! and kill the fatted calf!" O how does the 
 divine goodness break forth in this language ! not sim- 
 ply the robe but the best robe ; not merely the calf 
 but the TATTED calf. And all this, good as it is, is not 
 half good enough yet. The rich robe on his shoulders 
 must be accompanied with glittering " rings on his 
 fingersi;" and the fatted calf must be diluted with pre- 
 cious. wm^. And then music too must come — music 
 with all rher soul-enchanting strains, to proclaim the 
 happy father's joy, that " his son, who was dead, is 
 alive.; he v/as lost, but is found." Now Christ hold^ 
 ing out^uch love and forgiveness, what are we to think 
 of those who can be so long '^ seeking peace and not 
 finding it ?" Is there not ground for suspicion that they 
 are not honest, like the prodigal, to return home to 
 their heavenly Father, but must still stick to some of 
 ^eir *' husks and swine^^ of sin, which God abhors. 
 Their grum looks indeed, and godly groanings would 
 pass them, already for saints ; and the preacher often 
 woaders why brother Longface "doesn't find peace." 
 But put on your spectacles, thou purblind preach- 
 er, and try brother Longface's spirit, whether he has 
 any marks of that " love," which must always go be- 
 fore "peace and joy in the Holy Ghost." 'Tis true 
 " he disfigures his face and seems to men to fast ;" but 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 33 
 
 still see how he " grinds the face of the poor," and 
 ** devours widows' houses." He uses long prayers in 
 his family ; but see how harsh and unloving he is in his 
 manners towards them. He will spruce up and go 
 fifty miles to a "• Conference ;" to an " Associa- 
 tion ;" to a " Convention ;" to a " Presbytery ;" to 
 hear great sermons and to take a sacrament. But, how 
 far will he go out of his way to pay a just debt? He 
 builds " Cathedrals for the Lord of Hosts ;" but oh! 
 what wretched huts for his own servants ! He " makes 
 feasts for the rich,'''' but alas how are his poor negroes 
 lied ! His own sons and daughters wear " soft raiment 
 as in kings^ houses," but his slaves are in rags! And is 
 it to be wondered at, that God, the friend of the 
 POOR, does not lift up the light of his countenance on 
 such a hypocrite ? 
 
 Happily for William Penn he had none of these 
 hindrances in his way to religion and its comforts. 
 Through the promised blessing on a pious mother's 
 instructions he had been early brought to relish the 
 pleasures of moral goodness. Soon therefore as that 
 good spirit which spoke to Socrates, which spoke to 
 Cornelius, and which speaks to all, whispered to Wil- 
 liam Pena, and said " this is the road ; walk therein,^* 
 he was ready to obey. 
 
 Fortunately recollecting, that while friend Loe was 
 preaching, several of the youth of the college, his ac- 
 quaintance, had appeared much affected, he went to 
 their chambers, and after some search found out seven 
 or eight ; among whom was Robert, afterwards lord 
 Spencer, and John Locke, the writer of the famous 
 ^' treatise on the human understanding," and who, 
 'tis said, was in principle a friend all his life. Drawn 
 together by kindred sentiments, these favoured youth 
 immediately formed themselves into a society, that by 
 reading the scriptures, with free and mutual inter- 
 change of their feelings, and by prayer, they might 
 preserve and improve tlieir pious impressions. Find- 
 
54 'S'HE LIFE OF 
 
 ing more of the spirit and sweets of devotion in these 
 warm Httle exercises with one another, than in the 
 cold formahties at the estabhshed church, they began 
 to absent themselves, and to spend their sabbaths to- 
 gether in the aforesaid excellent way. This their se- 
 cession from the church was soon noticed by the 
 professors of the college, and with much pain, on ac- 
 count indeed of them all, but chiefly of William Penn, 
 partly because of his father, a favourite officer with 
 the nation, but still more for himself, whose extraordi- 
 nary talents at the green age of fifteen, had advanced 
 him to the first honours of the University, and whose 
 singular sweetness of spirit and many manly virtues 
 had rendered him the object of general partiality. "A 
 youth of such amiableness and promise, was not to be 
 lost." He was of course sent for by the principal, who, 
 M^ith an air of parental tenderness, began with him by 
 expressing his regret, that he had not followed the ad- 
 vice he lately gave him. He also expressed his asto- 
 nishment that a young man of his rank and genius 
 should so dishonour both, by exchanging the rational 
 and dignified service of the churchy for a worship so 
 insipid and childish as that of the quakers. 
 
 William rephed, with great modesty, that Christ 
 himself had invited the little children to come unto 
 him ; for that his kingdom, or church, was composed 
 ©f such. He added, ^' that however the great ones of 
 this world, when waited on by their inferiors, might 
 look for pomp and parade ; yet to the Almighty all 
 this was abomination in comparison of that approach 
 (of the soul to him in the meek and docile spirit of a 
 child." 
 
 The pnncipal branded all this as mere delusion., 
 and entreated him, by all that he owed his parents, to 
 whom he might afford a long life of comfort — by all 
 that he owed his country, to which he might be a bright 
 ornament — and by all that he owed the churchy to 
 *yho5e ^OTJ such talents and early piety as his would 
 
WILLIAM PENN. $S 
 
 greatly conduce^ to give up his fanatical notions^ and 
 return to the faith he was born and brought up in. 
 
 Wilham replied, that all this was xery flattering, 
 and far beyond any thing he could think himself enti- 
 tled to ; but that if it were ten times greater, he could 
 not grieve the Spirit and darken the Light within him^ 
 
 This latter phrase appeared to hurt the principal ; 
 for knitting his brow, he said, he hoped Mr. Penn 
 would not compel him to use severe measures^ 
 
 William asked what he meant by that. 
 
 " Why, sir, I shall be obliged to indict you for now 
 conformity.'''' 
 
 " That is, in plain English, you mean to persecute 
 me ; to drive me to your church contrary to my own 
 reason and conscience. And what good can you ex- 
 pect to do me by that ?" 
 
 " It is to keep you^sir, from the crying sin of schism. 
 There cannot be a greater sin, sir, than for Christian* 
 to separate from one another." 
 
 " I see no ground, sir," said William, " far such a 
 fear. I do not see how Christians can possibly sepa- 
 rate from one another in a bad sense of the word. The 
 lambs of the fold never separate^ yea, though they may 
 differ in the colours of their fleeces, some white and 
 some black, yet still being all the san>e in innocence 
 and gentleness, they do not separate, but cleave to 
 one another by a natural affection. Even so, and in- 
 deed much more must Christians cleave to one ano- 
 ther. I am sure they have infinitely sweeter and dearer 
 ties to bind them together. For what is it, sir, that 
 makes real Christians but '-perfect love out of a pure 
 HEART ;' and how can they who possess it themselves, 
 but be charmed in others with that blessed spirit which 
 is to do away all fraud and violence from the earth, 
 and fill it with all the precious fruits of universal righ- 
 teousness ?" 
 
 " Well then, sir," said the principal, how can you 
 separate from the good Christians of our church, and 
 
36 THE LIFE OF 
 
 that too the very ehurch your were born and brought 
 up in ?" 
 
 William replied, with the trepidation of one who 
 feared he should give offence, that he had retired from 
 the church he was born and brought up in, because he 
 had not found in it what he prized above all things — 
 the sweet society of loving Christians. 
 
 To this the principal returned with warmth, that it 
 was great presumption in one so young as he was, to 
 pass such a sentence on any church, and especiaJlj on 
 the venerable mother church of the nation. 
 
 "I was afraid, sir," replied William, "that you 
 would be offended, I did not wish it : but as you talk- 
 ed of persecuting and fining me for non-conformity^ I 
 felt it a duty to tell you my reasons. And now, sir, let me 
 add, that, though I do not pretend to know their hearts, 
 yet while I see among the members of the church, so 
 little of the spirit of Christ, so little love for their bre- 
 thren, or so little delight in doing them good ; and, on 
 the other hand, so much pride^ and hate, and revenge, 
 and flesh-pleasing of all sorts, how can I think them 
 loving Christians ?" 
 
 A profound silence ensued ; when the principal, call-^ 
 tng him "an incorrigible young man,''^ took up his 
 hat ; and, as he turned to go away, advised him to look 
 sharp, and be constant at church, or he should sooa 
 Blear from him again. 
 
 But to cut short this shameful story, I will just first 
 inform the reader, that William Penn and his religious 
 young friends, for " assembling themselves together to 
 worship God, contrary to law,'''' were summoned before 
 the HIGHER POWERS, and severely fined I ! 
 
WILLIAM PENN. S7 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 As soon as it was known in college that he had 
 turned Quaker, that he had been cited before the prin- 
 cipal, and fined for non-conformity, the looks and man- 
 ners of his acquaintance were sadly altered towards 
 him ; and he had the mortification to find that those 
 who had caressed and courted him, because of his ta- 
 lents and high standing, now squinted at him as tliough 
 he had just come out of the pillory. 
 
 That William Penn, by bravely combining the wis- 
 dom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove, 
 might ultimately have borne down this prejudice, and 
 turned his enemies into friends, there can be no doubt. 
 People may laugh at the Quakers if they please, but 
 laughing cannot alter the nature of things. Born to be 
 happy, -men naturally love happiness, and hate misery. 
 And as virtue naturally makes men happy, and vice 
 naturally makes them miserable, this natural loveliness 
 of the one and hatefulness of the other, will force 
 themselves upon us in spite of all the nicknames we 
 can give 'em. And this conviction will daily grow 
 stronger, as we grow wiser to understand the curses 
 of the one and the blessings of the other. The young 
 man who, by lies, keeps his acquaintance in hot water 
 — or picks their pockets by his gambling — or cuts 
 their throats in duels, — will quickly be abhorred, no 
 matter how much he is cried up as a Churchman. 
 While the youth who is uniformly virtuous and good 
 humoured, will soon become the esteem and love of 
 all, even though fools should at first laugh at him as a 
 Quaker. That young Pcnn and his friends, by dint of 
 persevering prudence and affection, would have gained 
 this triumph, is unquestionable. But oh the weakness 
 of poor human nature I how prone to error, and by 
 excess of folly to throw " dead flies into the apotheca' 
 ri/'^s sweetest ointment,'''' These same young men, viz. 
 
38 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Wm. Penn & Co, who but a few days before had beea 
 amartly taxed for not conforming to other people's no- 
 tions^ were ready now to tax others for not conform- 
 ing to their notions ; and having given up all variety 
 o( dress themselves, they thought that others ought to 
 do so too, and even to be compelled to do it. This is 
 confirmed by their own act ; for meeting some of theii 
 young college acquaintance in dresses that to them 
 seemed highly fantastical and unchristian, they began 
 to remonstrate with them against such levity: and be 
 cause the young fellows laughed at them as '-'•fanatics,'' 
 they fell upon them outright, and by main force ren* 
 their clothes from- their shoulders ! ! This most impu 
 dent act was to William Penn like the uncorking of 
 the vial of the seventh angel. It was followed by such 
 floods and &torms of trouble, that had not his mind 
 been stayed on the " rock of ages," he must have been 
 utterly swept away. He was instantly cited before 
 the Professors and Trustees of the College, in the pre- 
 sence of the assembled students, and after having his 
 conduct arraigned of such hypocrisy and folly as were 
 sufficient to burn his cheeks to cinders, he was formal 
 ly expelled! 
 
 This, though a most severe trial to an ingenuous 
 youth like William Penn, was but a trifle in compari 
 son of what he yet saw before him — the red fiery tern 
 pest of his father's face when he should be told of hrs 
 expulsion from college, and the cause of it ! and. 
 worse still, the sudden paleness of his dear mother'* 
 cheeks, and her starting tears, on hearing of his dis- 
 grace. Willing, long as possible to delay giving them 
 this pain, he purposely declined writing to his parents, 
 preferring to be the bearer himself. Accordingly he set 
 out for Penn's Dale, where his sudden appearance 
 struck them with surprise. " Hallo William !" cried 
 his father with joy, giving him his hand ; " why, what, 
 my son ! returned to por<^ already i 1 hope you hav'nt 
 met with foul weatnei I " Hia mother , roused by the 
 
WILLIAM PENN- ^ 
 
 €udden music of William's name, turned around with 
 her face all flushed with joy, and flying to embrace 
 him, exclaimed, " High, my dear William ! what 
 brought you home so soon ?" Alarmed at the sudden 
 paleness on his cheeks, they both at once eagerly in- 
 quired what was the matter ! With his characteristic 
 firmness he replied — ^^ Pm expelled from the University P"* 
 Pale as a blighted lily, poor Mrs. Penn stood a statue 
 of speechless consternation ; while the Admiral, clasp- 
 ing his hands and rolling his eyes, as if he had sudden- 
 ly beheld half his fleet blown up by the Dutch, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Expelled from the University !" 
 
 " Yes, sir, they have expelled me," replied William, 
 
 " Expelled you, do you still say, child," continued 
 the Admiral, wild, and blowing like a frightened por- 
 poise, " a child of mine expelled from an English Uni- 
 versity ! why I — why i — what ! in the name of God, 
 could have been the cause ?" — " Why^ sir," answered 
 William, " it was because I tore their dresses from off 
 the shoulders of some of the students." — Here, the 
 Admiral, with his cheeks puckered up, and a whistle, 
 shrill as the boatswain's call of a man of war .missing 
 stays on a lee shore, exclaimed — =" You tore the dresses, 
 from off the shoulders of some of the students ! why' 
 God's mercy on my soul ! what had you to do witjj^ 
 their dresses ?" - - 
 
 " Why, father," answered William, " their dtess?^ 
 were so fantastical and unbecoming the dignity of^ 
 Englishmen and the sobriety of Christians, that I felt 
 it a duty to my country and conscience to bear my 
 testimony against them. And moreover, I was assist- 
 ed in it by Robert Spencer, and John Locke,and other 
 discreet youths of the college." 
 
 Here, the death pale on Mrs. Penn'fi cheeks, bright- 
 ening into the vermilion of joy, she exclaimed — " We'U 
 thank God ! thank God, 'tis no worse*" 
 
40 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " You are thankful for small favours, madam,'' 
 said the admiral, peevishly ; I don't see what could be 
 worse. 
 
 Why, my dear, replied she, had William been ex- 
 pelled for drunkenness, gambling, duelhng, or any 
 other such detestable vices, would not that have been 
 ten thousand times worse ? 
 
 Why — why — ^yes ; answered the admiral rather re- 
 luctantly, that — that would have been worse I confess. 
 But this is bad enough, and too bad too. A son of 
 mine to be expelled from college ! — Such a thing was 
 never heard of in my family before. 
 
 But still, my dear, we have great reason to be glad 
 the cause of it was a pardonable error and not infamous 
 vice, and that instead of attaching to our son the ab- 
 horrence due to crime, we should rather augment our 
 respect for him as having done what he thought right. 
 
 Rights madam ! what right had he to pass judgment 
 on the dresses of others, and particularly of such grand 
 institutions as Universities ? 
 
 Why, father, replied William, my mind has been ex- 
 ceedingly exercised since I saw you. 
 
 Exercised ! What do you mean by that? 
 
 Why, father, it has been given me here of late to see 
 jnany things in a new light. 
 
 8c Zounds, sir, I hope it has not been given you to see 
 pengs in the light of a blockhead. A child, hke you, 
 «x talk of your new lights ! 'Tis all nonsense. 
 "^ I mean, father, replied William, that it has been 
 given me to see many things \eTj wrong which I once 
 thought innocent. 
 
 The admiral wanted to know what he was to un- 
 derstand by that. 
 
 Why, certainly, father, answered William, every wise 
 man should be consistent ; and especially that wisest 
 of all men the real Christian. If therefore we are 
 simple witliin we should be all simplicity without. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 41 
 
 And he who inwardly in his heart is seeking the smilei 
 of God, should not outwardlj, by his dresa, be court- 
 ing the world. 
 
 Here good Mrs. Penn, her eyes sparkling on William, 
 looked very much like an angel. But the Admiral 
 turning to her said, rather ironically, why the boy it 
 certainly out of his head ! or has been among the qua- 
 kers. Now come be candid, William, and tell .me, have 
 you not been hearing Tom Loe ? 
 
 Yes, father, I have, said William, very firmly; and 
 J hope I have not learned from him to think less re- 
 verently of truth. 
 
 Nor of duty to your father neither, I hope, sir, re- 
 joined the admiral tartly. And as proof that you have 
 not, I expect you will go back to-morrow, and by pro- 
 per concessions, recover your high standing in the 
 University, and by instantly quitting your silly quakec- 
 ism, worship God according to the good old forms of 
 the established church of the nation, 
 
 William in the most respectful manner replied, that 
 he should be exceedingly happy to obey his honoured 
 father in all things lawful, and especially in this late 
 matter, the attack on the students about their dress, 
 which he was already ashamed of as a mere spirit of 
 " zeal without knowledge^'''' and entirely contrary to the 
 spirit of Christ who forbids his disciples to strive or to 
 propagate the truth by violence. But that as to aban- 
 doning the Christians called Quakers, and confining 
 himself to the established church, he hoped, he sai(£ 
 his father would not insist on that. 
 
 Why not, sir ? replied the admiral angrily. 
 
 Why, because, father, I hope you will never think 
 of abridging my liberty of conscience by compelling 
 me to be a churchman when I wish to be a quakei:. 
 
 But why do you give that silly preference o/ qua- 
 kerism to the established church ? 
 
 Why, father, peoples' tastes are different. And if I 
 preferred a particular dish, 1 should hope vou would 
 D 2 
 
42 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gratify me in it, especially if it was quite as wholesome 
 ^s another dish, even though 1 could not assign the 
 reason of my preference of the first ; then much more 
 m this case where the reason is so plain. 
 
 Well, sir, I should like to hear your reasons, so plain, 
 for preferring quakerism to the established church you 
 were brought up in. 
 
 Father, I may not have arguments to satisfy you; 
 but they are such as fully satisfy myself. 
 
 Then pray let me hear them. 
 
 Well, father, when I look into the gospel, I see no- 
 thing there but lessons and examples of the most per- 
 fect HUMILITY and LOVE. All are ^' sinners^'''' and 
 therefore all should be humble. And, on repent- 
 ance, all are received into favour, and therefore all 
 should love. But father, look into the established 
 church, and do you see any thing like humility and 
 love there ? Nay, don't j^ou see the most glaring marks 
 of PRIDE and SELFISHNESS ? Dou't you see both among 
 the priests and their people a constant vieing with each 
 other, who shall have the grandest houses, and the 
 richest furniture ; who shall appear in the finest clothes 
 and the most dazzling equipage ; and who shall be the 
 greatest talk of the town for these things ? Now fa- 
 ther, is there any humility in this ? And as to love, 
 look at their endless challenges and duels, their cutf- 
 ings and fightings, their law-suings and bickerings. 
 Can this be a church of Christ ? Then where 's the 
 propriety of driving me into fellowship with such a 
 church as this ? 
 
 Yes, replied the admiral, 1 know this is the common 
 slang of the dissenters against the established church ; 
 and I doubt not you heard enough of it from Tom Loe, 
 out it amounts to nothing : for there are good and bad 
 ?n a}! churches. 
 
 Yes, father, but do you know any such character as a 
 drunken quaker, a gambling quaker, a duelling quaker, 
 \ law-suing quaker. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 43 
 
 Well, well, admit there are more disorderly charac- 
 ters among them, it reflects nothing on the Church. 
 
 I don't know, sir, how you can prove this. There 
 can be no eifect without a cause. And we cannot be 
 long at a loss for the cause in this case when we look 
 at the glaring corruptions of the clergy. Christ and 
 his apostles had not where to lay their heads, but our 
 bishops and archbishops live in kings' palaces. Christ 
 and his apostles had neither scrip nor purse ; but these 
 ride in gilt coaches, and enjoy, each of them, a reve- 
 nue sufficient to maintain five hundred poor families. 
 Christ and his apostles wanted only the plainest lan- 
 guage to tell sinners their misery and danger : but our 
 clergy must have their Latin and Greek, and a thou- 
 sand other things equally useless. And they set so high 
 a price on these, and lay themselves out so entirely to 
 get these, that they never get the spirit of Christ's 
 preachers ; hence, instead of that burning zeal with 
 tears and vehemence we read of in the prophets and 
 apostles, these gentlemen run over their prayers and 
 sermons, like lazy school-boys impatient of their lessons 
 and anxious to get through them. I hope therefore, 
 my dear father, you will never compel me to a church 
 with whose spirit and manners I can have no fellow- 
 ship." The admiral listened to this discourse of his son 
 without interrupting him, and with looks still gather- 
 ing, as William went on, a deeper and a deeper shade 
 of saddest disappointment, till at the close, strongly 
 clasping together his uplifted hands, with a kind of 
 sardonic grin he thus exclaimed, — " Well ! my pigs 
 are all brought to a fine market I And here's a pretty 
 ending of all the bright castles that I have for years 
 been building in the air for this boy ! A lad of genius — 
 getting a complete college education — the only child 
 of a British admiral — great friends at court — the 
 high road to preferment all ahoy before him — and yet 
 determined to turn his back on all, and hve and die a 
 poor despised quaker ! Why, God's mercy on my soul. 
 
44 THE LIFE OP 
 
 boy ! can you submit to all this ? you who might have 
 been among the first in the realm in any walk you had 
 chosen to turn yourself too. If to the army, a general — 
 if to the navy, an admiral — if to the law, a chief jus- 
 tice — to medicine, a court physician — to divinity, a 
 bishop or lord primate ! And now with all these 
 grand prizes completely under your guns, will you haul 
 down your colours, and in a three-buttoned drab, and 
 broad beaver, go sneaking about the world, or sitting 
 half asleep and twirling your thumbs at a silent meet- 
 ing with Tom Loe ; a superstitious blockhead, no more 
 to be compared to one of our learned divines, than a 
 Duch cock-boat, to a British line of battle-ship." 
 
 William, but little affected by this glittering landscape 
 which his father had so eloquently run over, was about 
 to reply, but the admiral, with anger flashing from his 
 eyes, interrupted him, saying, " Harkee young man ' 
 I know you have a clear head and a fluent tongue, 
 till this most unfortunate hour they were my delight ; 
 but in such a cause as this, I never wish to hear them. 
 All that I have to say to you is, that you will let me 
 know, to-morrow morning, whether you will go back 
 to the University and do as I have desired you, or not. 
 And take notice, sirrah, that if you do not, you are 
 no longer a son of mine, and never again shall you 
 darken my door. Retire with your mother to her 
 chamber. I know she has always been a greater fa- 
 vourite with you than myself. Perhaps she may do 
 something with you." 
 
 Having long been accustomed to command his head- 
 strong thousands, among whom disobedience is instant 
 death, he had learned, when angry, to curl his whis- 
 kers and clothe his looks in such terrors, that the gen- 
 tle Mrs. Penn durst make no reply. So taking her son 
 by the arm she slowly retired, in tears, to her chamber, 
 leaving the admiral in a state of feeling which my rea- 
 ders can better conceive than I describe. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OiV retiring to her chamber, Mrs. Peim threw her 
 Lrms around WiUiam's neck, and sitting down with 
 him, still locked in her embraces, she shed many a 
 pearly drop into his bosom. Melted by this dear pa- 
 rent's kindness, he tenderly asked, — " Mother, do you 
 blame me for doing what I thought my duty V 
 
 In tones soft as the whispers of love from a mo- 
 ther's lips, she replied — " No, my son, I do not. But 
 still it grieves me that you should ever have done any 
 thing to offend a father who so dotes on you. Besides, 
 why can't you be rehgious and yet attain all the ho- 
 nours and CONSEQUENCE in life that are before you ?" 
 William, with a look inclined to smile, for which he 
 was, through life, most remarkable in the gloomiest 
 scenes, said, " Why, mother, you are the main cause 
 of all this." Astonished, she asked him what he 
 meant. " Why, my dear mother, it was your dia- 
 logues, your blessed dialogues in the nursery, that first 
 brought me to God, and will you now be so cruel as to 
 pull me back again ?" 
 
 " No ! no ! not for ten thousand worlds," replied she 
 earnestly ; " but can't you walk with God, and yet be 
 rich and great in this world ? We read in the scrip- 
 tures of Joseph, and Daniel, and others who were great 
 saints, even in the courts of idolatrous kings." 
 
 " Aye, mother," said William, shaking his head, " all 
 this is possible, but it is dangerous. Christ, you know, 
 says, ' not many rich, not many great' are among his 
 humble and loving family. Many, indeed, are call- 
 ed, and for a time make a goodly show ; but the 
 smiles of the world, and the deccitfulness of riches, 
 prove too strong for them ; so that though ' many are 
 called^ but few are chosen."* A sweet flower is some- 
 times seen on the highways and among the rocks, but 
 it is rare. A (it soil, mother, is not more necessary for 
 
46 THE LIFE OF 
 
 flowers than a fit society for saints ; and had they but 
 enjoyed such, there would have been more Daniels 
 and Josephs than one in Egypt, and Chaldea. And 
 besides, mother, what is all this pomp and grandeur 
 of the world, which my father so anxiously covets for 
 me ? These chief justices and lord mayors, these 
 
 GENERALS and ADMIRALS, thcSC BISHOPS and ARCH- 
 BISHOPS, are great names ; yet, after all, what are they 
 but splendid paupers j and many of them, in the midst 
 of their fancied greatness, as mean-spirited, and grip- 
 ing, and furious, and miserable as the beggar who knows 
 not to-day where he is to get his brown crust to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 His mother here giving him a brightened look, as if 
 to say, " Yes, indeed, all this is but too true, my son," 
 he thus went on. — " Yes, mother ; and look here at my 
 dear father : he is all that he wishes me to be, that is, 
 a great and prosperous man — he is high admiral of the 
 British navy — a great favourite at court — has his town 
 houses and country houses, his clocks and carpets, his 
 rich plate and gilt coaches, and, in short, every thing 
 that his heart can wish ; and yet, mother, what is he 
 the better for it all ? O where's his happiness, that 
 ' one thing needful^'' which certainly every reasonable 
 being should propose to himself as the only true end 
 of all his riches and grandeur ? Where his meekness 
 and sweetness of spirit ? and where's that majesty 
 and charm of goodness which expresses true love ? 
 O if he loved God truly, would he not rather a thou- 
 sand times see me, like Moses, ready to suffer persecu- 
 tion with the people of God^ than enjoy eveti in a palace^ 
 the pleasures of sin, which are but for a season ! And if 
 he loved me truly, would he not a thousand tinies 
 rather see me pass my moment of earthly being in the 
 sweet and safe vallies of humility and innocence, thaa 
 on the dangerous mountains of pride and worldly 
 mindedness ?" 
 
 Such truths from the lips of an only son whom she 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 47 
 
 sd delighted in, contributed greatly to comfort Mrs. 
 Penn in this affliction. So, after some pause of sweet 
 and grateful thought, she said, " Well, William, what 
 will you answer to your father to-morrow concerning 
 the requirement he made of you just now T" 
 
 " Why, mother," answered William very firmly, " I 
 will never forsake God. I owe him every thing : yes^ 
 my dear mother, as you so often told me, when I was 
 a child at your knee, I owe God every thing ; and feel 
 that I ought to give myself back to him. And besides, 
 he alone is worthy of my affections, and he alone can 
 to all eternity give me that mighty happiness I was 
 created for. I am determined, therefore, never to 
 'eave him, nor to form any connexion that may jeopar- 
 dize my devotion to him." 
 
 As Mrs. Penn was too well acquainted with her 
 husband's temper to cherish the most distant hope 
 that he would ever relax one iota of his threats, she 
 began to study how William should be disposed of, 
 when turned out of doors by his father, which she 
 foresaw was inevitable. Several expedients were pro- 
 posed ; but that finally adopted by them both, was, 
 that he should go into Buckinghamshire, and live with 
 her mother, until his father's anger should be turned 
 away from him. 
 
 The expulsion of a child, an only child, and that a 
 son so faultless and beloved, is an idea so unnatural, 
 that most mothers would sicken and turn from it with 
 horror. Fortunately for Mrs. Penn, her soul wa& 
 greatened by religion. She had ever wished above all 
 things that her son should be a lover of God. But still 
 she had fondly hoped that, together with this greatest 
 of all honours, he might enjoy the honours of this 
 world too. And though it was a sad disappointment 
 that this could not be ; and that he must give up the 
 one or the other, it still afforded her inexpressible 
 satisfaction, that her dear boy, young as he was, yet 
 possessed faith sufficient to trample the world under 
 
48 THE LIFE OF 
 
 his feet, when it came in competition with his duty to 
 God. Such were the thoughts which accompanied 
 this amiable mother to her pillow, there sweetly to 
 revolve that security and peace which she had such 
 good reason to hope would attend her son through 
 life. "Wilham may not be great ; but, which is far bet- 
 ter, he will, I trust, be good ; and though fools may 
 account his life to be madness^ and his end ivithout ho- 
 nour^ yet I hope heHl be numbered among the sons of 
 God, and his lot among the saints.'''' Nor did William 
 pass that night in such sleepless trouble as might 
 have been expected. 'Tis true, that as he pulled ofi^ 
 his clothes to go to bed, he felt a strange shock at the 
 thought that this night might be the last night he should 
 ever pass in that dear chamber. And when he looked 
 around him on his venerable forefathers, whose pic- 
 tures were hanging on the wall, the idea that he was 
 about to be exiled from their family, and by his own 
 father, too, occasioned a sudden sinking at heart. But, 
 favoured youth ! his eye was singly fixed on God, and 
 on the glory of doing his will ; and thenceforth sprung 
 up that '•'■peace which passeth all understanding.'''^ 
 In this frame of mind he sought his bed, where, 
 amidst thoughts soft as the summer moon-beams that 
 silvered the bosom of night, he composed himself to 
 sleep, happy as the youthful sailor-boy who, amidst 
 his descending slumbers, hears, without alarm, the 
 crash of surrounding billows, because he remembers 
 that his ship is of the strong-ribbed oak and iron, 
 and that his father, a skilful pilot, presides at the all- 
 directing helm. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 49 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The next day, immediately after breakfast, which 
 was passed in perfect silence, the looks of the admiral 
 and Mrs. Penn expressing most eloquently their respec- 
 tive characters — his the angry sternness of parental 
 authority disputed, and hers all the solicitudes of con- 
 jugal respect artd maternal tenderness combined. Soon 
 as breakfast was over, the admiral, taking his lady and 
 William into his study, with a constrained kindness 
 thus addressed the latter : — " William, you are my 
 child, my only child, the child of all my affections and 
 of all my hopes. I feel, therefore, that I must be most 
 Unhappy if I part from you, and especially by your 
 own unduti fulness. I hope you have thought seriously 
 of these things. Now will you go back to the Univer- 
 sity, and, by proper concessions, recover your honour- 
 able standing, and also renouncing Tom Loe and his 
 silly quakers, return to the bosom of the estxVBlished 
 
 CHURCH ?" 
 
 With all the meekness yet firmness of an honest 
 quaker, William replied, that he had " turned his 
 thoughts to the light within ; and that while he felt, with 
 exceeding affection, how much he owed to his earthly 
 father, he owed still more to his heavenly, and there- 
 fore could never offend him, by 'sinning against the 
 light, and endangering his own soul." 
 
 " Well, then, you will not go back to the establish- 
 ed CHURCH !" replied the admiral, angrily. 
 
 " While my present convictions remain, father, I can 
 never leave the quakers." 
 
 " Well then, sir," rejoined the admiral, quite dark 
 with rage, " you must leave me :" and ordered him in- 
 stantly to quit the house. 
 
 Deeming it fruitless to reply or remonstrate, William 
 took up his hat and went out of the room, leaving his 
 father in a frame of mind not to be envied. His eyes 
 E 
 
50 THE LIFE OF 
 
 on fire — his motions furious and convulsive — and his 
 face alternately deformed with deadly red and pale, a 
 true index of the stormy passions within. He has turn- 
 ed out of doors his only child — has turned him out in 
 helpless inexperienced youth — not for any crime that 
 he has done, nor for the shadow of a crime, but only for 
 wishing to be more devout — he sees 1»he eyes of his 
 son, glistening on him through tears, as he goes away — 
 he hears the clap of the door behind him, and the sound 
 of his departing feet, as it dies away along the descent 
 of steps. All is silent, save the cries of his mother in 
 her distant chamber, for her '•^ poor banished hoy.'^'' He 
 rolls his eyes around him on his spacious halls and 
 splendid furniture. " Sideboards ! and clocks ! and pic^ 
 tures ! what are you all to a wounded spirit /" 
 
 To be wretched in poverty and obscurity were no- 
 thing. There would be no sting of disappointment to 
 evenom the smart. But to be wretched in spite of 
 titles — in spite of court favours — in spite of all his 
 branching honours and golden treasures ! this is hel} 
 unmixed. Alas ! poor man ! He is miserable but knows 
 not the cause. He knows not that it proceeds, as his 
 own child had told him, from lack of humility an(J 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 But leaving the admiral and his grand castle and 
 gaudy carpets, to confirm the words of eternal truth, 
 that " a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of 
 the things he possesseth," let us see what has become 
 of William. Like the first ancestor, Adam, turned 
 out of Paradise, so fared it with the youthful Penn, 
 expelled from his father's house, " some natural tears he 
 shed^ but wiped them soon.'''' His conscience was clear ^ 
 his heart was cheered ; so, deep inhaling the luxom 
 air, and breathing his pious ejaculations to heaven, 
 he sprung forward to his journey, fully trusting in the 
 promise that " all things shall work together for good 
 to them that love God." His course, according to the 
 aforesaid concert with his mother, was towards " tht 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 51 
 
 traveller's rest,'^'' in Buckinghamshire, the elegant and 
 hospitable mansion of his grandmother, who received 
 him with exceeding joy. This great lady was pious in 
 an uncommon degree ; and having, just as William ar- 
 rived, got a letter from her daughter, stating at large 
 the history of this extraordinary transaction, she was 
 so charmed with him on account of his early piety, that 
 her eyes sparkled on him with pleasure. " What^ my 
 dear, dear child,'''' said she, pressing him to her bosom, 
 — " sweet image of your mother ! — turn you out of doors 
 because you could not content yourself with being a poor 
 dead formalist and hypocrite ! Oh my Lord what will 
 this world come to ! parents turn their children out of 
 doors ordy because they 7vish to be God's children! 
 And worse still, can bear to see their children bloated 
 with pride, pale with envy, burning with rage ^ and yet 
 think them good enough rf they have but been baptized, 
 go regularly to church, say their prayers after the priest, 
 and take the sacrament ! Oh ! what signify all these 
 proud titles, and grand castles, and court-smiles, when 
 their owners can be so blind and miserable /" I kave 
 not been able to ascertain how much time William 
 passed in the society of his excellent grandmother ; 
 but it is more than probable that the days of his exile 
 w^ere not many. The heart of his father yearned to- 
 w^ards his ruddy-cheeked boy ; and this tender attrac- 
 tion, added to the eloquence of his lady's importuni- 
 ties, soon prevailed. William was, of course, recalled 
 home, to the infinite joy of the whole family; not ex- 
 cepting the servants, who doted on him ; for from his 
 childhood, he was remarkable for his affectionate spirit 
 to that despised class of people ; always speaking to 
 them with great tenderness, and often making them 
 little presents — his excellent mother purposely fur- 
 nishing him the means. 
 
 Finding that his seriousness still stuck to him, his 
 father proposed to him a trip to Paris, begging he 
 would make himself master of the French language, 
 
52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which he said was ahoays to his ear like miisic. But the 
 adiiiirars principal motive was to divert his mind from 
 what he called his fanaticism ; with the hope, too, 
 that from the mixture of William's extreme gravity^ as 
 he thought, with the excessive gaiety of the French, 
 there would arise a iertium quid, a happy mediocrity 
 of manners, that would render him the delight of the 
 nation. To give this pill a richer gilding, and to ren- 
 der it more imposing on William's palate, the adm.iral 
 took advantage of a party of young noblemen going 
 over to the French capital ; so dressing him up in the 
 richest apparel, yet, as William begged, of a plain 
 fashion, and tilling his pockets with money and let- 
 ters of introduction to great men, he packed him off 
 for France. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The admiral was not altogether disappointed in his 
 calculations on the result of William's trip to France. 
 The balmy softness of the climate — the rich variety 
 and beauty of its scenes — its silver flood smoothly glid- 
 ing along the verdant meadows, or boldly rushing 
 through romantic hills adorned with clustering vines 
 and snow-white castles, contributed much to dissipate 
 the gloom occasioned by his late persecution. But 
 far more exhilarating still v/ere the manners of its in- 
 habitants. William's natural bias was benevolence. 
 The hand that made him had so kindly attuned his 
 nerves to the harmonies of moral beauty, that every 
 look and note of love awakened his soul to joy. Then 
 among what people on earth could he have fallen with 
 such chance of fascination as among the French ? That 
 extraordmary people, who study no science but to 
 please — who forget themselves, to make others happy-^ 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 53 
 
 and who with all they do, mingle so much of suavity and 
 endearment, that whether they frown or smile, whether 
 they grant or refuse, they almost equally oblige : for 
 they frown with such delicacy, and refuse with such 
 grace, that all must fall in love with them. William 
 Penn fell in love with them. And as love naturally 
 assimilates itself to the beloved, he quickly, as the 
 apostle enjoins, in things indifferent, " became all things 
 to them^''^ — he learned their language with the facility 
 of a mocking-bird — he caught their manners by instinct 
 — his limbs forgot their proud British stiffness — and 
 his muscles their cold unlovely rigidity — and whether 
 he stood or moved ; whether he bowed or smiled ; in 
 standing, moving, bowing and smiling, shone forth the 
 elegant and all accomplished Frenchman. 
 
 It was in this style that William, after twelve 
 months' absence, presented himself before his father 
 at Pennwood. Tlie admiral was quite delighted with 
 this " charming change,'''' as he observed to Mrs. Penn, 
 " that had taken place in William's appearance.'''' He 
 introduced him at court — he carried him about as 
 in triumph among all his illustrious friends — and for 
 fear he should relapse into his old gloomy ways, as he 
 termed them, he resolved to send him over at once 
 to Ireland, to take the management of an estate that 
 had lately fallen to him in the neighbourhood of Dub- 
 lin, the metropolis. And to insure him a full round 
 of dissipation, his pockets were filled with letters 
 from the admiral's court friends, introducing him in 
 the most flattering terms, to the lord lieutenant and 
 his numerous friends, the great ones of Dublin. I'he 
 calculation from all this was, that if William, now put 
 into such a hopeful way, by the polite and sweetly 
 mannered French, could but be associated for a season 
 with the gay and warm-hearted Irish, he would be con- 
 firmed an elegant man of the world beyond the power 
 of superstition to shake him. 
 
 The packet-boat soon wafted young William over 
 
 E 2 
 
54 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to Ireland, where he commenced the career prescribed 
 by his father, with great spirit. He apphed himself 
 very diligently to the settlement of his estate ; visiting 
 and spending his intervals of leisure in the society of 
 the lord lieutenant and his friends, who paid uncom- 
 mon attention to him as an amiable young man, and 
 the only son and heir of sir William Penn, high admi- 
 ral of the British navy. It is no where said that Wil- 
 liam ever followed this fashionable " multiiiide to do 
 evil :" but it is well known that many who began well 
 in the spirit, and once stood fair for heaven, have 
 miserably ended in the flesh, and become cast-away. 
 And this might have been the deplorable end of young 
 William Penn, had not God in great goodness sent one 
 of his shepherds after him. 1 ascribe it to the divine 
 goodness, for I cannot otherwise account for an event 
 that manifests too much design to be called accidentaL 
 Sitting one evening in the lord lieutenant's palace, and 
 easting his eye on a Dublin paper, his attention was 
 caught by a NOTICE, that "one of the people 
 CALLED Quakers was to preach in the market- 
 house THE next day." Though William had, for some 
 time past, conformed rather too much to the world, 
 yet he had never lost his partiality for the quakers ; 
 and therefore immediately resolved to go to meeting. 
 On the rising of the preacher to speak, whom should 
 iiis eyes behold, but the smooth and placid countenance 
 of his old friend Thomas Loe ? nor was friend Loe less 
 surprised, as looking round him like a father about to 
 address his children, his mildly-beaming glances met 
 the florid cheeks of his young friend William Penn. 
 From the professions v/hich William, with tears, had 
 made him tvvo years before ; and also from the severe 
 persecutions which, by report, he had suffered both at 
 the University and in his father's own house, friend 
 Loe had counted on him as a dear child in the gospel; 
 but V/iiliam's fashionaide dress e?:cited his alarms. 
 Wiioreai^oii with a coiiiiteaaiicc stroniilv marked with 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 55 
 
 melancholy and a deep sigh, looking at William, he 
 began with these remarkable words, " T^ere is a 
 faith which overcometh the world, and there is a faith 
 overcome by the world.''"' William was startled. From 
 the particular stress, as he thought, laid on the text, 
 he felt as though the preacher had taken it entirely for 
 him. But if so alarmed at the bare words, how much 
 more when friend Loe, with the looks and voice of a 
 tender father towards a truant child, went on to e:^- 
 pose the folly, the cowardice, and hypocrisy of those 
 who, when they hear the great truths of the gospel, 
 will show the most fixed attention ; will change colour ; 
 will heave the deep si^h and shed the copious tear, thus 
 springing joy in the heart of the preacher that a soul 
 is born to God f and jet after all these goodly signs 
 of faith, can suffer themselves to be overcome by the 
 world and its vanities ! To place such guilty conduct 
 in a stronger light, he went on to show the wide dif- 
 ference between these two kinds of faith. He com- 
 pared the one, which he called head-faith, and which 
 is overcome by the world, he compared to a light ; but 
 only such a light as that of the moon, a cold barren 
 light, which, though it please the eye with its silver 
 lustre, yet it imparts no heat to the soil ; hence no ve- 
 getation appears, and the beholder wonders that the 
 fields, though bright, are naked and sad. But the other 
 faith, which overcomes the world, and which he called 
 HEART-FAITH, he compared to the sun ; a warm 
 fertilizing light, which, soon as it falls on the earth, 
 sets the grass to grow and covers the fair face of 
 nature with fruits and flowers. Even so this heart- 
 faith, soon as it fires the soul, vivifies every precious 
 seed of virtue, and calls forth all the sweets and charms 
 of heavenly affections. He then showed too that as 
 head-faith like the moon, is cold and barren, so like 
 that orb which belongs only to this low planet, it is 
 often obscured in clouds and storms; but tint, HEART- 
 FAITH, like iht? Dure sun-beam, conu^s from the place 
 
^ THE LIFE OF 
 
 of God, and like its source, enjoys perpetual serenity 
 and shine. And though its possessor, as a dweller on 
 this turbid planet may sometimes feel the shadow ; yet 
 it is but transient. For as the heart of the wise can 
 well bear the gloom of winter because he sees the 
 bloom of opening spring at hand ; so the man of true 
 faith regards not " the short afflictions of this life 
 which are but for a moment," because his eye is fixed 
 upon " that exceedingly great and eternal weight of 
 glory that glitters before him." Animated by this he 
 looks undismayed on the Jordan of death, and even in 
 the last agony smiles as for victory, and whispers, 
 through tears of transport, '-^Iwait for thy salvation^ O 
 God:' 
 
 Here the cheeks of William began to redden over 
 from his labouring heart, and his sighs to thicken, while 
 pearly drops, such as angels love to see in mortal 
 eyes, came trickling down. But still the lips of friend 
 Loe continued to pour their honied streams of holy 
 eloquence, as burning in his zeal he went on to show 
 the widely different effects of these two kinds of faith, 
 even in the life that now is — that while the one is 
 held in derision even of the wicked world, by whom 
 it is overcome, the other is honoured even by the 
 wicked world whom it tramples under foot — that while 
 the one suffers the mortification of shameful defeat, 
 the other enjoys the triumph of the most glorious victo- 
 ry — that while the one dies amidst the horrors of de- 
 spair, the other expires in extasies of hope — and that 
 while the one shall come forth to shame and everlast- 
 ing contempt, the other shall awake to all the trans- 
 ports o^ eternal life. 
 
 As the fearful difference between vice and virtue 
 were hardly ever painted in more pathetic colours 
 than by this pious quaker, so, rarely has such paint- 
 ing produced a deeper effect on the pupil of wisdom 
 than in the case now before us ; for soon as the ser- 
 mon was ended, young William, with the sweet dejec- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 57 
 
 turn of conscious guilt reclaimed, drew near the man 
 of God, and taking him by the hand, acknowledged 
 that, though he had not been entirely overcome by the 
 world, yet he feared, he said, he had conformed too 
 much to its vanities ; but now, hoped, through the help 
 of that good spirit which bringeth salvation, he should 
 be established for ever. Thomas Loe, looking on him 
 with a countenance kind as when an angel looks on 
 the tender babe, and with tones of equal sweetness, 
 said, — I hope my young friend thee will keep in mind 
 the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, "the ser- 
 vant is not greater than his Lord" — " If the world 
 hated him," who was the perfection of goodness, 
 " they will hate thee if thou become his follower." 
 But remember, friend William, never canst thou love 
 thyself as God loves thee ; never canst thou desire 
 thine own happiness as God desires it. O then me- 
 ditate on SUCH LOVE, and far above all things in hea- 
 ven or earth, strive to get thy whole soul inflamed 
 with it. Then shall God himself enter into the palace 
 of thy heart, and " sup with thee, and thou shall sup 
 with him.'''' 
 
 In uttering these words he pressed William to his 
 bosom with all the fervent tenderness of a father ; add- 
 ing at the same time, while the tear hung ghstening in 
 his eyes, " God be gracious to thee my son, and give 
 thee wisdom like Jacob to wrestle with God, and also 
 to prevail." 
 
 This was to William a day of the sweetest emotions 
 he had ever known. 
 
 Joy sprung up afresh in his heart, the joy of glori- 
 ous hope, far beyond what the young seaman feels 
 when becalmed on his voyage to some golden coast, 
 suddenly a sweet breeze of the ocean springs up, and 
 borne along upon the curling billows he beholds the 
 happy shores of the long promised land, all brightening 
 before him. O how rare is that preacher, whose eyes, 
 whose voice, whose every gesture preach.es to the 
 
68 THE LIFE OF 
 
 souls of his hearers ! Wilham, young as he was, could 
 not but mark this preaching in Thomas Loe. He could 
 not but mark the wonderful ditference which religion 
 makes between a stranger who possesses it, and one's 
 own father who is destitute. " Fe^," thought he to 
 himself, " when struck by this good marl's preaching I 
 first felt my unhappy state by nature^ and wished to seek 
 to God for comfort^ my own dear father instead of con- 
 gratulating smiles^ gave me nothing but angry frowns ^ 
 and even thrust me from his door ! But here this good 
 quaker^ though an absolute stranger, seeing my infant 
 wishes to return to God, is moved even to tears of joy 
 on my account, and presses me with a mother''s tender- 
 ness to his heart. then how God-like a thing must 
 religion be! How certainly must that fit for the society 
 of angels hereof ter, which makes men so much like an- 
 gels here.''"' Such were Wilham's thoughts on his way 
 from the meeting, I hardly need tell the reader that 
 William was now in no frame of mind to go back, as 
 he had been pressed, to the lord lieutenant's, and to 
 the giddy and gay 07ies, at his palace. From the re- 
 ligious impressions early made on him by his mother 
 in the nursery, and afterwards deepened at college by 
 friend Loe, William may be said to have always had 
 a turn for those dignified pleasures which naturally 
 beget a disrelish for trifles. To see young gentlemen 
 reddening into indecent passion about the "minister 
 and his measures," or about stage boxes and fen- 
 cing MASTERS ! or to scc youug ladies tossing their 
 snowy arms, and rolling their diamond eyes in extasies 
 of 7vonderful opera dancers ; or stage players. — 
 These, though the two ordinary themes of conversation 
 in high life, had always seemed to him very uninterest- 
 ing. But in this present holy and heavenly frame of 
 mind, the very idea of them was so disgusting, that he 
 declined going back, as we have seen, to the lord lieu- 
 tenant's ; and indeed studiously avoided many of the 
 great families in Dubhn, because they took no delight 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 59 
 
 in talking of God and those great subjects which he 
 most of all delighted in. — This seclusion of his was soon 
 noticed by the hospitable lord lieutenant and the gay 
 circles of the metropolis, who presently began with much 
 impatience to ask, " where is young Mr. Perm .^" In a 
 little time the fatal secret came out, that — he was 
 turned quaker. The report spread a general gloom 
 among his Irish friends. And no wonder. William 
 was now about eighteen : the very season when youth, 
 rising into manhood, enjoys the double charm of ten- 
 derness mixed with dignity, rendering the character pe- 
 culiarly interesting : this, added to a masculine mind 
 sharpened by a tine education — pohshed by Galhc 
 manners — and above all finished by a quaker sweet- 
 ness, had rendered him very dear to the lord lieu- 
 tenant and his wealthy friends ; independent of his 
 rank and fortune as the only child and heir of Sir Wil- 
 liam Penn, high admiral of the British navy. The loss 
 of such a young man to their society could not but 
 have excited a deep regret on their ovm accounts, 
 mingled too with some contempt of him for joining a 
 people who, in those days, were so much despised. 
 It was not long before the admiral learned this most 
 unwelcome piece of news. It came, in the way of 
 letters, to his friends in London, all speaking in the 
 most flattering terms of William, and expressing their 
 sincere sorrow that a youth so amiable, and of such 
 high promise, should have throwri himself away after 
 this most unaccountable rate. The admiral came 
 home quite in a fever about it. Mrs. Penn seeing his 
 agitation, eagerly asked him what was the matter ? 
 
 Matter ! replied he abruptly, matter enough to run 
 a parent mad ! that silly hoy of ours will be the death of 
 me, thafs a clear case. 
 
 " Why, what has he done now ?'' said Mrs. Penn, 
 much startled. 
 
 Done ! returned the admiral, why he has fallen in 
 with Tom Loe, who has made a fool of him again 
 
60 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Well, I hope William has not neglected the business 
 you sent him to Ireland upon. 
 
 Why no, he has not suiiered Tom Loe to make him 
 such a fool as that. On the contrary, I learn from' 
 a variety of quarters that he is a prodigy of industry. 
 
 O, well then, said Mrs. Penn cheerfully, while his 
 religion keeps him innocent and industrious, we need 
 not much trouble ourselves about him. 
 
 No, indeed ! replied the admiral hastily ; now that's 
 the very reason I choose to trouble myself about him^ 
 A youth of his genius and education, with the advan- 
 tages of such rank and friends and industry, my God 
 what might he not do ! How easily might he become; 
 one of the greatest men of his age. And such he shal^ 
 be, Pm determined on it. Pll write for liim to come" 
 home immediately. And if he doesn't ''bout ship and g(y 
 upon ariotker tack, Pll disinherit him, that's the long and 
 short of it. I'll not keep in this hot water any longer. If 
 he choose to despise me and run after Tom Loe, he- 
 must do it, but he shall never see my face again. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 If his infant son were suddenly lost in some wild 
 wood, where dark pit-falls gaped, and ravenous beasts 
 lay in wait to devour, what father but would instantly 
 rush forth, with throbbing heart, in search of him ? 
 And if happily his listeniiig ear but caught tlie feeble 
 meanings of his child ; or he beheld him at a distance 
 with bleeding feet winding his tortured way through 
 piercing thorns, would he not fly to the dear rescued 
 boy, and, clasping him with transport to his bosom, 
 kiss away the pearly drops from his bloated eyes ? Yes, 
 such would be the joy of this world towards a child 
 saved from the deaths that threaten the body. But, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 61 
 
 alas ! to save him from that which would destroy the 
 soul ; to save him from envy, hate, and all the hag- 
 gard passions which inflict wounds and deaths beyond 
 the rage and venom of serpents and tigers, no such 
 solicitude is felt. And this often causes the hearts 
 of good men to bleed within them, that when a younc^ 
 person in the wilderness of this world is brought to a 
 sense of his danger, and wishes to fly to his God, in- 
 stead of being met by his friends with tears of joy con- 
 gratulating his happy escape, he is often frowned 
 upon and driven back to sin and hell. Such was the 
 treatment shown to young William Penn by his father, 
 and at a t'me too when he stood most in need of every 
 encouragement. He v/as at a great distance from home^ 
 and from a pious mother whom he doted on. He was 
 spending his days in diligent attention to his father's 
 business, and his nights in reading and devotion by 
 himself; for he had no kind friend to commune with^ 
 no kindred soul to comfort and strengthen him. In 
 the midst of this, he receives a letter from home. But 
 that letter, instead of breathing the joy of a happy fa- 
 ther, congratulating his dear boy for being so early in 
 the family of God, begins with reproaching him for his 
 fanaticism^ and ends with ordering him instantly to 
 come home. 
 
 William's spirits were at first, as might have been 
 expected, a good deal depressed by this letter ; but the 
 depression was only momentary. Religion soon ad- 
 ministered her cordial. An ever present God ; a glo- 
 rious life in his service now, and an eternal Heaven 
 hereafter ; how could he long be sad ? so, packing up 
 his clothes and books, and taking leave of a few friends,, 
 he set out for London ; not neglecting to strengthen 
 himself on the road, by frequent reflection on the truth 
 and importance of the hopes before him ; for he foresaw 
 that they were to be brought to a severe trial. His 
 calculations were abundantly correct ; for while his mo- 
 ther received him as usual with transports of joy, his fa- 
 
62 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ther's countenance was hard and angry ; then scarcely 
 allowing time for the customary salutations, he said — 
 " and so Tom Loe has taken you in tow, and made a 
 fool of you again !" William's face, that had been rosy 
 red with joy at sight of his parents, now all at once 
 turned pale on hearing these cutting words ; but, soon 
 recovered by conscious integrity, he replied, " Yes, 
 father I have been with Thomas Loe, but 1 hope that 
 instead of making a fool, he will, under God, make a 
 wise man of me. 
 
 Yes, to be sure, and there's a pretty sample of it,, 
 returned the admiral sarcastically, pointing at Wil- 
 liam's simple quaker habit. Tom Loe will no doubt 
 make a wonderful wise man of you. In place of your 
 handsome dresses brought from Paris, see that ugly 
 drab I and that monstrous beaver, broad brimm'd and 
 darkening over your brow like an umbrella ! These are 
 precious tokens of wisdom ! And is it possible that for 
 such stuff as this you can reject such honours as are 
 courting you from all quarters ? 
 
 I don't know, father, said William, of any honours- 
 that are courting me from all quarters. 
 
 No, indeed ! well then, let me ask you, was there 
 ever a young Englishman so talked of at Paris as you 
 were all the time you spent there ? And was that no 
 honour? And on your return here to London, was 
 not the whole town running after you ? — was that no 
 honour ? And when you went to Dubhn, did a single 
 mail ever come over but brought letters from the lord 
 lieutenant and the great ones there, all extolling you 
 to the skies — was that no honour ? And now what 
 nobleman is there in all the land but would glory in 
 your friendship ? — what place is there so high but you 
 might easily obtain it ? what heiress so wealthy, but 
 you might marry her as easily as kiss your hand ? Are 
 these no honours ? 
 
 Well, father, said William, these I know are called 
 honours : and let them pass for such. But after all» 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 63 
 
 what would they signify to me, unless they made me 
 happy ? 
 
 God's mercy on the boy, cried the admiral, getting 
 angry, what would you want more than all this to make 
 you happy ! 
 
 Why, as to that, father, you know that to be happy 
 we must have what suits our taste, and that the right 
 taste too. But I am morally certain, that while I keep 
 my present taste, I shall never be happy, if I have no- 
 thing better than great worldly riches and rank. I feel, 
 father, that I am born for better things than these. 
 
 Well, but what's the reason you can't take these 
 things and those better ones too ? 
 
 That's impossible, sir. There's no going to heaven 
 in " golden slippers." 
 
 But why, in the name of God, can't you be good 
 and happy as a great man, as well as a mean one : 
 and by dressing like a gentleman as well as like a 
 monk 1 Can Tom Loe have made such a blockhead 
 of you, as to make you believe it a sin to wear a suit 
 of clothes in the fashion ? 
 
 Father, the quakers don't stand upon the fashions. 
 
 And pray why don't they ; can they be such fools 
 as to think that religion has any thing to do with the 
 €olour and cut of people's clothes?' 
 
 The quakers think, father, that religion has to do 
 with every thing that tends to God's pleasure or dis- 
 pleasure, in the happiness or misery of man. 
 
 Well, and what has this to do with the fashion ? 
 
 Why, certainly, father, to set the heart upon the 
 fashion, as if it were the chief end of being — to make 
 it a great theme of our conversation — to resolve to keep 
 up with it no matter what it cost — to honour the 
 basest wretch if he have on a fashionable dress — but 
 despise the most godlike, because of his mean apparel — 
 does not this betray a shameful devotion to trifles ? 
 yea, worse still — a horrible insensibilty to the charms 
 of goodness, wherein consists our main happiness? 
 
64 TPIE LIFE OF 
 
 The admiral here remaining silent, as if at a loss 
 what to reply, William thus went on, — Yes, father, 
 many people I know, think that dress, no matter how 
 vain, has nothing to do with religion. But these, sir, 
 are looked upon by the quakers, as persons utterly un- 
 acquainted with the religion of Christ, which, treating 
 the soul as the only divine part of man, is continually 
 striving to turn his attention to the care of the soul; 
 that by enlightening his understanding with the true 
 wisdom, and exalting his affections to the true good, 
 it may give him a relish for that happiness which is 
 godlike and eternal. Hence it is, sir, that the quakers 
 will have nothing to do with the dresses and fashions 
 of the world, which only serve to make people childish 
 and vain in their minds, and averse from the true hap- 
 piness, and likewise so to impoverish their circum- 
 stances as to put it out of their power to he honest ; 
 yea, and oft times to practise those dark and base 
 frauds and villanies which ruin them for ever. 
 
 This being a style of sermonizing rather too stub- 
 born for the admiral to gainsay, William was permit- 
 ted to go on, which he did at this rate : " Yes, sir, the 
 religion of Christ, and consequently the quakers, (its 
 expositors in the simplest sense,) will encourage no 
 idolatry of the flesh ; being fully persuaded, that in 
 proportion as this rises the soul sinks. And what but 
 this is the meaning of those awful passages which run 
 throughout the religion of Christ — " The flesh lusteth 
 apinst the spirit" — " If ye live after the flesh ye shall 
 die" — " They that live in fleshly pleasures are dead 
 while they live." 
 
 The admiral said it was droll how a man could be 
 dead while he lived. 
 
 It is, nevertheless, awfully true, sir, replied William. 
 For a creature born with capacities to love God, and 
 thereby put on the immortal beauties of his likeness, 
 to neglect such ineffable glories as these, and meanly 
 pride himself because of fine clothes and gaudy equip 
 
WlLLIAxM PENN. 65 
 
 age for this poor mortal body, is not such a creature 
 dead, while he hveth ? yea, utterly dead to the true 
 end of living, that is, happiness ; which consisteth not 
 in such unworthy gratifications, but in that perfect love 
 which feels the presence of God, banishing all grief 
 and kindling a perpetual heaven. Such were Wil- 
 liam's arguments ; but all his arguments, cogent and 
 conclusive as they were, availed nothing with his fa- 
 ther. Indeed they appear to have wrought a very 
 contrary effect in him, as, looking on Wilham's person, 
 and listening to his speech, he was the more grieved 
 to think, that his only child, a youth of such a figure, 
 such a mind, such eloquence, and born for the highest 
 honours, should become the dupe and castaway, as he 
 vCalled it, of the most pitiful and grovelling quakerism. 
 In hope yet to avert so great a calamity as he thought 
 it, from his family, he resolved to make one more ef- 
 fort ; and to try, since argument had failed, what might 
 be done by menaces. So, fixing on William a stern 
 and angry eye, he said, " Well, sir, I have heard you 
 out : and novv^ let me tell you, that with all your in- 
 genuity and eloquence you have not started me one 
 inch from my moorings ; no, sir, there is no reasoning 
 like facts. To say that a man can't be great and yet 
 wise and good, is all nonsense. It contradicts daily 
 observation, sir. Look at our nobility, sir, our honour- 
 ABLES, and RIGHT HONOURABLES^look at our clergy, 
 our REVEREND and right reverend, the bishops and 
 archbishops ! these are the great ones, sir, of the 
 realm ; these are the first talents and titles, the first 
 riches and learning of the nation. And will you say 
 that none of these are good V 
 
 William, with a modest firmness, replied, that he did 
 not take upon him to judge of others, but that he well 
 knew this, that Christ every where speaks of the plea- 
 sures of filial friendship WITH GoD, as being of a 
 nature so entirely different from those that flow from 
 Ihe pride, and ambition, and lusts of this poor polluted 
 F 2 
 
66 THE LIFE OF 
 
 world, that they can no more exist together than hghl 
 and darkness. And also, that for his own part he could 
 truly say, from oft and sad experience, that it was not 
 possible for him to enjoy blissful communion with 
 God, and at the same time conform to the spirit of the 
 world. 
 
 Here the admiral, with looks more angry still, re- 
 plied, " I perceive, sir, that you are determined for ever 
 to misunderstand me. I don't mean that you should 
 conform to the world in any thing base and villanous. 
 No, sirrah, I despise that as heartily as you and your 
 friend Tom Loe. But I mean that you should con- 
 form to the world as our bishops and archbishops do 
 — that is, that you should be rich, and great too. And 
 guch you shall be, Pm determined on it. And therefore 
 let me tell you, sir, that if you do not instantly forsake 
 that quaker fool, that Tom Loe and his principles, 
 you must no longer look on yourself as a son of mine. 
 
 William appeared much shocked. But after some 
 pause, observed, that his father must, to be sure, do as 
 he thought proper ; but at the same time, he could not 
 help humbly craving his father's reasons for his dislike 
 of Thomas Loe. Is he not acknowledged, sir, said 
 William, to be a holy man, against whom not even his 
 bitterest enemies can say any harm ? And as to his 
 principles, are they not the simple expressions of the 
 humbfe and benevolent spirit the gospel ? And after 
 all, sir, continued William, what harm has Thomas 
 Loe ever done me ? on the contrary, indeed, have vve 
 not great cause to be thankful on his account ? 
 
 Thankful on Tom Loe's account I retorted the ad- 
 miral quite in a rage. A plague on him ! what has he 
 brought on us but trouble and vexation ever since his 
 vile name was heard by the family. 
 
 I think, sir, replied Wilham, modestly, that, under 
 God, 1 owe Thom.as Loe much for what he contri- 
 buted towards the comparative innocency of my life, 
 at college. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 67 
 
 Yon pay no great compliment to myself or your 
 mother, in saying that, sir. Did you not go to college 
 as innocent a youth as any in the realm '{ and do you 
 thank Tom Loe for that ? 
 
 But, sir, replied William, was not the preservation of 
 my innocence a great blessing? And that I have been 
 less disgraced by vice than many other young men, as 
 well at the University as in the large and dissipated 
 cities wherein I was so early exposed, 1 feel myself, 
 chiefly indebted to the affectionate and powerful elo- 
 quence of Thomas Loe. For considering my weak- 
 ness of youth and inexperience, and separated too as I 
 was from you and my mother, had it not been for the 
 strong hold which his discourses took on my heart, I 
 do not see how I should have withstood that torrent 
 of bad example which swept away so many of those 
 once amiable young men who came to college as inno- 
 cent as myself. So I think, sir, that if you love me 
 and prize my honour and happiness, you ought to 
 love Thomas Loe, who was to me, of God, the good 
 guardian angel that in your absence saved me from 
 much disgrace. 
 
 I am sure, retorted the admiral, you have no great 
 cause to brag of his saving you from disgrace at the 
 University ; for it was all owing to him, that you came 
 by the disgrace of being expelled. 
 
 Yes, sir, replied William, blushing, I own I was ex- 
 pelled from the University, and that too through 
 Thomas Loe : but still it was not for any vice, that I 
 should either hate him or abhor myself. It was for 
 an act of zeal, iyitemperate indeed, but still well meant 
 and flowing from a love for the young men whose vain 
 ornaments I assisted to tear oiF. I confess it was error ^ 
 but thank God not shameful vice, such as many others 
 have been expelled for. And therefore I shall always 
 thank God for the poor quaker Thomas Loe, that 
 while many other young men have been expelled for 
 drunkenness, I have drank nothing but water — that 
 
SB THE LIFE OF 
 
 while others have been expelled for gambling, I never 
 touched a card — that while others have been expelled 
 for commerce with lewd women, 1 have been unspot- 
 ted from the world — that while others, though great 
 sticklers for the high church, have run their fathers to 
 large ■expense for horses,, and dogs, and gaudy dresses, 
 and balls, and masquerades^ I have never brought any 
 cost upon you for these things — and that while many 
 others, because their fathers were rich, have thought 
 themselves privileged to be lazy, I have, thank God, 
 in my studies at college, and in acquiring the French 
 language at Paris, and the law at the Inner Temple, 
 and in settling your business in Ireland^have done all 
 I could to please you. But, continued William, though 
 my earthly father may forget my honest endeavours 
 to please him, yet I have the promise that my heaven- 
 ly father will enter in his book of life every good act 
 that I perform from a single eye to his glory. And as 
 to my poor quaker friend, Thomas Loe, against whom 
 you have taken up such a dislike, let me once more 
 assure you, father, that he has never weakened but 
 greatly strengthened me in all my duties. And above all., 
 he has taught me that, to do good for evil is the end 
 of the religion of Christ ; and that I am not to look for the 
 crown hereafter if I do not cheerfully bear the cross here, 
 " Phev3 P"* returned the admiral with a tremendous 
 whistle, as of a boatswain, calling all hands on deck, 
 " why, Tom Loe has made a preacher of you already ! 
 Well, go on, young man, go on with your canting. 
 But let me tell you that all this, and all your cross- 
 bearing to boot, though it might have done in former 
 times, is all mere nonsense now.-^Yes, people may 
 be rich and great in this world, and take their plea- 
 sures too, and yet after all go to heaven. Many of 
 our lords, both temporal and spiritual,, are daily doing 
 it, to ray own certain knowledge, and so may you : yes, 
 and you shall do it too, let me tell you that, or be no 
 son of mine. If you are determined to go and play 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 5^ 
 
 the fool, you must go and do it some where else; you shall 
 not do it in my family. And as 1 have had no hand in 
 your folly, so I will not be eternally suffering the mor- 
 tification of it, that I am determined on." 
 
 William, of course, was turned out of his father's 
 doors. Bat though the admiral endeavoured to screen 
 himself from the reproaches of his own conscience, 
 and also from those of the world for this most unnatu- 
 ral act, yet it was abundantly plain, from his looks 
 and motions, that inhumanity is a breach of the eter- 
 nal law, (of love) never to be reconciled to the moral 
 sense. — " Honour ! honour !" cries the infuriated du- 
 ellist, as he is about to murder his fellow man ; but 
 does the monster ever enjoy sweet peace afterwards ? 
 So, no plea that pride can prefer will ever silence that 
 voice of God in the soul of man, which ceaselessly 
 cries against cruelty. The admiral was a proof of all 
 this. Even in the act of driving William from home 
 his every look evinced the torture of a soul engaged 
 in the horrid work of self-murder. Nor did the rolling 
 in his bosom subside with the storm that had excited 
 it. For after the son was gone, the father was seen 
 striding about the apartment dark and angry in his 
 looks ; and often stroking down his whiskers, as it is 
 said he was v^ront, when going into battle. Nor was 
 his anguish diminished by the melancholy looks of the 
 servants as they passed by him in silence, and still less 
 by the cries of his lady, in the adjoining room, bewail- 
 ing her '-'•poor exiled sonP'' After some time he went 
 into her chamber where she lay a crying on the bed, 
 her face muffled up in the clothes. He sat down by 
 her side to console her ; but she turned her face still 
 more away. He repeated his tender efforts ; but with 
 no better success. Such treatment from an elegant 
 wife whom he doted on, stung him to the quick. At 
 length after a gloomy silence, he clasped his hands and 
 lifting his eyes of mingled grief and rage, he exclaim- 
 ed—" Mv God ! what a life is this !" 
 
70 THE LIFE OF 
 
 She making no reply, he still went on — " and here 
 have I been all my miserable days, striving through 
 toils and tempests, through fightings and blood, to raise 
 my poor family to something : and after all have only 
 got to a serious doubt, whether I had not better be dead 
 than alive ; whether I had not better at once cut my 
 throat than bear this cursed state any longer." 
 
 Alarmed at such expressions, Mrs. Penn half raised 
 herself from the bed, and turning to the admiral 
 with much of wildness in her red, tear-bathed eyes, 
 said, " wht/^ Mr. Penn, why will you make use of such 
 dreadful language." 
 
 Mortal man, replied he, never had better right to use 
 «uch language ; yes, and ten times worse if I but knew 
 where to find it. I wanted to make my son, my only 
 gon, a great man, but he won't hear of it. 1 wanted 
 to comfort you and you wont afl*ow me to comfort 
 you. 
 
 *' Comfort !" answered she, with a deep sigh, " donH 
 talk to me of comfort. I was never born to enjoy com- 
 fort in this world. I had but one child, and he every 
 thing that my heart and soul could desire, and yet his 
 life and mine too have been made bitter to us both ever 
 since he was born," 
 
 " Well, whose fault is it," cried the admiral, furious- 
 ly, " whose fault is it but his own, a poor, sneaking, 
 mean-spirited blockhead !" 
 
 " Don't call him so," said Mrs. Penn, " for I have 
 Jieard you say, a thousand times, he was a boy of ge- 
 jiius." 
 
 " A boy of genius ! yes, the boy has genius ; and a 
 fine genius too ; but what signifies his genius ? what 
 signifies his education, and all his other rare advan- 
 tages, if, like a poor fool as he is, he won't improve 
 ihem, won't let them make a great man of him ?" 
 
 " A great man of him !" exclaimed she. " Ah my 
 iaod ! there's what I fear will be the downfall of us 
 :all, A great man of him indeed !" 
 
WILLIAM PENN, tf 
 
 ** Yes,'' replied the admiral, " 1 want to make a 
 great man of your son. And pray what can be more 
 natural ? Isn^t that the aim of the whole world ? An't 
 the poor constantly aiming to become rich ? and the 
 rich to become nobles ? and the nobles to become 
 kings ? and kings to become greater and greater still ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Penn, and it is the aiming at this sort of 
 greatness that has filled the earth with so many wretch- 
 ed beings." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " Why, do not the holy scriptures assure us, that 
 it was by aiming at a greatness of this sort that our first 
 parents lost Paradise, and filled the world with sin and 
 death ? Nay, was it not by aiming at this sort of great- 
 ness that Satan and his angels lost their high place ia 
 heaven and sunk to hell ?" 
 
 " But how does that apply V* 
 
 " Why, Mr. Penn, is not this greatness of riches,, and 
 pomps, and places, all from pride, and not for happi- 
 ness — which is the only end that rational creatures 
 should propose to themselves in all their actions ? 
 And, therefore, did not that dear child, whom you just 
 now turned out of doors, did he not ask you ' what 
 is the true end of greatness but happiness?' And if he 
 thought that the greatness you so press upon hii» 
 would not make him happy, was he not in the right to- 
 despise it?" 
 
 " Despise greatness !" exclaimed the admiraL 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Penn, such greatness as that. I honour 
 my son for despising it ; for what is the greatness that 
 consists merely in possessing great town houses and 
 country houses — in entertaining great lords and ladies 
 — in having our gates constantly thronged with coaches 
 and chariots — wasting the day in idle visitings, and the 
 night in plays and cards — not an hour to call ourown^ 
 but all swallovi^ed up in one continued round of hurry 
 and dissipation — and all this, too, among the vain and 
 WORTHLESS, whosc manners are childishly frivoloui v 
 
7^ THE LIFE OF 
 
 whose conversation is about nothing but fashions and 
 slander ; whose looks ever wear the simper of folly or 
 the sadness of discontent and envy ; and who court us 
 not from friendship, as we well know, but from vanity 
 and convenience because we are rich ; and would de- 
 sert us on the first reverse of our fortunes."" 
 
 "You draw a very pretty picture of the great, 1 
 think, madam." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Penn, but not one shade too black, nor, 
 indeed, half black enough. For, contemptible a& such 
 a life may seem, yet there are thousands who, when 
 enslaved to it, like poor drunkards to their cups, will 
 sacrifice every thing to keep it up ; will gamble, and 
 forge, and even rob on the highway ! yes, and will 
 beggar and disgrace their wives and children, to pre* 
 serve only a show of such pitiful greatness. And, be- 
 cause our dear boy was blessed with the rare wisdom 
 and fortitude to discover and abhor such madness, you 
 could turn him out of doors, even in the tender and 
 helpless morning of his days !" 
 
 Here the admiral begged his w^ife to talk no more 
 at that rate, for that he loved William very dearly,, 
 though he had turned him out of doors. Nay, that he 
 had treated him in this way altogether out of love, that 
 he might constrain him into his views, and make some- 
 thing of him. 
 
 " Make something of him !" cried Mrs. Penn, " Q 
 my God ! that you should possess one of the richest 
 blessings in all this world, and yet not know it ; I 
 mean a pious child. For O ! what on all this earth 
 can be matter of such joy and triumph to a fond 
 
 Farent as a pious child ?" To me it was every things 
 thought of nothing else. I prayed for nothing else. 
 * Vain, delusive riches and honours P I said, come not 
 near my son. You are jiot one-ten thousandth part goo-d 
 enough for him. Only let my son love God. Only let 
 him have this, the smeetest spur to every virtue^ the 
 strongest curb from every vice, the best cordial under 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 73 
 
 every affliction^ and I ask no more P Well, God, in 
 his infinite mercy, heard my prayer. He gave me 
 that which I esteem above all worlds — a pious son. 
 And lo ! you turn him out of doors ! He has not ambi- 
 tion enough ! he won't be rich enough ! nor great 
 enough to please you ! O what millions would not 
 many of our rich and great friends here in London 
 give if their sons had but half his virtues ! — There's 
 the rich lord Sterling ! — His eldest son and heir of all, 
 can't dine abroad, but he must be brought home 
 drunk ! and his face is now so bloated and tiery, that 
 his friends are ashamed to look at him ! — There's the 
 great lady Warwick ! — Her only son crippled and 
 shortly to die, mortally wounded in a duel ! — There's 
 the earl of Coventry ! — His only son sneaking about 
 the house, like a blackguard, for losing at cards in a 
 single week Mij thousand pounds left him by an 
 aunt ! — And there's young lord Spencer ! though heir 
 to a dukedom, and covered over with stars and 
 garters, yet eaten up in youth, of foul diseases ! — In 
 short, what with drunkenness, or duelling, or gambling, 
 or raking, or some other detestable vice, there's hardly 
 one in ten of all our great families but is shrouded in 
 melancholy. Fathers, mothers, and sisters, through- 
 out the town, mourning their disgraced and ruined 
 sons and brothers. And here, amidst all this shame 
 and sorrow, our child, our only dear child, not only 
 not disgraced with such vices, but adorned with all 
 the opposite virtues — harmless as an infant ! temperate 
 as a saint ! devout as an angel ! and yet, in place of 
 shouting incessant praises to God on his dear account, 
 you turn him out of doors ! O Mr. Penn, Mr. Penn, 
 can you ever forget that look he gave you when taking 
 up his hat to go away, as you ordered him, he said, 
 " Father^ had I been turned out of your doors because 
 of any crimes I had done, I should be wretched indeed. 
 But, thanks to God^ I go away with a conscience un- 
 stained by an act that should came, you or my diar mo- 
 G 
 
74 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ther^ to blush for me." Here she burst into a flood of 
 tears. But it was plain they were not bitter tears, for 
 they flowed from eyes piously rolled towards heaven, 
 and bright with the joy of hope that her dear boy 
 would yet one day come out more than conqueror. 
 And O power resistless of truth ! this great British ad- 
 miral, whom not all the thunders and lightnings of hos- 
 tile navies could have daunted, was so confounded by 
 the still small voice of sacred truth, that he turned 
 away pale with shame and trouble, and walked the 
 floor silent and humbled as a weaned child. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 But leaving the admiral and his amiable consort 
 tinder the excitement of feelings of a very opposite 
 character, let us turn to William. On the first glance 
 at that dear boy, though but through the eye of fancy, 
 we can scarce refrain from crying out — O, come here 
 young men ! come here ! and mark the difference, the 
 wide, wide difference between the child of God and 
 the slave of Satan in the persecutions they suffer for 
 vice, or virtue's sake ! The young sinner, who, for 
 debauching his neighbour's daughter, or murdering his 
 son in a duel, is kicked out of his father's doors, flies 
 from home like a ravening wolf from his wintry 
 den. And while the curses of the injured are beat- 
 ing upon him from behind, conscious guilt, like a 
 deadly frost, has blasted every flower of hope in front, 
 and left him nothing but dreariness and despair. Then 
 seizing the accursed halter he chokes himself over some 
 convenient gate-post, and dies, as he deserves, the death 
 of a mad dog. Such are, ofttimes, the effects of perse- 
 cution for wickedness' sake. But the persecution for 
 ?ighteousnes*' sakp^ what is it like, or whereunto 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 75 
 
 filiall we compare it ? It is like unto a whirlwind in 
 a garden of cinnamon, which, though it create a tran- 
 sient tempest, yet serves to reveal the richer glories of 
 tlie place ; for by shaking the beds of spiees it fills the 
 air with sweetest odours and spreads abroad a ravish- 
 ment unknown before. Such was the effect of his fa- 
 tlier's persecution of young William. It excited, indeed, 
 an agitation that alternately bleached or reddened his 
 cheeks, and called forth his tears. But still as it was for 
 HIM " who will be no man's debtor," he quickly found 
 in it, that " peace which passeth all understanding !" 
 'Tis true his mother's eyes, following him to the door, 
 melted him for a moment ; but scarcely had he passed 
 the gate and entered on the fair clover-covered lawns 
 of Pennwood, and eyed the spacious skies, before his 
 heart was revived by a flood of joys of the noblest 
 kind. The painful state of halting between two opi- 
 nions is now over, and, as he hopes, for ever. He has 
 at last bravely seized the cross. In thought he ascends 
 the mount oi God, with his anchor of hope fast moor- 
 ed in heaven, and his eyes of faith, bright as the 
 everlasting hills, on which they are placed. And while 
 a voice within seems to whisper — " well done good 
 and faithful servant !" thou art now free — thou art 
 now for God — ^*' thou art now living to the great end 
 of thy creation," — he felt what he had often read, but 
 never felt before — " the joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory." 
 
 In this happy frame he repaired without loss of time 
 to London, in hopes of meeting his revered friend Tho- 
 mas Loe. But learning that he was not yet returned 
 from Ireland, William inquired where he might find 
 any of the " people <;alled Quakers !" 
 
 Such an inquiry from the son of admiral Penn, and 
 in the meek looks too of one of that people excited 
 much surprise, but he was presently directed to the 
 house of one George Whitehead, an eminent minister 
 among the quakcrs. As God would have it, there was 
 
76 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a meeting that day, at Whitehead's house, which gave 
 great joy to William, who went in and took his seat 
 among the friends. He had not sat long before he 
 found himself very happy with his company. The 
 modesty of their dress — the sweet spirit on their coun- 
 tenances, shining at once with reverence and affection 
 in a noiseless but fervent devotion, filled his heart with 
 all the delights of a most heavenly fellowship. He 
 felt himself as he thought, among " the excellent ones 
 of the earth,'"' — with them worshipping the best of all 
 beings — seeking the greatest of all goods — and by 
 means w^ell suited to tiie end they aimed at, even by 
 a simple culture of the heart in those divine loves 
 which alone can take of the things of God and give 
 them to the soul. Soon as meeting was over, and the 
 younger people and the women gone out, Whitehead, 
 with several of the friends, approached William Penn, 
 where he still sat, to salute him. William rose and 
 giving his hand told them his name. They appeared 
 greatly pleased, and said they were glad to see him, 
 for that two years ago, they had heard friend Loe 
 speak often and much concerning him. Here William 
 blushed. They then asked him wether he was not 
 very lately from Ireland ? for that they had just re- 
 ceived letters from friend Loe speaking of having seen 
 admiral Penn's son at meeting there, and giving a 
 very favourable report of him. Thinking this a good 
 opening, William told him his whole exercises in Ire- 
 land with friend Loe, also his persecutions and banish- 
 ment from Pennwood. Moreover he told them with 
 a sigh, that for some time past he had been " halting 
 between two opinions," but that now his mind was 
 made up ; that being fully convinced that to love the 
 world is the veriest madness and misery of man, and 
 to love God his highest wisdom and happiness, he was 
 resolved to forsake the world and cleave to God for 
 ever. 
 
 As Wilham made this confession, the countenances 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 77 
 
 of the FRIENDS were brightened with joy. And when 
 he was done they assured him how happy they were 
 that one so young and of such high standing in the 
 world, should think of making an offering of himself to 
 God. William then told them, that he was indeed 
 thankful, and could never be sufficiently so, that God 
 had called him while so young, to the glory of his ser- 
 vice. And, as to his wealth and high standing in the 
 world, he felt there too that the more he had, the more 
 he owed to God, and the stronger his obligations to 
 a pious life : and that now he was come on purpose to 
 cast in his lot among them. 
 
 They all smiled, and asked him if he was in good 
 earnest. William looked surprised. — They said they had 
 asked him this question because they were afraid he 
 had not counted the cost. 
 
 O yes, replied he, I trust I have. 
 
 They all shook their heads ; when Whitehead, with 
 great meekness, said, I fear, friend William, thee art al- 
 most too young for calculations of this sort. Thee ought 
 to remember that we are a " little Jlock,'" and withal 
 much despised, and that " not many rich, not many 
 wise, not many great of this world," have sought fel- 
 lowship with us. 
 
 William said he had pondered all these things. 
 
 Well then, said Whitehead, thee has done well in 
 so doing ; but still, friend William, there is something 
 against us much worse tlian all this yet 
 
 William wanted to know what that was. 
 
 Why, friend William, said Whitehead, thee must 
 know that our religion is the hardest in the whole 
 world. Here, William seeming to look as if he did not 
 entirely comprehend this. Whitehead repeated "yes, 
 friend William, oui-s is the hardest religion in the 
 world." Other religions go chiefly on notions, ours 
 on LOVE. And thou wilt learn, by and bye, that it is 
 easier to harangue about a thousand new fang led no^ 
 tions, than to mortifiy one old lust. If thou soughtest 
 G 2 
 
78 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fellowship with manj other societies, thou inightesi 
 easily gain thy point by subscribing to their articles ; 
 contending for their creeds ; confessing their notions, 
 as about the trinity, and baptisms ; &c. and by assenting 
 that all ought to be burnt who differ from them in these 
 things. But friend William, we have not so learned Jesus. 
 If his religion stood in these things, it were easy to 
 be a Christian. Corrupt nature has always had a 
 strong leaning to religion of this sort. The heathens 
 gloried in their showy temples and gaudy sacrifices. 
 The Jews vaunted in their tythings of mint, anise and 
 cummin. Many Christians also make a great to do 
 about creeds and catechisms^ about sacraments and no- 
 tions ; because all the zeal the}- display on these points, 
 though it may bring them much fame and wealth, need 
 not cost them one dear lust or passion ! But the qua- 
 kers, friend Wilham, put no confidence in these things. 
 We feel ourselves constrained to a deeper work, evcR 
 that hard lesson of Christ, ^'' the perfect love out of a 
 pure heart,'''' And now since thou art come to join 
 our society ; and, as is common when persons apply 
 for membership with us, we would ask thee a question 
 or two, but not concerning thy notions, but concern- 
 ing thy affections. Hast thou then a perfect hatred of 
 sin, and dost thou sincerely desire to be holy ? Hast 
 thou the " faith that worketh by love ?" and does this 
 vital principle in thy heart manifest itself in every 
 thought and act of thy life? Is it the staid purpose of 
 thy soul never to shed thy brother's blood in war or 
 private strife ? Wilt thou never provoke him to hate by 
 suing him at the law ? W^ilt thou never indulge thyself 
 in gaudy attire, or furniture, or equipage, to the de- 
 priving ihj poor brother of the comforts of thy charity, 
 and thyself of the pleasure of extending it to him ? Wilt 
 thou not only not put thy bottle to him, but wilt thou 
 drive from thy house all gin and ardent spirits that 
 might prove a stumbling block to him? Wilt thou never 
 thyself rob him of his liberty, and wilt thou set thj 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 79 
 
 face against those who would ? Wilt thou in thy furni- 
 ture and equipage, also in thy cookery and manners 
 of living, maintain whatever is plain and cheap, lest 
 by a contrary example thou shouldst tempt him to live 
 above his means, and thus involve him in debt and 
 suffering ? 
 
 These things, friend William, will serve to show 
 thee the genius of our religion ; what we would be 
 ourselves, and what we expect of all who enter into 
 communion with us. Now as thou art young and of 
 a great family in the world, thou mayest not relish 
 doctrines so mortifying to pride and carnal sense, and 
 which require that simplicity and perfect love so dis- 
 tasteful to corrupt nature. We would therefore ad- 
 vise thee to take time and revolve these things in thy 
 mind, lest thou shouldst fall into the condemnation of 
 those who are very ready to follow the Lord in the 
 days of " the loaves and fishes^'''' but soon as he begins to 
 preach his heavenly morality that would pull down 
 the brute and set up the angel in man, strait they are 
 "*' offended and will walk no more with him^ 
 
 William's eyes sparkled, as friend Whitehead spoke 
 in this way ; then^vith a smile he replied, that he had 
 no need to take time to revolve these things. He was 
 already persuaded, that every pulse of the heart to- 
 wards the world and the flesh was but fostering a fe- 
 ver fatal to true peace of mind ; that it was the desire 
 of his soul to be crucified to the world and the fleshy 
 as the only wisdom for a happy life. And as to the 
 SIMPLICITY and self-denying doctrines of the people 
 called quakers, and also, the contempt they put on all 
 NOTIONAL religion, in comparison of that " perfect 
 love" which so strongly inclines to do, in all cases, to 
 others, as we would they should do to us, he was always 
 charmed with them. He would not he said, so highly 
 prize the religion of Christ, if it were not for this 
 sweet spirit that runs through and animates the whole. 
 He had within himself, added he, the witness of the 
 
80 THE LIFE OF 
 
 divinity of this religion of Christ — its tendency to heal 
 all the ills, and brighten all the goods of life. Repeat- 
 ed experience had taught him, that in proportion as 
 his heart was warmed and sweetened with this divine 
 charity, he had a disposition to feel for his brother as 
 for himself; to pity him ; to forgive him; to mourn 
 his vices and misfortunes, and to rejoice in his virtues 
 and prosperities ; and therefore instead of being offend- 
 ed thereat, he thought it the very best employment 
 God could set himself upon in this life to crucify inor- 
 dinate self with all its pride, and envy, and hate, and 
 to perfect himself in that pure love which, by giving 
 him a tender interest in the welfare of others, would 
 make him a partaker in all their good." 
 
 Upon this, they all gave him the right hand of fel- 
 lowship, and he was formally received as a friend, 
 not more to the surprise and comfort of that benevo- 
 lent and despised people, than to the astonishment 
 and displeasure of the proud ones and great of the do- 
 minant church, who from that day marked him as the 
 butt of their spite. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was about the twenty-fourth year of his life that 
 William Penn became a preacher among the quakers ; 
 whence it appears, that, being only eighteen when he 
 joined them, he must have been six years preparing 
 himself for his " high calling,'' the ministry. What we 
 are to learn from that singular fact in the life of Christ, 
 that he was nine years after he came of age, as we say, 
 before he began to preach, I know not But of William 
 Penn we may safely say this in the hearing of young 
 candidates for holi/ orders, that when they remember 
 that his talents were certainly of the first class, and hi? 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 81 
 
 life equally spotless ; and when they remember too 
 that his convictions of the transcendent charm and 
 worth of religious affections, were very early and deep, 
 and yet he delayed coming forth to the public until his 
 twenty-fourth year, they ought, we think, to be very 
 cautious, lest, " running before they are sent, they fall 
 into the snare of the devil, and by bringing much re- 
 proach on their holy profession, pierce themselves 
 through with many sorrows." 
 
 What particular books and bodies of divinity Wil- 
 lim Penn studied during those six years of seclusion, I 
 have never been able to learn ; but on reading the nu- 
 merous tracts, which, like polished shafts of the quiver, 
 flew from his pen against the adversaries of the hum- 
 ble and loving gospel^ (as set forth in the lives of the 
 quakers,) we are at a loss whether most to admire the 
 extent of his reading, or the powers of his memory and 
 judgment. 
 
 As a skilful chemist, from a waggon load of plants, 
 will extract an essence which though compressible into 
 an ounce vial, shall yet contain the choice odour and 
 virtues of the whole heap, leaving the residue a mere 
 caput mortuum fit only for the dunghill — so, in passing 
 through the alembic of William Penn's brain, the 
 grossest bodies of divinity appeared all at once de- 
 composed ; the bonds whereby sophistry had coupled 
 truth and error, are instantly dissolved ; and the vile and 
 the precious are shown in such characteristic colours, 
 that a child can easily mark the difference. The result 
 of all this was a plainness and purity in his principles 
 and practice which can hardly be enough admired and 
 imitated. 
 
 We read of the wise king of Israel, that after all his 
 sprightly songs, and pregnant proverbs, and grave dis- 
 courses, he winds up with a single text — " fear God and 
 keep his commandments ; for that is the whole duty of 
 man." Even so, William Penn, after all his deep 
 reading and reflection on that great subject, throws the 
 
^2 THE LIFE OF 
 
 whole of religion into two words, humility and love. 
 Those who are in the habit of despising a religion that 
 is not bundled up and bloated with creeds and cate- 
 chisms, SACRAMENTS and CEREMONIES, wiU HO doubt 
 
 think as meanly of Penn's simple religion of humility 
 and LOVE, as Naaman did of Elisha's simple prescrip- 
 tion for the leprosy, " go and washy But it is enough 
 for us to know that this religion, simple as it may seem, 
 is from God. And it is also enough for us to know that 
 the foolishness of God is wiser than man. Man must 
 always have a tedious ^'^ round abouV way to come at his 
 object. God goes point blank to it at once. Man must 
 have a thousand springs to move one effect ; God 
 touches but one spring, and lo milhons of effects leap 
 into motion ! Since then his power is so great why 
 may not God, if it please him, give command, and a 
 single pair of parent virtues shall instantly give birth 
 to innumerable beauties in the moral world ? He does 
 so in the natural world. Look at wintry nature clad 
 in her dreary shroud of ice and snow — her lovely ve- 
 getable family all enhearsed I — her nobler animal off- 
 spring drooping in silent despair ! ''''Alas ! shall these 
 dead bones live.'''' Yes, let the sun but come forth in 
 his strength — let the soaking showers smoke along the 
 ground — and straightway the little plants peep forth, 
 laughing, from their clods — the lambs gambol on their 
 hills — and the birds fill the spicy groves with songs ! 
 — and all this wondrous change effected by the sole 
 agency of the sun and the shower ! And what is that 
 sun ; and what is that shower in the natural world, 
 but humility and love in the moral ? For as the 
 warm sun and shower unbind the ice of winter, and 
 (ill the lap of nature with precious fruits and flowers, 
 so by the tear of humility and the glow of love, the ice 
 of human nature is dissolved — the long dead seeds of 
 virtue begin to sprout — the man is revived — his fajce 
 blooms benevolence — his thoughts breathe kindness — 
 and his lips utter a language sweeter than the song oi 
 
WILLIAM PENN. BS 
 
 birds, and more refreshing than the odour of precious 
 spices. 
 
 Thus NATURE, by her still small voice of analogy, 
 proclaims to man that humility and love are the true 
 religion and life of the moral world. But for further 
 proof let us go up from nature to nature's God; from 
 his works to his word. And here, passing by the pro- 
 phets who all assure us that Jehovah asks not our 
 " thousands of rams nor tens of thousands of rivers 
 of oi7," but only that we " do justice ; love mercy ; 
 and walk humbly with God." Passing by the apostles 
 also, who with one voice declare that humility and 
 LOVE are the very '• end of the law'''' — and that without 
 these all our zeal, though hot as the martyr's flame, 
 and all our faith though stronger than mountains, will 
 avail us nothing. Passing, I say, by the prophets and 
 apostles, let us come to a greater than all prophets and 
 apostles, I mean God himself '''' manifested in the fleshy'''' 
 and in him we shall see cause for ever to exclaim, " wa& 
 ever love, was ever humanity like his ? " 
 
 His mother — an obscure virgin ! 
 
 His supposed father — a poor carpenter ! 
 
 His birth-place — a stable 1 
 
 His cradle — a manger ! 
 
 His heralds — shepherds f 
 
 His disciples — ^fishermen ! 
 
 His family example — washing his disciples' ieei f 
 
 His miracle — giving eyes to the blind, (Szc. ! 
 
 His new commandment — love one another ! 
 
 His favourites here — they that resemble little chil- 
 dren! 
 
 His courtiers hereafter — they that feed the hungry, 
 (Sic. &;c. ! 
 
 His coming into the world — to seek those that were 
 lost! 
 
 His LIFE — doing good ! 
 
 His death — on the cross to save sinners ! 
 
 Now what does all this point to, but to humihty and 
 
84 THE LIFE OF 
 
 love — to a love stronger than death, and to a humility 
 lower than the grave ! 
 
 And for those who hold no authority equal to rea- 
 son, what says reason? Why the only religion in the 
 universe must be humility and love — because, by hu- 
 mility WE ADORE GOD FOR ALL THAT HE GIVES TO 
 OURSELVES ; AND BY LOVE WE PARTICIPATE WITH 
 OTHERS IN ALL THAT HE GIVES TO THEM. 
 
 But still a blind world will not be reconciled to hu- 
 mility and LOVE. They are too heavenly for earthly 
 natures — too much against the grain of flesh and blood, 
 to be submitted to. " What !'* says Pride, " be the 
 servant of all ! take the lowest seat ! wash the disci- 
 ples' feet !" — " What !" says Hate, " bear to be called 
 a liar ! love my enemies ! do them good for all their 
 evil to me ! no, never." 
 
 This is poor human nature all over. Whether Jew 
 or Gentile, Turk or Christian, they can't stomach hu- 
 mility and love. Jf God will but excuse them from 
 these, they will do any thing for him. Let them but 
 have their pride and revenge, their covetousness 
 and LUST, and they will give him thousands of will- 
 worship. The heathens will sacrifice their hecatombs 
 of fat bullocks and lambs ; yea and their own children 
 too, on a pinch. The Jews will give him prayers in 
 the streets by the hour, with loads of mint and anise 
 into the bargain. The Mahometans will shear their whis- 
 kers, and make scores of pilgrimages to the prophet's 
 tomb — and the Christians, with all their better light, 
 will get baptized in every mode, w^hether of sprinkling 
 or dipping ; and will take forty sacraments, if there be 
 as many. And yet, after all, what good was ever done 
 to the w^orld by these alone ? Have they ever yet made 
 mankind one jot the better or happier ? Alas ! can we 
 be ignorant that w^ith the most pompous display of 
 these, the w^orld has all along been " dead in trespasses 
 and sins ?" The heathens universally, idolaters, gladi- 
 ators, cannibals. The Jews, extortioners, and devourer?' 
 
WILLIAM PENN. S5 
 
 of widows' houses. The Mahometans, polygamists, 
 s ave holders, robbers. And the Christians — (O shame I 
 shame ! shame !) the Christians — drunkards, gamblers, 
 swindlers ; duellists in private life ; and in public, 
 butchers of one another in endless and bloody wars. 
 
 But to come neaicr to our own case as individuals, 
 let us suppose a man disordered with the leprosy of sin. 
 And for arguments sake, let us suppose, reader, that you 
 are that man ; from the sole of your foot to the crown 
 of your head all distempered, all grievously afflicted. 
 Let us suppose that you are tormented with envy, so 
 that like Cain, the prosperity of even your own brother 
 stirs a hell within you — or bloated with pride, so that, 
 like Haman, not all the smiles of a monarch and his 
 court can appease your vengeance for the neglect of 
 a beggar. Now under such cruel distempers as these, 
 will you look for a cure in the externals of religion ? 
 Alas I have you not discovered, that all your bodily 
 exercises ^'•profit nothing F^^ Have you not found, that 
 after all your shiftings from one religion to another ; 
 after all your humble kneelings and solemn sacra- 
 ments ; all your china bowl baptisms, or your deeper 
 plungings, — your heart has continued just as hard, and 
 your life as much embittered with malignant passions 
 and the dread of death as ever ? But say, O happy 
 reader, when at some subsequent period the God of 
 Elijah had descended into your heart, in streams of 
 humility and flames of love, have you not experienced 
 a change beyond all that you could have conceived ? 
 Have you not found the haughty proudling converted 
 into the weaned child — through tears smiling on m* 
 juries which formerly would have been insupport- 
 able — delighting in works of love which you would 
 once have utterly loathed — with brotherly tenderness 
 washing the feet of the meanest disciple — with angel 
 sympathy cleansing the ulcers of the poorest Lazarus — 
 and, more wondrous still, with godlike generosity 
 taking the bitterest enemy to yoUr arms, and even 
 H 
 
86 TPIE LIFE OF 
 
 rejoicing in the divine work of doing him good for 
 evil ! 
 
 Of the wonderful difference between this rehgion 
 of Christ and that of the world — between the showy 
 rehgion of ceremonies and the simple religion of hu- 
 mility and love, few men perhaps ever had a livelier 
 sense than William Penn ; and few ever took truer 
 pains to impart that sense to others. This was the 
 end of all his life's extraordinary labours — to caution 
 men against what he called will-worship. "Don't 
 think," he would say, " that preachings and prayings, 
 singings and sacraments, can make you Christians. 
 Baptism by water washes azcay only the fllh of the 
 flesh j 'tis baptism hy fire and the Holy Ghost that is to 
 burn up our lusts, and restore union and oneness with 
 God. 'Tis in vain you eat the flesh, and drink the 
 blood of Christ, unless they nourish in you his spirit^ 
 which is humility and love. Without which there is 
 no salvation, because there is no qualification for it. 
 For without humility how can there be gratitude? 
 and without gratitude, how can there be enjoyment? 
 And without a child-like love of him, how can we 
 walk with God in the blessedness of sweet obedience 
 in this life, or in the joys of beatific vision in the life 
 to come ? Thus humility and love are required, not 
 as arbitrary terms for God's pleasure, but as loving 
 prescriptions for man's happiness, to which indeed 
 they are so absolutely essential, that without them 
 God himself could not make us truly happy : for, 
 without them, we could no more enjoy the ravishing 
 glories of his presence than we now can enjoy beauti- 
 ful pictures without eyes, or savoury dishes without 
 health. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 87 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 
 Now one would have supposed that all men would 
 have heen well pleased with William Penn, for thus 
 eloquently persuading people to exchange their barren 
 notions for divine loves^ which alone can restore the 
 "golden age" of pleasure, to man and beast. One 
 would have supposed that every child, laughing with 
 plenteousness of bread .; and that every animal gambol- 
 ing with fat, would, by thus manifesting the blessed 
 effects of his doctrine, have caused all good men to 
 rejoice in it. At any rate, one would have supposed, 
 that though kings and their minions, rioting on the 
 nation's substance, might hate such levelling doctrines, 
 yet assuredly their " thread hare subjects,'''' and above 
 all, the oppressed dissenters, would have supported 
 him in a doctrine so well calculated to hghten their 
 burdens, and better their own condition. But alas, 
 poor human nature ! let a man wear a coat never so 
 black, or a face never so grum, yet, without love, 
 (the soul of all magnanimity,) he will soon manifest 
 himself the slave of some pitiful passion. And as 
 slaves on a West-India plantation, the worse they are 
 treated by their masters, the more cruel they become 
 to one another ; so in a country where religion is not 
 left free to make men the children of God in humility 
 and love, but is enslaved to make them the " hewers 
 of wood and drawers of water" to a despot, the worse 
 they are afflicted and chafed in their minds by him, the 
 more apt are they to hate their fellow sutFerers. 
 
 Another reason may be assigned for the very unex- 
 pected persecution of William Fenn by the dissenting 
 preachers. Mdu is seldom placed in a situation that 
 entirely extinguishes his strong natural wish to be 
 somehodij. Hence the dissenters in England, though 
 shamefully kept under hatches by the national church, 
 yet neYQT shed their iiijuorish tooth for power. And 
 
88 THE LIFE OF 
 
 although they could not get what St. Paul calls " a 
 good thing," /. e. a bishopric ; yet they affected to 
 come as near to it as possible. They must, (as our 
 Saviour charged their fathers,) be called " Rabbi ! 
 Rabbi !" They must be seated in the '''•uppermost places 
 at the feast — be the chief men in the synagogues, 
 and receive praises of men^ Well, those among 
 them who possessed talents and education, often at- 
 tained these objects of their ambition — they gathered 
 hearers — made proselytes — built meeting houses — 
 drew up their catechisms and confessions of faith — 
 published their hymn books and discipline — and thus 
 mimicked most bravely a church of Christ. But though 
 apparently, " so nigh unto the kingdom of God, yet one 
 thing they lacked. They did not this for God, — but for 
 flthy lucre sake — and for glory from men.'''' Yes, 
 they must be great doctors of divinity and heads of 
 churches. Some of them, as before observed, suc- 
 ceeded. Success often tempts even the pulpit to 
 pride ; and pulpit pride, like all the rest, kindles at op- 
 position and sickens at talents superior to its own. 
 The shepherd who loses his lamb to the wolf, loses 
 nothing but his lamb-, the fleece and flesh, that's 
 all. His own character, in the mean time, as a man, 
 and therefore lord of the wolf, stands undisputed. 
 But the proud priest who loses his disciple, loses not 
 only his fleece and flesh, his taxable and tytheable, 
 who feeds his vanity and fattens his purse, but he 
 loses his reputation too ! The world will say of him 
 that though he was great, another was greater. " Saul 
 slew his thousands, but David his tens of thousands." 
 This were a stab incurable ; he could never get over 
 it. And as such an idea must never go abroad, he 
 must pull down his rival, that's a clear case. 
 
 Such was the wretched spirit manifested against 
 Wilham Penn, by some of the dissenting preachers 
 of his time. I mean not such '"''great and shining 
 lights,^'' as the Watts 's and Baxters and Doddridges 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 89 
 
 and Wesleys, and Gills, of latter times, whom God, in 
 mercy to the world, has all along raised up to check 
 the corruption and decay of the gospel by wickedly 
 mixing it with this world, as popes and politicians 
 have done. But I am speaking of such, and such 
 there are in the purest churches, who preaching for 
 fame and for the fleece, would not thank St. Paul 
 himself to take away one of their hearers. It was a 
 dissenting preacher of this stamp who rose up so furi- 
 ously against William Penn. The case was thus — 
 The divine sweetness of his countenance when he 
 stood up to speak, and the truths which fell from his 
 lips with such demonstration of light and love, pro- 
 duced the effect that might have been counted on. 
 Numbers were convinced and joined themselves to the 
 gospel. Among these were some persons belonging to 
 the meeting of a popular dissenting preacher of the name 
 of Irvine. This gentleman had, for some time, been 
 much displeased with William Penn for reflecting on 
 his favourite doctrine, '-'• justification by faith alone^^'' — 
 " imputed righteousness,'^'' and other such notions which 
 some are fond of putting in place of the harder precepts 
 o^ humility and faith loorking by love.''^ As yet he had 
 kept his displeasure to himself. But soon as he heard 
 that WilHam Penn had drawn away some of his flock, 
 he could contain no longer, but broke forth against him 
 into the most indecent passion, calling him a jesuit ; 
 a FALSE PROPHET, and a preacher of dajinable doc- 
 trines. 
 
 Happily for William Penn his labours in religion 
 had been chiefly in quest of that treasure which is 
 better than the merchandize of gold, i. e. love. By vir- 
 tue of this he had learned to look on his fellow man, 
 when tormented v>^ith sin, as no object of hate but of 
 pity. He therefore made no reply at first to such 
 abuse, but by his sighs. At length fearing that silence 
 might, by weak persons, be considered as a tacit ac- 
 knowledgment of a bad cause, he permitted a public 
 H 2 
 
90 THE LIFE OF 
 
 notice, that " he and his friend William Mead, would 
 meet James Irvine at any time and place he should think 
 proper to appoint, and in the spirit of meekness endea- 
 vour to answer the very uncharitable charges which he 
 had made against them.'''' 
 
 If a rumored fight between the elephant and rhino- 
 ceros has always excited curiosity sufficient to fill the 
 largest amphitheatre, then how much more when 
 Christian divines, of highest reputation in their respec- 
 tive churches, are coming forward to public dispute 
 on the all-important subjects of religion and eternal 
 life. The crowd of hearers was immense. William 
 Penn, and his friend Mead being handed up to seats 
 prepared for them on a platform, Mr. Irvine in his 
 pulpit commenced with very formally charging Wil- 
 liam Penn, as an utter enemy to the glorious doctrine 
 of the trinity. 
 
 William Penn denied the charge. 
 
 Mr. Irvine set himself with great pomp to prove his 
 assertion in a lengthy series of subtile scholastic argu- 
 ments. 
 
 William Penn with his usual simplicity and brevity, 
 showed that both his reasoning and language, being 
 utterly unscriptural, ought not to be relied on. 
 
 Finding that William Penn and his friend Mead had 
 a great deal more to say in favour of their opinions 
 than he had imagined, and that the controversy was like 
 to take a very different turn from what he had ex- 
 pected, Mr. Irvine lost his temper and became quite 
 abusive. His disciples kept pace with him in his rage, 
 which they now indulged, not only without restraint, 
 but even with complacency, as thinking they were do- 
 ing God service by abusing '•'false teachers,^"* and '■'■vile 
 Jesuits.'''' In short, after an altercation continued till 
 late at night, Mr. Irvine, filled with holy wrath, could 
 refrain no longer, but leaping down from his pulpit 
 and snatching his hat, darted out of the meeting-house 
 with a soul as dark and stormy as the night he rushed 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 91 
 
 into. This served as a signal to his party to maltreat 
 our poor qiiakers at pleasure, which they accordingly 
 did in the most indecent manner. They shuffled their 
 feet — they hissed — they put out their candles — and at 
 length pulling them down from the platform, thrust 
 them out of doors. 
 
 Seeing no chance of getting any thing like justice 
 from such blind persons, William Penn determined to 
 bring his defence before the public. Accordingly he 
 fell to writing and presently came out with a pamphlet 
 entitled " the sandy foundation shaken^ Now though 
 in this famous piece he only said what his divine mas- 
 ter had said a thousand times before him, viz. that all 
 manner of dependence on Christ save that which 
 worketh humility and love, will only turn out like 
 the house built on the sand^ yet he soon discovered 
 that, in writing it, he had brought himself into the pre- 
 dicament of that notable peasant, who, in running away 
 from the wolf, stumbled upon the lion. In place of the 
 skin-deep scratches of a few feeble dissenters, he was 
 all at once in the strong clutches of the bishop of Lon- 
 don and his formidable clergy. These reverend and 
 right reverend gentlemen, with scarlet ribbons at their 
 knees and long swords by their sides, had for some 
 time past been frowning on William Penn, and for the 
 same goodly reasons for which certain worthies in his 
 day had so grinned at St. Paul, i. e. because he wished 
 "<o be their friend.^'' 
 
 Every body knows that William Penn did not dread 
 the prince of darkness half as much as he did a noisy, 
 SHOWY RELIGION. Knowing, as he did, that the heart 
 of man is " deceitful above all things and desperately 
 wicked,'^'' — and knowing also, that most men are such 
 extravagant lovers of themselves, that like certain 
 saints we read of in the gospel, if they only make a 
 bow at the altar, think themselves full holy enough to 
 ''''despise father and mother l^"* or if, like the pharisees, 
 they do but offer to God a sprig of mint, they set 
 
92 THE LIFE OF 
 
 themselves down at once for AbraJiam^s children /— 
 Or if, like Christ's ow7i disciples, who only for leaving 
 their beggarly trades and walking about a short season 
 with their divine master, who, by the bye, was every 
 day working miracles to fill their hungry bellies and 
 pay their taxes ^ yet they could boldly lay claim to the 
 ^'- first seats in his kingdom /" — Knowing, I say, as Wil- 
 liam Penn did, all this incalculable pride and naughti- 
 ness of the human heart, had he not abundant cause 
 to tremble for the bishop of London and his clergy, 
 when he saw the mighty noise and show which they 
 were making "/or God^s sake,""^ — darkening the skies 
 with their tall cathedrals and spires — distracting the 
 air with their bells and organs — dazzling all eyes with 
 their rich pulpit-cloths and altar-pieces — keeping the 
 people on the stare at their constant change of gowns, 
 and cassocks, and the church in a holy bustle of kneel- 
 ings and risings, with loud responses and amens ? 
 Had not he good cause, as St. Paul speaks of certain 
 ostentatious saints of his day, " to stand in fear of 
 them,'''' lest, after such wonderful exploits in religion, 
 they would, in the old way, begin to " thank God that 
 they w-ere not like other men ?'' And because he 
 thus feared for them, and often out of pure christian 
 love expressed his fears, the bishop of London, in 
 place of taking it in good part, kindled into wrath, and 
 by way of revenge, had him attainted of heresy, on ac- 
 count of his book, and thrown into prison ! ! 
 
 The clergy, many of whom had already raised the 
 old war-whoop, "Great is Diana of the JEphesians," 
 now felt themselves perfectly at liberty to fall upon 
 William Penn, which they did in the most virulent 
 manner. One of them went so far as to sa}', " he did 
 not see how it was possible for God, consistently xi'ith the 
 Bible, to save a quaker /" Another revererid gentle- 
 man, going still further, published a book against Wil- 
 liam Penn, wherein he asserted roundly, that "Par- 
 liament would not be doing half as much harm to the 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 93 
 
 nation by tolerating gamblers, hoi'se-thkves^ duellists, 
 and all that pack of vermin^ as by tolerating the qua- 
 kers^ 
 
 Had a whale or a grampus, during a heavy blow at 
 sea, put into the mouth of the Thames, no historian 
 of those days would on any account have missed re- 
 lating the wonderful and portentous event. And yet 
 this reverend whale of spiritual ignorance and bigotry, 
 who made his appearance in the city of London so 
 late as the year 1669, is no where noticed by Hume, 
 Smollett, or any other British writer that I have seen. 
 So much apter are men to notice monsters in the na- 
 tural than in the moral world ! thus dipping, like 
 wanton swallows, at mere feathers on the surface to 
 amuse a vain fancy, when they ought to be diving like 
 men to the bottom of moral truths, for the precious 
 pearls of true wisdom. 
 
 After lying for some time in durance vile, William 
 Penn was let into the grand secret of his confinement 
 there, viz. /or denying the divinity of the Saviour! He 
 was also given to understand from the good bishop, 
 that unless he recanted that damnable error, he should 
 die and rot in prison/ ! Soon as possible he procured 
 pen and ink, and presently came out with another 
 pamphlet, entiled " truth with her open face " 
 In this work, so far from making the Saviour less, as 
 his enemies slandered, he makes him much greater 
 than they do. Instead of making him the second 
 person in the trinity, he makes him the frst — yea, he 
 makes him as the scriptures make him, " The mighty 
 God'' — " The everlasting Father"" — " The only wise 
 God our Saviour," even " God himself manifested 
 in the flesh" — who was " with God from the begin 
 ning, and who was God." The bishop, a sturdy 
 athanasian, did not altogether like this exposition of 
 the trinity ; but it gave great comfort to some, even to 
 those whose pious souls had often been grieved to hear 
 the blessed God misrepresented as having less love 
 
94 THE LIFE OF 
 
 for them than Christ has. To them it gave unspeaka- 
 ble joy to find, as they did in this pubhcation of Wil- 
 ham Penn's, that God was still their God, their infinite 
 friend and father, who so loved them even in their 
 death of sin, that he came into the world for their re- 
 demption ; yea, that it was " God himself who in the 
 person of Christ redeemed the world." William Penn 
 is, however, in prison, where we mean to visit him, 
 next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 William Penn in prison^ his mother visits him. 
 
 A THOUSAND great things and glorious have been 
 said of RELIGION and her family of pleasures. But if 
 ten thousand times ten thousand more were added, 
 still would the happy Christian have cause to ex- 
 claim, as did the queen of the East, when with rap- 
 ture-sparkling eyes she beheld the riches and glories 
 of Solomon's royal state, " verily the half was not told 
 me.'' O, who, in praising can ever do half justice to 
 that blessed frame of mind which in every thing sees 
 and feels the presence of the Deity, with that holy joy 
 which antidotes all the ills of life, and makes men con- 
 tent in every state — content in poverty — content in 
 sickness — yea, content in bonds and imprisonment 
 where duty calls and the pleasure of pleasing God, is 
 felt. This blessed influence of religion was fully ex- 
 perienced by William Penn in a very important event 
 of his life about this time. 
 
 Because he could not think of the trinity exactly 
 as St. Athanasius thought, he was, as we have just seen, 
 locked up in prison by the bishop of London. Under 
 circumstances of this sort, the falscli/ great have been 
 
WILLIAM PENN. gs 
 
 known to exhibit symptoms of extreme dejection and 
 impatience ; bitterly lamenting their own misfortunes, 
 and as keenly reflecting on the authors of them. But 
 far different was the state of William Penn in prison. 
 Iron bars and bolts could shu4; him in, but they could 
 not shut out his God. As to please him by pulling 
 down falsehood, and setting up truth, appeared to Penn 
 the highest glory of man, so it inspired the tenderest pity 
 of those who were blind to its importance, and who 
 did not greaten life by pursuing it. Hence, all the 
 malice of the bishop and his clergy, in place of harm, 
 wrought him much good, by exercising and strength- 
 ening in him that divine charity which draws the sting 
 of injuries, and spontaneously breathes that sublimest 
 of prayers, "Father forgive them for they know not 
 what they do." 
 
 With so much of heaven in his bosom, what wonder 
 that his confinement should have entirely changed its 
 nature, and instead of seeming dark and dreary as a 
 dungeon, should have reflected the gay and lightsome 
 air of a palace. 
 
 How long he had laid in prison before the news 
 thereof reached that affectionate parent, 1 kriow not. 
 And as little do I know by whom it was conveyed. 
 Certainly, it was not by him, for she was the last per- 
 son on earth to whose tender bosom he would have 
 imparted such a pang ; especially knowing, as he did, 
 that all her sighs and tears could avail him nothing. 
 The news, however, was brought to her that he was 
 in prison. The reader, especially if a parent, will ask 
 no poet's pen to describe the feelings of this tender- 
 est of mothers on hearing that an only son, and one so 
 beloved, was in jail! And her sufferings must have 
 been more than ordinarily severe, as, from the silence 
 of the historian concerning him, it is more than proba- 
 ble that her husband, the admiral, was from home 
 at this distressing juncture. Her coach was instantly 
 ordered to the door, and, with all the trembling eager- 
 
96 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ness of maternal affection, she threw herself into it and 
 set out for the prison, mournfally revolving no doubt 
 as she went, the dark cloud now obscuring those bright 
 prospects which she had so often formed for her son. 
 Her reveries were soon broken off by the appearance 
 of the prison. But if her tender spirits were chilled 
 with horror at sight of the gloomy walls and iron 
 gratings around that house of woe, what must she 
 have felt, as passing along those crowded chambers of 
 sin and suffering, her gentle senses were assailed with 
 the filth and rags and pallid looks of the wretches that, 
 on all sides, stared at her as she walked. Following 
 the steps of the sullen turnkey, she arrived at William's 
 chamber, whose iron door, reluctantly opening with 
 discordant jar, gave her eager eyes the dear object 
 they sought for. Absorbed in his studies, and sitting 
 at an opposite window, William Penn had not marked 
 the entrance of his mother, who, soon as she beheld 
 him, could not repress her feelings, but involuntarily 
 uttered a scream, calling on his beloved name. Start- 
 ing from his chair, William Penn wheeled him around to 
 that well known voice, presenting to his mother a face 
 as like an angel as innocence and filial love, in rosy 
 youth could look. O never was the charm of virtue 
 more sensibly felt than now ; and never was that charm 
 more needed. Mrs. Penn had come to weep over her 
 imprisoned son, and to bathe him with her tears. But 
 far from her were all such thoughts when she beheld 
 him, as leaping from his chair, and with all heaven in 
 his countenance, he flew to embrace her. 
 
 Ml/ Mother I 
 
 O my son! was all that nature, near swooning with 
 ineffable tenderness, could utter. After a moment of 
 delicious tears shed on his bosom, the happy mother 
 raised herself to feast her eager eyes on his beloved 
 face. It was a feast indeed. " O the difference! the 
 difference ! her joy sparkling eyes seemed to say as 
 they darted over his looks — " the difference between 
 
WILLIAM PENN. g? 
 
 this my son and the ghastly wretches I but now beheld! 
 They, the dismal foiins of guilt, disease, and death ^ but 
 HE, all that fancy can conceive of the lovely reverse ! 
 Health in his cheeks, heaven in his eyes, and in every 
 feature innocence and bliss.'''' These honours of her 
 son were too bright and precious to escape her keen 
 searching inspection. She caught and enjoyed them 
 all to ecstasy. Then pressing him once more in trans- 
 port to her bosom, and looking at him with great ten- 
 derness, she said, " O William, my son, my son, what 
 a medley of sweetest pains and pleasures has my life 
 been made to me ; and all through you !" 
 
 Sweetest pains, my mother, and all through me! 
 
 " Yes, William, sweetest pains indeed, and all 
 through you. God be praised, you never gave me the 
 pang of a single vice. O no, your life has all been 
 brightened over with virtues. But still, William, 
 through some rare dispensation of heaven, even your 
 virtues have caused me pains ; but, as I said, they 
 have been sweet pains. Your early seriousness and 
 devotedness to God, were certainly the greatest of all 
 virtues : but then your father's violent persecutions of 
 you for it, and especially for your joining the quakers, 
 was cause of great pain to me, though it was, I con- 
 fess, accompanied with much pleasure because of the 
 pure principles and firm, yet amiable spirit, you dis- 
 played under it all. And now your confinement in 
 this prison has cost me many tears, but still, blessed 
 be God, they are comparatively sweet tears, because 
 not shed for grief of any crime that you have commit- 
 ted, but rather for joy of your angel innocence and 
 honest adherence to what you think your duty." But, 
 my dear son, although your looks, shining with hea- 
 venly innocence and peace, do cause me to feel my- 
 self the happiest of mothers, yet I must confess, W^il- 
 liam, that my joy would be still more complete if you 
 were not in this place." 
 
 Yes, mother, and could I obtain it on terms consistent 
 I 
 
08 THE LIFE OF 
 
 with duty, I also would prefer freedom to these bonds. 
 But with my present views of things how can 1 ever 
 expect it ? 
 
 Why not, my son ? replied Mrs. Penn, eagerly. 
 
 Why, mother, 1 am in this prison not for any moral 
 law of God that I have violated ; not for any harm that 
 I have ever done to any, or even for suspicion of such 
 thing, but merely because I will not conform with the 
 national church. But how can I conform to that 
 church while there is so much of antichrist in their 
 worship ? 
 
 Of antichrist, William ! 
 
 Yes, mother, of antichrist : for what is antichrist, 
 but to invent substitutes, no matter how costly or how 
 apparently holy, in place of the simple worship which 
 God has declared will please him? Now God every 
 where tells us that he " is a spirit" — a spirit of" ho- 
 liness AND love" — that, this being his own nature, 
 "he seeks for worshipers" — "?ione but those who 
 thus worship him in spirit and ti'uth.'''^ He also every 
 where assures us that there is nothing which his soul 
 so abhors as all attempts, in place of these, to invent 
 outward substitutes, such as grand temples — rich of- 
 ferings — thousands of rams — teiis of thousands of ri- 
 vers of oil — bowings of the head like bullrushes — ob- 
 servings of nezv mooyis and sabbaths — tythings of mint 
 and anise — disfguring offices— long prayers— frequent 
 fastings — giving alms in the streets, &;c. " while the 
 heart is far from him," and of course the life 
 tilled up with crimes, such as "devouring widows' 
 houses" — and not providing proper food and raiment 
 even for " their own householcV Now, my dear mo- 
 ther, look at our national church, my non-conformity 
 with which has caused the bishops to throw me {un- 
 charged with a crime) into this prison : I say look at 
 our national church and see how awfully it has fallen 
 into these abominations — see how, leaving the simple, 
 inzoard, spititual worship of Christ, that naturally 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 99 
 
 leads to imitate him in all moral virtues, they have 
 substituted an outward, showy, gaudy worship, like the 
 Heathens, which is consistent with all their old sins of 
 pride, indulgence of self, and frauds and cruelties to 
 others. Look at their grand churches and cathedrals 
 which they have built for Christ ! do these show any 
 thing like his humility in life^ doctrine and example^ 
 which " he has left that we might follow his steps.'''' 
 Do these show any thing of his love, who "made him- 
 self poor that we might be rich" — who requires 
 " mercy and not sacrifice^'' — and who said " let nothing 
 be lost," no, not a scrap of broken meat, because 
 there is always some poor starving Lazarus who 
 wants it. 
 
 " And look at the ornamentings and furniture of 
 these grand churches and cathedrals, which they say 
 they have built for Christ ; their costly carvings and 
 paintings ; their rich altar-pieces and pulpit-cloths, 
 flaming with crimson and gold ; their piles of massy 
 plate ; and, above all, their tall and towering steeples 
 and spires, reaching to the clouds ! Do these things 
 suit the genius of his simple humble worship ; or do 
 they match with his precepts of " perfect charity," 
 which are as angels sent to earth, with their eyes bright 
 through tears, eagerly looking around for the poor and 
 miserable, that they may relieve them ; and not throw- 
 ing away their precious means on such blinding, de- 
 ceiving, and fatal vanities. For " who hath required 
 these things at your hajids, saith the Lord God. Be- 
 hold the heaven of heavens cannot containme : and will 
 you build me houses of brick and mortar, which perish 
 before the moth? Is not this the sacrifice that I have 
 chosen, even to deal thy bread to the hungry ? and that 
 thou bring the poor that are cast out of thy house ? 
 when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him ; and 
 that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh F'''' And 
 then for the worship, both by the priests and the peo- 
 ple, which is offered unto Christ in these their grand 
 
100 THE LIFE OF 
 
 churches, what precedents have they for it in his gos- 
 pel ? When the multitude was come together to hear 
 the words of eternal life from his lips, did he amuse 
 them with changes of garments, surplices, and gowns, 
 and cassocks ? or did he keep the impatient crowds in 
 suspense, wearying and fatiguing them with repetitions 
 of long prayers, which, though excellent in themselves, 
 and apt to be vei-y savoury and profitable to the devout, 
 ought not to be forced upon the multiude? And as to 
 his worshippers, did he, whose chief delight is in the 
 ' humble and cojilrite ones,'' ever look to be served by 
 giddy crowds driving up to his house in proud car- 
 riages, alas ! too often bought with monies taken from 
 their creditors ; or, worse still, taken from the '-poor 
 to whom he had appointed them his own stewards?'' 
 or did he expect that persons profaning his house with 
 pomps and vanities of attire so opposite to the charita- 
 ble spirit of his religion, would set themselves down 
 as his disciples, because they had gone a formal round 
 of outward devotions, while in their tempers and man- 
 ners they betrayed the most deplorable ignorance of 
 the Saviour whom they had been so pompously wor- 
 shipping—living in their old scandalous neglects of those 
 moral duties which even heathens honour, to the great 
 disgrace of the religion of Christ, and to the filling the 
 world with infidel philosophers, thus taught to laugh 
 at all revelation !" 
 
 As William Penn uttered this, which he did like one 
 who strongly felt what he was speaking, his mother, 
 who had been eagerly imbibing every syllable, thus 
 passionately replied : — " Oh William, my son, what a 
 horrible picture have you given of the degeneracy of 
 the church in these wretched days ! and the more hor- 
 rible because it is so true." 
 
 " Yes, mother," replied he ; " and yet, because I 
 cannot conform to such horrible corruptions of Christ's 
 gospel ; because 1 cannot bring my feelings to go to such 
 churches and to partake of all that outward, noisy, showy, 
 
WILLIAM PENN 101 
 
 TinspTritiml worship, my name is cast out as evil ; my 
 property is confiscated and sold ; and I am here, you see, 
 mother, locked up in prison, cut off from the common 
 blessings of air and liberty, when all the time no man 
 dare come forward and say I ever did him harm ; and 
 all this under the eyes of the bishops of the church, 
 whose tythings, and revenues, and palaces, and pomps, 
 and pleasures are, in part, maintained out of the sub- 
 stance thus torn from the poor quakers ; and their 
 children beggared and ruined by such inhuman rob- 
 berien, 
 
 " Well, William," replied Mrs. Penn, embracing 
 him, and her looks shining with heavenly joys, " you 
 have given me more of divine comfort to-day than I 
 ever experienced in one day in all my life. Such 
 bright lights on your duty, and such fortitude to ad- 
 here to it, in spite of all discouragements, O what glory 
 has it not shed over your person in my eyes ; and 
 what ceaseless gratitude to God that he has given to 
 my dear son the honour t-o be such a champion and 
 martyr for his glorious truth, which yet shall triumph." 
 
 " Yes, mother," replied William, catching up that 
 word, " yes, Christ's truth shall yet triumph over Sa- 
 tan''s lies — and his heavenly love over hellish hate. 
 The fruits of his righteousness shall jet fill the earth, 
 and then all those who have honestly laboured for 
 that great change, ' shall shine like the firmament, and 
 as the stars for ever and ever.'" 
 
 " Well, William," returned Mrs. Penn, getting up 
 as to go away, " I came here to comfort you, but thank 
 <jod for ever, you have much more comforted me. 
 Yes, I am going home very different from what I came ; 
 not with eyes flowing with bitter tears, but with a heart 
 overflowing with sweetest joys. But now I must be 
 going. T forgot to tell you that I expected your dear father 
 yesterday. He will, I think, certainly come to-day. He 
 is coming home sick. I long to pour of my joys into 
 his bosom And besides, my dear son, this shameless 
 I 2 
 
102 THE LIFE OF 
 
 imprisonment of you may bring about great good. You 
 know what a high spirited man he is ; and that, after 
 all his life's dangers and hard fightings for his king and 
 country ; after all his large loans of money for the 
 glory of the British nation, you, his child, his only 
 child, should be thus rudely thrown into prison, -it can- 
 not but rouse his indignation. At any rate, it must set 
 him to thinking ; and he may thence make such disco- 
 veries of the scandalous corruptions in the national 
 church, as shall produce an entire change in his re- 
 spect for it, and even make him honour you for quit- 
 ting it." Mrs. Penn then took a tender leave of her 
 son, not without promising to come and see him the 
 next day, and, perhaps, to bring his father with her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 On her return Mrs. Penn found the admiral had just 
 got home and very uneasy about her, as none of the 
 servants could tell him where she was gone. His sur- 
 prise in hearing from her that she had been to the 
 prison, was changed into the deepest horror on hear- 
 ing the cause — that she had been there to see Wil- 
 liam ! The effect on his spirits was such as she had 
 predicted, that after all his hard fighting, and liberal 
 spendings for his country, his only son and child, 
 though innocent of crime as a lamb, should thus be 
 thrust into prison like a common felon, and that too 
 by an English bishop, for the slightest insult of whose 
 sacred lawn he would have fought to the knees in blood ; 
 oh it was like the stab of a dagger. But he felt not as 
 he once would have done. His health, which for a 
 considerable time past, had been on the decline, had 
 experienced such rapid decay during the last four 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 103 
 
 months' cruise that his impoverished heart could 
 scarely furnish blood enough for his cheeks and eyes 
 to express their resentments. Mrs. Penn did not fail 
 to aid his returning reason and conscience by all the 
 arguments she honestly could. She gave him an ac- 
 count of the interview with their son in prison. She 
 told him that instead of finding William dejected and 
 unhappy, she found him an angel of innocence and 
 serenity ; cheerfully pursuing his studies, and in his 
 looks showing a heroic spirit, nobly triumphant over 
 all his enemies. She then related their son's vivid 
 description of the horrible corruptions of the gospel 
 by worldly minded bishops, substituting outward forms 
 for the inward power of godliness ; and the still more hor- 
 rible corruptions of the bishops themselves as too evi- 
 dent in their pride and ambition, living like princes in 
 their palaces, while thousands of widows and orphans 
 were pining for bread ; and likewise their shutting up 
 in prisons and robbing of their substance, thousands of 
 the most humble and harmless souls, merely because 
 they chose to worship God in a way of greater simpli- 
 city and purity. 
 
 The admiral showed signs of deep contrition at this, 
 and with tears in his eyes, told his wife that he was 
 afraid he had treated that amiable boy, his son, too 
 harshly. He added that ever since his disputes with 
 William, his own eyes had been, he believed, opening; 
 and that he had for a good while past, been thinking 
 that there was a wide difference between the precepts 
 and example of Christ, and those of the great hierarchs 
 who call themselves his bishops — that he began now 
 to be satisfied that they were, most of them, a pack 
 of worldly-mmded^ self-seeking hypocrites and im- 
 postors, whom he would never more go to hear preach 
 as long as he lived. " But, my dear," added he, let 
 us waste no more time in talking thus while our son 
 is in prison. I long to see William ; I long for an en- 
 
104 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fire reconciliation with him ; and to eoconrage him to 
 persevere in his good walk, though 1 am afraid, poor 
 toy, the times are so bad he will meet with much 
 persecution." The next morning while they were at 
 breakfast, they were all at once surprised and delighted 
 with the fine, open, sweetly shining face of William, 
 who had received his discharge from prison early that 
 morning, through a friend to whom the admiral had 
 privately sent money for the purpose. Mrs. Penn as 
 usual, flew to embrace her son. But his father, sud- 
 denly struck with the recollection of his former harsh 
 treatment of William, manifested a momentary embar- 
 rassment ; but quickly recovering himself he rose, and 
 with a sligbt sufTusion on his cheeks, stepped forward 
 reaching out an eager hand, and calling, " come, Wil- 
 ham, my dear son, welcome to your father's embraces. 
 You saw me a little embarrassed, but no matter for 
 that ; if I was angry with you, I meant it for your 
 good as I thought ; but, thank God, I have lived to see 
 my error ; and also to congratulate you, my dear child, 
 that you were so early a favourite of your God." 
 Such a speech from so great an officer as admiral 
 Penn, ought never to be forgotten by the young, whom 
 it should instruct that the bravest miCn have always 
 been the first to acknowledge error, and to seek the 
 heartfelt satisfaction of making friends with the injured. 
 From a father, ever so highly honoured, this speech 
 greatly afTected William Penn, especially when he saw 
 in the looks of that honoured father such evident 
 symptoms of a constitutional decay and speedy disso- 
 lution. The admiral understood the meaning of the 
 tender melancholy that so suddenly settled on Wil- 
 liam's countenance ; with his frequent sighs, which 
 served but to attach him the more to his beloved 
 child. " I am going, my son," said he to William, "I 
 am going ; and very fast* toe ; and I am thankful above 
 measure that you are with -me, and that things havtc 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 105 
 
 worked about into such a good trim at last, as I have 
 been so long wishing. And now my dear boy you 
 must stay with me and see the last of me."" 
 
 William Penn had his hands full at this time, many as- 
 sailants having risen up rudely attacking himself as well 
 as the religious opinions of the people he patronised. 
 In addition to this he had just commenced his career 
 as a preacher of the gospel, to which his heart was 
 entirely devoted. But when he saw the low and lan- 
 guishing state of his father ; and in his pale and ema- 
 ciated looks recognized the dear author, under God, 
 of his own existence, with all his advantages of educa- 
 tion and high standing in life, he was so affected that 
 he resolved to stay at home and aid his mother in the 
 pious work of cheering his declining hours and 
 smoothing his rapid descent to the grave. Then was 
 seen the blessed, blessed power of religion to open 
 the understanding to a sense of parental obligation, and 
 to warm the heart with such filial gratitude, as to 
 cause a young man cheerfully to give up every thing 
 else and find no place so dear to him as the bedside 
 of a sick parent. Then also was seen the wide dif- 
 ference between gold and love to qualify for the ten- 
 der offices of nursing and waiting in the house of 
 mourning. The coarsest hireling can bring to the sick 
 man his food, and can administer his physic. But it be- 
 longs solely to love to perform these offices in such an 
 endearing way as to give them their proper refreshing 
 effect. And here it was that William Penn shone in 
 full lustre. He was not the Esau, the rough man 
 whose duties coldly and reluctantly performed, only 
 served to show ingratitude and to grieve a father's 
 heart ; but he was the fond and affectionate Jacob 
 whose love made him all eye, all ear, all attention to 
 anticipate his wishes and make him fly to supply them 
 even before they were breathed. And whatever he 
 did, whether it was to raise his father in bed, or to 
 smooth his pillow, or to wipe the cold sweat from his 
 
106 THE LIFE OF 
 
 brow, or the phlegm from his hps, all was done with 
 such alacrity and tenderness as to cause the good old 
 admiral daily to lift the eye of gratitude to God for such 
 a child. And indeed few parents ever had more cause 
 to be thankful for such a child. For William Penn's 
 ardent love and unwearied attention to his father was 
 but a small part of his recommendations. His extra- 
 ordinary talents, his studious habits, his rare acquire- 
 ments, together with his gravity, his dignity of deport- 
 ment, his unsullied morals and sublime principles of 
 religion, all, all conspired to furnish this happy parent 
 with an overwhelming flow of joy and thankfulness on 
 his dear account. And to see such a son as this, taking 
 all these his rare advantages and attainments, and with 
 the sweetest humility and affection, laying them at the 
 feet of his aged father, as if he had received all from 
 him, and found no pleasure equal to that of returning 
 all to him again. O how gratifying must this have 
 been to the soul of admiral Penn, especially when he 
 recollected that he had, twice, turned this same child 
 out of doors. How fully now must he have been 
 convinced that this his son " had learned^ as he ought, 
 the truth as it is in Jesus P'' It appears that he be- 
 came completely a convert to the same blessed faith 
 as it is preached and exemplified in the simple child- 
 like spirit and manners of the friends. Then it was 
 that the pride, and ambition, and worldly mindedness 
 of the bishops and clergy began to lay heavy upon his 
 heart ; and he often said in his latter moments, that he 
 was " awfully afraid that the corrupt examples of the 
 national church, with those of the dissolute nobility 
 would overwhelm the country with ruin.'''' Feeling his 
 €nd approaching, and seeing the dark cloud of perse- 
 cution hanging over his son's head, because of his re- 
 ligion, he sent a friend to the Duke of York, (after- 
 terwards King James II. under whom he had fought 
 that great battle against the Dutch fleet) desiring it of 
 iiim as a death-bed request that he would protect hi€ 
 
WILLIAM PENN. t07 
 
 son in case of persecution ; and to ask the king 
 (Charles the 2d) to do the same. They both returned 
 a comfortable answer — " that they would assuredly he 
 WilliaiTi's friends,'''' The day before his death, he 
 said, " son WilHam, I am weary of the world ! 1 would 
 not live over my days again if I could command them 
 with a wish, for the snares of life are greater than the 
 fears of death. Three things I commend to you. 
 First and above all, let nothing ever tempt you to 
 wound your conscience O he tender of your con- 
 science ! so you v/iil Wma peace at home and a rich 
 feast in a day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you 
 design to do, lay it justly and time it seasonably ; for 
 that gives security and despatch. — Thirdly, be not 
 troubled at losses and disappointments ; for if they 
 may be recovered, well ; if not, trouble is vain. If 
 you could not have helped it, be content, and trust in 
 Providence, whose afflictions are for our good. And 
 if you could have helped it, let 7iot your trouble exceed 
 instruction for another time /" 
 
 His dissolution which had been rapidly advancing, 
 began now sensibly to appear upon him : he felt its 
 cold and icy approach without the least alarm. His 
 last words contained the highest eulogy ever pro- 
 nounced on the TRUTH. ^'' Son WiUiamy'' said he, 
 looking at him with the most composed countenance, 
 " i/* y^^ ^^^^ your friends keep to your plain way of 
 preaching, and keep to your plain way of living, you 
 will make an end of the proud priests to the end of 
 the world. — Bury me by my mother — live all in love — 
 shun all manner of evil ; and I pray God to bless you 
 all! and he will bless you all.""^ He then bowed him 
 in his bed and gave up the ghost. 
 
 By the death of his father, William Penn became 
 owner of a very handsome estate, supposed to be 
 worth at that time 1 300/. sterling per annum, equal 
 to 15,000 dollars now; besides an immense sum of 
 money due to him from the crown, for loans made bv 
 
108 THE LIFE OF 
 
 his father, and which he had been kept out of for a 
 long time, as we shall see in the next chapter. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " WHO can tell what is gQpd for man in this life ?" 
 was a question which staggered Solomon himself, with 
 all his wisdom ; and which, indeed, he proposes not 
 with any idea of ever solving it, but rather of throw^ 
 ing out to us a comfortable hint that there is ONE 
 who knows what is good for man in this life, and that 
 we should bow with reverential joys to that adorable 
 will which can easily convert what we think the hea- 
 viest misfortune into the greatest blessing. 
 
 To be kept out of their money, especially if a large 
 sum, is felt by the most of men as a serious misfortune. 
 It was so felt by admiral Penn, William's father. This 
 patriotic officer, for the glory of the British navy, was 
 continually making it loans out of his own private 
 purse, and with such a sailor-like neglect of calcula- 
 tion, that when he came to cast up the account, he 
 found, to his utter astonishment, that the government 
 owed him the affrightening sum of sixteen thousand 
 pounds sterling, equal, as money now goes, to two 
 hundred thousand dollars ! After a world of fruit- 
 less applications to the crown, the good admiral sick- 
 ened and died, leaving this vast debt to his son to col- 
 lect. William's applications to government were 
 equally unavailing ; but, happily, his mind was so 
 greatened by the mighty objects of religion, that he 
 suffered but little from this disappointment. After a 
 lapse of many years, and his prospects of payment 
 from the crown continuing as gloomy as ever, he pro- 
 posed to the king, Charles the Second, an exchange of 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 109 
 
 his claim for a grant of lands in North America. Wil- 
 liam Penn had his reasons for this. 
 
 In the first place, he saw no chance of ever getting 
 his money out of the hands of the king. And, in the 
 second place, he saw no end to the persecutions of 
 himself and his poor friends, the quakers. Even at 
 this time, 1680, so larhentably ignorant of the spirit of 
 the gospel were the bishops of the established church 
 that they not only tolerated, but even encouraged thd 
 mad multitude in the most cruel abuses of the quakers. 
 Headed by the sheriffs and magistrates, the populace 
 would snatch off their hats and bonnets in the open 
 streets, even of Liverpool, Bristol, and London, and 
 dash them in their faces, or tread them under foot. 
 They would burst into their meeting-houses, even 
 while assembled in the worship of Almighty God ! 
 and utterly regardless of the divine presence, drive 
 them out like dogs ; break the windows ; split up the 
 benches ; tear down the gallerk)s ; and then nail up 
 the buildings as forfeited to "his sacred majesty, 
 
 CHARLES THE SECOND, BY THE GRACE OF GOD DS- 
 
 FENDER OF THE FAITH ! !" and yct, instead of being 
 ashamed of themselves for such brutal acts, or being 
 disarmed of their fury by the meekness and patience 
 of such gentle sufferers, they became more brutal 
 against them still, keeping a closer watch over their 
 proceedings — dogging them from place to place — at- 
 tacking them at their meetings, even in private houses-^ 
 and, after shutting them up too, as "CONVExNTI- 
 CLES forfeited to the Icings'''' they would then drive 
 them, like convicts, to the jails, and, without any re^ 
 gard to the weather, or to age or sex, turn them into 
 dark and dirty rooms, often in such crowds as to en- 
 danger their lives, for want of fresh air ; the women, 
 even the most delicate, forced to sleep on the hard 
 planks, and the men in hammocks stretched above 
 them, while such as were supposed to have property, 
 were fined at the most inhuman rates, even, in some 
 K 
 
110 THE LIFE OF 
 
 instances, at twenty pounds sterling a month, for no 
 attending the established church ! and when the money 
 could not be raised by these poor people, as was often 
 the case, the sheriffs would distrain their property, such 
 as cows, calves, horses, beds, household furniture, 
 and utensils, and sell them off, frequently at half 
 price ; thus actually reducing many an innocent and 
 hard-working family, with their unoffending children, 
 to beggary. And all these public robberies committed 
 under the eye of king Charles and his clergy ! — the 
 former, great part of his time, revelling with his har- 
 lots and jesters ! and the latter, in all the solemn pa- 
 geantry of sanctified looks and lawn sleeves, devoutly 
 lifted to heaven, returning " thanks to Almighty God. 
 that they were ever born in a Christian country 'j'''' 
 and making long prayers ^'■for the poor Jews and hea- 
 thens r 
 
 William Penn, I say, seeing no end to these cruel 
 persecutions of himself and innocent followers, very 
 naturally turned his thoughts to North America, whither 
 the ROMAN-CATHOLIC Christians, and the Presbyte- 
 rian Christians, had just before been flying, by thou- 
 sands, from the fury of the church of England Chris- 
 tians I (O glory to God that there is yet one govern- 
 ment left on earth where the demagogues of one 
 church are not permitted to persecute and plunder the 
 rest.) 
 
 But the generous wish to place his friends beyond 
 the reach of persecution was not the sole motive with 
 William Penn for looking towards North America. He 
 had a nobler motive still. His mind had long been 
 ravished with the beautiful ideas of a state of society 
 formed on the humble and loving spirit of the gospel. 
 That blessed state, where religion, stript of all her har- 
 lot-like trumpery of barren forms ^ and adorned in her 
 matron robes of divine simplicity, fruitful of love and 
 good works, should so illumine the wilderness, that 
 the Heathens, enamoured of her divine charms, should 
 
WILLIAM PENN. Ill 
 
 press to become her converts and children. Eager to 
 plant such a colony of brothers in America, William 
 Penn applied to king Charles for a grant of land in 
 that country, ^^ which., as was expressed in the petition^ 
 he was wiUing to receive in exchange for the sixteen 
 thousand pounds so long due to his family.'''' 
 
 It would appear that that hand, which is so visible 
 in the growth of the lily and in the preservation of the 
 sparrow, was with William Penn in this great matter. 
 It was this hand, it is presumed, that had, so early as 
 1G61, turned his thoughts to North America, as to an 
 asylum for his oppressed brethren. And it was this 
 hand, it is still believed, that had led him, in 1675, to 
 be concerned in the settlement of a small colony of 
 FRIENDS in East (now called J^ew Jersey) and princi- 
 pally about Mount Holly and Burlington. From these 
 people he often learned that the Indian country on 
 the western side of the great river Delaware was most 
 beautiful to look on — " the plaiiis,^^ said they, " along 
 the winding food^ are in most places covered with corn 
 and natural meadows and marshes ; while all on the 
 hack of this, a mighty forest rose, tall and stately, 
 darkening the western sky with its blue shade, and 
 stretching itself north and south with the river far as 
 the astonished eye can travel.'''' They stated too, that 
 sundries of their people had, at different times, gone 
 over the great river to trade ; and that all of them, on 
 their return, had made the same very favourable re- 
 ports both of the inhabitants and their country. And 
 first of the inhabitants. " With respect to these,''"' said 
 they, " we were never so agreeably disappointed. We 
 had expected to find a people fierce and rude as the 
 bears and panthers of their forests : but we met a peo- 
 ple the most friendly that we had ever seen. As we 
 approached their towns, they would hasten forth to bid 
 us welcome, shaking hands with us very cordially, and 
 signifying, by the kindest smiles and nods, how glad they 
 were to see us ; and with great vehemence and affec- 
 
112 THE LIFE OP 
 
 tion, addressing us in words which the interpreters 
 said, were to tell us how welcome w^e were to our In- 
 dian BROTHERS. After this they would take us to their 
 towns, and spread down skins for us to sit on ; and 
 while the men entertained us with sjiiokirig^ the wo- 
 men would bring us barbecued turkies, and venison, 
 and roasting ears to feast on. 
 
 " And as to the country, we can truly say of it, 
 that it is a land most rich and desirable to dwell in ; 
 a land of fountains and brooks, a land of mighty oaks 
 and elms, and all manner of precious trees for timber, 
 a land whose soil, especially on the w^ater-courses, was 
 a black mould very deep and rich, insomuch that the 
 Indian corn, without the aid of the plough, grew there 
 to an enormous size, with two and sometimes three 
 large shocks on a stalk ; and we have counted seven 
 and eight hundred grains on a shock ! And then for 
 the GAME in those ancient forests — it was wonderful 
 to look at ; far sarpassing in abundance any thing that 
 we had ever thought of. For in w^alking through the 
 woods, we w^ere ever and anon starting up the deer 
 in droves ; and also frequently wnthin sight of large 
 herds of the buffaloe, all perfectly wild, and w^allowing 
 in fat, and seeming, in their course, to shake the earth 
 with their weight. And, indeed, no wonder ; for the 
 grass, particularly in the low grounds, grew so rank 
 and tall, that the buffaloe and deer, on flying into it, 
 which they were wont to do when frightened, would 
 disappear in a moment. 
 
 " The rabbits and partridges too w^ere exceedingly 
 numerous ; and as to the wmM turkeys, we have often, 
 seen them perched in such numbers on the nut-trees, 
 especially the beech, that the branches seemed qUite 
 black with them. Nor had the Creator been less mind- 
 ful of the waters in that great country ; foi they were 
 made to bring forth abundantly of fine fish of various 
 kinds, especially the sturgeon, of which the great river 
 was so full, that at no time could we look on it with- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. Hj 
 
 out seeing numbers of those great fishes leaping from 
 it into the air, not without much fright to the natives, 
 whose canoes they have many a time fallen into and 
 overset. And for water-fowl, such as geese and ducks, 
 they were m such quantities, that he who should tell 
 only one half of the truth, would be counted a roman- 
 ce: ; for indeed the whole surface of the mighty river 
 seemed covered over and black with them ; and when 
 at any time they were disturbed and rose up, their 
 rising all at once was like the sound of distant thunder, 
 and the day itself was darkened with their numbers. 
 We saw also the wild vine in that country, the spon- 
 taneous birth of the woods, growing to an enormous 
 size, and spreading over the trees to an astonishing 
 extent, bending the branches with their dark-blue 
 clusters, most lovely to sight and taste, and capable, 
 no doubt, of yielding a very pleasant wine. Nor were 
 the bees forgotten in that favoured land ; for we often 
 saw them at work among the sweet-scented bells and 
 blossoms of the wild wood-flowers. And besides, at the 
 simple feasts spread for us by these friendly heathens, 
 we were frequently regaled with calabashes of snow- 
 white honey-comb." 
 
 Now, counting all these advantages of this Indian 
 country, the nobleness of its waters, and the richness 
 of its lands, with that plenteousness of fowl and fisih 
 and ilesh of all sorts, how can we but say that it is a 
 land which the Lord has blessed ; and that it only 
 wanteth a wise people to render it like the ancient 
 Canaan — "/Ae glory of earth.'''' 
 
 Such were the accounts which the settlers in New 
 Jersey often reported in their letters to William Penn, 
 concerning the great country on the western side of 
 the Delaware. They produced on him their proper 
 effect. Looking on all this as a finger pointing him to a 
 place of long-desired ?est, he immediately presented a 
 petition to king Charles the 2d, "• praying that, in lieu 
 of the monies due to him from the crown ^ he^ thr kmo^ 
 
 K 2 
 
114 THE LIFE OF 
 
 would be pleased to grant him a sufficient portion of lands 
 on the western side of the Delaware river in North 
 America for a stttlement for himself and his persecuted 
 followers the Friends.'''' The king was we!) pleased 
 with the petition, himself, and had it laid before the 
 
 LORDS COMMITTEE OF COLONIES AND COMMERCE. 
 
 Soon as the petition was read, and it was known that 
 both the petitioner and his followers were quakers, the 
 .^o^rd appeared as if struck into a strange sort of dilem- 
 ma. " A colony of quakers among the North American 
 Indians /'' The very name and sound of the thing ex- 
 cited a general stare. And it was unanimously agreed 
 that no good could possibly grow out of it, either to 
 the nation or the individuals. As to the first, "?i was 
 ridiculous^'''' said sir John Warden, agent of the Duke 
 of York and Lord Baltimore, who having grants of 
 
 " THE PLANTATIONS OF NEW YORK AND MARYLAND," 
 
 were opposed to the petition. — " It was ridiculous,"^ 
 said he, " to suppose that the interests of the British 
 nation were to be promoted by sending out a colony 
 of people that would 7iot fight.'''' " What! a pack of 
 noddies that will have nothing to do with gin or gun- 
 powder ; but will gravely tell you that gin was never 
 invented to make savages drunk, and cheat them out of 
 their lands ; but only for physic to cure the cholic with- 
 al. And that guns were invented, not to kill men, but 
 hawks and wolves ! God's mercy on us, my lords ! 
 what are we to expect from such colonists as these I 
 Are they likely to extend our conquests — to spread 
 our commerce — to exalt the glory of the British name 
 — and above all to propagate our most holy reli- 
 gion ? No, my lords, I hope it will never be so sup- 
 posed by this noble board. — And as to this crack- 
 brained fellow, this William Penn and his tame, yea 
 forsooth, followers, what can they promise themselves 
 from settling among the fierce and blood-thirsty sa- 
 vages of North America, but to be tomahawked and 
 scalped, every man, woman, and child of them !" 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 115 
 
 This speech, pronounced with due emphasis, made 
 such an impression on the boards that they were on 
 the point of rejecting William Penn's petition at once. 
 And thus that beauteous city of Philadelphia, that 
 loveliest monument of the blessings of God on human 
 virtue, would have been lost for ever. But he whose 
 glorious prerogative it is to make even " the wicked- 
 ness of man to praise him^'''' appointed one of the lords 
 of the BOARD to advocate William Penn's petition ; 
 which he did with singular ingenuity. With trembling 
 voice and changeful countenance, as of a man about to 
 utter unwelcome truths, he began with assuring the 
 board that he was no quaker^ nor any friend to that 
 silly people. " No, my lords," continued he, raising 
 his voice, " I am no quaker. And I pray you let no gen- 
 tleman in this noble house, hold me in such misprison^ 
 But still, my lords, I am in favour of the petition for the 
 quakers to go off to North America. The reason, my 
 lords, to my mind is very plain. The swinish multi- 
 tude, my lords, profanum vulgus, my lords, the swinish 
 multitude as we properly call them, must have a go- 
 vernment ; yes, my lords, and an iron government too. 
 They have not sense and virtue enough to govern them- 
 selves. All the boasted republics, or governments 
 ^f the people, have, on trial, turned out no better than 
 BABELS of confusion and destruction to their foolish 
 undertakers. No, my lords, there is no government 
 on earth for the profanum vulgus, comparable to 
 ^hat of KINGS, priests, and nobles. Now if this be 
 true, and I challenge the board to deny it, then Wil- 
 liam Penn and his quakers ought gladly to be permit- 
 ted to leave the country. Nay, I even assert, my 
 lords, that William Penn cannot stay in this country 
 consistently with the safety of the government ; for if 
 ever he should get the ear of the populace, he would 
 bring such contempt on those glorious privileged orders 
 of KiNq^s, priests, and nobles, that no man of spirit 
 would have any thing to do with them. For, my 
 
116 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lords,'*'^ said he, " what nobleman is there, with a drop 
 of English blood in his veins, but would blush for his 
 STARS and garters, when, as he rolls along the streets 
 in only a fashionable coach and four, he hears on all 
 sides, the groans of these quakers upbraiding him for 
 being *' a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God^^"* 
 and for squandering on vanities that precious gold, 
 which if laid out in feeding and clothing the fatherless 
 and widow^ would yield him a feast of never-failing 
 pleasures ! And as to our lords spiritual, our bishops 
 and our archbishops would it not make these our 
 HOLY FATHERS in GoD, ashamcd of their sacred lawn 
 SLEEVES and mitres, to be told everyday by William 
 Penn and his quakers, that these are ' the marks of the 
 beast,'' the vain trappings of carnal pride seeking glory 
 of men, and that those who use these things are none 
 of Christ's — that his poverty can have no fellowship 
 with their palaces — nor his staff and sandals with their 
 gilt coaches, and horses covered with silver harness, 
 and grooms bedecked with gold lace. But this is not 
 the worst yet ; no my lords, let William Penn alone, 
 and his sacred majesty himself will soon have an un- 
 easy seat of it on his throne. How can he otherwise, 
 my lords, having it rung daily in his ears, that ' kitigs 
 are sent of God merely in his wrath as a pimishment of 
 wicked nations.'' And that if the}' will but repent and 
 become good quakers, following the light within^ they 
 shall no longer have a king to reign over them ; for that 
 God himself will be their king, and will break all other 
 yokes from off their necks. God's mercy, my lords ! 
 who would be a king to be rated after this sort ? Surely 
 then, my lords, you will agree with me, that it is high 
 time for William Penn and his quakers to be off. Yes, 
 my lords, I repeat it ; they must he off^ or this excel- 
 lent government of kings, priests, and nobles, is gone 
 for ever, and chaos, and wild uproar is come again." 
 
 This speech produced the desired effect. The pe- 
 tition was unanimously recommended to the approba- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 117 
 
 tlon of his gracious majesty, accompanied with a note, 
 " humbly praying that his majesty would be graciously 
 pleasedto make unto William Perm a grant of the lands 
 in Korth America^ which he had petitioned for.''"' 
 
 Charles, who, hke Herod of old towards the honest 
 Baptist, had a great liking for William Penn, was well 
 pleased with this award of the hoard in his favour ; 
 and knowing that the news would be very acceptable, 
 immediately despatched a special messenger to him on 
 that errand. The king was right in this conjecture. 
 The news was indeed very acceptable to William 
 Penn. His heart had been much in this North American 
 enterprise. The glory of God in the spread of human 
 happiness — the beauty of gospel virtues to charm the 
 savages — to overcome their hatreds — to conciliate 
 their loves — and to unite them, like brothers, with his 
 gentle followers, these were lovely ideas to his mind. 
 Nor less were the fair scenes thence ensuing — the 
 white men bringing to their red brethren all the rich 
 productions of their looms and anvils ; on the other 
 hand, the red men smiling with friendship, bringing to 
 their white brothers, their venison and corn, with 
 grants of rich lands for them to dwell together in. 
 Then to see them both rising, like brothers indeed, to 
 the glorious toils that crown life with comfort — erect- 
 ing pleasant habitations and spreading beautiful farms — 
 while, aided by science and religion, human nature 
 shakes oif its brutal character and becomes angelic, 
 presenting a spectacle of all others the most lovely to 
 the eyes of God and good men. Such was the picture 
 which William Penn's benevolent fancy had long been 
 painting in North America — " the desert blossoming like 
 the rose, and the wilderness like the gar-den of God,'''' 
 Thousands of prayers, had he put up that God would 
 realize such bright visions ; and thousands of gold and 
 silver had he expended to settle such a colony in the 
 new world. And now having prayed his sovereign for 
 permission to pass over that Jordan and take possession 
 
118 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of the desired land, he was waiting to see whether the 
 Lord would prosper his way or not. It was a moment 
 big with anxiety and hope. No wonder then that the 
 news of such full success should have excited the 
 sweetest emotions. " Yes, God has heard the voice of 
 his prayer / God has appointed unto him the honours of 
 Joshua — to lead a remnant into the land of rest : the no- 
 bles have been made to consent, and even the king him- 
 self is stirred up to convey the greatfnl tidings.'*'' 
 
 Soon as possible he hastened up to court to make 
 his acknowledgments to the king ; but not so soon but 
 that the king, m right royal generosity, had gotten 
 in readiness, fairly drawn up and endorsed " a deed 
 
 OF A CERTAIN NEW PROVINCE IN NoRTH AmERICA, FOR 
 MY BELOVED SUBJECT AND FRIEND WiLLIAM PeNN." 
 
 It is not easy to conceive the feelings of this amiable 
 man, when, introduced into the drawing-room of the 
 palace, he was met by his sovereign and presented 
 with the above deed. " Well, friend William," said the 
 king in his frolicksome way, " you'll see in this paper 
 that I have done something handsome for you. Yes, 
 man, I have given you there a territory in North Ameri- 
 ca, as large as my own Island of Great Britain. And 
 knowing what a fighting family you are sprung from, 
 I have made you governor and captain general of all 
 its coasts, and seas, and bays, and rivers, and moun- 
 tains, and forests, and population. And now in re- 
 turn for all this I have but a few conditions to make 
 with you." 
 
 William Penn begged the king would please to let 
 him know what they were. 
 
 Why, in the first place, replied Charles, you are to 
 give me a fifth of all the gold and silver you may find 
 there. But as you quakers care but little about 
 the precious metals, I don't count on much from that 
 quarter. 
 
 In the second place, friend William, you are to be 
 sure not to make war on the nations without my con- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. il9 
 
 sent. But in case of a war you are always to remem- 
 ber that you are an Englishman, and therefore must 
 never use the scalping knife. 
 
 In the third place, if any persons of my religion, the 
 honest Episcopalians^ would wish to come and settle 
 in your quaker province, you shall receive them 
 kindly : and if they should at any time invite a preacher 
 of their own, he shall be permitted to come among 
 you. And moreover, if they should like to build what 
 we call a church, (but you a steeple-house^) you will 
 not forbid it." 
 
 William Penn smiled and said that friend Charles, 
 for so he often called the king, " should certainly be 
 gratified in all these things : for," added he, " I who 
 have drank so deeply of the bitter waters of persecution 
 myself, will never, I hope, consent to persecute others 
 on the score of religion." On retiring from the royal 
 presence, William Penn hastened to inspect his charter 
 to the new province ; when lo ! at the very threshold 
 he met an article that set his cheeks all on a glow — 
 he found that his province was named PENN-SYL- 
 VANIA ! that is, in English, " the woody land of 
 Penn." Blushing at the bare idea of the enormous 
 vanity which this name might argue, he hurried to the 
 recorder and begged he would change the name. The 
 recorder, who happened to be a Welshman, said to 
 him, " well then, what name would hu? like to give to 
 har province .?" 
 
 New Wales, replied William Penn. The Welshman 
 answered that this name being a compliment to his 
 own native country, ought certainly to be very ac- 
 ceptable to him. But, continued he, " though hur 
 should be well pleased to hear hur province called New 
 Wales, yet hur has no business to alter the present 
 name,'*'' Upon this Penn drew his purse and offered 
 him twenty guineas to alter the name. The Welsh- 
 man still refusing, Penn repaired to the king to have 
 it done. To this the king, in his jocose way, replied 
 
120 "THE LIFE 01^ 
 
 that as he had stood God-father for the new pro- 
 vince, he had, as he thought, a fair right to give it a 
 name : that he had accordingly given it a very good 
 name ; and should take the blame on himself.^'' 
 
 Having obtained his charter under the great seal of 
 England, Penn lost no time to inform the public of 
 the fair territory which he had purchased in North 
 America, and also the terms on which he meant to 
 dispose of it. This publication excited considerable 
 emotion throughout Great Britain. It was observed, 
 
 In the first place. That " while lands in England, 
 sold from twenty to sixty pounds sterling per acre, 
 William Penn offered his lands, fresh and heavy tim- 
 bered, for forty shillings the hundred acres ! being but 
 little more thdiU four pence an acre! with but one shil- 
 ling per hundred acres as quit rent, to the proprietor 
 for ever !'• 
 
 " Secondly, That while lands in England rented from 
 one to three pounds sterling, per acre, WiUiam Penn 
 offered his for one shilling !" 
 
 " Thirdly, That while in England it was a trans 
 portation offence to kill a rabbit or partridge ! and 
 few, except the nobility, ever tasted venison, in Penn- 
 sylvania any boy big enough to draw a trigger might 
 knock down a fat buck in the woods whenever he 
 pleased. And as to rabbits and partridges, they were 
 so abundant that the very children, if they but knew 
 how to set traps and pack-thread snares, might always 
 keep the house full of such savoury game." 
 
 If these are talked of by all, as great natural re- 
 commendations of Pennsylvania, the moral recom- 
 mendations were still far greater ; for it was observed, 
 
 " Fourthly, That while in England the servants were 
 a people but poorly rewarded for their services ; in 
 Pennsylvania all servants, men or women, were to be 
 allowed fifty acres in fee simple, to be paid them with 
 a good suit of clothes at the expiration of their servi- 
 tude ! And the more cheerfully if they had acted 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 121 
 
 with fidelity as servants, doing all things cheerfully as 
 with an eye to the glory of God. 
 
 " Fifth, That while in England, there was but one 
 creed, one catechism, one form of prayer, one baptism, 
 from which no man or woman might dissent without 
 peril of the whipping post, or pillory^ in Pennsylva- 
 vania, all who acknowledged " one almighty and eter- 
 nal God to be the moral governor of the world, and 
 honoured him as such by an honest and peaceable life, 
 should be equally protected in their rights, and made 
 capable of promotion to office, whether they were 
 Jews, Gentiles, or Christians." 
 
 " Sixth, That while in Virginia, Maryland, and New 
 England, the settlers were charged with cheating the 
 Indians, by putting bad merchandize upon them in ex- 
 change for their furs ; in Pennsylvania all merchandize 
 offered in trade was to be brought into market and 
 exposed to public inspection, so that the Indians might 
 no longer be imposed on and provoked. 
 
 " Seventh, That while in the other colonies the In- 
 dians were treated very little better than dogs, whom 
 every blackguard might kick and cuff, to the exceeding 
 diversion of the white Christians ; in Pennsylvania it 
 was enacted that the persons and rights of the In- 
 dians should be held sacred : and that no man, 
 whatever his rank or fortune, should affront or wrong 
 an Indian without incurring the same penalty as if he 
 had committed the trespass against the proprietor him- 
 self 
 
 " Eighth, That while in most new countries settled 
 by Christians, if a Christian was injured by a native, 
 he might instantly avenge himself even to the knock- 
 ing out the brains of the offender ; here it was enacted 
 by William Penn, that if " any Indian should abuse a 
 planter, the said planter should not be his own judge 
 upon the Indian, but apply to the next magistrate who 
 should make complaint thereof to the king of the Indian 
 for reasonable satisfaction for the injury. 
 L 
 
122 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Ninth, That while other Christian adventurers 
 thought they had a right to treat the inhabitants of 
 the countries they discovered, as mere animals of the 
 brute creation, whom they might abuse at pleasure, 
 William Penn framed his laws with an eye of equal 
 tenderness for the Indians and the quakers, ordering 
 that " all differences between them should he settled by 
 a jury of tzoelve men, six chosen from each party, that 
 so they might live friendly together as brethren'''^ — thus 
 extending with impartial hand the rights of justice and 
 humanity to these poor people, who in proportion to 
 their weakness and ignorance, were the more entitled 
 to his fatherly protection and care. 
 
 " Tenth, That while in England the children of the 
 rich were, too generally, brought up in pride and 
 sloth, good for nothing to themselves or others ; in 
 Pennsylvania all children of the age of twelve were 
 to be brought up to some useful trade, that there might 
 be none of the worthless sort in the province ; so that 
 the poor might get plenty of honest bread by their 
 work, and the rich, if brought low, might not be tempted 
 to despair and steal. 
 
 " Eleventh, That while in England, from the mil- 
 lions given to the kings, lords, and clergy, the num- 
 ber and wretchedness of the poor were so increased, 
 that every year hundreds of them were hung for steal- 
 ing a little food for themselves and children ; in Penn- 
 sylvania there were but two crimes deemed worthy 
 of death, i. e. deliberate murder, and treason against 
 the state. As for offences requiring confinement, it 
 was ordered by William Penn, that in the punishment 
 of these an eye was to be constantly kept on the re- 
 formation of the offender. And hence all prisons 
 were to be considered as workshops, where the crimi- 
 nals might be industriously, soberly, and morally em- 
 ployed." 
 
 The perusal of this manifesto of William Penn''s, 
 diffused a most lively joy through the hearts of all 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 123 
 
 honest Englishmen ; then what must have been its 
 effects on the spirits of those benevolent people the 
 FRIENDS ? To them it would have been welcome as 
 a ray from the dawning millennium, no matter by what 
 hand, God had been pleased to send it. But that one 
 of their own long afflicted tribe should be thus raised 
 up of God to set such an example to the whole world, 
 and revive the hearts of the humble and contrite ones, 
 was peculiarly dear. 
 
 The change produced by it among that long op- 
 pressed people was wonderful. Till now their ap- 
 pearance in the streets was but rare ; and even then 
 they made no stop, but hastened along to their busi- 
 ness, serious and shy, like persons who know that the 
 public favoured them not. But now they are frequently 
 seen stopping each other and standing in the streets 
 in large groups, shaking hands with glad faces, as men 
 are wont who have heard good tidings. And amidst 
 their mutual congratulations on the bright prospects 
 dawning on themselves and a darkened world, the 
 pleasant name of Wilham Penn was often heard. It 
 was heard in tones of pious joy triumphant, as when 
 the patriarch beheld a ray of hope from the distant 
 Shiloh, descending on the head of his beloved Joseph; 
 even on the head of him who was separate from his 
 brethren. " William, thou art a lovely vine ; even a 
 lovely vine by a well, whose branches run over the 
 wall." 
 
 The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at 
 him, and hated him. 
 
 But his bow abode in strength ; and the arms of his 
 hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty 
 God of Jacob— from thence is the shepherd— the stone 
 pf Israel." 
 
 It now remains to be mentioned that this publica- 
 tion of William Penn was followed by consequences 
 far beyond what he himself had ever counted on, even 
 in bis most sanguine moments. It reminds us of that 
 
124 THE LIFE OF 
 
 other wonder of the world, Solomon's temple. We 
 read of this heaven-ordered edifice, that when the noble 
 materials, the stones and timbers were all hewn and 
 fitted for the purpose, and the golden trumpet sounded 
 to the work, straightway the workmen, whether Jews, 
 Tyrians, or Sidonians, all rose up as one man, and the 
 sacred building was put together with such perfect 
 harmony, that no discordant sound of a hammer was 
 even once heard to disturb that sacred silence. Such 
 throughout Great Britain was the etTect of William 
 Penn's publication. The general confidence inspired 
 by it is without a parallel in the annals of a private 
 man. Trading companies immediately bought their 
 thousands and tens of thousands of acres : while 
 crowds of individuals from all parts of the empire were 
 seen leaving their homes and the bones of their ances- 
 tors, that they might go to " the land of william 
 PENN," and there, safe from the red scourge of perse- 
 cution, lead a peaceable and quiet life in all manner 
 of godliness. 
 
 Nor were they the quakers alone who followed his 
 fortunes to the \Vestern world. Numbers of the poor 
 and pious of other churches, won by the unusual be- 
 nignity of his looks, which they had seen as he travelled 
 :and preached through the realm, and confiding in that 
 good name which all seemed to delight in giving him, 
 ©ffered themselves to partake of the good or ill fortune 
 that awaited him beyond the seas. Having sent o^ three 
 ships laden with poor adventurers, and a fourth, in 
 which he meant to embark himself, being ready for sea, 
 he .hastened up to London, to take leave of \he king 
 ((Charles the Second) who, though by no means the 
 man after his own heart, had yet shown great good will 
 towards him, and even a particular friendship. — " Well, 
 friend William," said the king in his jocular way, " I 
 have sold you a noble province in North America , 
 but still I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither 
 youfself." 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 125 
 
 " Yes, I have," replied William Penn, " and I am 
 just come to bid thee farewell." 
 
 " What! venture yourself among the savages of North 
 America ! Why, man, what security have you that 
 you'll not be in their war-kettle in two hours after set- 
 ting foot on their shores ?" 
 
 " The best security in the world," replied Wilham 
 Penn, calmly. 
 
 " I doubt that, friend William : I have no idea of 
 any security against those cannibals but in a regiment 
 of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. 
 And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my 
 good will for you and your family, to whom I am 
 under obhgations, I'll not send a single soldier with 
 vou." 
 
 " I want none of thy soldiers," answered William 
 Penn, pleasantly. " I depend upon something better 
 than thy soldiers." 
 
 The king wanted to know what that was, 
 
 " Why, I depend on themselves," replied William 
 Penn, " on their own moral sense ; even on that 
 ^ grace of God which hringeth salvation, and which hath 
 appeared unto all men,'' " 
 
 *' I fear, friend William, that that grace has never 
 appeared to the Indians of North America." 
 
 " Why not to them as well as to all others !" 
 
 " If it had appeared to them, they would hardly 
 have treated my subjects so barbarously as they have 
 done." 
 
 " That's no proof to the contrary, friend Charles. 
 Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects 
 first went to North America, they found these poor 
 people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. 
 Every day they would watch for them to come ashore, 
 and hasten to meet them, and feast them on their best 
 fish, and venison, and corn, which was all that they had. 
 In return for this hospitality of the savages, as we 
 call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on 
 
126 THE LIFE OF 
 
 their country and rich hunting grounds for farms for 
 themselves ! Now is it to be wondered at, that these 
 much injured people should have been driven to 
 desperation by such injustice ; and that, burning 
 with revenge, they should have committed some ex- 
 cesses?" 
 
 " Well, then, I hope, friend William, you'll not 
 complain when they come to treat you in the same 
 manner." 
 
 " I am not afraid of it." 
 
 " Aye ! how will you avoid it ? you mean to get 
 their hunting grounds too, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, but not by driving these poor people away 
 from them." 
 
 " No, indeed ! how then will you get their lands ?" 
 
 " I mean to buy their lands of them," replied Wil- 
 liam Penn, firmly. 
 
 " Buy their lands of them ! why, man, you have al- 
 ready bought them of me." 
 
 " Yes, I know I have ; and at a dear rate too : but 1 
 did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou 
 hadst any right to their lands." 
 
 " Zounds, man ! no right to their lands I" 
 
 " No, friend Charles, no right at all. What right hast 
 thou to their lands ?" 
 
 " Why, the right of discovery — the right which the 
 Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one 
 another." 
 
 " The right of discovery /" replied William Penn, 
 half smiling, "a strange kind of right indeed ! Now sup- 
 pose, friend Charles, some canoe loads of these Indians, 
 crossing the sea, and discovering thy island of Great 
 Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up 
 for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think 
 of it?" 
 
 '^ Why — why — why," replied Charles, blushing, " I 
 must confess I should think it a piece of great impu- 
 dence in them." 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 127 
 
 ** Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a 
 Christian prince too, do that which thou so utterly 
 condemnest in these people whom thou callest sa- 
 vages ?" 
 
 The king being rather too much staggered to make 
 a reply, William Penn thus went on : — " Yes, friend 
 Charles, and suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy 
 refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to 
 make war on thee, and having weapons more destruc- 
 tive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects, 
 and to drive the rest away, wouldst thou not think it 
 horribly cruel ?" 
 
 The king, with strong marks of conviction, agreeing 
 to this, William Penn thus added : — "Well then, friend 
 Charles, how can I, who call myself a Christian, do 
 what I should abhor, even in heathens. No, I will not 
 do it. I will not use the right to their land, though I 
 have bought it of thee at a dear rate. But I will buy the 
 right of the proper owners, even of the Indians them- 
 selves. By doing this I shall imitate God himself in 
 his justice and mercy, and thereby ensure his blessing 
 on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in 
 North America." 
 
 Tradition does not report the reply which king 
 Charles made to this modest yet cutting reproof ; but it 
 is hoped that the American youth will take notice how 
 very small indeed, a wicked king appears when placed 
 by the side of an honest man. 
 
 " A king may make a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' * that : 
 But an honest man's above his might, 
 
 Good troth he dare not paw that." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Having performed this duty of respect to the king, 
 he went dow^n to his country-seat at Worminghurst, 
 where he spent one sweetly mournful day with his 
 
 * A', in Scots, means all. 
 
128 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wife and children, whom he was so soon to leave, and 
 perhaps never to see again. The day was passed in a 
 very interesting manner, sometimes in the consolatory 
 exercises of devotion, or of valuable conversation, sea- 
 soned with a heavenly love, and sometimes in writing 
 the following letter, which as it is said by good judges 
 to be one of the richest pieces of tender, heart-touch- 
 ing, family eloquence any where to be met with, I do 
 the more cheerfully give it, word for word, to the 
 reader. 
 
 " Wormmghurst, 4th of the 6th month (June.) 
 
 " My dear wife and children, 
 
 " My love, which neither sea, nor land, nor death itself 
 can extinguish or lessen toward you, most endearedly 
 visits you with eternal embraces, and will abide with 
 you for ever, and may the God of my life watch over 
 you, and do you good in this world and for ever I — Some 
 things are upon my spirit to leave with you in your 
 respective capacities, as I am to one a husband, and to 
 the rest a father, if I should never see you more in this 
 world. 
 
 " My dear wife ! — remember thou wast the love of 
 my youth, and much the joy of my life ; the most be- 
 loved, as well as most worthy of all my earthly com- 
 forts ; and the reason of that love was more thy in- 
 ward than thy outward excellences, which yet were 
 many. God knows, and thou knowest it, I can say it 
 was a match of Providence^s making ; and God's image 
 in us both was the first thing, and the most amiable and 
 engaging ornament in our eyes. Now I am to leave 
 thee, and that without knowing whether I shall ever 
 see thee more in this world, take my counsel into thy 
 bosom, and let it dwell with thee in my stead while 
 thou livest. 
 
 " First : — Let the fear of the Lord, and a zeal and 
 love to his glory dwell richly in thy heart ; and thou wilt 
 watch for good over thyself and thy dear children and 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 129 
 
 family, that no rude, light, or bad thing be committed , 
 else God will be offended, and he will repent himself 
 of the good he intends thee and thine. 
 
 " Secondly : — Be diligent in meetings for worship 
 and business ; stir up thyself and others herein ; it is 
 thy duty and place ; and let meetings be kept once a 
 day in the family, to wait upon the Lord, who has 
 given us much time for ourselves : and, my dearest, to 
 make thy family matters easy to thee, divide thy time, 
 and be regular ; it is easy and sweet. Thy retirement 
 will afford thee to do it ; as in the morning to view the 
 business of the house, and fix it as thou desirest, seeing all 
 be in order ; that by thy counsel all may move, and to 
 thee render an account every evening. The time for 
 work, for walking, for meals, may be certain, at least 
 as near as may be : and grieve not thyself with care- 
 less servants ; they will disorder thee : rather pa^ them, 
 ;and let them go, if they will not be better by admoni- 
 tions. This is best to avoid many words, which I 
 iknow wound the soul, and offend the Lord. 
 
 " Thirdly : — Cast up thy income, and see what it 
 daily amounts to ; by which thou mayest be sure to 
 have it in thy sight and power to keep within com- 
 pass : and I beseech thee to live low and sparingly, till 
 my debts are paid, and then enlarge as thou seest it 
 convenient. Remember thy mother's example, when 
 thy father's public-spiritedness had worsted his estate 
 (which is my case.) 
 
 " I know thou lovest plain things, and art averse to 
 the pomps of the world ; a nobility natural to thee. I 
 write not as doubtful, but to quicken thee, for my sake, 
 to be more vigilant herein : knowing that God will 
 bless thy care, and thy poor children and thee for it. 
 My mind is wrapt up in a saying of thy father's. " I 
 desire n©t riches, but to owe nothing ;" and truly that 
 IS wealth : and more than enough to live is a snare at- 
 tended with many sorrows. I need not bid thee be 
 humble, for thou art so ; nor meek and patient, for it 
 
130 THE LIFE OF 
 
 is much of thy natural disposition ; but 1 pray thee he 
 oft in retirement with the Lord, and guard against en- 
 croaching friendships. Keep them at arm^s length^for 
 it is giving away our power, aye and self too, into the 
 possession of another ; and that which might seem en- 
 gaging in the beginning may prove a yoke and burden 
 too hard and heavy in the end. Wherefore keep do- 
 minion over thyself, and let thy children, good meet- 
 ings, and friends, be the pleasure of thy life. 
 
 " Fourthly :~And now, my dearest, let me recom- 
 mend to thy care my dear children ; abundantly be- 
 loved of me, as the Lord's blessings, and the sweet 
 pledges of our mutual and endeared affections. Above 
 all things endeavour to breed them up in the love of 
 virtue, and that holi/ 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 behaviour, yet I love sweetness 
 mixed with gravity, and cheerfulness tempered with 
 sobriety. Rehgion in the heart leads into this true 
 civility, teaching men and women to be mild and cour- 
 teous in their behaviour, an accomplishment worthy 
 indeed of praise. 
 
 " Fifthly : — Next breed them up in a love one of an- 
 other : tell them it is the charge I left behind me ; and that 
 it is the way to have the love and blessing of God upon 
 them ; also what his portion is, who hates, or calls his 
 brother fool. Sometimes separate them, but not long; 
 and allow them to send and give each other small 
 things to endear one another with. Once more, I 
 say, tell them it was my counsel they should be ten- 
 der and affectionate one to another. For their learn- 
 ing be hberal. Spare no cost ; for by such parsimony 
 all is lost that is saved : but let it be useful knowledge, 
 such as is consistent with truth and godliness, not 
 cherishing a vain conversation or idle mind : for inge-' 
 nuity mixed with industry is good for the body and 
 mind too. I recommend the useful parts of mathe* 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 131 
 
 matics, as building houses or ships, measuring, survey- 
 ing, dialling, navigation ; but agriculture is especially 
 in my eye. Let my children be husbandmen and 
 housewives. It is industrious, healthy, honest, and of 
 good example, like Abraham and the holy ancients, 
 who pleased God, and obtained a good report. This 
 leads to consider the works of God and nature, of 
 things that are good, and diverts the mind from being 
 taken up with the vain arts and inventions of a luxu- 
 rious world. It is commendable in the princes of 
 Germany, and the nobles of that empire, that they 
 have all their children instructed in some useful oc- 
 cupation. Rather keep an ingenious person in the 
 house to teach them, than send them to schools, too 
 many evil impressions being commonly received there. 
 
 " Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross 
 it as to learning : let them not dwell too hug on one 
 thing ; but let their change be agreeable, and all their 
 diversions have some little bodily labour in them. 
 When grown big, have most care for them : for then 
 there are more snares both within and without. When 
 marriageable, see that they have worthy persons in 
 their eye, of good life, and good fame for piety and un- 
 derstanding. I need no wealth, but sufficiency ; and 
 be sure their love be dear, fervent, and mutual, that it 
 may be happy for them. 
 
 " I choose not they should be married to earthly, 
 covetous kindred ; and of cities and towns of concourse 
 beware ; the world is apt to stick close to those who 
 have lived and got wealth there : a country life and 
 estate I like best for my children. I prefer a decent 
 mansion, of a hundred pounds per annum, i. e. a neat 
 house and fifty or sixty acres in the country, before ten 
 thousand pounds in London, or such like place, in a 
 way of trade. In fine, my dear, endeavour to breed 
 them dutiful to the Lord, and his blessed light, truth, 
 and grace in their hearts, who is their Creator, and 
 his fear will grow up with them. ' Teach a child ^' 
 
132 THE LIFE OF 
 
 says the wise man, ' the way thou wilt have him tof 
 walk, and when he is old he will not forget if Next,- 
 obedience to thee, their dear mother; and that not 
 for wrath, but for conscience sake ; liberal to the poor, 
 pitiful to the miserable, humble and kind to all ; and 
 may my God make thee a blessing, and give thee com- 
 fort in our dear children, and in age gather thee to the 
 joy and blessedness of the just (where no death shall 
 separate us) for ever. 
 
 " And now, my dear children, that are the gifts and 
 mercies of the God of your tender father, hear niyr 
 counsel, and lay it up in your hearts ; love it morer- 
 than treasure, and follow it, and you shall be blessed:^ 
 here, and happy hereafter. 
 
 " In the first place, remember your Creator in the' 
 days of your youth. O how did God bless Josiah be- 
 cause he feared him in his youth ! and so he did Jacobs 
 and Joseph, and Moses. 
 
 " O my dear children, remember, and fear, and 
 serve him who made you, and gave you to me and 
 your dear mother ; that you may live to him, and glorify 
 him in your generations ! To do this in your youthful 
 days, seek after the Lord, that you may find him ; re- 
 membering his great love in creating you ; that you 
 are not beasts, plants, or stones, but that he has kept 
 you, and given you his grace within, and substance 
 without, and provided plentifully for you. This re- 
 member in your youth, that you may be kept from the 
 evil of the world : for in age it will be harder to over- 
 come the temptations of it. 
 
 " Wherefore, my dear children, eschew the appear- 
 ance of evil, and love and cleave to that in your hearts 
 which shows you evil from good, and tells you when 
 you do amiss, and reproves you for it. It is the light 
 of Christ that he has given you for your salvation. If 
 you do this, and follow my counsel, God will bless 
 you in this world, and give you an inheritance in that 
 which will never have an end. For the light of Je- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 1 33 
 
 sus is of a purifying nature. It seasons those who love 
 it and take heed to it, and never leaves such, till it has 
 brought them to '•the city of God, that has foundations.'' 
 O that you may be seasoned with the gracious nature 
 of it ! hide it in your hearts, and flee, my dear children, 
 from all youthful lusts ; the vain sports, pastimes, and 
 pleasures of the world ; redeeming the time, because 
 the days are evil ! — You are now beginning to live. 
 What would some give for your time ? Oh ! I could 
 have lived better, were 1, as you, in the flower of 
 youth ! — Therefore 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 ; and count it your honour to be mem- 
 bers of that society, and heirs of that living fellow- 
 ship which is enjoyed among them, for the experience 
 of which your father's soul blesseth the Lord for 
 ever. 
 
 "Next: — Be obedient to your dear mother, a wo- 
 man whose virtues and good name is an honour to 
 you ; for she hath been exceeded by none in her 
 time for her plainness, integrity, industry, humanity, 
 virtue, and good understanding; qualities not usual 
 among women of her worldly condition and quality. 
 Therefore honour and obey her, my dear children, as 
 your mother, and your father's love and delight ; nay, 
 love her too, for she loved your father with a deep 
 and upright love, choosing him before all her many 
 suitors ; and though she be of a delicate constitution 
 and noble spirit, yet she descended to the utmost ten- 
 derness and care for you, performing the painful acts 
 of service to you in your infancy, as a mother and a 
 nurse too. I charge you before the Lord, honour and 
 obey, love and cherish your dear mother. 
 
 "Next:— Betake yourself to some honest, industrious 
 
 course of life, and that not of sordid covetousness, but 
 
 for example, and to avoid idleness. — And if you change 
 
 your condition and marry, choose with the knowledge 
 
 M 
 
134 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and consent of your mother if living, or of guardians^ 
 or those that have the charge of you. Mind neither 
 beauty nor riches, but the fear of the Lord, and a sweet 
 and amiable disposition, such as you can love above 
 all the w^orld, and that may make your habitations 
 pleasant and desirable to you. 
 
 " And being married, be tender, affectionate, patient, 
 and meek. Live in the fear of the Lord, and he will 
 bless you and your offspring. Be sure to live within 
 compass ; borrow not, neither be beholden to any. Ruin 
 not yourself by kindness to othei^s, for that exceeds the 
 due bounds of friendship ; neither will a true friend 
 expect it. Small matters I heed not. 
 
 " Let your industry and parsimony go no further 
 than for a sufficiency for life, and to make provision 
 for your children, and that in moderation, if the Lord 
 gives you any. I charge you to help the poor and 
 needy ; let the Lord have a voluntary share of your 
 income for the good of the poor, both in your society 
 and others ; for we are all his creatures ; remember- 
 ing that he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. 
 
 " Know well your in-comings, and your out-goings 
 may be better regulated. 
 
 " Love not money, nor the world : use them only, 
 and they will serve you ; but if you love them you 
 cp.rve them, which will debase your spirits as w^ell as 
 offend the Lord. 
 
 " Pity the distressed and hold out a hand of help to 
 them ; it may be your case ; and as you mete to others 
 God will mete to you again. 
 
 " Be humble, and gentle in your conversation ; of 
 few words I charge you ; but always pertinent ; hear- 
 ing out before you attempt to answer, and then speak- 
 ing as if you would persuade not impose. 
 
 " Affront none, neither revenge the affronts that are 
 done to you ; but forgive and you shall be forgiven of 
 your heavenly father. 
 
 " In making friends consider well first ; and when 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 135 
 
 you are fixed be true ; not wavering by reports, nor 
 deserting in affliction, for that becomes not the good 
 and virtuous. 
 
 " Watch against anger, and neither speak nor act in 
 it ; for, hke drunkenness, it makes a man a beast, and 
 throws people into desperate inconveniences. 
 
 " Avoid flatterers, for they are thieves in disguise ; 
 their praise is costly, designing to get by those they be- 
 speak. They are the worst of creatures ; they lie to 
 iiatter, and flatter to cheat ; and, which is worse, if you 
 beheve them you cheat yourselves most dangerously. 
 But the virtuous, though poor, love, cherish, and pre- 
 fer. Remember David, who asking the Lord " who 
 shall abide in thy tabernacle 1 who shall dwell upon 
 thy holy hill ?" answers, " he that walketh uprightly, 
 and speaketh the truth in his heart ; in whose eyes the 
 vile person is contemned, but honoureth them who 
 fear the Lord." 
 
 *' Next, my children, be temperate in all things ; in 
 your diet, for that is physic by prevention ; it keeps, nay, 
 it makes people healthy, and their generation sound. 
 This is exclusive of the spiritual advantage it brings. 
 Be also plain in your apparel ; keep out that lust which 
 reigns too much over some ; let your virtues be your 
 ornaments, remembering life is more than food, and 
 the body than raiment. Let your furniture be simple 
 and cheap. Avoid pride, avarice, and luxury. Read 
 my " No Cross, No Crown." There is instruction. 
 Make your conversation with the most eminent for 
 wisdom and piety, and shun all wicked men, as you 
 hope for the blessing of God and the comfort of your 
 father's living and dying prayers. Be sure you speak 
 no evil of any, no, not of the meanest ; much less of 
 your superiors, as magistrates, guardians, tutors, teach- 
 ers, and elders in Christ. 
 
 " Be no busy-bodies ; meddle not with other folks' 
 jnattersj but when in conscience and duty pressed \ for 
 
136 THE LIFE OF 
 
 it procures trouble, and is ill manners, and very un- 
 seemly to wise men. 
 
 " In your family, remember Abraham, Moses, and 
 Joshua, their integrity to the Lord, and do as you have 
 them for your examples. 
 
 " Let the fear and service of the living God be en- 
 couraged in your houses, and that plainness, sobriety, 
 and moderation in all things, as becometh God's chosen 
 people ; and as I advise you, my beloved children, do 
 you counsel yours, if God should give you any. Yea, 
 I counsel and command them as my posterity, that 
 they love and serve the Lord God with an upright 
 heart, that he may bless you and yours from genera- 
 tion to generation. 
 
 " And as for you, who are likely to be concerned in 
 the government of Pennsylvania, and my parts of East 
 Jersey, especially the first, I do charge you before the 
 Lord God and his holy angels, that you be lowly, dili- 
 gent, and tender, fearing God, loving the people, and 
 hating covetousness. Let justice have its impartial 
 course, and the law free passage. Though to your 
 loss protect no man against it, for you are not above 
 the law, but the law above you. Live therefore the 
 lives yourselves you would have the people to live, 
 and then you have right and boldness to punish the 
 transgressor. Keep upon the square, for God sees 
 you : therefore do your duty, and be sure you see with 
 your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. Enter- 
 tain no luxuries ; cherish no informers for gain or 
 revenge ; use no tricks ; fly to no devices to cover or 
 support injustice ; but let your hearts be upright 
 before the Lord, trusting in him above the con- 
 trivances of men, and none shall be able to hurt or 
 supplant you. 
 
 " Oh ! the Lord is a strong God, and he can do what- 
 soever he pleases ; and though men consider it not, it 
 is the Lord that rules and over-rules in the kingdom 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 1 37 
 
 of men, and he builds up and pulls down. I, your fa- 
 ther, am a man that can say, he that trusts in the Lord 
 shall not be confounded. But God, in due time, will 
 make his enemies be at peace with him. 
 
 " If you thus behave yourselves, and so become a terror 
 to evil doers, and a praise to them that do well, God, 
 my God, will be with you in wisdom and a sound mind, 
 and make you blessed instruments in his hands for the 
 settlement of some of those desolate parts of the 
 world, which my soul desires above all worldly ho- 
 nours and riches, both for you that go, and you that 
 «tay ; you that govern and you that are governed ; that 
 in the end you may be gathered with me to the rest 
 of God. 
 
 " Finally, my children, love one another with a true 
 endeared love, and your dear relations on both sides, 
 and take care to preserve tender affection in your chil- 
 -dren to each other, often marrying within themselves, so 
 as it be without the bounds forbidden in God's law, that 
 so they may not, like the forgetting unnatural world, 
 grow out of kindred and as cold as strangers, but, as be- 
 comes a truly natural and christian stock, you and yours 
 after you, may live in the pure and fervent love of 
 God towards one another, as becometh brethren in the 
 spiritual and natural relation. 
 
 " So my God, that has blessed me with his abun- 
 dant mercies, both of this and the other and better 
 life, be with you all, guide you by his counsel, bless 
 you, and bring you to his eternal glory ! that you may 
 shine, my dear children, in the firmament of God's 
 power, with the blessed spirits of the just, that celes- 
 tial family, praising and admiring him, the God and 
 father of it, for ever. For there is no God like unto 
 him; the God of Isaac, and of Jacob, the God of the 
 Prophets, the Apostles, and Martyrs of Jesus, in whom 
 I live for ever. 
 
 " So farewell to my thrice dearly beloved wife and 
 i^hildren ! 
 
 M 2 
 
1S8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Yours, as God pleaseth, in that which no waters 
 can quench, no time forget, nor distance wear away, 
 but remain for ever, 
 
 " William Penn.'' 
 
 The next day leaving his family in tears, but sweet- 
 ened with pious hope, and accompanied with several 
 friends, he hastened down to Deal, where the ship 
 Welcome, with about one hundred adventurers for the 
 new country of Pennsylvania, were waiting for him. 
 
 So general and strong among mankind is the confi- 
 dence reposed in those who are remarkable for up- 
 rightness of life, that, no doubt, every passenger on 
 board the Welcome, thought himself perfectly safe with 
 William Penn, and counted on nothing but a voyage 
 as charming as fine health and smooth seas and plea- 
 sant breezes could render it. But ail such should re- 
 member, that " God seeth not as man seeth." He the 
 infinite King, hath his plans ; and be sure they are such 
 as are worthy of his own eternal wisdom and benevo- 
 lence. Physical ills, such as sickness, form a part of 
 his plan, and therefore should not be looked on as 
 any evidence of his displeasure. 
 
 " If plagues and earthquakes mar not heaven's design, 
 Then, why a Borgia or a Cataline f 
 
 Accordingly, the Welcome had scarcely gotten to 
 sea before the confluent small-pox broke out among 
 the passengers, and raged with a fury that presently 
 swept no fewer than thirty corpses of them into the 
 sea. Here was a fair opportunity for William Penn 
 to display that generous sympathy with the unhappy, 
 for which he was always so remarkable. And it is 
 agreed by all, that his attention to these poor sufferers 
 was worthy of a disciple of him who came to wash 
 the (eet^ and to administer comfort to the afflicted. 
 Day and night he was with the sick, administering 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 139 
 
 medicines, supplying proper diet, washing, fumigating, 
 and sprinkling with vinegar the floors of their cabins ; 
 and, above all, chasing from their minds the gloom of 
 melancholy and despair, and lifting their thoughts to 
 that parent power who wounds but to heal, and with 
 divine complacency accepts the tear of repentance, 
 even at the eleventh hour. 
 
 After a voyage of six weeks, he reached the capes of 
 Delaware Bay, which he entered, and continued his 
 course up the same, until he found it narrowed into a 
 noble river about two miles wide. To one who had 
 been for six weeks beating the gloomy waves with 
 nothing but the same unvaried and monotonous pro- 
 spect of boundless sea and sky around him, this last day's 
 voyage must have been highly entertaining. To have 
 been sailing up this great bay, in many places from 10 
 to 20 miles wide, and gradually narrowing itself into 
 such a majestic river, skirted to the waters' edge with 
 natural meadows or marshes of vast extent and most 
 lustrous verdure ; and back of these, on either side, 
 far as the exploring eye could reach, it beheld nought 
 save the startling range of huge forests stretched out 
 into an immeasurable expanse, bounded only by the 
 distant skies — to a mind, like Penn's, ardently de- 
 vout, such magnificent scenes as these must have yield- 
 ed indescribable pleasure. In the course of the two 
 days sail up this great bay, and at the place where they 
 found it narrowed, as aforesaid, to about two miles, 
 they beheld with great joy, on a vast plain on the left 
 bank of the river, and about ninety miles from the sea, 
 a little town, since called Newcastle, and which, with 
 some small villages, as Wilmington and Christiana, and 
 some country settlements of a few square miles, be- 
 longing to a little colony of Swedes and Dutch, who 
 settled themselves there as early as 1727. 
 
 These poor people, on seeing the tall ships of Wil- 
 liam Penn, were exceedingly alarmed, supposing that 
 they were come, according to custom, too common 
 
140 THE LIFE OF 
 
 among nominal Christians, to attack and break them 
 up and their famiHes. But when it was seen, on their 
 nearer approach, that the ships carried no cannon for 
 murderous war, but were altogether vessels of peace ; 
 and also that the mariners on coming ashore, exhibited 
 nothing of the fierce looks and fiery regimentals of hu- 
 man man-killers, but, on the contrary, were clad in dove- 
 like garments, with looks of answering meekness, their 
 fears all vanished, and they received William Penn and 
 his quakers with exceeding joy and hospitality. — The 
 next day he requested a meeting of the magistrates 
 and people, who all very promptly assembled them- 
 selves in the court-house at Newcastle, to hear what 
 he had to say. He told them that he supposed they 
 all knew that the country belonged to the English ; but 
 he begged that they would not sutler this to give them 
 any uneasiness, for that having purchased it from his 
 own government, he could very honestly assure them 
 that he was not come to diminish, but greatly to in- 
 crease, if possible, their enjoyments. He said he placed 
 it among the highest happinesses of his hfe, that God 
 had called him to the knowledge of the heavenly truth 
 as it is in Christ Jesus, whose divine doctrines are 
 all summed up in that blessed faith which even the 
 poorest and most illiterate may always carry with 
 them, that is, '-'• perftci love out of a pure hearth He 
 declared that, under the guidance of this sweet and 
 holy light and love within^ which Gx)d olfers to all, he 
 wanted nothing of them but to make them one people, 
 and equally happy with himself and his followers. That 
 his own sorrowful suiferings from the cruel persecutions 
 of his own countrymen, had taught him most deeply 
 to abhor all persecution for religion's sake. That what- 
 ever therefore their country or their religion, they 
 were entirely secure from persecution from him : that 
 even if he should find, on better acquaintance with 
 them, that their religious opinions and practices were 
 not so good as his, he hoped that so far from hating 
 
WILLIAM PENN 141 
 
 and persecuting them on that account, he should feel 
 a livelier tenderness, and show them greater kindness, 
 as being the only gospel way, and therefore the only 
 right way to bring them to what he most of all wished 
 — the TRUTH. He concluded with saying, that, for the 
 present, all he expected of them was to '-^ yield him the 
 legal possession of the country.'''' 
 
 This was cheerfully assented to by these poor peo- 
 ple ; and with such an air of honest simplicity as af- 
 fected him exceedingly. Hereupon he begged they 
 would not reflect on this act with any kind of alarm ; 
 for that he felt a comfortable hope that neither himr 
 self nor those who came after him, would ever abuse 
 it. As a proof of his friendship for them, he renewed 
 the magistrates' commissions ; intreated they would 
 strictly do their duty to discountenance all vicious and 
 disorderly persons ; and to encourage and protect the 
 peaceable and honest. He then very pathetically beg- 
 ged them to remember that they were but as " exiles 
 in a strange land, and as a handful of little children in 
 a wide wilderness j'''' that the eyes of God were upon 
 them, marking their conduct whether it was towards 
 his glory by their cheerful and honest industry to make 
 the " wilderness blossom like the garden of God," or 
 by their idle and vicious courses to cover it with the 
 weeds of poverty, and thefts, and murders, and wretch- 
 edness. He begged them often to think of the precious 
 
 " PARABLE OF THE TALENTS," and of the GREAT DU- 
 TIES now devolved upon them, as — 
 
 1st. How much they owed to God who had called 
 them to the honours of so high a trust. 
 
 2d. How much they owed to a young country in 
 which they were the frst settlers. 
 
 3d. How much they owed to the natives, the poor 
 HEATHENS, whom, by a blessed example of justice and 
 MERCY, they might draw to Christ. 
 
 4th. How much they owed to their own poor chil- 
 dren, even the comforts of a fair estate ; the bless- 
 
. 42 THE LIFE OF 
 
 mgs of a PIOUS education ; the sweets of a good name, 
 and, in short, all that could render time and eternity 
 happy. 
 
 These truths, unspeakably interesting in themselves, 
 were rendered much more so by the very earnest and 
 affectionate manner with which he delivered them. 
 In short, they made such an impression on the minds 
 of these poor honest-hearted people, that they could 
 not rest until they had selected one of their nation, a 
 Lacy Cocke, to wait on him with their thanks, and to 
 assure him how heartily they esteemed him, and that 
 they should for ever look on this as " otie of the best 
 days they had ever seen.'''' 
 
 Having, next morning, taken leave of these poor 
 simple people, who, in a body, followed him as a fa- 
 ther to the shore ; he went on board and gave command 
 to weigh anchor and proceed to finish the great object 
 of his voyage. As he sailed along up the mighty flood, 
 which he did, that day, about forty miles, his eyes were 
 constantly gazing on the western banks, the destined 
 seat of his Province, and which for beauty and gran- 
 deur of appearance, fully answered all the fair aC' 
 counts which had been told him of it by his friends of 
 East Jersey. But although his eyes, straining with 
 curiosity, were deeply rivetted on those lovely shores, 
 yet his thoughts were not there : they were busily 
 travelling over the future and the past, with all the 
 keenest emotions of alternate joy and sorrow. " Yo 
 venerable forests, whose sacred silence was never dis- 
 turbed by the sound of the axe, nor your dark brown 
 shades pierced by the enlivening sunbeam, O who can 
 relate your history ! How long has my poor brother 
 man, in joyless hordes, roamed your gloomy wilds, con-' 
 tending for food with beasts of prey, or mingling with 
 each other in murderous fght ?''"' 
 
 But soon the vermilion of joy with its radiant smiles 
 would revisit his cheek, as he remembered the glorious 
 change at hand, when the Gospel of Christy now 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I43 
 
 about to be set before these poor people, not in barren 
 faiths, but Heavenly loves, should seize their hearts 
 with its ravishing excellences, and mould them into 
 one people with his own followers, adopting their gen- 
 tle spirit and endearing manners ; and when quitting 
 their savage usages of hunting and war, and setting 
 themselves to build houses, to plough the fields, and to 
 plant orchards and vineyards, they should fill the land 
 with corn, wine, and oil, and thus attain all the ele- 
 gant pleasures of civilized man. To a heart humble 
 and benevolent, like his, ever ready to adore God for 
 every notice taken of himself, and for every oppor- 
 tunity afforded of doing good to others, what a dav of 
 enjoyment must this have been ! O WilUam Penn ! 
 how far superior thy pleasures of this single day, to all 
 that Caesar or Napoleon, with their restless pride and 
 tormenting ambition, ever tasted ! 
 
 " One self-approving hour whole years outweighs, 
 
 Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas." pofb« 
 
 After sailing this day, as aforesaid, about forty miles 
 before the mid-summer's smoky breeze, they opened, 
 on the larboard, a beautiful little river, whose silver 
 waves serpentining from the north-west, joined the 
 parent Delaware through a mouth almost hid amidst 
 the luxuriant grass, hence by the Dutch called Schuyl- 
 kill ; the Indian name was Manajung. Having pass- 
 ed this, and also a long grassy point, he beheld the great 
 river gentlv windmg to the left, and then as gradually 
 turning out ^o the right again, thus, in the shape of a 
 magnificent holf moon rolling along its mighty flood, 
 with a beautiful little island lying out to the right ; and 
 on the left an expended level of handsome elevation, 
 and shaded with massy oaks — and a little further up, 
 two Indian villages rear the water. A site combining 
 so much natural grandeur and convenience, could 
 hardly escape the discerning eye of William Penn, 
 
144 THE LIFE OF 
 
 who was, at once, so struck with it, that he ordered 
 the anchors to be cast, which was instantly done, near- 
 ly opposite to the Indian towns : and this he did the 
 more readily, as it was now in the afternoon, and the 
 flood-tide almost spent. Of these two little Indian towns, 
 the first was named Coaquanoc, standing on the up- 
 per part of what is now Philadelphia : and the other 
 stood a little higher up, about Kensington ; this last 
 was called shackamaxon by the Indians. They both 
 stood near the water : the Indian name of the Dela- 
 ware was powTAXAT. Soon as the ship was anchored, 
 the boat with an interpreter was sent on shore to in- 
 form the Indians that the sachem or chief of the Whites 
 wished to have a " grand talk with his Red brothers 
 the next day^ when the sun was at the half-way house in 
 the sky.^'' Soon as the natives saw the boat put off 
 from the ship, they came down from both villages, men, 
 women, and children, to meet them : and although 
 from a total ignorance of each others' language, there 
 was no conversation between them except a little by 
 signs, and a word or two through the interpreter, yet 
 the interview was highly interesting, each party mark- 
 ing the colour, features, and dress of the other with all 
 the pleasures of surprise. 
 
 On the return of the boat, the interpreter reported 
 to William Penn, that the Indian chiefs on hearing that 
 he wished to have a grand talk with them, replied in 
 their language, "z«e//, very well.^^ They added, also, 
 that they had been told by their friends " the Rari- 
 tons," (an Indian tribe then living below Burlington 
 and Mount Holly,) that this sachem of the Whites was 
 a good man, and that his white children which he had 
 sent into their country in the big canoes, had never 
 done them any harm." The interpreter also informed 
 William Penn that the Indian chiefs had said that they 
 would send their young men to their towns and let all 
 their friends know, so that there might be d. good many 
 at the talk. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 145 
 
 As to William Penn, he did not set foot on shore 
 that night, but rather spent it in fervent prayer that 
 God would, in his great mercy, now realize all those 
 bright visions of love and happiness between the Red 
 and White people, which he had so often and with 
 such pleasure dwelt upon. Indeed it was a most se- 
 rious night to William Penn. He felt how much was 
 at stake. On the one hand, he himself had always 
 most confidently maintained that, " the grace of God 
 which bringeth salvation, appears to all men," i. e. that 
 the moral sense is universal, and of sufficient efficacy 
 to conciliate the affections even of heathens to stran- 
 gers visiting them, provided those strangers in all their 
 dealings, would be most scrupulously honest and kind to 
 them : on the other hand the British king and ministry 
 had equally ridiculed these opinions of his as utterly 
 visionary, and had left him with a handful of his des- 
 pised followers to make the rash and ruinous experi- 
 ment. The awful hour for that experiment is at hand, 
 and in a short time it is to be decided whether men 
 are creatures capable of moral and religious control or 
 not ; or in other words, whether when Christians have 
 a mind to settle new discovered lands, they must, as 
 heretofore, use all manner of villanous frauds and vio- 
 lence, killing the inhabitants by fire-arms and gin ; or 
 whether, by going among them, not with dumb bibles 
 and crucifixes in their hands, but its blessed spirit of 
 love in their hearts, and smiles in their looks, and jus- 
 tice and kindness in their actions, they may not change 
 thes^ poor heathens into dearest friends, and in this 
 short and most honourable way to attain all the bless- 
 ings of the safest and sweetest society in rich and new 
 countries. 
 
 N 
 
146 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Speech of William Penn to the Indians. 
 
 The Indians having been informed, as aforesaid, that 
 the great Sachem, (or Chief) of the white men, want- 
 ed to have a talk with their nation, assembled them- 
 selves together to hear him. Their numbers must have 
 been considerable ; for to the quakers, on shipboard, it 
 appeared as though the woods were all alive with the 
 Red men. And marching to and fro, as they did, in 
 their mihtary dresses, armed with bows and arrows, 
 and waving their warlike plumes of many a barbarous 
 hue, they formed a fearful sight ; insomuch that some 
 of the meek lamb-hke followers of William Penn, 
 thought he was doing wrong to venture himself among 
 those wild people. But the middle of the day, 
 which was the time fixed on to meet them, being 
 come, he got into the boat and went on shore with a 
 countenance serene and pleasant as if he had been 
 going to dine with his friends ; thus proving by his own 
 ftiir example, what has often been observed even by 
 heathen writers, that " a man of innocent life is afraid 
 of nothing. The place where the red and white men 
 met together, was on the western banks of the great 
 river Delawere, on a fine green near the pleasant vil- 
 lages of Shakamaxon and Coaquanoc, where Kensing- 
 ton now stands. As if purposely formed to be the 
 theatre of that memorable event, an elm-tree, of extra- 
 ordinary size lifted high its towering top, and from its 
 giant arms threw far and wide a refreshing shade over 
 many a grassy acre. Seeing the Indians, men, women 
 and children, assembled under this tree, William 
 Penn, attended by only a few of his quakers, advanced 
 towards them v/ith no other mark of rank but a sash 
 of blue silk, whicli is sill) seen in the Penn families in 
 England. The Indians were struck at his presence. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 147 
 
 A stranger advancing towards them, with no guard* 
 around his person, no weapons of war in his hands, and 
 no armour of defence but the majestic sweetness of 
 his own looks, was a spectacle that impressed them all 
 with veneration. With such sentiments in his favour, 
 they readily obeyed his signal to sit down, which they 
 did in the form of a half moon, the men, women and 
 children of each tribe sitting round their own chiefs. 
 Then, while all eyes were rivetted on him eagerly 
 awaiting his speech, he stretched forth his hand, and 
 with the engaging air and voice of a brother, thus ad- 
 dressed them through an interpreter. 
 
 " Brothers, listen ! Brothers we are come to bring 
 good words to your ear ! We call you brothers, and 
 so you are ; and we are your brothers too. Yes, the 
 red men on this side the big water, and the white men 
 on the other side, are all children of the Great Spi- 
 RiT, and so must love one another, and never fall oui^ 
 The Great Spirit says so. He says we have no need 
 to fall out ; for he has made this world big — big enough 
 for all, red and white brothers too. And he has made 
 fish, and deer, and turkeys, and corn, and every thing 
 plenty for all. And if at any time the red or white 
 brothers want any thing that the others have, they 
 must not fight to take it away. Oh no ; that will make 
 the Great Spirit angry. Now your own eyes see our 
 canoes yonder, (here he pointed to his ships) that they 
 are bigger than your canoes ; and our bows and arrows 
 too that they are stronger than your bows and arrows. 
 They send out thunder and lightning; nothing can 
 stand before them. We could easily kill you with our 
 bows and arrows of fire, and take your land ; but the 
 Great Spirit shakes his head and says no, you must not 
 hurt your red brothers. You must not touch their 
 land. Didn't I give this land to them and their chil- 
 dren to hunt on '( And also the buflfaloes, and deer, and 
 turkeys, and corn, and beans, and squashes? And 
 havn't I given you good things too — great many good 
 
,48 THE LIFE OF 
 
 things ? Well, then, give some to your red brothers, 
 and they will give you land ; and so live together like 
 brothers. Now, brothers, lift up your eyes I and see 
 here the good things which the Great Spirit has given 
 us to bring to you/' 
 
 Here the English sailors, with their usual alacrity, 
 opened out their ready bales of cloths, their true blucs^ 
 and fiery crimsons^ and flaming reds, stretching them 
 along in all their dazzling colours on the grass. And 
 then as by magic, they unpacked their boxes of finely 
 painted guns, with shining tomahawks, and axes, and 
 hoes, and knives, and other articles of choice British 
 goods, which they also spread out to the best advantage ; 
 William Penn in the mean time explaining; their uses to- 
 the hidians, who now no longer able to keep their seats 
 on the ground were risen up, crowded around him with 
 uncontrolled curiosity to look and wonder. But who 
 can paint the pleasure-sparkling eyes and looks of 
 these children of the forest, when with timid step they 
 approached, and gazed, and touched those beautiful 
 things before them, and heard their admirable uses — 
 the guns of thunder and lightning, so much stronger 
 than their bows and arrows, to conquer the bears and 
 panthers ! the keen steel-edged axes so much better 
 than their flint tomahawks to hew down the trees of 
 the forest ! the fine woollen cloths so much softer and 
 warmer than the rugged skins of the bear — and then 
 all these good things brought to them by a mildly look- 
 ing stranger who called them brothers, and said he 
 had brought these good things from beyond the big 
 water to give to them for some of their land. Then 
 was seen the power which justice has to charm the 
 souls of all men. Those savage faces, but now so cold 
 and hard with hostile passions, were seen to glisten 
 with admiration and friendship : while with broadest 
 smiles, such as Indians are wont towards whom they 
 love, they approached William Penn, and shaking his 
 hands called him brother! good brother! They told 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 149 
 
 him too that if he saw they had looked angry at first, it 
 was because they had heard from their friends the Che- 
 sapeakes, and Mussawomacs, and Susquehanocks, that 
 the white men beyond them had killed the red men 
 and had taken their land and deer. And also that their 
 neighbours the Passaicks and Manhattans had told 
 them how the white men with bows and arrows of 
 FIRE, had killed many Indians there too. '■'• Bad white 
 men /'' said they, shaking their heads — " bad white men 
 to kill their red oroihers ! But you no bad white man ! 
 Oh no ; you, good zohite man ! You all same as red man ! 
 You op.e brother ! you bring red men good things ! 
 We love you much ! We give you land^ and deer, and 
 turkeys plenty ! You live with us, all brothers together^ 
 long as the sun and moon give light.'''' 
 
 Great was the joy of William Penn when he heard 
 these words. They served to confirm his behef of 
 that precious scripture truth, " The grace of God 
 w'nich bringeth salvation hath appeared unto all men." 
 Or, as thequakers are fond of terming it — " there is a 
 light within," which teaches all men the difference 
 between right and wrong ; and which, while it con- 
 <lcm;is and troubles them for the one, fills them with joy 
 for fl>llowijig the other. WiUiam Penn now saw with 
 Itis own eyes, this truth most gloriously illustrated in 
 those North American Indians. Judging from the un- 
 ariincial vehemence of their tones, and their glowing 
 looks and sparkling eyes, it were questionable whether 
 any, the most civiHzed people on earth, could have 
 expressed a higher admiration of justice than did these 
 uneducated heathens. 
 
 After a considerable pause, chiefly to indulge a me- 
 lancholy pleasure in looking at this branch of the great 
 family of Adam, and remarking their peculiarities, such 
 as their bright copper complexions, their broad faces, 
 tlieir high cheek bones, their long lank hair, black as 
 the ravens' breast, and coarse as the mane of horses — 
 and also their curiosity, which cspecitilly in the wo- 
 
 N 2 
 
150 THE LIFE OF 
 
 men, appeared to be as eager and unsatisfied as that 
 of the veriest children ; William Penn proposed a going 
 to business. This he did by desiring the interpreters 
 to call up the sachems to him. The sachems all in- 
 stantly gathered around him, and, on learning that he 
 wanted to have a talk with them about buying land, 
 they replied with great vehemence, '' Yes, brothers f — 
 i/es ! — good! — very good /" 
 
 One of the sachems then gave a kind of whoop, as 
 a signal to order, after which he told them, in a very 
 short speech, that their good brother, the great sachem 
 of the white men, wanted to buy land. Soon as this 
 string was touched on, the Indians, though very fond 
 of the trade, began to look grave and assume an air 
 of business ; and one of the sachems, with much of 
 a natural majesty about him, bound something like a 
 chaplet or cushion on his head, with a small horn pro- 
 jecting from it. This, as we read in the Holy Scrip- 
 tures, was used among the great eastern nations as an 
 emblem of kingly powei-. And however curious it may 
 seem, was so used among these Indians of North 
 America ; for, soon as it was put on by the chief 
 sachem, the rest all threw down their bows and arrows 
 in token of respect, as also of perfect friendship, and 
 seated themselves on the ground, in the form of a half- 
 moon, each tribe around its own sachems. Tiie great 
 sachem then announced to William Penn, that the na- 
 tions were ready to hear him ; whereupon, with his 
 usual look and voice, all serene and loving, he thus ad- 
 dressed them. 
 
 " Brothers, hsten ! brothers ! the red men and 
 die white men, all children of the Great Spirit, are 
 going to exchange land and good things with one ano- 
 ther. Brothers, this makes the Great Spirit smile. 
 He sees that this is doing as his good children ought 
 to do. He sees that this will help to make them love 
 one another very much, if they do it in true and good 
 hearts. Brothers ! the Great Spirit sees our hearts 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 151 
 
 whether they be good, like his children, or bad, like 
 foxes and snakes. Brothers, since nothing that we 
 get will ever do us any good, if the Great Spirit is an- 
 gry with us, let us bring something to your ear about 
 the Great Spirit. Brothers ! The Great Spirit is 
 GOOD — MIGHTY GOOD. — Nobody Can tell one half how 
 good he is. The red men know that he is good ; but the 
 white men know it better still. Brothers, don't be 
 angry Don't you see that the Great Spirit has taught 
 us, your white brothers, to make canoes (meaning his 
 ships) much better than your canoes ; and bows and 
 arrows (meaning his guns) much better than your 
 bows and arrows ? Well, then, the Great Spirit has 
 given us better talks too. Brothers, listen ! Bro- 
 thers ! the Great Spirit has had much talk with 
 your white brothers. He has told them in many talks, 
 that it was he who made the sun, and the moon, and the 
 stars — that it was he who made the skies, and the great 
 waters, and the land, with all the trees and grass, and 
 all the fishes, and birds, and beasts ; and made the red 
 men and the white men, and gave all to them as his 
 own children, that they might live together as brothers, 
 and do good to one another, as he does good to them. 
 He says, too, that we must not be straitened and nar- 
 row in our doing good to one another, for that he is 
 great enough and rich enough for all. And that, if 
 we will but let his words sink deep in our hearts, he 
 will speak to the ground, and to the clouds, and to the 
 skies, and they shall pour down good things on good 
 things upon us, till there be no more room to hold 
 them. He says, " can you count the sands on the 
 shores ; can you count the leaves on the trees, and the 
 stars in the skies ? then you may count how many are 
 the good things which he will give to us. But he says, 
 too, that, if we throw his words behind our backs, and 
 tell lies, and cheat, and fight one another, he will turn 
 all his good things into bad things against us, and so 
 fill up our lives with trouble, — The spring may come ; 
 
159 THE LIFE OF 
 
 but no flower shall shine on the ground, no bird sing 
 in the trees ; for the sky shall be cold and black like 
 winter. The ground under our feet shall be like stone ; 
 and the clouds shall hold back their rain, so that the 
 beans shall be few on their vines, and the ears of corn 
 shrivelled on their stalks. The grass, too, shall wither 
 in the vallies, and the acorns shall fail ; so that though 
 we hunt all day, we shall catch no game, and few fish 
 shall come to our hook. And as we delighted to kill 
 others, so the Great Spirit will suifer others, to kill us, 
 yea, after that they have killed our sons in our pre- 
 sence, and tomahawked our little ones before our eyes. 
 Now, BROTHERS, lisleu ! These are the good talks 
 which the Great Spirit gave to our fathers on t'other 
 side of the big water. We bring these good talks to 
 you. We love these good talks ourseiv^es. We are 
 not like those white men who came with the big canoes 
 and bows and arrows of fir t^ and killed the Chesa- 
 peakes and Mussamomecs, and Susquehanocks ; nor 
 are we of the white men who killed the Passaicks and 
 Manhattans ; but we are of the white men who love 
 the good talks of the Great Spirit to our fathers. And 
 we have made a covenant with the Great Spirit, that 
 we will never lie, nor cheat, nor fight, nor kill any of 
 his children, whether red men or white men : but will 
 love them all as our brothers, and will do them good 
 out of the good things which he has given us for them. 
 Now, that you may know that the words which v\'c 
 bring to your ear are true words, look and see that we 
 have brought no canoes of the big bows and arrows of 
 thunders and hghtnings to kill you ; but have brought 
 nothing but our good, things which the Great Spirit 
 gave us to bring and give to you for land. And now, 
 BROTHERS, if it scem good to you to give us land that 
 we may live with you as brothers, tell us ; and if not, tell 
 us, that we may turn to the right hand or to the left." 
 William Peon tlien sat down, still deeply gazed on 
 by the Indians, v/hoze eagerly projecting eyes and shin- 
 
WILLIAM PENN I53 
 
 ing looks strongly showed how deeply they felt and 
 approved all tliat he said. And no wonder; for justice 
 is that godlike charm which no eye of man can look 
 on without being enamoured thereof. This was the 
 enchantment practised by WiUiam Penn. He was no 
 stupid missionary, telling by rote his dull tale of the 
 apple ; nor was he the bigoted priest holding up his 
 idol crucifix and threatening damnation to the unin- 
 structed savages if they fell not down and worshipped 
 it. But he was the true Christian missionary indeed^ 
 who set out, like St. Paul, with first preaching up " righ- 
 teousness^''^ and preaching it up too in that '^'^ spirit 
 which giveth life,'''' even the spirit of love made visible 
 in its precious fruits of justice to these poor heathens, 
 with whom he began by acknowledging them to be 
 the rightful owners of the soil, and to whom he ap- 
 plied for a portion of it, bringing them at the same 
 time in his hands, the best necessaries of life in ex> 
 change. For on William Penn's sitting down, after 
 this famous speech to the Indians, the sachem, with 
 the crown and horn on his head, got up, and with the 
 looks of one strongly excited, thus replied — " bro- 
 ther ! your words are fire. We feel them burning in 
 our hearts. Brother ! we believe that the Great 
 Spirit is good. Our mothers always told us so. And 
 we see it with our own eyes. This big water, which 
 runs along by this Shackamaxon and Coaquanoc, with 
 all the fish, speaks that the Great Spirit is good. This 
 ground which grows so much corn and beans and to- 
 bacco for us, speaks that the Great Spirit is good. 
 These woods that shelter so many deer and turkeys 
 for us, speak that the Great Spirit is good. The Great 
 Spirit would not have done all this for us if he had 
 not been good, and loved us very much. Brother, 
 we ought to be like the Great Spirit. We ought to 
 love one another as he loves us. But brother ! the 
 red men here have not done so. The red men do 
 
154 THE LIFE OP 
 
 very bad. They sometimes fight and kill one another. 
 The Great Spirit has been very angry with us for it, 
 and has taken away our corn and deer ; and then we 
 have become poor and weak, and have fallen sick and 
 died, so that our wigwams (cabins,) are empty. But 
 now we are very sorry and ashamed and will do so no 
 more. And now, brothers, we are ready to sell you 
 land that you may live with us like good brothers, 
 never to fight us as we red men have done, but always 
 to love and do good to one another. And then the 
 Great Spirit will make his face to shine upon us as 
 his good children, and will always give us plenty of 
 deer, and corn, and beans, so that we may eat and 
 grow strong again !" 
 
 Soon as this speech was ended, the Sachems all ga- 
 thered around William Penn, and the few friends he 
 had with him, cordially shaking hands all around, say- 
 ing to them at the same time, " brothers, the Great 
 Spirit sees our hearts, that they are not like foxes and 
 SNAKES, but hke brothers ; good brothers.'''' After this 
 they gave the calumet or pipe of lighted tobacco, 
 which was smoked out of by all ; the great Sachem 
 first taking a whiff, then William Penn, and then the 
 Sachems and warriors and squaws of every tribe. 
 This is used among the Indians as a most sacred pledge 
 of friendship which, according to their strong language, 
 should endure long as the sun and moon gave light. 
 They then proceeded to their great business of dealing 
 for land and goods. How much time was spent in 
 making this famous bargain, I have never been able to 
 ascertain, but the result was as follows — 
 
 1st. The Indians agreed to give the great Sachem 
 of the white men (Wilham Penn,) all the land, bind- 
 ing on the great river from the mouth of Duck creek 
 to what is now called Bristol, and from the river to- 
 wards the setting sun, as far as a man could ride in two 
 days on a horse. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I55 
 
 2nd. William Penn agreed, in return, to give the 
 Indians as follows: 
 
 (The probable prices now.) 
 
 20 Guns, $140 00 
 
 20 Fathoms match-coat, 20 00 
 
 20 Do. stroud-water, 30 00 
 
 20 Blankets, 25 00 
 
 20 Kettles, 20 00 
 
 20 Pounds of powder, 10 00 
 
 100 Bars of lead, 25 00 
 
 40 Tomahawks, 30 00 
 
 100 Knives, 25 00 
 
 40 Pair of stockings, 25 00 
 
 1 Barrel of beer, 4 00 
 
 20 Pounds of red lead, 5 00 
 
 100 Fathoms of wampum 50 00 
 
 30 Glass bottles, 2 50 
 
 30 Pewter spoons, 2 50 
 
 100 Awl blades, 25 
 
 300 Tobacco pipes, 1 00 
 
 1 00 Hands of tobacco, 1 2 00 
 
 20 Tobacco tongs, 5 00 
 
 20 Steels, 2 50 
 
 300 Flints, 2 00 
 
 30 Pair of scissors, 6 00 
 
 30 Combs, 8 00 
 
 60 Looking-glasses, 15 00 
 
 200 Needles, 25 
 
 1 Skipple of salt, 10 00 
 
 30 Pounds of sugar, 3 75 
 
 5 Gallons of molasses, 2 00 
 
 20 Tobacco boxes, 2 50 
 
 ?00 Jews' harps, 6 25 
 
 20 Hoes, 10 00 
 
 30 Gimblets, 2 00 
 
 30 Wooden screw boxes, 7 50 
 
156 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Amount brought over. $ 515 00 
 
 100 Strings of beads, 50 
 
 Total $515 50 
 
 Soon as the bargain was concluded and also ratified, 
 as is the manner of the Indians in great treaties, by a 
 second smoking of the calumet all around, William 
 Penn ordered the stipulated price in British merchan- 
 dize, as the blankets, hatchets, axes, &;c. &;c. to be all 
 openly counted out to the Sachems and nicely put up 
 for them, which was accordingly done. But so strong 
 was the pulse of gratitude and esteem in the bosoms 
 of these poor heathens towards William Penn, because 
 of this his act of justice towards them, that it appeared 
 as though they could not leave him until they had 
 again shaken hands with him all round, with marks 
 of an immortal affection, calling him father " Onas," 
 which in their language signifies quill, and being the 
 nearest word to Penn, and at the same time assuring 
 him in their earnest and vehement manner, that they 
 would be ''' good friends with him and his white children 
 long as the sun and moon gave lights After this they 
 took up their goods and went away. But not until 
 William Penn aifectionately shaking hands with the 
 chiefs had bade them " remember that although he had 
 bought their lands of them, yet they must still use them 
 as their own ; and fish and hunt and make corn for 
 their children as before : and also that if they had any 
 of these good things to spare, they must bring them to 
 him and he would pay them for them." In a transac- 
 tion so honourable to human nature as this, every thing 
 seems important ; and it would be highly gratifying at 
 this day, to know the number of Indians that were as- 
 sembled on that memorable occasion. But although 
 we shall never be able to ascertain this, yet it is a gratifi- 
 cation that we know something of the history of the 
 famous elm under which Penn's treaty with the In- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I57 
 
 dians was made. From its unusual size it must have 
 been at least one hundred years at that time, which was 
 in 1682 ; in the American war, which was about one 
 hundred years later, it was still standing, and so justly 
 venerable on account of the glorious scene it had wit- 
 nessed, that the British, then in possession of Philadel- 
 phia, although near freezing of cold, and the fancy-trees 
 and fruit-trees all abandoned to the axe, they placed a 
 sentinel under this tree so that not a twig of it should 
 be hurt. In the year 1811 it was blown down : but 
 still revered like the oak that sheltered the great Wil- 
 ham Wallace, it was piously wrought into little boxes 
 and cups by the curious, to be sent as presents to 
 friends, or laid up in their own cabinets to keep alive 
 the memory of what that tree had seen. 
 
 Having in his own honest and peaceable way ob- 
 tained of the poor natives a title to that fine province 
 which had so long dwelt on his mind, he then, with 
 great joy and thankfulness of heart, set about having 
 it surveyed. While the survey of the province was 
 going on, he diligently looked about for a good site for 
 his intended city. He was not long in the search. 
 The elegant country round Shackamaxon and Coa- 
 quanoc soon arrested his delighted attention : a grand 
 extended surface, level as a die — full twenty feet ele- 
 vation above the water — bounded on the east by the 
 mile wide Delaware — on the west by the narrow but 
 deep-flooded Schuylkill — and on the south, six miles 
 below Coaquanoc, by the junction of the two rivers — 
 above the surface, a noble forest of oak, poplar and 
 pine, for building — beneath, an inexhaustible bed of 
 choice brick clay — and in the neighbourhood, millions 
 of stone laid up in ready quarries. If king Solomon had 
 been in quest of a site for a royal city for his peerless 
 Dride, the daughter of Pharaoh, where could he have 
 tbund such a spot, and such abundant materials, as the 
 hand of Heaven had here laid up to forward the good 
 work which his servant William Penn was engaged iu ? 
 O 
 
158 THE LIFE 01* 
 
 Without loss of time he then sketched off a plart 
 for his new citj, which for beauty and convenience, 
 for regularity of prospect and pure ventilation, is so 
 far superior to any other city that we have ever seen 
 or read of, as to incline us to believe that the hand 
 of the GREAT ARCHITECT was with him here also. 
 His first street was to lay on the Delaware, and his 
 second on the Schuylkill, both to run nearly north 
 and south one mile., straight as a mathematical line ; 
 and from fronting these two rivers, to be called Front 
 streets — each sixty feet wide ! His third street, to be 
 called High-street, full one hundred feet wide, was ex- 
 actly to intersect his city by running due east and west 
 from the middle of Delaware Front-street., two miles 
 over, to the middle of Schuylkill Front-street. Then., 
 exactly half way between the two rivers, his fourth 
 street, one hundred and thirteen feet wide, to be called 
 BROAD-street, was to run due north and south crossing 
 High-street, as aforesaid, in the centre of the city. In 
 this centre point he laid off ten acres for a grand park 
 or square to be handsomely railed in, smoothly sodded 
 with grass, and planted with trees of finest shade, that 
 the citizens, often as they pleased, might here meet 
 and mingle with one another, and although in the 
 midst of the crowded city, enjoy an air and verdure 
 and shade equal to the country. For the same plea- 
 sant and beneficial uses, he ordered a park or square 
 of eight acres to be laid off in the centre of each quar- 
 ter of his city. To complete the streets of his city, 
 which, as we have seen, was to be two miles in length, 
 from river to river., or east and west, and in width, from 
 north to south one mile, making a surface of upwards 
 of twelve hundred acres, he ordered eight streets to 
 be run parallel with High or Market-street, i. e. east 
 and west; and twenty streets parallel with Broad- 
 street, i. e. north and south ; each of these streets wai 
 to he. fifty {ee,t wide, except Mulberry, which is sixty- 
 six feet wide. The streets running north and south 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I59 
 
 were to be named according to their numerical order, 
 asjirst, second, third street, &;c. and those running from 
 east to west after the woods of the country, as Vine- 
 street, Sassafras-street, Cedar-street, and so on. The 
 city having been thus planned, was called Philadel- 
 phia, which, in Greek, signifies the city of brother- 
 ly LOVE, that being, as he said, " the spirit in which he 
 had come to these parts / the spirit which he had sworn 
 to Dutch, Swedes, Indians, all alike ; and the spirit 
 which he earnestly prayed God would for ever rule in 
 his provirice.''"' 
 
 No sooner was the city surveyed and laid off ac- 
 cording to this plan, which gave universal joy to the 
 little colony, than the sound of innumerable axes was 
 heard in the woods, with the frequent crash of the 
 falling trees. And so ardent was the passion for build- 
 ing, that, late as the season was, (September,) many 
 families had comfortable houses erected before winter. 
 In addition to these, several who came out in the fall 
 ships, being fuller handed, brought with them houses 
 in frame, all marked and ready for putting together ; 
 with furniture of all sorts, and clothes, and provisions; 
 these, of course, went on swimmingly. But a great many 
 coming in late, and being poor withal, had to work day 
 and night to cover in their huts, and provide a good 
 stock of wood for fires, before the deep snows should 
 fall : while others, still worse off, were fain to go down 
 to the shores of the Delaware, and there in the sides 
 of the steep banks, dig large grottoes or caves with 
 chimnies at the tops for the smoke. These places for 
 a long time afterwards went by the name of the caves ; 
 and homely as they may appear, yet many families, 
 whose posterity have since* made much noise in Penn- 
 sylvania, passed the winter of 1G82, in those caves, miid 
 in a very snug and healthy style too. Indeed, whether 
 it be that in those times of virtuous necessity, there is 
 generally the presence of him who " tempers the air to 
 the shorn lamb,''' or whether that, having created man 
 
160 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to imitate himself in active, useful life, Heaven a ways 
 gives better appetite, sleep, and health to the steadily 
 laborious ; but certain it is, that no adventurers, per- 
 haps, in such numbers, ever enjoyed better health and 
 spirits than did the followers of William Penn, that 
 season. For while of thf^ little colony, only one hun- 
 dred and twenty in number, who settled, or rather in- 
 vaded Virginia, in May, 1607, full one half of them 
 were in their graves before Christmas : of William 
 Penn's colony, though exceedingly more numerous, 
 there is no record, that I have seen, of one single case 
 of mortality that season. But after all, the health of 
 this colony, though remarkable, is not so much to be 
 wondered at. " Cheerfulness," says Solomon, " does 
 good like a medicine ;" and who ever had greater rea- 
 son for cheerfulness than the followers of William Penn? 
 The cause for which, like faithful Abraham of old, they 
 iiad left father, mother, and country, i. e. for God and 
 religion's sake, was not that enough to make them 
 cheerful ? The loving spirit in which they had treated 
 the poor natives, was not that enough to make them 
 cheerful ? The attainment, without blood and murder, 
 of the object of their perilous journeyings through the 
 watery wilderness, viz. an earthly Canaan of their 
 own, flowing with the milk and honey of peace and 
 quiet, was not that enough to make them cheerful ? 
 The hand of Heaven, so visible in all this, was surely 
 enough to make them cheerful And, to perpetuate 
 their cheerfulness, the same blessed hand was still 
 visibly present with them ; for, like quails upon the 
 camps of Israel, so did delicious flesh seem to rain 
 down from Heaven upon them in their time of need. 
 Wafted on by the winds of autumn, the wild pigeons 
 from the Indian lakes, came down upon them in such 
 darkening clouds as overwhelmed them with astonish- 
 ment : those who had powder and small shot could kiW 
 thousands a day ; while, as if for the sake of the poor 
 who had not such advantages, these savoury birds flevv 
 
William jpenn. igi 
 
 so low, or fed on their berry bushes so utterly careless 
 of man, that they might be knocked down in any quan- 
 tities that were wanted, insomuch, that besides feeding 
 on them fresh, they salted barrels of them up for fu- 
 ture use. As to deer, bulFaloe, bear, raccoons, opos- 
 sums, squirrels, rabbits, turkeys, pheasants, partridges, 
 &c. the lands which William Penn bought of the In- 
 dians so abounded with all these varieties of dehcious 
 game, that any man who chose to go after them with 
 his gun, might presently return loaded ; while such as 
 could not hunt, might have them brought to their 
 doors for a mere trifle — turkeys of twenty pounds 
 weight for one shilling ! and fat kidney-covered bucks 
 for two shillings ! which was not indeed a fair price 
 for the skin. And all this done for them by those whom 
 the Christians call Savages^ who appeared to have 
 such a true child-like love for father " Onas" as they 
 called William Penn, that they could never, as they 
 said, do enough for his poor children. And indeed so 
 strong was this generous feeling in their bosoms that 
 if they saw any of " Onuses children'''' so poor that they 
 could not buy at the low rates above, they would, of 
 their own accord, go and hunt for them, and bring 
 them loads of the finest and fattest flesh, and fish, and 
 fowl, for nothing. And, as if there was to be no end to 
 the bounties of God, and to the thankfulness and joy of 
 William Penn and his people, the waters in this new 
 country were no less abundantly stored with dainty 
 food than the air and the land : swans, geese, brant, 
 and ducks of all sorts were here seen in flocks as no 
 European ever had any idea of; while as to the fish, 
 such as sturgeon, shad, rock, perch, &:c. the rivers and 
 creeks were so full of them, that with the least indus- 
 try in the world, a man might feast his family on them 
 every day. And in addition to all this, the Indians had 
 exquisite peaches in surprising abundance ; and the 
 woods were, in numberless places, matted as it were 
 with vines, which in the fall season of the year were 
 o 2 
 
162 THE LIFE OP 
 
 perfectly black with shining clusters of grapes ; not 
 indeed so large as those of Europe, but remarkably 
 plump and sweet tasted, especially after a little touch 
 of the frost. Now with such ample cause of ceaseless 
 gratitude and cheerfulness, who can wonder that Wil- 
 liam Penn and his humble followers were always so 
 healthy and happy as they appear to have been ? Wil- 
 liam Penn in a letter to one of his friends in England, 
 says, " I thank my good God that I have not missed one 
 meaVs meat, nor one nighfs sleep since I came into 
 this fair province. O / how sweet is the quiet of these 
 parts, freed from the anxious and troublesome solicita- 
 tions, hurries, and perplexities of woeful Europe /" But 
 leaving the settlers in the new city, driving on might 
 and main as aforesaid, with their buildings, and like 
 sagacious ants laying up the best store they could for the 
 approaching winter, William Penn took his surveyor 
 with him, and went into the country to finish the sur- 
 vey of his grand purchase of the Indians, and also the 
 little district then called the " territories,'' now the 
 State of Delaware, which had been ceded to him 
 by the Duke of York ; and to divide them into coun- 
 ties. Three counties were created out of each of these 
 districts, those of his province were named as follow : 
 PHILADELPHIA, after his new city : bucks, or bucking- 
 ham, after a county in England, dear to him as the 
 long residence of his ancestors : — and Chester, which 
 he so named to pleasure his old travelling companion 
 Thomas Pearson, who was born in a county of that 
 name in England. His three counties in the territo- 
 ries he named Newcastle, kent, and Sussex : this 
 last out of respect to his wife, whose family for many 
 ^generations had resided in a county of that name in 
 England. At the sitting of the Assembly, which took 
 place in March ensuing, (1683) he procured a seal to 
 be struck for each of the above counties. That for 
 PHILADELPHIA, was an anchor, — to bucks, a tree 
 atvd vine, — to Chester, a plough, — to Newcastle, a 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 163 
 
 cassia, — to rent, three ears of Indian corn, — and to 
 SUSSEX, a wheat sheaf. Each of these seals, no doubt, 
 had a meaning, and particularly that of Philadelphia, 
 which very fitly denoted his long twenty years' servi- 
 tude of hope and toil for this blessed land of religious 
 liberty, and city of brotherly love. 
 
 Having thus divided his land into counties, as just 
 mentioned, William Penn immediately appointed she- 
 riffs in each county, and issued writs for the election 
 of members both for the Council and general Assembly, 
 as also summons for the formation of Grand Juries ! 
 J^ow that all this was not a mere matter of pride and 
 affectation in him, (which none on earth ever more 
 heartily abhorred) but a course of proceeding to which 
 he was compelled by existing facts, the reader may 
 rest perfectly assured that so entire was the confidence 
 of the people of England in the wisdom and honesty 
 of William Penn, and the probable great advantages 
 which they should derive from settling in his province, 
 that although he did not himself arrive in it till the 
 beginning of September, yet so great was the emigra- 
 tion, and the number of those who had purchased 
 grounds, and settled in the counties by the middle of 
 November, that he found a sufficient population in 
 each of them to require wise laws, and a prompt and 
 just administration of them. Weight of individual 
 character has rarely had such flattering respect paid 
 to it. Nearly three thousand souls, by reasonable 
 computation, to follow a persecuted quaker across a 
 vast ocean to a wilderness, in three months ! 'tis won- 
 derful ! 
 
 Who can tell the joy that reddened over the cheeks 
 of this true friend of man, when on his return from 
 the country, which was in November, he beheld the 
 bright prospects that were opening before him — his 
 new city, of upwards of fifty houses, risen as by magic 
 out of the woods, and thereby promising, what has 
 really happened, the speedy creation of a mighty me- 
 
164 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tropolis — and in addition to this, to see his noble, sil- 
 rer-flooded Delaware already beginning to whiten with 
 the sails of ships ; twenty-three of which came in about 
 this time almost in squadron, from different ports in 
 England and Ireland, and even from Wales, making 
 in all upwards of two thousand souls, who had bravely 
 left their country and friends to cross a howling wil- 
 derness of waves, and cast in their lot with William 
 Penn for their sweet peace and conscience sake. 
 
 And great also was the joy of the colony when,they 
 saw that these ships, though tall, carried none of the 
 dread implements of death, nor of those men whose 
 fierce looks and fiery regimentals proclaim that their 
 trade is human slaughter ; but, on the contrary, were 
 filled with men and women whose dove-like clothiiig 
 bespoke them the children of peace, perhaps, humble 
 and industrious farmers and mechanics, who were 
 come into the wilderness to build up a Zoar, a city for 
 God, and to aid the great and good cause by their use- 
 ful labours. The scene that ensued was tender and in- 
 teresting. Nothing was to be seen or heard on all 
 sides but the noise of the citizens running down to the 
 shore to meet and welcome the stranger friends^ also 
 with looks and eyes of friendship eagerly searching 
 round if happily they might find some beloved kinsman 
 in this noisy throng. And ofttimes the heart was 
 touched at the sight of dearest relatives rushing to all 
 the transporting embraces of an unexpected meeting; 
 bathing each other's red swollen cheeks of joy with 
 gushing tears, and with sobs and cries rending the air, 
 " O my brothel' /" or, " O my dear mother^'*'' or " my dear 
 child!'''' These persons had taken leave in England of 
 their relatives ; the first adventurers^ never expecting 
 to see them more. — But finding a void in their bleed- 
 ing hearts, which nothing else could fill, they had sud- 
 denly sold ofi' all and ventured across the seas, that 
 they might, as they said, " live and die together.'''' Wil- 
 liam Penn was much affected by these things, which 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 165 
 
 served to strengthen him the more, if possible, in his 
 resolutions to leave nothing undone to ensure the wel- 
 fare of so many poor people who had confided their 
 all to him. And it is highly pleasing to record that 
 what with the very unusual length of the mild and 
 open weather that season, and the most hearty hospi- 
 tality and great simplicity and industry prevalent 
 throughout this group of Christian friends, such good 
 preparation was made, both of huts and provisions, 
 that there was no instance of serious distress and suf- 
 fering ever heard among them. It is worthy of remark, 
 that nearly the whole of the late arrival of two thou- 
 sand persons, were Quakers, who had followed Wil- 
 ham Penn, that, as appeared in a London paper of 
 those times, " they might lead a life quiet and peaceable, 
 free from the vexatious they had experienced ; arid wor- 
 shipping the Creator in their own way ^ and that here, as 
 on a virgin elysian shore, they might shun the odious and 
 infectious examples of European profligacy and wicked- 
 ness ; and lastly, that by manifesting, in all their tem- 
 pers and actions, a fair example of the humble and 
 loving spirit of the gospel, they might more effectually 
 impress the heathen around them, and thus bring them 
 from darkness to light — even that pure and perfect light 
 which emanated from Jesus Christ,'*'' 
 
 When plain simple Christians can go abroad to win 
 ihe Heathens to Christ by his sweet charm of " love 
 und good works,'''' exemplified in their own divine tem- 
 pers and actions, we may well expect a good turn out. 
 but when missionaries, calling themselves Christians, 
 x:an travel to the other side of the globe to make 
 proselytes to their own party, and there, in the sight 
 of the Heathen, wrangle and abuse each other about 
 baptisms and sacraments, and free grace or election, 
 surely it is time for all good men to pray that God 
 would have mercy upon such " blind leaders of tht 
 blind,'''' and send fitter " labourers in into his own vine^ 
 yards C 
 
166 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Snug m their huts and caves, and well supplied, as 
 we have seen, with food timely laid up, William Penn 
 and his gentle followers passed the winter in much 
 comfort, often amusing themselves with an atmosphere 
 darkened with heavier snows, and the Indian forests 
 howling with far louder tempests than they had ever 
 witnessed in England. In the course of the season, 
 perhaps in January, there occurred an event which, 
 though trivial in itself, served for a while to be talked 
 of in this infant city, I mean the Jirst birth, of English 
 parents, in the colony. The child was a boy, of the 
 family of Key, born in one of the caves. William Penn 
 took a fancy to record this event by making the child 
 a present of a lot of ground. The neighbours from 
 that day gave young Key the name of First-born, which 
 he went by all his life, and that a very long one. 
 
 On the 10th of March, 1683, William Penn met his 
 Jlrst Council, in Philadelphia ; two days afterwards 
 he met his Jirst Assemble/, which sat at the same 
 place. 
 
 As a certain very unpromising youngster of Virginia, 
 on reading in a history of the revolution that his 
 grand-father was a favourite officer with general Wash- 
 ington, instantly took up, determining to render himself 
 worthy of such a noble ancestor; so I will let the 
 young people of Pennsylvania and Delaware see the 
 names of their great-grandfathers, who had the ho- 
 nour to sit under William Penn in the Jirst Assembly, 
 in the year 1683 — also on the first grand jury of that 
 venerable period. For the assembly, as follow — Yard- 
 ley, Darke, Lucas, Wain, Wood, Clowes, Witzwater, 
 Hall, and Boyden, for Bucks ; Longhurst, Hart, King, 
 Binkson, Moon, Wynne, Jones, Warner, and Swanson, 
 for Philadelphia; Hoskins, Wade, Wood, Blunston, 
 Rochford, Bracy, Bezer, Harding, and Phipps, for Ches- 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 187 
 
 ter; Biggs, Irons, Hassold, Curtis, Bedwell, Windsmore, 
 Brinkloe, Brown, and Bishop, for Kent ; Cann, Darby, 
 Hollingsworth, Herman, Dehoaef, Williams, Guest, 
 and Alrick, for New Castle ; Watson, Draper, Flutch- 
 er. Bowman, Moleston, Hill, Bracy, Kipshaven, and 
 Verhoof, for Sussex. 
 
 For the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania, in 1683. 
 Lloyd, (foreman,) Flower, Wood, Harding, Hill, Luff, 
 Wall, Darke, Parsons, Blunston, Fitzwater, Guest, 
 Curtis, Lucas, Jones, and Pusey. 
 
 As to what this famous assembly did — I call it fa- 
 mous, because it was the first that ever sat in the glo- 
 rious colony of William Penn — I say as to what they 
 did, such as what wise laws they passed ; who was 
 their chairman ; who their great orator, and so forth, 
 they are now all effaced from the memory of man, as 
 though such an assembly had never existed. This most 
 mortifying fact, however overlooked by others, ought 
 certainly to stick awhile on the memory of those am- 
 bitious little ones, now-a-days, who vainly dream that 
 if they can but muster enough of whiskey-bought votes 
 to send them to " the legislature," the world is to 
 ring of them a thousand years hence. 
 
 But concerning the exploits of the first Grand Jury 
 of Pennsylvania, we are not so completely in the dark. 
 It appears that, early as good William Penn began to 
 draw his net for villains, he did not draw it without 
 catching a miserably bad fish. A very hardened 
 wretch by the name of Pickering, a silver-smith of 
 London, finding what ship-loads of quakers had gone 
 off to ^Pennsylvania, took it into his head that a capital 
 speculation might be made on these easy unsuspicious 
 people, by palming upon them a barrel or two of coun- 
 terfeit Spanish milled dollars, and thus handsomely, as 
 he hoped, to strip them of what little property they 
 had saved from the paws of the British monarchy and 
 liierarchy. The better to ensure success, he gets him- 
 self a deep drab and broad beaver, and off he sets for 
 
168 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Penn's colony, and there in the guise of a very pious 
 friend, begins his villanous trade. His money passes 
 without the least suspicion : for who would think of sus- 
 pecting FRIEND Pickering ! Success inspires confi- 
 dence ; confidence makes him forget caution ; his money 
 is questioned, and he is arrested w^ith thousands of it 
 upon him. Now, in England, such a villain as that would, 
 in five minutes, have been in a dungeon pinioned with 
 irons, and soon as possible, have been dangling in a 
 halter without beuefit of clergy. But what was the. 
 award of the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania in 
 1683 ? Why, it ran in these words : " Whereas 
 Thomas Pickering hath been found guilty of coining 
 and stamping silver in the form of Spanish dollars with 
 more alloy of copper than the law allows, he the said 
 Thomas Pickering shall, for this high misdemeanor, make 
 full satisfaction in good and current pay, to all persons 
 who shall, within the space of one month, bring in any 
 of his base and counterfeit coin, (which shall be called 
 in to-morrow by proclamation ;) and that he shall pay 
 a fine of forty pounds towards the building of a court- 
 house, stand committed till the same is paid, and after-^ 
 wards find security for his good behaviour.'''' 
 
 Having undergone an incessant fatigue of mind for a 
 long time past, and especially during the late session 
 of his Assembly, and Common Council, and Grand 
 Jury, of which he was the prime mover and conductor, 
 WilHam Penn determined, for a necessary relaxation, 
 to make an excursion into the country, and taking a 
 few friends with him, now when the opening spring 
 with all its sweet birds and blossoms were inviting ta 
 industry, to indulge the pleasure of a general view of 
 his beloved province. But to a mind like that of Wil 
 liam Penn, happily moulded into the spirit of divine 
 love, and, like that, always seeking opportunities of 
 doing good, relaxation only means a change in the 
 great business of being useful. During this grand tour 
 if we may so call it, he made numberless minutes of 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 169 
 
 every thing that he could see or hear that he thought 
 would entertain or benefit, and which may be looked 
 on as a panorama in miniature^ or rapid sketch of the 
 geography, botany, natural history, &:c, of the country 
 and its aboriginal inhabitants, or Indians. 1 should like 
 to give it at length to my readers, were it not for fear 
 that from the lusty growth which our country has made 
 in these sciences during the long lapse of one hundred 
 and fifty active years, it would only excite a smile as 
 at sight of a dwarf by the side of a giant. But there 
 is one thing in this little journal which always atFords 
 so much pleasure to myself, that I can, certainly, ne- 
 ver withhold it from my readers, i. e. his tender sketches 
 of the poor simple natives of the country. Aye^ there 
 William Penn was always at home. This v/as his first 
 and favourite theme, to be continually looking into 
 the moral condition (because all happiness lies there) 
 of his brother man; not indeed so much to scrutinize 
 his notions and shiboleths ; or to ascertain how far or- 
 thodox and strict he was in his sectarian faiths, and 
 catechisms, and creeds, and confirmations, and bap- 
 tisms, and sacraments, and sprinklings of holy water, and 
 signings with crosses, and other such things ; because 
 from faithful history of popes, and cardinals, and bi- 
 shops, and presbyters, William Penn had learned that 
 the utmost formalities in those things are perfectly 
 consistent with the vilest spirit and passions of the 
 world — with the most satanic pride and lust of univer- 
 sal domination — with mortal envies and hatreds of all 
 opponents — with kindlings of bloody wars and cru- 
 sades among the nations, and most unnatural inquisi- 
 tions and burnings of their brethren^-with multiplying 
 of great titles, and palaces, and revenues of the esta- 
 blished churches, and imprisonments, and confiscations, 
 and poverty, and starving of the rest ! ! ! WilHam Penn, 
 therefore, in his loving regards to the moral condition 
 of his brother man, paid no rcopecl to those things ; 
 but much rather to the plain evidences of that " grace 
 P 
 
170 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which bringeth salvation," and which always mani 
 festeth itself in acts of ^'•justice, and hospitality^ and 
 kindness, and brotherly love, without dissembling.'''' 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JJ^lliam Penn'^s Narrative of the Aborigines, or native 
 Indians, whom he found in Pennsylvania, touching 
 their persons, language, manners, religion, and go- 
 vernment. 
 
 " 1st. For their persons ; they are generally tall, 
 straight, well built, and of singular proportion. They 
 tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with a lofty 
 chin. Greasing themselves with bears' fat, and using 
 no defence against the sun, their skins must needs be 
 swarthy. Their eyes are small and black, not unlike 
 a straight-eyed Jew. The thick lips and flat noses of 
 tlie East Tndians and blacks, are not common to them ; 
 for I have seen as comely European faces among them 
 as in England ; and truly an Italian complexion has 
 not much more of the white, and the noses of many 
 of them have as much of the Roman. 
 
 2d. For their language, it is lofty yet narrow, but, 
 like the Hebrew, in signitication full. Like short -hand 
 in writing, one word serves in place of several, and the 
 rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearer. 
 And I must say that I know not a language in Europe 
 that has words of more sweetness or grandeur. 
 
 3d. As to their customs and manners, these in some 
 things, as very curious, especially as regards their 
 diildren. Soon as these are born they plunge them 
 into cold water, the colder the better, to make them 
 hardy and bold as young otters. Then, having wrapt 
 them up in skins, they brace them out straight on a 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 171 
 
 little board, and thus, when travelling, carry them on 
 their backs, or if at work, set them up nearly erect 
 against the sides of their cabins. Hence the Indians 
 are all remarkably straight. The boys while young, 
 practise a great deal with their bows and arrows, at 
 which they come to be so expert that a sparrow must 
 be lucky that escapes them. At fifteen they take to 
 the woods, eager to figure as men. If they make a 
 brave return of skins, they begin to take airs and talk 
 about wives ; otherwise they are very silent. The girls 
 stay with their mothers and help them to plant and 
 hoe the corn, and carry burthens. 'Tis happy that 
 they are timely used to this ; for, when wives, they are 
 expected to do all the drudgery. The husband, if he 
 hunts and kills the buck, thinks he has done his share. 
 He comes home, sits down and lights his pipe ; leaving 
 it to his wife and daughters to bring in the buck. Their 
 sagacity at finding it seems like a miracle. The hus- 
 band has but to say a word or two and fling his arm in 
 the direction where it lies, and they go off as straight 
 to it, no matter how thick the swamps and woods, as a 
 buzzard to a carcass. 
 
 We Christians call these poor people savages, but 
 indeed, in many of the most Christian virtues, they 
 leave us far behind them. If a white man call at their 
 cabins, they are all joy and gladness to see him. They 
 give him the best place and the first cut. If they come 
 to visit us, and any thing is given them to eat or drink, 
 well, for they will not ask ; and be it little or much if 
 it be with kindness^ they are well pleased ; otherwise 
 they go away sullen, but saying nothing. 
 
 But in liberality they excel. Nothing is too good for 
 their friend. Give them a fine gun, coat, or other 
 thing, it may pass twenty hands before it sticks : light 
 of heart, strong affections, but soon spent : the most 
 merry creatures that live. They never have much 
 nor want much. Wealth circulates like the blood. All 
 ,parts partake : and though none shall want what the 
 
172 THE LIFE OF 
 
 others have, yet exact observers of property. Some of 
 their kings have sold, others presented me with par- 
 cels of land. The pay or presents I made them were 
 not hoarded by the particular owners, but the neigh- 
 bouring kings and their clans being present when the 
 goods were brought out, the parties chiefly concerned 
 consulted what and to whom they should give them. 
 To every king then, by the hands of a person for that 
 work appointed, is a proportion sent, so sorted, and 
 folded, and with that gravity which is admirable. Then 
 the king subdivideth it in like manner among his de 
 pendants, hardly leaving himself an equal share with 
 one of his subjects : and be it on such occasions as 
 festivals, or at their common meals, the kings distri- 
 bute, and to themselves last. They care for little, 
 because they want but little ; and the reason is, a lit- 
 tle contents them. In this they are sufficiently re- 
 venged on us. If they are ignorant of our pleasures, 
 they are also free from our pains. — We sweat and toil 
 to live. Their pleasure feeds them ; I mean their 
 hunting, tishing, and fowling ; and this table is spread 
 every where. 
 
 In sickness they are very impatient, and use strange 
 remedies, such as stewing themselves in a close cabin 
 with hot steam from water thrown on red hot stones, 
 until the sweat pours down from them, and in this state 
 they will plunge into brooks of coldest water. If they 
 die, they bury them in their apparel, the nearest 
 of kin throwing into the grave with them something- 
 precious, as a token of their love ^ for dead or alive 
 nothing is cared for by these people but love to and 
 from their friends. They are very choice of the graves 
 of their dead, and will sometimes go out of their way 
 great distances to sit by them. 
 
 These poor people are under a dark night in things 
 of religion, at least the tradition ; yet they tirmly be- 
 Heve in the Great Spirit or God, and the immortality 
 of the soul ; for they say there is a great king who 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I73 
 
 made them, who dwells in a bright country to the 
 southward of them ; and that the souls of the good shall 
 go thither where they shall live again. Their worship 
 consists of two parts, sacrifice and cantico. Their 
 SACRIFICE is their first fruits. The first and fullest 
 buck they kill goes to the fire, where he is all burnt, 
 with a mournful ditty of him who performeth the 
 ceremony, but with such marvellous fervency and la- 
 bour of body, that he will even sweat to a foam. The 
 other part is their cantico, performed by round 
 dances accompanied sometimes with words, sometimes 
 songs, and then shouts, which are raised by two persons 
 standing in the middle, who begin, and by singing and 
 drumming on a board, direct the chorus. Their pos- 
 tures in the dance are very antic and various, but all in 
 exact measure. The whole is done with surprising 
 earnestness and labour, and with strong expressions of 
 joy. In the fall when the corn comes in, they begin 
 to feast one another. There have been two great fes- 
 tivals already, to which all who choose can come. I 
 was at one myself. Their entertainment was by a 
 large spring under some shady trees, and twenty fat 
 bucks with hot cakes made of the meal of new corn 
 and beans baked in leaves in the ashes. After dinner 
 they fell to dance. All who go carry a small present in 
 their kind of money ; it may be sixpence, made of the 
 bone of a fish ; the black is with them as gold ; the 
 white, silver ; they call it wampum. 
 
 Their government is by kings, called sachems, who 
 reign by succession ; but always of the mother's side. 
 The children of him who is now king will not suc- 
 ceed, but his brother by the same mother, or the sons 
 of his sister, for no woman inherits. It is astonishing 
 to see how piously and peaceably they all follow this 
 ancient usage. 
 
 Every king has his council, cons^.sting of all the old 
 and wise men of the nation. Nothing of moment is un- 
 dertaken, be it war, peace, or selling of land, without ad- 
 p 2 
 
174 THE LIFE OF 
 
 vising with them ; and which is more, with the young 
 men too. It is admirable to consider how powerful 
 the kings are, and yet how entirely the creatures of 
 their people. And it is equally admirable to see the 
 exquisite order and decorum that are always observed 
 in their national councils. The king sits in the mid- 
 dle of a half moon, formed by the old and wise men, 
 his counsellors, on the right and left. Behind them 
 sit the younger fry in the same half moon figure. Every 
 thing being ready for business, the king beckons to one 
 of his old men to speak, which he does, rising with 
 much solemnity, and begging it to be kept in mind 
 that it is not he, but the king who is speaking. While 
 he is on the floor not a man among them, young or old, 
 would be guilty of such rudeness as to whisper, smile, 
 or move a foot, for the world. — Their speeches are 
 short, but always vehement, and sometimes figurative 
 and eloquent in the highest degree. And as to their 
 natural sagacity and management of the business, espe- 
 cially such as they are familiar with, he must be a wit 
 who gets the advantage of them. 
 
 As to the original of this extraordinary people, I can- 
 not but believe they are of the Jewish race, I mean of 
 the stock of the ten tribes so long lost; for the reasons 
 following: — 
 
 Firstly. The ten tribes were to go to a land " not 
 planted nor known,'''' which certainly Asia, Africa, and 
 Europe zuere. And God who pronounced that singu- 
 lar judgment upon them, might make the way passa- 
 ble to them as it is " not impossible in itself from the 
 eastermost parts of Asia to the loesternmost parts of 
 America. 
 
 Secondly. I find the Indians of the like countenance 
 with the Jews ; and their children of so lively resem- 
 
 * The world laughed at William Penn for this bold conjecture. 
 But captain Cooii, and later navigators, liave shown it to be verv 
 practicable and probable. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. I75 
 
 blance, that a man on looking at them, would think 
 himself in duke's place, or Berry street, London. 
 
 Thirdly. They agree with the Jews in many of their 
 religions rites. 
 
 Fourthly. They reckon time by Moons, like the 
 Jew. 
 
 Fifthly. They offer their Jlrst fruits, as the Jews do. 
 Sixthly. They have a kind of feast of tabernacles, 
 like them. 
 
 Seventhly. They are said to lay their altar upon 
 twelve stones. 
 
 Eighthly. They have the same practice of mourning 
 a year. 
 
 Ninthly. They have the same delicate customs of 
 women. 
 
 Now all these things considered of them, and also 
 taking into the account their many and grand cardinal 
 virtues which they practise, such as, 
 
 1st. Their noble readiness to forgive any injuries 
 done them by one who was drunk, saying, " it was the 
 drink and not the man who abused 'em." 
 
 2d. Their exceeding hospitality to strangers. 
 3d. Their never-ending esteem of those who only 
 do them justice, (as in the case of William Penn.) 
 4th. Their love stronger than death to their friends, 
 5th. Their everlasting gratitude to benefactors. 
 Now on a people possessing so distinct a knowledge 
 of good and evil, O what immortal fruits might not be 
 grafted by persons of a still brighter light and love 
 coming among them ; not in vain words, preaching up 
 notions and sacraments, but in their own brotherly 
 tempers and actions, showing the divine beauty and 
 blessedness of men " dwelling together in love " 
 
i76 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 William Penn had now been in his colony neartwn 
 years ; and indeed, as is said, had serious thoughts of 
 spending the rest of his days in it, with his family, 
 whom he meant to send for. But alas, why should 
 poor mortals talk of years to come, when the wisest 
 among them cannot tell " what a day may bring forth .'" 
 For while this most virtuous of men, like a good angel 
 descended from heaven, was thus diligently and de- 
 lightfully employed in ameliorating the physical and 
 moral condition of the red and w-hite men of his great 
 family, and to render his province the garden spot and 
 glory of the earth, behold a ship arrived from England 
 with packages of letters fi-om his best friends, recom- 
 mending it to him by all means to return without loss 
 of time. — They stated that he was every where posted 
 as a " PAPIST^' and a " jesuit," and that too in such 
 terms of execration that there was no telling how^ it 
 might affect the government against him, even to the 
 taking away of his charter and province. And still 
 worse, (for indeed he smiled at such baseless fabrica- 
 tions that affected only himself) the letters informed 
 him of things infinitely more painful to his feelings, 
 viz. that the persecutions against his poor friends, the 
 quakers, had broken oat again, and with a malignity 
 and fury far beyond any thing ever known before. 
 The letters concluded with entreating that he would 
 instantly return and use all his interest in their favour 
 with the king, who, it was well known, was much his 
 friend. 
 
 The eflfect of these letters on him, was an imme- 
 diate determination to return to England, as soon as 
 possible : so having empowered his council to act in 
 his place, and tilled up all the various offices and de- 
 partments of government with the fittest men, he took 
 his leave, exceedingly to the re2;ret of all, but of none 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 177 
 
 more than of the Indians. To these poor people, the 
 report that their " father Onas''' was going away to 
 leave them, was matter of deep heart-sinking and sor- 
 row. Having found out the day on which he was to 
 depart, they came in betimes into the city, in great 
 crowds both men and women, and all of them with 
 some present in their hands for ^^ father Onas.'''' They 
 followed him to the shore, like children crowding to 
 the funeral of a beloved father, and in shaking hands 
 with him, many of them shed tears. 
 
 Immediately on his arrival in England, (October 
 1684) he commenced his inquiries into the condition 
 of the quakers,and the persecutions against fAe?n, which 
 he found to be fully equal, in point of savage unfeel- 
 ingness and barbarity, to the worst accounts he had 
 received. I will detail a few of those cases, that our 
 horror-struck readers, while they mark the blinding 
 influence of an ancient priestcraft, and mourn the suf- 
 ferings of its unfortunate victims, may raise their 
 shouts of praise to God for the blessed time and coun- 
 try in which they live : and also do their part, in the 
 way of a good life^ to prevent disunion and civil war, 
 which, by introducing a king and an established 
 CHURCH, may revive those calamities upon our hap- 
 less posterity. 
 
 Extract of cruel persecutions of the poor quakers in 
 England, in the days of king Charles 11. viz. 
 
 " Only for attending a meeting in Leicestershire, 
 four persons were sent to prison^ and their goods of 
 various kinds, with beds, working tools, &c. taken 
 from them to the amount of two hundred and thirty 
 six pounds sterling, equal now to three thousand dol- 
 lars ! ! In clearing the meeting-house on this occasion, 
 not only men but women were dragged out, some by 
 the heels, and others by the hair of their heads !" 
 
 "In Nottinghamshire, James Nevil, Justice of the 
 Peace, took from T. Samson, by warrant (on account 
 
178 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of his attending two meetings^) nineteen head of cattle, 
 and goods to the amount of sixty pounds sterling," 
 equal now to seven or eight hundred dollars. 
 
 " Tn the county of Norfolk, John Patterson had two 
 hundred fat sheep taken from him, — equal to three 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 " Wilham Borbu of Norfolk, had cows, carts, a plough, 
 harrows, and hay, taken from him to the amount of 
 fifty pounds sterling. 
 
 " William Brazier, a shoemaker at Cambridge, was 
 fined by John Hunt, (Mayor) and John Spencer (Vice- 
 chancellor,) twenty pounds, only for having a religious 
 meeting in his own house." 
 
 N. B. The officers who distrained for this sum, took 
 his leather, his lasts, the seat he worked upon, wearing 
 clothes, bed and bedding ! ! ! 
 
 " In Somersetshire, F. Pawlet, Justice of the Peace, 
 fined thirty-two persons only for being at a burial ! and 
 seized for the fines, cows, corn, and other goods to the 
 amount of eighty-two pounds sterling. No one appear- 
 ing to buy the distrained cattle, the justice employed 
 a person to buy them mfor himself! ! 
 
 " In Berkshire, Thomas Curtis was fined three 
 pounds fifteen shillings by Justice Craven, who order- 
 ed his mare to be seized, which was worth seven 
 pounds. Curtis put in an appeal against this proceed- 
 ing, according to the act ; but it was thrown out. The 
 ofHcers also offered the fine to Craven, but he would 
 not take it ; but had the mare valued at 4/. and then 
 kept her himself ! ! 
 
 " In Cheshire, Justice Daniel took from T. Briggs 
 the value of 116/. in corn, horses, and cattle ; the lat- 
 
 use 
 
 ter he kept and worked for his own 
 
 " In the same county. Justice Manwaring took by 
 warrant for fines which amounted to 87/. goods to the 
 value of 101/. in cattle, bacon, brass, pewter, corn, cloth, 
 shoes, and cheese. Some of the sufferers appealing, 
 the Jury acquitted them ; but the Justices would not 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 179 
 
 receive the verdict, and at the next sessions gave judg- 
 ment for the informers^ with treble costs ! ! /" 
 
 Scores of other cases equally shocking might be 
 quoted ; but these are sufficient to show what man is 
 capable of when under the dominion of bigotry and 
 superstition ; and how easy a thing it is, for a selfish 
 Priest to persuade a poor sinner, that if he but mutters 
 a few prayers after him^ and kneels and sings as he di- 
 rects, and gravely takes the Sacrament, he may fly like 
 a wild Arab upon the most humble, and harmless, and 
 industrious, and peaceable of his fellow creatures, and 
 triumphantly carry off their carts and horses, and cows, 
 and calves, and corn, and meal, thus breaking them up 
 root and branch, and leaving their poor little children 
 crying in vain to their mothers for their simple suppers 
 of bread and milk. 
 
 With a heart bleeding for such cruelties of man to- 
 man, William Penn flew to the King, entreating him 
 even with tears, that he would interpose his royal arm 
 to the prevention of such hellish practices, dishonour- 
 able to his reign and disgraceful to the most benevo- 
 lent religion in the world — the Gospel, But to his 
 equal astonishment and grief, all that he could obtain 
 was " a sort of promise from the King, that he would 
 do something in the matter,'''' But while he, Felix like, 
 was waiting for that *' more convenient season,'''' to do 
 the good work to which Wilham Penn so earnestly 
 entreated him, hundreds of poor harmless and humble 
 souls were suffering all the horrors of starving at home, 
 or groaning in dungeons. But his time to act so in- 
 human a part, and to abuse the high trust confided to 
 him of God, was not long. In about a quarter of a 
 year after this, as he sat down one Sunday morning 
 to be shaved, he w^as suddenly seized with violent 
 spasms, or twitchings of his head to both sides, when, 
 uttering a fearful shriek, he fell down as dead, and so 
 remained for three hours. His physician, at hand, bled 
 him, and fearing to lose the time necessar)' to blister 
 
180 THE LIFE OF 
 
 him by flies, ordered his head to be shaved, and pHed 
 with red-hot frying pans. Being brought to his senses by 
 such unheard of tortures, he showed himself humble 
 as a whipped child — seemed deeply penitent — begged 
 pardon of all, even the poorest he had ever wronged — 
 prayed most fervently himself, and prayed that others 
 would pray to God for him. And in this way he breath- 
 ed on, till the following Saturday at noon, and then 
 died — an av/fal lesson to the proud and great, how easy 
 a thing it is for God to make such worms bow before 
 him ! His throne had not time to get cold, before it 
 was filled up by his brother the Duke of York, who, 
 at three o'clock that same day, was proclaimed King 
 James the second ! The reader will remember thai 
 this was the same Duke of York, under whom, and 
 next in command, William Penn's father had fought 
 so gallantly against the Dutch fleet, in 1666 ; and who 
 had sent word to that officer, on his death-bed, that he 
 would be a friend to his son. And, indeed, in many 
 respects he was as good as his word ; for like Herod 
 towards the holy Baptist, he had a most exalted opi- 
 nion of William Penn ; not only of his " rare honesty ^''^ 
 but also of his " rich mind and acquirements ^^^ insomuch 
 that he would often have William Penn with him, 
 and allowed him such lengthy conversations as gave 
 umbrage to his nobles, who, more than once, took the 
 liberty to tell him, that when he zvas with Penn he for- 
 got them.'''' 
 
 Soon as decency would perm.it, William Penn 
 waited upon his royal friend, with the grievous case 
 of his poor aiHicted subjects the quakers. The King, 
 with a smile, clapped his hand upon his shoulder, and 
 said, " Friend William, don't make thyself uneasy on 
 that score, for it is not my desire that peaceable peo- 
 ple should be disturbed for their religion." Finding 
 the King in such good humour, Penn put in a w^ord for 
 his friend the celebrated John Locke, who it is known 
 was almost if not altogether « quaker, and who had 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 181 
 
 recently been deprived of his place and salary in the 
 University of Oxford. '•''Well, William," replied the 
 King, in the same gracious manner, ^'•for thy sake I do 
 pardon John Locke, and thou may est so tell him from, 
 we." Indeed so high did Penn stand in favour with the 
 King, and so generally was this known, as also the ex- 
 ceeding pleasure which he took in improving it to the 
 relief of the oppressed, that he was always surrounded 
 by applicants. His firmness in the case of the Duke 
 of Hamilton, while it shows exactly the character of 
 Penn, affords a striking proof what important services 
 a benevolent and brave man may sometimes render to 
 the injured. Learning that Robert Stewart, of Colt- 
 ness, a very worthy Scotchman, had been obliged, 
 through the religious persecutions of the times, to fly 
 his country, and that his estate had been given to the 
 Earl of Arran, afterwards the Duke of Hamilton, Wil- 
 liam Penn called upon this nobleman, and with all the 
 majesty of truth, thus gravely accosted him, — " Friend 
 James, what is this I hear of thee ? thou hast taken pos- 
 session of Robert Coltness's estate. Thou know est it t> 
 not thiney The Duke, evidently self-condemned, but 
 straining for an apology, replied, " Why, Mr» Penn, I 
 received no other reward for my expensive and trou- 
 blesome embassy to France, but this estate ; so that 
 I am sure I am very much out of pocket by the bar* 
 gain." 
 
 " That maybe," returned the intrepid quaker, " but 
 let me assure thee now, that if thou do not immediately 
 send for Coltness, who is in town, and pay him 200/. 
 to carry him on his journey, and also 100/. a year to 
 subsist on till matters are adjusted, / will make it as 
 many thousands out of thy way with the king.'''' 
 
 The Duke was so struck with this manly pleading in 
 favour of the injured, that he immediately sent for Colt- 
 ness, and did by him exactly as Penn had advised. And 
 behold I after the revolution which took place in some 
 two or three vears subsequent to this date, poor Colt- 
 
182 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nes3 (with the rest of the fugitives for their religion) 
 was restored ; when the duke of Hamilton was obhged 
 to return him not only his estate, but all the back 
 rents, except the payments which he had made, as 
 above, at the instance of William Penn. 
 
 But to be the most successful friend and protector 
 of injured individuals, even on the large scale that he i 
 filled, seemed but a small thing to the boundless cha- 1 
 ritj of Penn. Nay, to promote the tenderest love be- i 
 tween his own followers the quakers, or between the j 
 church and the quakers alone^ did not half satisfy him. I 
 He longed to see that sweet spirit of the gospel shin- 
 ing on the faces of all Christian societies towards each \ 
 other, as the only thing that can ever bring glory upon 
 the religion of Christ, and give it a universal spread \ 
 among the nations. Hence his incessant and most ve- i 
 hement labours with the king and government, if not ! 
 to do away all established churches, yet to do away j 
 all " religious tests, and all penal statutes, 3.ndjines, and 
 confiscations, and imprisonments, and 'murders for reli- 
 gion,^"* as being utterly anti-christian, and barbarous, 
 and most fatal in their effects upon the tempers and i 
 morals of society, destroying that which is the very end I 
 of all Christ's preaching, that is, love, which can sel- ! 
 dom grow in men's hearts towards others, when ago- i 
 nizing under cruel treatment from them. 
 
 " What signifies," says he, " all this pomp and show 
 of religion ; these great cathedrals, and these ringings ; 
 of bells, and noise of organs, with all this to do about j 
 sacraments, and baptisms, and parade of so many | 
 priests in their white robes and black ? What is the j 
 end and design of all this, but, as these preachers them- 
 selves will confess, to promote religion and brotherly 
 love? But what chance is there that all this outward i 
 noise and show of one sect, will promote the brotherly 
 love of the rest, when their dearest rights (of religion) 
 are not only denied them, but when they are robbed 
 and ruined for only claiming them ! When the poor 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 18S 
 
 presbyterian sees the rich churchman, {made rich too 
 out of Ids spoils,) or when the half-starved cathohc seefs 
 the fat protestant hishop rolHng by him in his coach 
 and four, set up out of the fines on the poor cathohcs I 
 Ah, how hardly can love grow there ! St. Paul would 
 not '-'as long as the world stood, taste a peice ofmeat,''^ 
 though honestly come by, from making and selling his 
 own tents, "J/" it gave his weak brother offence ! /" 
 There was a Christian bishop of the right sort ! But 
 what sort of Christian bishop must he be who can 
 consent to ride in his coach and four, with his reve- 
 nues of thousands, when it tends to stir up deadly 
 hate and to destroy immortal souls for whom Christ 
 died ! 
 
 And for these cruel penal laws and tests, are they to 
 be found among the examples of Christ ? Did he " call 
 down fire from heaven upon those who dissented from 
 him?''"' Or, are they to be found any where in the 
 genius and spirit of that blessed religion which is sum- 
 med up in " doing unto others as you would they should 
 do unto you .^" Ah ! who among us would like to be 
 lying on the cold floor of a dungeon, with tears trick- 
 ling down his cheeks, thinking of his poor wife and 
 children starving at home, by Christian hands too ; 
 and all because he could not worship God as did the 
 bishop ! But indeed what common honesty is there in 
 these penal laws and tests ? Suppose that for fear of 
 having his cows and calves taken from his children, a 
 man should consent to go and kneel and pray by rote 
 after the priest whose cold formalities he despised, 
 what would this but make a hypocrite of him; and thus, 
 instead of a trophy to God, erect a monument to the 
 devil! And even suppose that your brother should 
 stout it out, and in spite of all your penal laws and 
 tests, still stick to his conscience, what glory could 
 you win in so infamous a contest with your poor bro- 
 ther, as whether he should bear with most patience, 
 or you inflict with most cruelty ? Oh shame f shame ! 
 
184 THE LIFE OF 
 
 shame upon our profession as Christians ! Oh, when 
 will come the time, the happy time that these prac- 
 tices shall no more be mentioned among us as becometh 
 saints ! nor indeed as becometh true patriots who know 
 that the prosperity of their common country depends 
 on the union of the citizens : and that again on their 
 treating each other with such justice and kindness in 
 all things that every man shall look on his neighbour 
 as his brother, and by such union of fruitful loves and 
 interests^ and not of barren /br/7i5 and opinions render 
 old England the glory of the earth. 
 
 The effect of this address, on king James and his 
 council, was but little short of miraculous. A royal 
 proclamation was issued, the week following, for a ge- 
 neral pardon of " all 7vho were then in prison for con- 
 science sake /" In consequence of this, twelve hundred 
 quakers alone were restored to their families and bu- 
 siness — many of whom had been in confinement for 
 years ! also of the papists and other sects, hundreds 
 upon hundreds were let loose to enjoy the sweet air 
 and light of day, with all the countless blessings of 
 liberty and dear society. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The joy of Wilham Penn for such services to his 
 fellow men must have been very great ; but they were 
 somewhat dashed by certain wormwood advices, re- 
 ceived at this time (1685,) from Pennsylvania. These 
 advices turned upon the most unexpected and scanda- 
 lous conduct of his colonists ; not indeed of any of his 
 own society, the quakers j for of them he learned, with 
 exceeding joy, that they continued the same indus- 
 trious, orderly and peaceable citizens he left them : but 
 that his beloved council, whom he had left to rule, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 185 
 
 had all fallen to discord and neglect of the public 
 good — that many others preferred a life of sloth and 
 extortion in town, to the independence and innocent 
 delights of the country, were tilling his virgin city of 
 Philadelphia with taverns ! — that even " the caves," 
 were converted into tipling shops ! — that his survey- 
 ors, fond of collations and gin, had spread their tables 
 for such uses in his land offices, making the purchasers 
 of lots pay the expense^ which in some cases amounted 
 to one fourth of the prime cost of the lots, thus check- 
 ing the sale of his land ; retarding the population of 
 his province ; encouraging drunkenness and immorality, 
 especially among his Indians ; and bringing infamy and 
 ruin both upon himself and his colony — and to render 
 such news the more painful, with all his anxiety to 
 hasten to America, he actually had not the means — 
 he could get no remittances of his quit rents, although 
 five hundred pounds sterling a year were due to him 
 for one million of acres which he had sold, (the 
 low quit rents of one shilling the hundred acres,) 
 for twenty thousand pounds sterling — these twenty 
 thousand pounds had been laid out in presents to the 
 Indians — in various purchases of lands — in aiding his 
 poor followers — in setting up and maintaining his go- 
 vernment and governor — besides, sixteen thousand 
 pounds which he had given up to king Charles, barely 
 for his good will — also six thousand pounds which he 
 had spent on this philanthropic enterprise, making in 
 all, as money now values, at least one half a million, 
 of dollars ! which, with maintenance of his own large 
 fomily — much hospitality — costs for travelling and 
 preaching ; printing his numerous books, &;c. had kept 
 him low, and confined him to England. And even 
 there it does not appear that he was allowed much 
 peace, owing chiefly to the most unlucky state of pub- 
 lic affairs at that time, on account of James's turn to 
 popery, and the nation's dread of the dismal times of 
 bloody Mary. Hence if William Penn waited on the 
 Q 2 
 
t86 THE LIFE OF 
 
 king though but to beg, as usual, some kindness for the 
 injured^ he was branded as a papist^ and Jesuit. If pe- 
 titioners, for favours, crowded his own door, the sus- 
 picious populace would have it, " all these people did 
 not come to him for nothing /" of course a gun-powder 
 i)lot or something worse was a brewing ; and both 
 himself and his poor quakers were often insulted in 
 the streets, and the windows of their houses broken. 
 If he preached a sermon though never so much like 
 that of Christ on the mount — conjuring his hearers to 
 do nothing " to get praise of men f^ but every thing for 
 tliij " glori/ of God^'^'' making his love and that of our 
 neighbour, the sole end of our being ; he was sure to 
 stir up a hornet's nest of angry hard-visaged puritans, 
 reviling him as a false prophet who would make the 
 ** blood of Christ of none effect- — by mixing it with 
 man^s good works. But, for the sake of poor human 
 nature, let us drop the recital of such unamiable 
 truths, and bring our history towards a close. My 
 readers will not, I hope, be offended. We are all born 
 for pleasure ; and the moment that pleasure ceases, 
 the work we engaged in for pleasure ought to cease 
 also. Writing a book should be like decanting wine 
 for our friends ; we ought never to pay them so ill a 
 compliment as to disgust them with the dregs. Let 
 others spin out the history of an individual to three 
 or four large volumes-, T, for my part, like the better 
 example of the sacred biographers. These inspired 
 penmen, in the life of any great personage they paint, 
 whether it be good king Josiah or wicked king Ahab, 
 after giving his characteristic features, and in colours 
 never to fade, delicately add — " as for the rest of the 
 acts of Josiah, are they not written in the book of the 
 Chr&nicles of the kings of Israel P'^'^ So I must take the 
 liberty to say to my readers concerning Penn ; " J 
 have given them the history of a " polychrestus," 
 i. e. a man of many virtues, the least of which have 
 conferred immortality on saints of old -, a man meek as 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 187 
 
 Moses ; pure as Joseph ; patient as Job ; intrepid as 
 Paul ; and affectionate as St. John ; and who, by the 
 same spirit that made him all this, has been made a 
 blessing to millions, and his name, engraved on theii 
 hearts in lines of moral beauty, never to be forgotten 
 while goodness retains power to heave the throb of 
 admiration and esteem — ^^ and as to the rest of the acts 
 of William Penn, and what he did to break the power 
 of antichrist, even religious persecutions j and to pull 
 down the high places of priestcraft, that he might erect 
 a pure spiritual worship for his God, are they not written 
 in the hook of the chronicles of the people called Qua- 
 kers, by Joseph Proud, and Thomas Clarkson^ and di- 
 vers others?''"' 
 
 But, passing by much of these thin histories of 
 Penn, which, from this period,! 686, are little else than 
 histories of the unceasing vexations which he suffer- 
 ed, alternately, from pontifical persecution in England, 
 and from the blunders of his own provincial governors 
 in America. 
 
 I will give my reader the few following facts of Wil- 
 liam Penn, and which are the only ones in the life of 
 this great good man, that I think he would take much 
 interest in. 
 
 Be it known unto thee, then, O most patient reader, 
 
 in the first place, that William Penn still continued, 
 (such is the charm of honesty !) to be a great favourite 
 with king James ; and that he never once abused 
 that favouritism to supplant rivals, or to fill his own 
 house with gaudy carpets, and side-boards, but often 
 improved it to the advantage of merit oppressed, and 
 chiefly to promote religious toleration and love among 
 Christians. 
 
 2d. That the English nation, getting alarmed about 
 king James, for saying his prayers to the Almighty in 
 Latin, a tongue they did not understand, compelled 
 him, in 1689, to give up the throne to his son-in-law, 
 
188 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the Prince of Orange, alias king William, a stiff Pro- 
 testant. 
 
 3d. That this prince, though no persecutor in heart, 
 yet put up to it by his great ones in church and state, 
 revived what his more honest predecessor, although a 
 papist, had put to sleep, i. e. the persecution of the poor 
 quakers, which in his reign was carried to such scan- 
 dalous lengths, that, " ^/' a quaker was seen on a horse 
 worth five guineas or upwards^ (no matter whether 
 fifty or five hundred) any man of the national church 
 might, hij law ! order him to dismount and give up his 
 horse !" ' 
 
 4th. That king William, soon hurled by death from 
 a throne which he had so disgraced, was succeeded by 
 his consort queen Anne, whose Christian spirit, taking 
 part, of course, with the oppressed quakers, quickly 
 put a stop to measures so disgraceful to humanity. 
 
 5th. That, in 1693, Wilham Penn was severed, by 
 the consumption, from his wife Wilhelmina Maria ; of 
 whose rare piety the reader will ask no better eulogy 
 than the following — feeling the icy hand of death gain- 
 ing fast on her vitals, she begged that her children might 
 be brought to her bed side. — Then giving them the last 
 tender embrace with a dying mother's blessing, she lifted 
 her eyes, beaming with reverence and hope, and said, 
 " Lord thou knozoest I never asked grandeur for my 
 children but only godliness." After this solemn duty 
 performed, she desired them to be taken out of her 
 sight; then sinking on her husband's bosom, she calm 
 ly breathed her last. 
 
 6th. That, in 1696, William Penn was honoured in 
 his own family with another glorious triumph of piety 
 over mortality, in the case of his eldest son Springett 
 Penn ; who in the article of dying, uttered shouts of 
 victory over the grave, that drew tears of joy from 
 every eye ; and sufficient to make those blush who 
 think that the Father of Mercies can save none but 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 189 
 
 those who sprinkle or plunge^ take the bread or the 
 wafer exactly as they do. 
 
 7th. That, in consequence of much disorder in 
 Pennsylvania, occasioned by his governors and coun- 
 cils, William Penn's charter was taken away by the 
 king. 
 
 8th. That his majesty, fully convinced of the blame- 
 lessness of WilUam Penn in those matters, restored his 
 charter. 
 
 9th. That, in 1699, being stricken in years, and al 
 most worn out with weighty cares and labours, Wil- 
 liam Penn, with his family, went over to North Ameri- 
 ca, to spend his last days in peace and in the improve- 
 ment of his province. 
 
 10th. That the following fact, almost the first after 
 his landing, affords pleasing proof, that persecutions 
 to those who " walk with God^'''' instead of serving like 
 water to extinguish, only act like oil to kindle higher 
 their godlike affections. " Being told of a large slip 
 of choice lands lying on the Neshaminy, and not in- 
 cluded in his first purchase, William Penn caused it to 
 be inquired of the sachems, whether they would sell 
 it to him. They replied that they did not wish to part 
 with that piece of ground, the bones of their fathers 
 and mothers lying there ; but still to please " their fa- 
 ther Onus who was so good as to come to live with his 
 red children again, they would sell him some of it. In 
 short, they agreed to sell him as much land as could be 
 walked around in one day by one of his own young men, 
 beginning at the great river above Coaquanoc (Ken- 
 sington,) and ending at the great river just below Kal- 
 lapingo, (Bristol.) The Indians were to be paid, as 
 usual, in British goods. The bargain being made, a 
 young Englishman was pitched on, who having been 
 much exercised in his own country as a pedestrian, 
 made a walk that equally astonished and mortified 
 the Indians, Observing that their looks when thej 
 
190 THE LIFE OF 
 
 came to receive their pay, were not bright towards 
 him as formerly, William Penn asked them the cause. 
 
 They replied, that father Onuses young man had 
 cheated them. 
 
 Aye, how could that be, replied he, calmly ; was it 
 not of your own choosing that the ground should be 
 measured in this way ? 
 
 True, returned the Indians, but the white brother 
 made too big a walk! 
 
 Here some of the commissioners getting warm, said 
 that the bargain was a very fair one, and that the Indians 
 ought to stand to it ; and that if they did not, they 
 ought to be compelled. At this William Penn look- 
 ing exceedingly shocked, replied, compelled! how are 
 they to be compelled! Don't you see that this points 
 to murder ! Then turning to the Indians with the kind 
 liest smile on his countenance, he said. Well, if you 
 tliink you have given too much land for the goods first 
 agreed on, tell us now how much more will do ? At 
 this they appeared greatly pleased, and said, if father 
 Onas would give them so many more yards of cloth 
 and fishing hooks, they would be well satisfied. Soon 
 as the Indians, having received their goods and shaken 
 hands with him, were gone away smiling and happy, 
 Penn looking very significantly on his friends, and lift- 
 ing his hands and eyes, exclaimed, O what a sweet 
 and CHEAP thing is charity ! Here mention was made 
 just now of compelling these poor creatures to stick to 
 their bargain ; that is in plain English, to fight and kill 
 them, and all about a little piece of land ! Don't you 
 consider that the very rum which a regiment of sol- 
 diers would drink, would cost twice as much as those 
 few yards of poor cloth which we have given them ? 
 and which has sent them away happy as Httle children, 
 with their apples and cakes V 
 
 O what is there in the universe that can so greaten 
 the soul, and dispose it to every thing generous and 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 191 
 
 godlike, as the simply sublime religion of Chnst ! 
 For lack of the spirit of this most ennobling religion, 
 several of his old enemies in England, sickening at his 
 growing fame and fortunes in America, began to re- 
 vive their former slanders, wherein they were so suc- 
 cessful, that several of his best friends in England ad- 
 vised him to return and defend himself. 
 
 11th. I am sorry to add, that, yielding to the wishes 
 of his friends, Penn embarked with his family in 1701, 
 and bidding farewell to Pennsylvania, never to see it 
 again, returned to England, where his presence, like a 
 summer morning sun, quickly dispersed all the clouds 
 which his enemies had gathered over him. 
 
 12th. That from this period, 1712, though now near- 
 ly threescore, he still enjoyed excellent health, which, 
 as he had been wont from his youth, he continued to 
 consecrate to the most delightful, because most useful 
 purposes, such as writing masterly defences of the qua- 
 ker construction of the gospel, which being, as he said, 
 " intended for the ignormit^ must be simple ; not requir- 
 ing great learning in the head^ but honesty in the heart, 
 bravely to practice the arduous lessons of loving and doing 
 good to all men^ Also constantly corresponding with 
 his governors and councils, and all others of influence 
 in his province, but particularly his own followers the 
 quakers : conjuring them to keep in mind, " what an 
 honour was done them of God, in placing them on a 
 field of action, where they might do so much for his 
 pleasure, in the world'^s good and their own temporal 
 and eternal welfare ; to remember the divine philoso- 
 phy of the Bible, that ' no man livethfor himself alone , 
 but for all:'' and that he who, in all his dealings, tram- 
 ples base self under foot, and acts justice and mercy 
 to all, shall in the universal good find his particular 
 and great reward.'' He begged them to remember 
 too, that, though far retired beyond the sea, and in the 
 wild woods of America, they were not beyond the eagle 
 eye of malice, which was constantly watching the op- 
 
192 THE LIFE OP 
 
 portunity, through any wrong act of theirs, to pounce 
 down and bear them aloft to the world's scorn : and that 
 now was the time to vindicate before the universe, the 
 excellency of their faith ; and to demonstrate, that while 
 pride, extravagance, and base flesh-pleasing of all sorts, 
 tend to poverty, and desperation, and wars that pull 
 down the greatest nations, the opposite virtues of justice 
 and mercy, manifested in all the blessed fruits ot honest, 
 industrious, and peaceable lives, will exalt the poorest 
 families and nations to riches and honours." 
 
 13th. I have now to add, in the thirteenth place, 
 that while engaged in these divine labours with a zeal 
 too great for his advanced age, (near 70,) he was sud- 
 denly struck with two or three shocks of the apoplexy. 
 This desirable messenger of mortality did not at once 
 dissolve the ties between soul and body, but it left his 
 memory and judgment so impaired, that he was never 
 able afterwards to write or speak with his pristine 
 perspicuity and vigour. But as a vessel early filled 
 with choice wine, will, ever after it is empty, still re- 
 fresh the sense with the precious odour of what it 
 once contained, so the mind of Penn, though almost 
 gone, still supported even to the last, the angel charac- 
 ter which it had acted through life. 
 
 As all men take such an interest in the sun as to feel 
 a strong curiosity to look at him, though under an 
 eclipse, even so, many will wish to see Penn, though 
 ■'in the last stage of nature's decay. The following is 
 from the journal of a learned and pious friend, who 
 frequently visited him. 
 
 " In March, 1713, I was much with him at his own 
 house, and always fovind him happy. And though he 
 recollected a great number of his past actions, he was 
 often at a loss for the names of persons. The finest 
 sentiments, however, were often falling from his lips, 
 rendering his company quite delightful, and abundantly 
 proving, that his religious principles were founded on 
 a rock that nothing could shake. 
 
WILLIAM PENN. r95 
 
 "In 1714, his faculties were by no means altered for 
 the worse. I accompanied him in his coach to meet- 
 mg. He could speak but little, but what he did say 
 was very affecting. Every eye seemed to press for- 
 ward upon him with the deepest interest. He putn?e 
 in mind of what we are told of the Evangelist John, 
 who in his extreme age and feebleness, placed by his 
 disciples in his pulpit, and able only to whisper, '' lit- 
 tie children love one another,'^'' was yet listened to with 
 a devotion, that none of his congregation would have 
 exchanged for the eloquence of the world. 
 
 "In 1715, towards the end, his memory became 
 sensibly altered for the worse ; but his love of the 
 Deity and his habitual rejoicings were the same ; as 
 also the peculiar loTingness in his manner of receiving 
 and parting from his friends. 
 
 "In 1716, I went to see him, taking with me ano- 
 ther friend of his acquaintance. He manifested great 
 joy at seeing us ; and although he could not recollect 
 our names, his conversation proved that he knew u« 
 perfectly well. He was then in a state of great weak- 
 ness both of body and mind, but still exhibited all the 
 endearing sensibilities of the most affectionate spirri^ 
 which, happy in itself, thought of nothing but to make 
 others so. Hence I could never look at him without 
 ^ncying I saw personified in him, all those brilliant 
 adornings which Solomon gives to his honoured " Wis- 
 i>OM," with crowns of glory onher head^ and chains of 
 gold around her neck. For while worldly-minded old 
 men, suddenly stopped in their career by sickness, and 
 no longer able to bustle and vapour, are low spirited, 
 silent and sad ; William Penn, on the contrary, was a 
 perfect model of the most enviable serenity. He ap- 
 peared to me like a soldier, who, after a long life of 
 brilliant victories for his sovereign, and disabled 
 through age for further duties, has now his armour 
 thrown aside, and given himself up to welcome repose ; 
 out still ever smiling, at thought of what he has done, 
 R 
 
194 THE LIFE OP 
 
 and of the reward that awaits him. Yes, such is the 
 divinity of virtue like his, that I never looked on Wil- 
 liam Penn without feeling an affectionate reverence 
 that I lack words to express. I shall never forget how 
 I felt, when at our taking leave of him, he said — my love 
 is wilhyou. May the Lord take care of you ; and remem- 
 ber that I am hound to you by a friendship that is eter- 
 nal, 
 
 "In 1717 J visited him again, and for the last tmie 
 His mind was so entirely gone, that he could not re- 
 collect me one instant ; and his body so feeble, that he 
 could not walk a step without support ; and even his 
 speech, now reduced to a whisper, was hardly intelligi- 
 ble. But still he was William Penn. I shed tears as 
 I looked at him ; but they were tears of joy to think 
 what he had been ; and my tears rose to rapture, when 
 I remembered, as he tottered, that he tottered at the 
 
 THRESHOLD OF HeAVEN." 
 
 Thus, after a gradual decay of six years, without 
 suffering any of those pangs that often embitter the 
 close of human life, his vital spark silently went out ; 
 and on the 30th of May, 1718, his happy spirit ex- 
 changed its coarse tenement of clay for that glorious 
 body not made with hands^ eternal in the heavens.''"' 
 His hallowed ashes slept at Jordan, in the county 
 of Buckingham, by the side of his first wife and many 
 of his family. 
 
 Such was the end of a man whose life was a long 
 exercise of patience and submission to the will of Hea- 
 ven ; who, by the faith of Christ, was enabled to over- 
 come the vices of flesh and blood, and all the enemies 
 of human nature ; and to demonstrate a truth loo little 
 known, that to escape the miseries of life, man has but 
 to conquer himself; and that to enjoy all its pleasures^ 
 he has but to obey the laws of God, and resolutely 
 maintain an unwounded conscience. 
 
 Such were the achievements of Vv^illiam Penn, who 
 had the rare wisdom to improve nobility of birth with 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 195 
 
 the majesty of the virtues ; and to sacrifice the illu- 
 sions of false grandeur to the solid charnms of moral 
 feeling and of real goodness — humble in prosperity, 
 superior in adversity, and sublimed to all the great- 
 ness of benevolence, he smiled on insult, and found a 
 godlike satisfaction in forgiving injuries. He tram- 
 pled under foot all the allurements of the senses, that 
 he might labour unceasingly for the benefit of suffering 
 humanity, and establish in the new world, as he had 
 always wished, " a government founded on the pure 
 principles of the gospel ^ a worship most simple, yet 
 most sublime ; a morality pure as that of angels ; a 
 toleration universal ; laws perfectly equal ; magistrates 
 more anxious to prevent crimes than to punish them ; 
 thence, a country filling up with a new and vast popu- 
 lation — cities springing up out of the wilderness — a 
 people fond of peace, and enjoying it in the happy sim- 
 plicity of patriarchal manners — abounding in the fruits 
 of the earth — blessed with a flourishing trade — ho- 
 noured by the sister colonies — beloved by the neigh- 
 bouring savages, and under the sacred canopy of in- 
 nocence and harmony, enjoying the sweetest calm, 
 undisturbed by discord, and unstained by a drop of 
 human blood. Such were, during the days of William 
 Penn, and such during the rule of his quaker succes- 
 sors, even 70 y'ears, have been the influences of the 
 pure religion of Christ, whose sublime sweetness has 
 rendered this people so happy, because it has for its 
 object to adore the one true God ; to love all men 
 without distinction ; never to harm any ; and to fly, 
 as monsters of nature, those persecuting homicides, 
 who, in the name of the God of peace, can murder 
 their fellow men only that they may plunder them. 
 
196 THE LIFE OP 
 
 CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN, 
 
 By Dr. Marsillac, Deputy Extraordinary from the Qiui 
 kers in France, to the National Assembly^ 1791. 
 
 *' After so many acts of violence and oppression, so 
 many robberies and murders committed by the Eu- 
 ropeans in the new world, the heart finds some con- 
 solation in pausing over the part which William Penn 
 acted there. In an age when savage Europe put to 
 death so many innocent people merely because they 
 could not embrace the faith of their sovereigns ; and 
 spread over so large a part of America those horrors 
 of fire and sword at which nature revolts, William 
 Penn, like an angel from heaven, presented the olive 
 branch to those afflicted people, and by acts of godlike 
 justice, not only restored tranquillity to their ravaged 
 .quarters, but laid the foundation of extensive liberty 
 «nd happiness. He was perhaps the first who ever 
 built one of the fairest empires of the world, on the 
 sole basis of general good ; and by assuring universal 
 toleration and community of rights, offered a happy 
 asylum to persecuted innocence throughout the earth. 
 
 " There are but few sections of the American con- 
 tinent that have not been drenched with human blood ; 
 and to their eternal shame, it was the enlightened and 
 polished Europeans who did this ; and who murdered 
 by thousands, the poor harmless natives, who received 
 them with hospitality ! and then, to extenuate their 
 guilt, they branded those as savages, whom they had 
 so barbarously slaughtered. The arrival of William 
 Penn put a stop to those frightful enormities. His god- 
 like humanity to these oppressed people ; treating 
 them as brothers, buying their lands and heaping them 
 with favours, melted their simple natures with grati- 
 tude and affection. Astonished to see a white man who 
 was good, and who abhorred injustice and bloodshed, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. }9T 
 
 they revered him as something more than man, and 
 gloried in calling him "father." 
 
 *' Of all the Europeans who have mitigated the ills 
 of Hfe and the fury of religious persecution, Williani 
 Peun most deserves the gratitude of posterity. His 
 first act in America held up a lovely presage of the 
 prosperity that was to follow. And in his unyielding 
 efforts to shield the oppressed, he looks like Moses, 
 followed by a host of religious friends, whom he con- 
 ducted across the wilderness of waves, to a new " land 
 of promise ^"^"^ flovdng with the milk and honey of free- 
 dom, peace and plenty. 
 
 " Abhorring persecution, as the direst reproach and 
 scourge of mankind, he resolved effectually to bar the 
 door against it. Hence that sublime charter of his, 
 guaranteeing the most perfect liberty of conscience, 
 to all the honest worshippers of God, no matter what 
 their opinions and forms. Instantly crowds of persons, 
 oppressed in their own country because of rehgion, 
 embarked for the country of William Penn. Then 
 shone forth that divine philosophy, " love thy neigh- 
 bour AS thyself," in the blessed fruits resulting from 
 it. For, while among the antichrists of Europe, the 
 Popes and Bishops, nothing was heard but cries and 
 groans from the inquisitions and dungeons ; nothing 
 talked of but sales of property belonging to heretics 
 and dissenters ; nothing seen but marks of deadly hate, 
 between the oppressing and the oppressed churches, 
 in good William Penn's country, glory to God, you met 
 with no spectacles of this sort ; but on the contrary, 
 every thing to sparkle the eye of charity with plea- 
 sure — there you saw worshippers of an hundred differ- 
 ent sects, moving along the streets to their several 
 churches, in the most perfect peace and harmony — 
 there, whether Jews or Christians, Catholics or Pro- 
 testants, all adored God in the way they thought most 
 rational ; and meeting with no persecution themselves, 
 they felt no temptation to persecute others. Every 
 R 2 
 
98 THE LIFE OP 
 
 poor emigrant to Pennsylvania, was welcomed as an 
 exile from his native land ; and having neither coun- 
 try nor family of his own, he found in William Penn a 
 tender and generous father. This most virtuous of 
 men, was the honoured instrument of blessings to thou- 
 sands of the unfortunate ; and his institutions have laid 
 the imperishable foundations of a new empire, which 
 shines like a star in the west, and whose rays have al- 
 ready begun to open the eyes of Europe. 
 
 "Having held the reins of government no longer 
 /than was necessary for the good of his province, he 
 mixed among his people, as only one of their number ; 
 and despising, on the one hand, all the pomps of the 
 falsely great, and filling up life, on the other, with the 
 most beneficent labours, he came to the grave in a good 
 ©Id age, eulogized by the greatest philosophers, ho- 
 (Boured above the proudest kings ; and to this day re- 
 vered by the Indians, as a benevolent spirit, sent down 
 from heaven to establish the reign of peace and hap* 
 piness on the earth," 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ** Power may command awe ; wisdom may excite 
 admiration; but it is ( 
 captivate our hearts. 
 
 admiration; but it is goodness alone that can 
 
 11 
 
 No man, perhaps, has ever had the honour, by a sin- 
 gle act of his life, to confer such an obligation on man- 
 kind as William Penn has done by his treaty with the 
 Indians. The greatest philosophers of the civilized 
 world, no matter what their country, or what their 
 religious opinions, have never ceased to gaze on it 
 with an enthusiasm that shows the immortal charms 
 which justice holds in the eyes of all men. And we 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 199 
 
 should fill a volume were we to transcribe only one 
 half of all the handsome eulogies that have been pro- 
 nounced on it. But if this famous treaty has appeared 
 so lovely in the eyes of all good men, who only beheld it 
 as a distant star that shone on other times and people, 
 then how must it have appeared to those people them- 
 selves, who beheld it near at hand as their own sun in 
 all his full-orbed glory ; at once delighting their eyes 
 with its beauties, and showering on their heads its de- 
 licious fruits ? Indeed the blessed fruits of this treaty 
 both on the red and white men, are sufficient to con- 
 vince us that he who created man in his own likeness, 
 has implanted in him certain noble springs of action, 
 which may be far more advantageously wrought by 
 justice and mercy, than by fraud and violence. And 
 these springs, glory be to God, are implanted in all 
 men, the wildest not excepted ; as hath been seen in 
 Penn's memorable treaty, wherein it would seem as 
 though God, in order to show the " universality of his 
 grace,'^'' had purposely called that heavenly-spirited 
 man to the exceeding honour of demonstrating it, in 
 the face of the whole world, by his extraordinary ex- 
 periments on those North American Indians, generally 
 thought the most lawless and savage of the human 
 race. Indeed, from the unparalleled fierceness with 
 which they carried on their wars, and the long and 
 painful marches which they would make to surprise 
 their enemies, and the lingering and cruel deaths which 
 they inflicted on their wretched captives, many have 
 doubted whether, as Charles II. said, the grace of God 
 had ever appeared to them. At any rate it appears that 
 the Europeans treated them as though they were 
 beasts in human shape, and even worse; for while 
 they would show kindness to a dog to win his friend- 
 ship, they treated the Indians as if they thought that 
 nothing but powder and ball could ever manage such 
 cannibals, This was the line of march pursued by all 
 the first English settlers in this country. Take that 
 
500 THE LIFE OF 
 
 case which, having happened in Virginia, is best kno\\i; 
 to us, I mean the English colony settled at old James- 
 town, in 1607. When this devoted company sailed up 
 James river, it appears that they never once dreamt 
 of setting foot on shore until they should first have 
 discovered some snug little peninsula which might 
 easily he defended against the murderous natives. Af- 
 ter much slow sailing and sharp looking out, they hap- 
 pened to light on just such a spot ! Then thanking God 
 as for a most lucky discovery, they landed their muni- 
 tions of war, and heaving up a tremendous ditch, co- 
 vered it over with their cannon with mouths of hideous 
 red and black, threatening destruction to the " hlood- 
 thirsty savages.'''' The next thing they did was to build 
 a church. But this was only another fort in disguise, 
 with loop-holes all around ; and while one half of the 
 congregation, pale and quaking, were praying very 
 devoutly^ the other half, more bold, with their guns 
 poked out at the loop-hoies v.ere drawing their sights 
 towards the dark woods^ as if they momently expected 
 a host of brindled savages to burst out upon them. 
 
 Now, why had they all this fear and precaution, but 
 because their hearts were not right towards these poor 
 people. They who m.editate injuries against others 
 are always suspicious and fearful. These false Chris- 
 tians had an evil eye upon the country to make it their 
 own; heiice, feeling themselves enemies to the natives, 
 they felt that the natives were enemies to them. All 
 this was but honest instinct ; or the voice of God him- 
 self, in their guilty consciences prophesying evil con- 
 cerning them. And so it turned out ; for, by making 
 the above forcible lodgment in their country, and in- 
 vading their hunting grouads, they virtually hurled de- 
 fiance into the teeth of the natives. Powhatan, the old 
 king of the country, and his people all felt it as such ; 
 and SHYNESS, and hate, and fear, with all manner 
 of ill offices, quickly appeared on both sides. If the 
 Christians went out to trade v^'ith the Indians though 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 201 
 
 but for a little corn, they always carried their muskets 
 with them, and kept their matches lighted ready for 
 battle. If they invited the Indians on board their shipa, 
 to dine with them, it was only to seize some royal 
 hostage that might serve to keep their subjects from 
 fighting them. If the Indian kings sent them a supper 
 of barbacued venison and roasting ears, it was that 
 tthey might take advantage of them while eating, and 
 mingle their blood with their dishes. If an Indian ap- 
 proached their fort, though but to sell a raccoon, he 
 •was not suifered to enter until he had undergone a 
 Etrict search both of his greasy bear-skin coat and 
 mocassins, for fear the " bloody wretch^'''' had some 
 weapon or other about him to kill the good Christians 
 withal. And so true is that voice which saith — " the un- 
 godly are in fear where no fear is,^'' that the English, 
 even at nooji day, still acted with as much circumspec- 
 tion as though tliey continually felt themselves in the 
 country of an implacable enemy. And at night, so great 
 was their dread of the Indians, that even in James- 
 town they did not think of going to sleep until fully 
 satisfied that every street and lane was well guarded 
 by the soldiers, all ready to fire at a moment's warning. 
 And even then it was no easy matter to fall into a 
 doze, though easy enough to be started out of it, as 
 they often were, by a frightened fancy, dreaming of 
 the savages and their bloody tomahawks. If an En- 
 glishman ventured outside of the fort, he was way-laid 
 and murdered even in broad day, if the Indian who 
 fell in with him had but the strength to do it. And, 
 indeed, so deadly was the hate of the Indians against 
 the Christians, for wronging them out of their lands 
 and driving them from the bones of their fathers, that 
 they never lost sight of revenge. And ten years after- 
 wards, while the English, suspecting no harm, were 
 ploughing the soil which they had so unjustly acquired 
 (the Indians took them by surprise, and with their own 
 hoes and axes, in one (atal hour, murdered near four 
 
202 THE LIFE OP 
 
 hundred of these poor wretches ; minghng, in many in- 
 stances, the blood of the innocent children with that 
 of their guilty parents. 
 
 See there, O horror-struck reader, see there the 
 RELL which was introduced into Virginia by following 
 the selftsh policy of this poor blind world. But to raise 
 our spirits from the depression occasioned by such hor- 
 rible scenes, let us turn to Pennsylvania and con- 
 template that HEAVEN which is created among men 
 who act up to the just and benevolent spirit of the 
 gospel. And if we wish to see an angel in human 
 shape, let us look at William Penn among the savages 
 of North America — let us look at him as, with a coun- 
 tenance shining with the heavenliest charity, and a 
 voice of music, he salutes them as drothers — honours 
 them as the proprietors of the country given unto them 
 of the " GREAT SPIRIT,'' and expresses a modest petition 
 that they would give unto him, their brother from be- 
 yond the Big water, a portion of their land in exchange 
 for GOOD THINGS which the " great spirit" had given 
 to him. Ye narrow bigots who can think that Christ 
 has no sheep but those of your own fold, look at these 
 Indians in the wilds of North America, and say whe- 
 ther eyes, thus bright with the admiration of eternal 
 justice, and faces glowing with such affection for the 
 honest stranger, do not bespeak the operation of that 
 spirit who is "710 respecter of persons, but in every na- 
 tion, and to every soul of man, imparts grace suficient 
 for salvation.'''' And as that grace never displayed 
 itself in smiles of more undissembled love, than in the 
 countenances of these uneducated heathens, so never 
 did it bring forth richer fruits of " peace and good 
 WILL," than were manifested in all the intercourse be- 
 tween them and William Penn. 
 
 Captain John Smith, after that he had invaded their 
 rights in Virginia^ was fain to seek his safety in his 
 soldiers, and cannon, and stockade forts, and loop- 
 hole churches. But honest Wiiliain Penn saved all 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 203 
 
 Ihat expense^ and proved in the face of the w^iole 
 world, that a Philadelphia (a city of brotherly love) 
 needs no soldiers nor cannon to defend it. — Captain 
 Smith and his freebooters in James-town, could not 
 sleep without their sentinels and guards constantly 
 around them. Honest William Penn and his quakers, 
 in their infant Philadelphia, though surrounded by 
 thousands of savages, slept sweetly even without bars 
 and bolts to their doors ! At James-town, an Indian 
 was never suiFered to come in without strict search. 
 At Philadelphia the Indians came in and out, just as 
 familiarly as the large dogs in a tanner's yard, to which, 
 if need was, they were a ready defence. In Virginia, 
 Captain John Smith could not get a grain of corn for 
 his starving colony at James-town, without pushing up 
 the rivers in his boats, often at the risk of life from 
 the arrows of the Indians, who were so desirous to 
 drive these invaders out of their country, that they 
 held back their provisions, whereby numbers of the 
 little colony (ojily one hundred and twenty at first) 
 were actually starved to death. But in Pennsylvania, 
 in consequence of the godlike justice and humanity of 
 William Penn, the hearts and souls of the Indians were 
 so strongly knit to him like children to a father, as in- 
 deed they called him, that they brought him in pro- 
 visions in such quantities as abundantly to supply his 
 followers the quakers, near three thousand in num- 
 ber. And if any of these were so poor that they could 
 not buy at the low prices set, they would give to them 
 for nothing, as to the poor children of '-'- their father 
 Onas^'*'' as they called William Penn ! Yes, and they 
 would both show and assist them to make bark huts 
 against the winter; and also freely and lovingly olfcr 
 their services to unload their ships and bear their goods 
 to their huts and houses. Captain Smith himself, only 
 taking a solitary walk along the shore near James- 
 town, was suddenly attacked by a single Indian, and 
 but for superior address would certainly have bou 
 
204 THE LIFE OF 
 
 slain in spite of the broad-sword by his side. But ho- 
 nest William Penn, or any of his quakers, with only 
 his broad-brimmed beaver, and staff in his hand, might 
 have walked throughout the country, not only in safe- 
 ty 7. but even thronged by the Indians, eagerly running 
 to shake hands, caUing him brother! brother! and 
 carrying him with joy to their cabins to feast him on 
 the best provisions they had. Captain Smith and the 
 Indians were always in " hot water,'''' and often in 
 bloody warSy^ which never ended but in the extermina- 
 tion of the latter^ But honest William Penn and the 
 Indians lived so perfectly in the spirit of brothers,, 
 that during all th« time that he and his followers, the 
 FRIENDS, had the rule in Pennsylvania, even seventy 
 years, there was never known one single instance of 
 murder. Captain Smith's city, (old James-town) built 
 on violence and blood, is now swept from the face of 
 the earth ; scarcely a broken tomb-stone remainmg 
 to tell where it stood. But William Penn's city, Phi 
 ladelphia, estabhshed in justice and brotherly kindness 
 though founded a long time after the other, has grown 
 up to be the glory of this western world — with lovel} 
 streets, extending from the Delaware to the Schuyl- 
 kill, and noble wharves, warehouses, work-shops^ 
 arsenals, bridges, markets, aqueducts, hospitals, dis- 
 pensaries, alms-houses, museums, academies, colleges, 
 universities, and churches, with other buildings public 
 and private, to an exceeding amount, both in number 
 arid elegance, and filled up with a crowded popula 
 tion of between one and two hundred thousand souls. 
 Indeed no man can cast his eyes over this beauteous 
 city, covering as it does, for many a mile, the lovely 
 plains of silver-flooded Delaware and the winding 
 Schuylkill — with its thousands of red shining edifices, 
 and stately domes, and towering spires, without ex- 
 claiming, as did the prophet when from the tops of 
 Pisgah he beheld the plains of Jericho covered over 
 with the chosen seed, '' Jiom goodly are thy tents, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 205 
 
 Jacob J and thy tabernacles^ O Israel ! Happy art they 
 who are in such a state j yea, blessed are the people who 
 have the Lord for their God^ 
 
 O when will mankind learn that " God is love" — 
 that his plan embraces the happiness of all ; and that 
 none but those who seek their own consistently with 
 the good of others, shall ever find it ? 
 
S06 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN, 
 
 FROM EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 " William Penn, as a legislator, deserves great ho- 
 nour among all mankind. He created a commonwealth^ 
 which, from a few hundreds of indigent refugees, have 
 in seventy years grown to a numerous and flourishing, 
 people. A people who, from a wilderness, have brought 
 their territory to a state of high cultivation ; filled it 
 with wealthy and populous towns ; and who, in the 
 midst of a fierce and lawless race of men have pre- 
 served themselves, with unarmed hands, by the rules 
 of JUSTICE and moderation, better than any other 
 have done by policy and arms. The way in which he 
 did this, deserves eternal notice. Though brought up, 
 as it were, in the corrupt courts of Charles the Second^ 
 who had endeavoured to carry the kingly prerogative 
 to as high a pitch of aristocracy as possible, yet — O 
 glorious ! O all subduing power of religion ! when he 
 got Ihat^ he thought of nothing but to make every body 
 happy. To take the lands from the Indians, he ab- 
 horred ; he bought their lands. — To exact and starve 
 the poor who followed him across the ocean for con- 
 science and quiet sake, he could not brook. He put 
 the lands at the low rate of forty shillings a hundred 
 acres, and one shilling per hundred acres yearly quit 
 rent. 
 
 " But what crowned all, was the noble charter of 
 privileges by which he made them more free, perhaps, 
 than any people on earth; and which, by securing both 
 civil and religious liberty, caused the eyes of the op- 
 pressed from all parts of the world to look to his coun- 
 try for relief. This one act of godlike wisdom and 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 207 
 
 goodness has settled Penn's country in a more strong 
 and permanent manner than the wisest regulations 
 could have done on any other plan. A man has but 
 to believe that there is a God ; that he is the inspec- 
 tor of our actions, and the future rewarder and pun- 
 isher of our good and ill, and he is not only tolerated, 
 but, if possessed of talents and integrity, is on the road 
 to place. 
 
 " This great and good man lived to see an extensive 
 country rescued from the v^ilderness and filled with a 
 free and flourishing people — he lived to lay the foun- 
 dation of a splendid and wealthy city — he lived to see 
 it promise every thing, from the situation which he 
 himself had chosen, and from the encouragement which 
 he himself had given it — he lived to see all this — but 
 he died in the Fleet prison ! 
 
 " Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men 
 whose virtues and generosity have contributed to the 
 peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happi- 
 ness of mankind — who have preferred the interest of 
 a remote posterity, and times unknown, to their own 
 fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own 
 lives. Now, both Britain and America reap great be- 
 nefit from his labours and his losses. And his posterity 
 have a vast estate out of the quit rents of that very 
 province, whose establishment was the ruin of their 
 predecessor's fortune." 
 
 
 MONTESQUIEU, ON PENN. 
 
 A character so extraordinary in the institutions of 
 Greece, has shown itself lately in the dregs and cor- 
 ruption of modern times. A very honest legislator 
 
508 LIFE OP WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 has formed a people, to whom probity seems as na- 
 tural as bravery to the Spartans. William Penn is a 
 real Lycurgus : and though the former made peace 
 his principal aim, as the latter did war, yet they re- 
 semble one another in the singular way of living to 
 which they reduced their people — in the ascendant 
 they gained over freemen, in the prejudices they 
 overcame, and in the passions which they subdued. 
 
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