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THE 
 
 HISTORY OF THE LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 / 
 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD, 
 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 WITH A 
 
 SUPPLEMENT BY JOSEPH WYETII. 
 
 STEREOTYPE EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: ft* 
 
 FOR SALE AT FRIENDS' BOOKSTORE, 
 
 NO. 306 ARCH STREET. 
 t O 
 

PREFACE 
 
 u Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing 
 be lost," was the direction of our Saviour to his disci- 
 ples, after he had fed the multitude. Which may well 
 and usefully be applied to the collecting and preserving 
 the accounts of the lives of good men ; men, who, in 
 their day, have been eminently useful in those stations 
 of life wherein God, by his good providence, hath 
 placed them. And this preserving, by publication, is 
 the rather to be done, when themselves do leave behind 
 them, in writing, an account of their lives, and of the 
 signal mercies of God to them therein : for, from such 
 accounts may best be gathered, by the reader, the man's 
 particular state, exercise, and growth in the work f.f 
 restoration, out of the fall and degeneracy; and, in 
 the reading thereof, be not only excited to bless the 
 name of the Lord, on his behalf, but also gain some 
 direction from the path so fairly tracked out, and a 
 ground of hope ; that, by being faithful, they may 
 likewise attain to the same good experience. 
 
 (iii) 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 There is not with me any doubt, but something of 
 this kind may be the lot of many, into whose hands 
 this treatise may happen to come ; for that they will 
 herein meet with an account of variety of exercises, 
 and the providences of God therein, all related with 
 great strength and plainness of speech ; our deceased 
 friend, Thomas Ellwood, having been a man whom God 
 had endued with singular abilities, both as a man, and 
 as a Christian ; which is evident, not only from this 
 short account of his life, which was written by him- 
 self, and by the Supplement added hereunto, but more 
 largely from his many useful labours and services, and 
 the many books which he wrote in the defence of 
 Truth, and the friends thereof; for which service he 
 was in a particular manner qualified by spiritual 
 wisdom, and Christian obedience. To which, in him, 
 was added great strength and depth of judgment, 
 wherein he could discern the spirits of others, and was 
 very much the master of his own ; as did appear to 
 such who knew him, not only by the soundness of his 
 reasoning, and the seasonableness of his w T ords, but 
 also by his great and exemplary modesty, in that he 
 was not hasty to propose, nor rudely tenacious to 
 insist on what he had proposed, if any thing, though 
 not well expressed, yet well intended, was offered by 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 any one much weaker ; nay, though by but a babe in 
 Christ. 
 
 His countenance was manly and cheerful; his de- 
 portment grave, yet affable and courteous, even to the 
 meanest person ; his conversation innocent, pleasant, 
 and instructive, yet severe against anything that was 
 beyond the liberty of Truth. These, with his other 
 qualifications of body and mind, did render him both 
 very acceptable and very useful, as a friend, as a 
 neighbour, and as a member and elder in the church 
 of Christ ; and the more, for that his time was chiefly 
 employed in being serviceable in one or other of these 
 capacities. 
 
 I might here particularly mention the several labours 
 of our deceased friend, according to their respective 
 times, and the nature of their several subjects ; but 
 much of this being already done in the ensuing pages, 
 I choose to refer the reader thither, by which possibly 
 he may be excited to the perusal of them ; and shall 
 only say concerning them, that the judicious reader 
 will easily observe, that his method and style denote 
 him to have been a scholar, and yet not farther so, 
 than the simplicity and purity of the Truth, whereof 
 he made profession, would permit him. 
 1* 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 I was with our friend, Thomas Ellwood, the greater 
 part of his sickness ; in which he was also very fre- 
 quently visited by our friend George Bowles, who was 
 his neighbour; to whom therefore I refer, for the 
 account which he may give of his sickness and dying 
 words. 
 
 As it was my good lot to be well acquainted with him, 
 (though only in the latter years of his life,) and I know 
 that he did neither use nor encourage the bestowing 
 elaborate encomiums upon persons deceased ; so neither 
 shall I add further concerning him, than to say with 
 the apostle, concerning the faithful, " That he was 
 righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he 
 being dead, yet speaketh." 
 
 J. W. 
 
 London, 
 12th of the 2nd month, 1714. 
 
THE 
 
 HISTOEY OF THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1639 — 1658. 
 
 Motives for writing — Birth and parentage — Removal to London — Lady 
 Springett and her daughter — Return to Crowell — Sent to School at 
 Thame — Early promise in learning — Brought home — Life of idleness — 
 Lord Wenman — Adventure with a quarrelsome husbandman — Serious 
 reflections on taking human life — Death of mother and brother — Visit 
 to I. Penington — Effect of Quaker manners — The young Quaker before 
 Justice Ellwood — Another visit to I. Penington's — Meeting at the 
 Grove — Family sitting — E. Burrough — J. Nailor — Meeting at High 
 Wycombe — Religious exercises and their fruits — Delusion and deliver- 
 ance — Visit to Oxford Sessions — Close trial and safe escape — Objections 
 urged against the Quakers — Another visit at I. Penington's — Mary 
 Penington — Monthly Meeting at Wycombe — Ministry of E. Burrough 
 — Honour due to parents — Uses plain language and manners to his 
 father. 
 
 Although my station, not being so eminent either 
 in the church of Christ, or in the world, as others who 
 have moved in higher orbs, may not afford such con- 
 siderable remarks as theirs, yet, inasmuch as in the 
 course of my travels through this vale of tears, I have 
 
 (7) 
 
g THE HISTORY OF THE [1639. 
 
 passed through various, and some uncommon exercises, 
 which the Lord hath been graciously pleased to sup- 
 port me under, and conduct me through, — I hold it a 
 matter excusable, at least, if not commendable, to give 
 the world some little account of my life, that in re- 
 counting the many deliverances and preservations, 
 which the Lord hath vouchsafed to work for me, both 
 I, by a grateful acknowledgement thereof, and return 
 of thanksgivings unto him therefor, may, in some 
 measure, set forth his abundant goodness to me ; and 
 others, whose lot it may be to tread the same path, 
 and fall into the same or like exercises, may be encour- 
 aged to persevere in the way of holiness, and with full 
 .assurance of mind to trust in the Lord, whatsoever 
 trials may befall them. 
 
 To begin therefore with mine own beginning, I was 
 born in the year 1639, about the beginning of the 
 eighth month, so far as I have been able to inform my- 
 self: for the parish register, which relates to the time 
 (not of birth, but) of baptism (as they call it) is not 
 to be relied on. 
 
 The place of my birth was a little country town, 
 called Crowell, situate in the upper side of Oxfordshire, 
 three miles eastward from Thame, the nearest market 
 town. 
 
 My father's name was Walter Ellwood, and my 
 mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Potman; both 
 well descended, but of declining families ; so that what 
 my father possessed, which was a pretty estate in 
 lands, and more, as I have heard in moneys, he re- 
 
1647.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 9 
 
 ceived (as lie had done his name Walter) from his 
 grandfather Walter Gray ; whose daughter, and only 
 child, was his mother. 
 
 In my very infancy, when I was but about two years 
 old, I was carried to London. For the civil war be- 
 tween king and parliament breaking then forth, my 
 father, who favoured the parliament side, though he 
 took not arms, not holding himself safe at his country 
 habitation, which lay too near some garrisons of the 
 king's, betook himself to London, that city then hold- 
 ing for the parliament. 
 
 There was I bred up, though not without much diffi- 
 culty, the city air not agreeing with my tender con- 
 stitution ; and there continued, until Oxford was sur- 
 rendered, and the war in appearance ended. 
 
 In this time my parents contracted an acquaintance 
 and intimate friendship with the Lady Springett, 
 w T ho being then the widow of Sir William Springett, 
 who died in the parliament service, was afterwards wife 
 of Isaac Penington, eldest son of Alderman Penington 
 of London. And this friendship devolving from the 
 parents to the children, I became an early and particu- 
 lar playfellow to her daughter Gulielma; being admitted 
 as such to ride with her in the little coach, drawn by 
 her footman about Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 I mention this in this place, because the continuation 
 of that acquaintance and friendship having been an 
 occasional means of my being afterwards brought to 
 the knowledge of the blessed truth, I shall have fre- 
 quent cause, in the course of the following discourse, 
 
10 THE HISTORY OF THE [1553, 
 
 to make honourable mention of that family, to which I 
 am under so many and great obligations. 
 
 Soon after the surrender of Oxford, my father re- 
 turned to his estate at Crowell ; which by that time he- 
 might have need enough to look after, having spent, I 
 suppose, the greatest part of the moneys which had 
 been left him by his grandfather, in maintaining him- 
 self and his family at a high rate in London. 
 
 My elder brother, for I had one brother and two 
 sisters, all elder than myself, was, while we lived in 
 London, boarded at a private school, in the house of 
 one Francis Atkinson, at a place called Hadley, near 
 Barnet in Hertfordshire; where he had made some 
 good proficiency in the Latin and French tongues. 
 But after we had left the city, and were re-settled in 
 the country, he was taken from that private school, 
 and sent to the Free School at Thame in Oxfordshire. 
 
 Thither also was I sent, as soon as my tender age 
 would permit : for I was indeed but young when I went, 
 and yet seemed younger than I was, by reason of my 
 low and little stature. For it was held, for some years, 
 a doubtful point whether I should not have proved a 
 dwarf. But after I was arrived to the fifteenth year 
 of my age (or thereabouts) I began to shoot up, and 
 gave not over growing, till I had attained the middle 
 size and stature of men. 
 
 At this school, which at that time was in good repu- 
 tation, I profited apace ; having then a natural pro- 
 pensity to learning ; so that at the first reading over 
 of my lesson, I commonly made myself master of it ; 
 
1655.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. ]_]_ 
 
 and yet (which is strange to think of) few boys in the 
 school wore out more birch than L For though I was 
 never, that I remember, whipped upon the score of 
 not having my lesson ready, or of not saying it well, 
 yet being a little busy boy, full of spirit, of a working 
 head, and active hand, I could not easily conform my- 
 self to the grave and sober rules, and as I then thought 
 severe orders of the school ; but was often playing one 
 waggish prank or other among my fellow scholars, 
 which subjected me to correction, so that I have come 
 under the discipline of the rod twice in a forenoon. 
 Which yet brake no bones. 
 
 Had I been continued at this school, and in due time 
 preferred to a higher, I might in likelihood have been 
 a scholar : for I was observed to have a genius apt to 
 learn. But my father having, so soon as the republi- 
 can government began to settle, accepted the office of 
 a justice of the peace, w^hich was no way beneficial, 
 but merely honorary and every way expensive, and put 
 himself into a port and course of living agreeable 
 thereunto, and having also removed my brother from 
 Thame-school to Merton College in Oxford, and en- 
 tered him there, in the highest and most chargeable 
 condition of a fellows-commoner, he found it needful to 
 retrench his expenses elsewhere ; the hurt of which fell 
 upon me. 
 
 For he thereupon took me from sehool, to save the 
 charge of maintaining me there; which was somewhat 
 like plucking green fruit from the tree, and laying it 
 by, before it was come to its due ripeness ; which will 
 
12 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 
 
 thenceforth shrink and wither, and lose that little juice 
 and relish which it began to have. 
 
 Even so it fared with me. For being taken home 
 when I was but young, and before I was well settled in 
 my studies, (though I had made a good progress in the 
 Latin tongue, and was entered in the Greek) being 
 left too much to myself, to ply or play with my books 
 or without them as I pleased, I soon shook hands with 
 my books by shaking my books out of my hands, and 
 laying them, by degrees, quite aside ; and addicted my- 
 self to such youthful sports and pleasures as the place 
 afforded, and my condition could reach unto. 
 
 By this means, in a little time I began to lose that 
 little learning I had acquired at school ; and by a con- 
 tinued disuse of my books, became at length so utterly 
 a stranger to learning, that I could not have read, far 
 less have understood, a sentence in Latin. Which I 
 was so sensible of, that I warily avoided reading to 
 others, even in an English book, lest, if I should meet 
 with a Latin word, I should shame myself by mispro- 
 nouncing it. Thus I w T ent on, taking my swing in such 
 vain courses as were accounted harmless recreations; 
 entertaining my companions, and familiar acquaint- 
 ance, with pleasant discourses in our conversations, by 
 the mere force of mother wit and natural parts, with- 
 out the help of school cultivation : and was accounted 
 good company too. But I always sorted myself with 
 persons of ingenuity, temperance and sobriety: for I 
 loathed scurrilities in conversation, and had a natural 
 aversion to immoderate drinking. So that in the time 
 
1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 13 
 
 of my greatest vanity, I was preserved from profane- 
 ness, and the grosser evils of the world ; which ren- 
 dered me acceptable to persons of the best note in that 
 country then. 
 
 I often waited on the Lord Wenman, at his house at 
 Thame Park, about two miles from Crowell, where I 
 lived ; to whose favour I held myself entitled in a two- 
 fold respect, both as my mother was nearly related to 
 his lady, and as he had been pleased to bestow his 
 name upon me, when he made large promises for 
 me at the font. He was a person of great honour and 
 virtue, and always gave me a kind reception at his 
 table, how often soever I came. And I have cause to 
 think, I should have received from this lord some ad- 
 vantageous preferment in this world, as soon as he had 
 found me capable of it, though between him and my 
 father there was not then so good an understanding as 
 might have been wished, had I not been, in a little time 
 after, called into the service of the best and highest 
 Lord ; and thereby lost the favour of all my friends, 
 relations, and acquaintance of this world. To the ac- 
 count of which most happy exchange I hasten, and 
 therefore willingly pass over many particularities of my 
 youthful life. Yet one passage I am willing to men- 
 tion, for the effect it had upon me afterwards : which 
 was thus. 
 
 My father being then in the commission of the peace, 
 
 and going to a petty sessions at Watlington, I waited 
 
 on him thither And when we came near the town, 
 
 the coachman seeing a nearer and easier way, than the 
 
 2 
 
14 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 
 
 common road, through, a corn-field, and that it was wide 
 enough for the wheels to run, without damaging the 
 corn, turned down there. This being observed by a 
 husbandman, who was at plough not far off, he ran to 
 us, and stopping the coach, poured forth a mouthful of 
 complaints, in none of the best language, for driving 
 over the corn. My father mildly answered him, that 
 if there was any offence committed, he must rather im- 
 pute it to his servant, than himself; since he neither 
 directed him to drive that way, nor knew which way he 
 drove. Yet added, that he was going to such an inn 
 at the town : whither if he came, he would make him 
 full satisfaction, for whatsoever damage he had sus- 
 tained thereby. And so on we went, the man venting 
 his discontent, as he went back, in angry accents. At 
 the town, upon enquiry, we understood that it was a 
 way often used, and without damage, being broad 
 enough ; but that it was not the common road, which 
 yet lay not far from it, and was also good enough : 
 wherefore my father bid his man drive home that way. 
 It was late in the evening when we returned, and 
 very dark ; and this quarrelsome man, who had troubled 
 himself and us in the morning, having gotten another 
 lusty fellow, like himself, to assist him, waylaid us in 
 the night, expecting we should return the same way we 
 came. But when they found we did not, but took the 
 common way, they, angry that they were disappointed, 
 and loath to lose their purpose, which was to put an 
 abuse upon us, coasted over to us in the dark, and lay- 
 ing hold on the horses' bridles, stopped them from 
 
 
1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 15 
 
 going on. My father asking his man, what was the 
 reason that he went not on, was answered, that there 
 were two men at the horses' heads, who held them back, 
 and would not suffer them to go forward. Whereupon 
 my father opening the boot, stepped out, and I followed 
 close at his heels. Going up to the place where the 
 men stood, he demanded of them the reason of this 
 assault. They said, we were upon the corn. We knew 
 by the ruts, we were not on the corn, but on the 
 common way, and told them so. But they told us, 
 they were resolved they would not let us go on any 
 farther, but would make us go back again. My father 
 endeavoured by gentle reasoning to persuade them to 
 forbear, and not run themselves farther into the danger 
 of the law, which they were run too far into already ; 
 but they rather derided him for it. Seeing therefore 
 fair means would not work upon them, he spoke more 
 roughly to them, charging them to deliver their clubs, 
 for each of them had a great club in his hand, some- 
 what like those which are called quarter-staves. They 
 thereupon, laughing, told him they did not bring them 
 thither for that end. Thereupon my father, turning 
 his head to me, said, " Tom, disarm them." 
 
 I stood ready at his elbow, waiting only for the word 
 of command. For being naturally of a bold spirit, 
 full then of youthful heat, and that too heightened by 
 the sense I had not only of the abuse, but insolent 
 behaviour of those rude fellows, my blood began to 
 boil, and my fingers itched, as the saying is, to be 
 dealing with them. 
 
16 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658, 
 
 Wherefore, stepping boldly forward, to lay hold on 
 the staff of him that was nearest to me, I said, 
 " Sirrah, deliver your weapon." He thereupon raised 
 his club, which was large enough to have knocked down 
 an ox, intending no doubt to have knocked me down 
 with it ; as probably he would have done, had I not, 
 in the twinkling of an eye, whipt out my rapier, and 
 made a pass upon him. I could not have failed 
 running him through up to the hilt, had he stood his 
 ground ; but the sudden and unexpected sight of my 
 bright blade, glittering in the dark night, did so 
 amaze and terrify the man, that slipping aside, he 
 avoided my thrust ; and letting his staff sink, took to 
 his heels for safety : which his companion seeing, fled 
 also. I followed the former as fast as I could : but 
 fear gave him wings, and made him swiftly fly : thus 
 although I was accounted very nimble, yet the farther 
 we ran, the more ground he gained on me ; so that I 
 could not overtake him, which made me think he took 
 shelter under some bush, which he knew where to find, 
 though I did not. 
 
 Meanwhile, the coachman, who had sufficiently the 
 outside of a man, excused himself from intermeddling, 
 under pretence that he durst not leave his horses ; and 
 so left me to shift for myself. And I was gone so far 
 beyond my knowledge, that I understood not which 
 way to go : till by hallooing, and being hallooed to 
 again, I was directed where to find my company. 
 
 We had easy means to have found out who these 
 men were, the principal of them having been in the 
 
1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 17 
 
 day-time at the inn, and both quarrelled with the 
 coachman, and threatened to be even with him when 
 he went back ; but since they came off no better in 
 their attempt, my father thought it better not to 
 know them, than to oblige himself to a prosecution of 
 them. 
 
 At that time, and for a good while after, I had no 
 regret upon my mind for what I had done, and 
 designed to have done, in this case ; but went on in a 
 sort of bravery, resolving to kill, if I could, any man 
 that should make the like attempt, or put any affront 
 upon us ; and for that reason seldom went afterwards 
 upon those public services without a loaded pistol in 
 my pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in his 
 infinite goodness, to call me out of the spirit and ways 
 of the world, and give me the knowledge of his saving 
 truth, whereby the actions of my past life were set in 
 order before me, a sort of horror seized on me, when 
 I considered how near I had been to staining my 
 hands with human blood. And whensoever afterwards 
 I went that way, and indeed as often since as the 
 matter has come into my remembrance, my soul has 
 blessed the Lord for my deliverance ; thanksgivings 
 and praises have arisen in my heart, as now at the 
 relating of it they do, to Him who preserved and 
 withheld me from shedding man's blood. This is the 
 reason for which I have given this account of that 
 action, that others may be warned by it. 
 
 About this time my dear and honoured mother, who 
 was indeed a woman of singular worth and virtue, 
 9 * 
 
18 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 
 
 departed this life, having a little before heard of the 
 death of her eldest son, who falling under the dis- 
 pleasure of my father, for refusing to resign his interest 
 in an estate which my father sold, and thereupon 
 desiring that he might have leave to travel, in hopes 
 that time and absence might work a reconciliation, 
 went into Ireland with a person powerful there in 
 those times, by whose means he was quickly preferred 
 to a place of trust and profit ; but lived not long to 
 enjoy it. 
 
 I mentioned before, that during my father's abode 
 in London, in the time of the civil wars, he contracted 
 a friendship with the Lady Springett, then a widow, 
 and afterwards married to Isaac Penington,- Esq., to 
 continue which he sometimes visited them at their 
 country lodgings, as at Datchet, and at Causham 
 Lodge near Reading. 
 
 Having heard that they were come to live upon 
 their own estate at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, 
 about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went one day to 
 visit them there, and return at night, taking me with 
 him. 
 
 But very much surprised we were, when being come 
 thither, we first heard, then found, they w T ere become 
 Quakers, a people we had no knowledge of, and a 
 name we had till then scarcely heard of. So great a 
 change, from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of 
 behaviour, which we formerly had found them in, to so 
 strict a gravity as they now received us with, did not 
 a little amuse us, and disappoint our expectation of 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 19 
 
 such a pleasant visit as we used to have, and had now 
 promised ourselves. Nor could my father have any 
 opportunity, by a private conference with them, to 
 understand the ground or occasion of this change; 
 there being some other strangers with them, related to 
 Isaac Penington, who came that morning from London 
 to visit them also. 
 
 For my part I sought, and at length found, means 
 to cast myself into the company of the daughter, 
 whom I found gathering some flowers in the garden, 
 attended by her maid, who was also a Quaker. But 
 when I addressed myself to her, after my accustomed 
 manner, with intention to engage her in some dis- 
 course, which might introduce conversation on the 
 foot of our former acquaintance — though she treated 
 me with a courteous mien, yet, young as she was, the 
 gravity of her look and behaviour struck such an awe 
 upon me, that I found myself not so much master of 
 myself as to pursue any further converse with h'er. 
 Wherefore asking pardon for my boldness, in having 
 intruded into her private walks, I withdrew, not without 
 some disorder (as I thought at least) of mind. 
 
 We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and 
 lacked nothing to recommend it to me, but the want 
 of mirth and pleasant discourse ; which we could 
 neither have with them, nor, by reason of them, with 
 one another among ourselves, the weightiness which 
 was upon their spirits and countenances, keeping down 
 the lightness that would have been up in us. We 
 stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company 
 
20 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 took leave of them, and then we also, doing the same, 
 returned, not greatly satisfied with our journey, nor 
 knowing what in particular to find fault w T ith. Yet 
 this good effect that visit had upon my father, who was 
 then in the commission for the peace, that it disposed 
 him to a more favorable opinion of and carriage 
 towards those people, when they came in his way, as 
 not long after one of them did. For a young man, 
 who lived in Buckinghamshire, came on a first-day to 
 the church (so called) at the town of Chinner, a mile 
 from Crowell, having it seems a pressure on his mind, 
 to say something to the minister of that parish. He 
 being an acquaintance of mine, drew me sometimes to 
 hear him, as it did then. The young man stood in the 
 aisle before the pulpit all the time of the sermon, not 
 speaking a word till the sermon and prayer after it 
 were ended ; and then spake a few words to the priest : 
 of which all that I could hear was, " That the prayer 
 of the wicked is abomination to the Lord, and that God 
 heareth not sinners.' ' Somewhat more I think he did 
 say, which I could not distinctly hear for the noise the 
 people made ; and more probably he would have said, 
 had he not been interrupted by the officers, who took 
 him into custody, and led him out in order to carry 
 him before my father. 
 
 When I understood that, I hastened home, that I 
 might give my father a fair account of the matter 
 before they came. I told him the young man behaved 
 himself quietly and peaceably, spake not a word till 
 the minister had quite done his service ; and that what 
 
1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 21 
 
 lie then spake was but short, and was delivered without 
 passion or ill language. This I knew would furnish 
 my father with a fair ground whereon to discharge the 
 man if he would. 
 
 And accordingly when they came, and made an high 
 complaint against the man, who said little for himself, 
 my father having examined the officers who brought 
 him, what were the words that he spake, (which they 
 did not well agree in) and at what time he spake them, 
 (which they all agreed to be after the minister had 
 done,) and then, whether he gave the minister any 
 reviling language, or endeavoured to raise a tumult 
 among the people, (which they could not charge him 
 with;) — not finding that he had broken the law, he 
 counselled the young man to be careful that he did 
 not make or occasion any public disturbances, and so 
 dismissed him : which I was glad of. 
 
 Some time after this, my father having received 
 some further account of the people called Quakers, 
 and being desirous to be informed concerning their 
 principles, made another visit to Isaac Penington and 
 his wife, at their house called the Grange, in Peter's 
 Chalfont ; and took both my sisters and me with him. 
 
 It was in the tenth month, in the year 1659, that 
 we went thither, where we found a very kind reception, 
 and tarried some days ; one day at least the longer, 
 for that, while we were there, a meeting was appointed 
 at a place about a mile from thence, to which we were 
 invited to go, and willingly went. 
 
 It was held in a farm-house called the Grove, which 
 
22 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a very 
 large hall, and that well filled. To this meeting camb 
 Edward Burrough, besides other preachers, as Thomas 
 Curtis and James Naylor ; but none spake there at 
 that time but Edward Burrough. Next to whom, as 
 it were under him, it was my lot to sit on a stool, by 
 the side of a long table on which he sat ; and I drank 
 in his words with desire, for they not only answered 
 my understanding, but warmed my heart with a certain 
 heat, which I had not till then felt from the ministry 
 of any man. When the meeting was ended, our friends 
 took us home with them again ; and after supper, the 
 evenings being long, the servants of the family, who 
 w T ere Quakers, were called in, and we all sat down in 
 silence. But long we had not so sat, before Edward 
 Burrough began to speak among us. And although 
 he spake not long, yet what he said did touch, as I 
 suppose, my father's religious copyhold, as the phrase 
 is. And he having been from his youth a professor, 
 though not joined in that which is called close com- 
 munion with any one sort, and valuing himself upon 
 the knowledge he esteemed himself to have in the 
 various notions of each profession, thought he had now 
 a fair opportunity to display his knowledge, and there- 
 upon began to make objections against what had been 
 delivered. 
 
 The subject of the discourse was, " The universal 
 free grace of God to all mankind." To which my 
 father opposed the Calvinistical tenet of particular and 
 personal predestination. In defence of this indefen- 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 23 
 
 sible notion, he found himself more at a loss than he 
 expected. Edward Burrough said not much to him 
 upon it, though what he said was close and cogent ; 
 but James Naylor interposing, handled the subject with 
 so much perspicuity and clear demonstration, that his 
 reasoning seemed to be irresistible ; and so I suppose 
 my father found it, which made him willing to drop the 
 discourse. 
 
 As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young man, 
 of a ready tongue, and might have been for aught I 
 then knew a scholar, which made me the less to 
 admire his way of reasoning. But what dropped from 
 James Naylor had. the greater force upon me, because 
 he looked but like a plain, simple countryman, having 
 the appearance of an husbandman or a shepherd. As 
 my father was not able to maintain the argument on 
 his side, so neither did they seem willing to drive it to 
 an extremity on their side. But treating him in a 
 soft and gentle manner, they after a while let fall the 
 discourse ; and then we withdrew to our respective 
 chambers. 
 
 The next morning we prepared to return home, that 
 is, my father, my younger sister, and myself, for my 
 elder sister was gone before by the stage-coach to 
 London ; and when, having taken our leaves of our 
 friends, we went forth, they, with Edward Burrough, 
 accompanying us to the gate, he there directed his 
 speech in a few words to each of us severally, accord- 
 ing to the sense he had of our several conditions. 
 And when we were gone off, and they gone in again, 
 
04 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 they asking him what he thought of us, he answered 
 them, as they afterwards told me, to this effect : "As 
 for the old man, he is settled on his lees ; and the 
 young woman is light and airy; but the young man is 
 reached, and may do well if he does not lose it." And 
 surely that which he said to me, or rather that spirit 
 in which he spake it, took such fast hold on me that I 
 felt sadness and trouble come over me, though I did 
 not distinctly understand whatT was troubled for. I 
 knew not what I ailed, but I knew I ailed something 
 more than ordinary, and my heart was very heavy. I 
 found it was not so with my father and sister; for as I 
 rode after the coach, I could hear them talk pleasantly 
 one to the other; but they could not discern how it 
 was with me, because I, riding on horseback, kept 
 much out of sight. 
 
 By the time we got home it was night. The next 
 day, being the first day of the week, I went in the 
 afternoon to hear the minister of Chinner; and this 
 was the last time I ever went to hear any of that func- 
 tion. After the sermon I went with him to his house, 
 and in a freedom of discourse, which, from a certain 
 intimacy that was between us, I commonly used w T ith 
 him, told him wdiere I had been, what company I had 
 met with there, and what observations I had made to 
 myself thereupon. But he seemed to understand as 
 little of them as I had done before, and civilly ab- 
 stained from casting any unhandsome reflections on 
 them. 
 
 I had a desire to go to another meeting of the 
 
1659.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 25 
 
 Quakers, and bid my father's man enquire if there was 
 any in the country thereabouts. He thereupon told me 
 he had heard at Isaac Penington's, there was to be a 
 meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday next. Thither 
 therefore I went, though it was seven miles from me. 
 And that I might be rather thought to go out a cour- 
 sing than to a meeting, I let my greyhound run by my 
 horse's side. When I came there, and had put up my 
 horse at an inn, I was at a loss how to find the house 
 where the meeting was. to be. I knew it not, and was 
 ashamed to ask after it ; wherefore having ordered the 
 hostler to take care of my dog, I went into the street, 
 and stood at the inn gate, musing with myself what 
 course to take. But I had not stood long ere I saw a 
 horseman riding along the street, whom I remembered 
 having seen before at Isaac Penington's ; and he put 
 up his horse at the same inn. Him therefore I re- 
 solved to follow, supposing he was going to the meet- 
 ing, as indeed he was. Being come to the house, 
 which proved to be John Baunce's, I saw the people 
 sitting together in an outer room ; wherefore I stepped 
 in and sat down on the first void seat, the end of a 
 bench just within the door, having my sword by my 
 side, and black clothes on, which drew some eyes upon 
 me. It was not long ere one stood up and spake, whom 
 I was afterwards well acquainted with ; his name was 
 Samuel Thornton, and what he spake was very suit- 
 able, and of good service to me, for it reached home as 
 if it had been directed to me. 
 
 As soon as ever the meeting was ended, and the 
 3 
 
26 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 
 
 people began to rise, I being next the door stepped out 
 quickly, and hastening to my inn, took horse imme- 
 diately homewards ; and, so far as I remember, my 
 having been gone was not taken notice of by my 
 father. 
 
 This latter meeting was like the clinching of a nail, 
 confirming and fastening in my mind those good prin- 
 ciples which had sunk into me at the former. My 
 understanding began to open, and I felt some stirrings 
 in my breast, tending to the work of a new creation in 
 me. The general trouble and confusion of mind which 
 had for some days laid heavy upon me, and pressed me 
 down without a distinct discovery of the particular 
 cause for which it came, began now to wear off; and 
 some glimmerings of Light began to break forth in me, 
 which let me see my inward state and condition to- 
 wards God. The Light, which before had shone in my 
 darkness, and the darkness could not comprehend it, 
 began now to shine out of darkness, and in some mea- 
 sure discovered to me what it was that had before 
 clouded me, and brought that sadness and trouble upon 
 me. And now I saw, that although I had been in a 
 great degree preserved from the common immoralities 
 and gross pollutions of the world, yet the spirit of the 
 world had hitherto ruled in me, and led me into pride, 
 flattery, vanity, and superfluity, all which was naught. 
 I found there were many plants growing in me which 
 were not of the Heavenly Father's planting, and that 
 all these, of whatever sort or kind they were, or how 
 specious soever they might appear, must be plucked up. 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 27 
 
 Now was all my former life ripped up, and my sins 
 by degrees were set in order before me. And though 
 they looked not with so black a hue and so deep a dye 
 as those of the lewdest sort of people did, yet I found 
 that all sin, even that which had the fairest or finest 
 shew, as well as that which was more coarse and foul, 
 brought guilt, and with and for guilt, condemnation on 
 the soul that sinned. This I felt, and was greatly 
 bowed down under the sense thereof. Now also did I 
 receive a new law, (an inward law superadded to the 
 outward) the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, 
 which wrought in me against all evil, not only in deed, 
 and in word, but even in thought also ; so that every- 
 thing was brought to judgment, and judgment passed 
 upon all. So that I could not any longer. go on in my 
 former ways, and course of life, for when I did, judg 
 ment took hold upon me for it. Thus the Lord was 
 graciously pleased to deal with me, in somewhat like 
 manner as he had dealt with his people Israel of old, 
 when they had transgressed his righteous law ; whom 
 by his prophet he called back, and required to put 
 away the evil of their doings, bidding them first cease 
 to do evil, then learn to do well, before he would admit 
 them to reason w T ith him, and before he would impart 
 to them the effects of his free mercy. (Isaiah i. 
 16, 17.) 
 
 I was now required by this inward and spiritual law 
 (the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus) to put 
 away the evil of my doings, and to cease to do evil. 
 And what in particular was the evil which I was re- 
 
28 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 quired to put away and cease from, that measure of the 
 divine Light, which was now manifested in me, dis- 
 covered to me ; and what the Light made manifest to 
 be evil, judgment passed upon. 
 
 So that here began to be a way cast up before me 
 for me to walk in ; a direct and plain way, so plain 
 that a wayfaring man, how weak and simple soever, 
 though a fool to the wisdom and in the judgment of 
 the world, could not err while he continued to walk in 
 it ; the error coming in by his going out of it. And 
 this way with respect to me I saw was that measure of 
 divine Light which was manifested in me, by which the 
 evil of my doings, which I was to put away and to 
 cease from, was discovered to me. By this divine Light 
 then I saw, that though I had not the evil of the com- 
 mon uncleanness, debauchery, profaneness, and pollu- 
 tions of the world to put away, because I had, through 
 the goodness of God, and a civil education, been pre- 
 served out of those grosser evils, yet I had many other 
 evils to put aw T ay and to cease from ; some of which 
 were not by the world, w^hich lies in wickedness, ac- 
 counted evils ; but by the Light of Christ were made 
 manifest to me to be evils, and as such condemned in 
 me,. As particularly, those fruits and effects of pride, 
 that discover themselves in the vanity and superfluity 
 of apparel, which I, as far as my ability would extend 
 to, took, alas ! too much delight in. This evil of my 
 doings I w T as required to put away and cease from, and 
 judgment lay upon me till I did so. Wherefore, in 
 obedience to the inward law, which agreed with the 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 29 
 
 outward, I took off from my apparel those unnecessary 
 trimmings of lace, ribands, and useless buttons, which 
 had no real service, but were set on only for that which 
 was by mistake called ornament ; and I ceased to wear 
 rings. 
 
 Again: the giving of flattering titles to men, be- 
 tween whom and me there was not any relation to 
 which such titles could be pretended to belong. This 
 was an evil I had been much addicted to, and was ac- 
 counted a ready artist in : therefore this evil also was 
 I required to put away and cease from. So that 
 thenceforward I durst not say, Sir, Master, My Lord, 
 Madam, (or My Dame) or say Your Servant, to any 
 one to whom I did not stand in the real relation of a 
 servant, which I have never done to any. 
 
 Again : respect of persons, in uncovering the head, 
 and bowing the knee or body in salutations, was a 
 practice I had been much in the use of. And this 
 being one of the vain customs of the world, introduced 
 by the spirit of the world instead of the true honour, 
 which this is a false representation of, and used in 
 deceit, as a token of respect, by persons one to an- 
 other, who bear no real respect one to another ; and 
 besides, this being a type and proper emblem of that 
 divine honour which all ought to pay to Almighty God, 
 and which all, of all sorts, who take upon them the 
 Christian name, appear in when they offer their pray- 
 ers to him, and therefore should not be given to men. 
 I found this to be one of those evils, which I had been 
 3* 
 
30 THEHISTORYOFTHE [1659. 
 
 too long doing : therefore I was now required to put it 
 away, and cease from it. 
 
 Again : the corrupt and unsound form of speaking 
 in the plural number to a single person, You to one, in- 
 stead of Thou, contrary to the pure, plain, and single 
 language of truth, Thou to one, and You to more than 
 one, which had always been used by God to men, and 
 men to God, as well as one to another, from the oldest 
 record of time, till corrupt men, for corrupt ends, in 
 later ami corrupt times, to flatter, fawn, and work upon 
 the corrupt nature in men, brought in that false and 
 senseless way of speaking, You to one ; which hath 
 since corrupted the modern languages, and hath greatly 
 debased the spirits and depraved the manners of men. 
 This evil custom I had been as forward in as others, 
 and this I was now called out of, and required to cease 
 from. 
 
 These, and many more evil customs, which had 
 sprung up in the night of darkness and general apos- 
 tasy from the truth and true religion, were now by the 
 in-shining of this pure ray of divine Light in my con- 
 science, gradually discovered to me to be what I ought 
 to cease from, shun, and stand a witness against. 
 
 But so subtilly, and withal so powerfully did the 
 Enemy work upon the weak part in me, as to persuade 
 me that in these things I ought to make a difference 
 between my father and all other men ; and that there- 
 fore, though I did disuse these tokens of respect to 
 others, yet I ought still to use them towards him, as he 
 was my father. And so far did this wile of his prevail 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 31 
 
 upon Hie, through a fear lest I should do amiss, in with- 
 drawing any sort of respect or honour from my father, 
 which was due unto him, that being thereby beguiled, I 
 continued for a while to demean myself in the same 
 manner towards him, with respect both to language 
 and gesture, as I had always done before. And so 
 long as I did so, standing bare before him, and giving 
 him the accustomed language, he did not express, what- 
 ever he thought, any dislike of me. 
 
 But as to myself, and the work begun in me, I found 
 it was not enough for me to cease to do evil, though 
 that was a good and great step. I had another lesson 
 before me, which was to learn to do well ; which I could 
 by no means do, till I had given up, with full purpose 
 of mind, to cease from doing evil. And when I had 
 done that, the Enemy took advantage of my weakness 
 to mislead me again. For whereas I ought to have 
 waited in the Light, for direction and guidance into 
 and in the way of well-doing, and not to have moved 
 till the divine Spirit, (a manifestation of which the 
 Lord had been pleased to give unto me, for me to profit 
 with or by) the Enemy transforming himself into the 
 appearance of an angel of light, offered himself in that 
 appearance, to be my guide and leader into the per- 
 formance of religious exercises. And I, not then know- 
 ing the wiles of Satan, and being eager to be doing 
 some acceptable service to God, too readily yielded my- 
 self to the conduct of my enemy, instead of my friend. 
 
 He thereupon, humouring the warmth and zeal of my 
 spirit, put me upon religious performances in my own 
 
32 THE HISTORY OF THE [165* 
 
 will, in my own time, and in my own strength; which 
 in themselves were good, and would have been profit- 
 able unto me, and acceptable unto the Lord, if they 
 had been performed in his will, in his time, and in the 
 ability which he gives. But being wrought in the will 
 of man, and at the prompting of the Evil One, no 
 wonder that it did me hurt instead of good. 
 
 I read abundantly in the Bible, and would set my- 
 self tasks in reading ; enjoining myself to read so many 
 chapters, sometimes a whole book, or long epistle, at a 
 time. And I thought that time well spent, though I 
 was not much wiser for what I had read, reading it too 
 cursorily, and without the true guide, the Holy Spirit, 
 which alone could open the understanding, and give 
 the true sense of what was read. I prayed often, and 
 drew out my prayers to a great length ; and appointed 
 unto myself certain set times to pray at, and a certain 
 number of prayers to say in a day ; knowing not, mean- 
 while, what true prayer was. This stands not in words, 
 though the words which are uttered in the movings of 
 the Holy Spirit, are very available ; but in the breath- 
 ing of the soul to the Heavenly Father, through the 
 operation of the Holy Spirit, who maketh intercession 
 sometimes in words, and sometimes with sighs and 
 groans only, which the Lord vouchsafes to hear and 
 answer. 
 
 This will-worship, which all is that is performed in 
 the will of man, and not in the movings of the Holy 
 Spirit, was a great hurt to me, and hinderance of my 
 spiritual growth in the way of truth. But my Hea* 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 33 
 
 venly Fa, her, who knew the sincerity of my soul to 
 him, and the hearty desire I had to serve him, had 
 compassion on me ; and in due time was graciously 
 pleased to illuminate my understanding further, and to 
 open in me an eye to disoern the false spirit, and its 
 way of working, from the true ; and to reject the 
 former, and cleave to the latter. 
 
 But though the Enemy had by his subtlety gained 
 such advantages over me, yet I w T ent on notwithstand- 
 ing, and firmly persisted in my godly resolution of 
 ceasing from and denying those things w^hich I was now 
 convinced in my conscience were evil. And on this 
 account a great trial came quickly on me. For the 
 general quarter sessions for the peace coming on, my 
 father, willing to excuse himself from a dirty journey, 
 commanded me to get up betimes, and go to Oxford, 
 and deliver in the recognisances he had taken ; and 
 bring him an account what justices were on the bench, 
 and what principal pleas were before them ; which he 
 knew I knew how to do, having often attended him on 
 those services. 
 
 I, who knew how it stood with me better than he 
 did, felt a weight come over me as soon as he had 
 spoken the word. For I presently saw, it would bring 
 a very great exercise upon me. But having never re- 
 sisted his will in any thing that was lawful, as this was, 
 I attempted not to make any excuse, but ordering a 
 horse to be ready for me early in the morning, 1 went 
 to bed, having great stragglings in my breast. 
 
 For the Enemy came in upon me like a flood, and set 
 
34 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659, 
 
 many difficulties before me, swelling them up to the 
 highest pitch, by representing them as mountains, 
 which I should never be able to get over ; and alas ! 
 that faitli which could remove such mountains, and 
 cast them into the sea, was but very small and weak in 
 me. He cast into my mind not only how I should 
 behave myself in the court, and dispatch the business 
 I was sent about, but how I should demean myself to- 
 wards my acquaintance, of which I bad many in that 
 city, with whom I was wont to be jolly ; whereas now 
 I could not put off my hat, nor bow to any of them, 
 nor give them their honorary titles, as they are called, 
 nor use the corrupt language of You to any one of 
 them, but must keep to the plain and true language of 
 Thou and Thee. 
 
 Much of this nature revolved in my mind, thrown in 
 by the Enemy, to discourage and cast me down : and 
 I had none to have recourse to for counsel or help, but 
 the Lord alone. To whom therefore I poured forth 
 my supplications, with earnest cries and breathings of 
 soul, that He, in whom all power was, would enable me 
 to go through this great exercise, and keep me faithful 
 to himself therein. . And after some time, he was 
 pleased to compose my mind to stillness ; and I went 
 to rest. 
 
 Early next morning I got up, and found my spirit 
 pretty calm and quiet, yet not without a fear upon me, 
 lest I should slip, and let fall the testimony which I had 
 to bear. And as I rode, a frequent cry ran through 
 me to the Lord, on this wise: my God, preserve me 
 
1659.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 35 
 
 faithful, whatever befalls me ! suffer me not to be drawn 
 into evil, how much scorn and contempt soever may be 
 cast upon me ! 
 
 Thus was my spirit exercised on the way almost 
 continually. And when I was within a mile or two 
 of the city, whom should I meet upon the way coming 
 from thence, but Edward Burrough. I rode in a moun- 
 tier-cap, a dress more used then than now, and so did 
 he ; and because the weather was exceedingly sharp, 
 we both had drawn our caps down to shelter our faces 
 from the cold, and by that means neither of us knew 
 the other, but passed by without taking notice one of 
 the other ; till a few days after, meeting again, and ob- 
 serving each other's dress, we recollected where we had 
 so lately met. Then thought I with myself, Oh ! how 
 glad should I have been of a word of encouragement 
 and counsel from him, when I was under that weighty 
 exercise of mind ; but the Lord saw it was not good 
 for me ; that my reliance might be wholly upon him, 
 and not on man. 
 
 When I had set up my horse, I went directly to the 
 hall where the sessions were held ; where I had been 
 but a very little while, before a knot of my old ac- 
 quaintances espying me, came to me. One of these 
 was a scholar in his gown, another a surgeon of that 
 city, both my schoolfellows and fellow-boarders at 
 Thame-school, and the third a country gentleman, with 
 whom I had long been very familiar. When they were 
 come up to me, they all saluted me after the usual 
 manner, putting off their hats and bowing, and saying, 
 
36 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 " Your humble servant, Sir," expecting, no doubt, the 
 like from me. But when they saw me stand still, not 
 moving my cap, nor bowing my knee in the way of 
 congee to them, they were amazed, and looked first one 
 upon another, then upon me, and then one upon an- 
 other again for a while, without speaking a word. At 
 length the surgeon, a brisk young man, who stood near- 
 est to me, clapping his hand in a familiar way upon 
 my shoulder, and smiling on me, said, " What, Tom, a 
 Quaker !" To which I readily and cheerfully an- 
 swered, " Yes, a Quaker." And as the words passed 
 out of my mouth, I felt joy spring in my heart ; for I 
 rejoiced that I had not been drawn out by them, into a 
 compliance with them, and that I had strength and 
 boldness given me, to confess myself to be one of that 
 despised people. They stayed not long with me, nor 
 said more, that I remember, to me ; but looking some- 
 what confusedly one upon another, after a while took 
 their leave of me, going off in the same ceremonious 
 manner as they came on. 
 
 After they were gone, I walked a while about the 
 hall, and went up nearer to the court, to observe both 
 what justices were on the bench, and what business 
 they had before them. And I went in fear, not of 
 what they could or would have done to me, if they 
 should have taken notice of me, but lest I should be 
 surprised, and drawn unwarily into that which I was 
 to keep out of. 
 
 It was not long before the court adjourned to go to 
 dinner, and that time I took to go to the clerk of the 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 37 
 
 peace at his house, with whom I was well acquainted. 
 So soon as I came into the room where he was, he came 
 and met me, and saluted me after his manner ; for he 
 had a great respect for my father, and a kind regard 
 for me. And though he was at first somewhat startled 
 at my carriage and language, yet he treated me very 
 civilly, without any reflection or show of lightness. I 
 delivered him the recognisances which my father had 
 sent ; and having done the business I came upon, with- 
 drew, and went to my inn to refresh myself, and then 
 to return home. 
 
 But when I was ready to take horse, looking out 
 into the street, I saw two or three justices standing 
 just in the way where I was to ride. This brought a- 
 fresh concern upon me. I knew if they saw me they 
 would know me ; and I concluded, if they knew me, 
 they would stop me to enquire after my father ; and I 
 doubted how I should come off with them. This 
 doubting brought weakness on me ; and that weakness 
 led to contrivance, how I might avoid this trial. I 
 knew the city pretty well, and remembered there was 
 a back way, which though somewhat about, would 
 bring me out of town, without passing by those 
 justices ; yet loth I was to go that way. Wherefore 
 I stayed a pretty time, in hopes they would have 
 parted company, or removed to some other place out 
 of my way. But when I had waited till I w T as uneasy 
 for losing so much time, having entered into reason- 
 ings with flesh and blood, the weakness prevailed over 
 me, and away I w T ent the back way ; which brought 
 4 
 
38 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 trouble and grief upon my spirit for having shunned 
 the cross. 
 
 But the Lord looked on me with a tender eye ; and 
 seeing my heart was right to him, and that what I 
 had done was merely through weakness and fear of 
 falling, and that I was sensible of my failing therein, 
 and sorry for it, he was graciously pleased to pass it 
 by, and speak peace to me again. So that before I 
 got home, as when I went in the morning, my heart 
 was full of breathing prayer to the Lord, that he 
 would vouchsafe to be with me, and uphold and carry 
 me through that day's exercise ; so now at my return 
 in the evening, my heart was full of thankful acknow- 
 ledgments, and praises unto him, for his great goodness 
 and favour to me, in having thus far preserved and 
 kept me from falling into anything that might have 
 brought dishonour to his holy name, which I had now 
 taken on me. 
 
 But notwithstanding that it was thus with me, and 
 that I found peace and acceptance with the Lord in 
 some good degree, according to my obedience to the 
 convictions I had received by his Holy Spirit in me, 
 yet w r as not the veil so done away, or fully rent, but 
 that there remained a cloud upon my understand- 
 ing, with respect to my carriage towards my father. 
 And that notion which the Enemy had brought into 
 my mind, did yet prevail with me, namely, that 1 
 ought to put such a difference between him and all 
 others, as that, on the account of paternal relation, 
 I should still deport myself towards him, both in 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 39 
 
 gesture and language, as I had always heretofore done. 
 So that when I came home, I went to my father bare- 
 headed, as I used to do, and gave him a particular 
 account of the business he had given me in command, 
 in such manner, that he, observing no alteration in my 
 carriage towards him, found no cause to take offence 
 at me. 
 
 I had felt for some time before an earnest desire of 
 mind to go again to Isaac Penington's. And I began 
 to question whether, when my father should come (as I 
 concluded ere long he would) to understand I inclined 
 to settle among the people called Quakers, he would 
 permit me the command of his horses, as before. 
 Wherefore, in the morning, when I went to Oxford, I 
 gave direction to a servant of his, to go that day to a 
 gentleman of my acquaintance, who I knew had a 
 riding nag to put off either by sale, or to be kept for 
 his work, and desire him, in my name, to send him to 
 to me, which he did, and I found him in the stable 
 when I came home. 
 
 On this nag I designed to ride next day to Isaac 
 Penington's, and in order thereunto arose betimes and 
 got myself ready for the journey ; but because I would 
 pay all due respect to my father, and not go without 
 his consent, or knowledge at the least, I sent one up 
 to him (for he was not yet stirring) to acquaint him, 
 that I had a purpose to go to Isaac Penington's, and 
 desired to know if he pleased to command me any 
 service to them. He sent me word, he would speaK 
 
40 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 
 
 with me before I went, and would have me come up to 
 him, which I did, and stood by his bed-side. 
 
 Then, in a mild and gentle tone, he said, " I under- 
 stand you have a mind to go to Mr. Penington's." I 
 answered, "I have so." "Why," said he, "I wonder 
 why you should. You were there, you know, but a 
 few days ago ; and unless you had business with them, 
 don't you think it will look oddly?" I said, I thought 
 not. "I doubt," said he, " You'll tire them with 
 your company, and make them think they shall be 
 troubled with you." "If," replied I, "I find any- 
 thing of that, I'll make the shorter stay." "But," 
 said he, "can you propose any sort of business with 
 them, more than a mere visit?" "Yes," said I, "I 
 propose to myself not only to see them, but to have 
 some discourse with them." "Why," said he, in a 
 tone a little harsher, " I hope you don't incline to be 
 of their way." "Truly," answered I, "I like them 
 and their way very well, so far as I yet understand it ; 
 and I am willing to go to them, that I may understand 
 it better." 
 
 Thereupon he began to reckon up a bead-roll of 
 faults against the Quakers ; telling me they were a 
 rude, unmannerly people, that would not give civil 
 respect or honour to their superiors, no, not to 
 magistrates ; that they held many dangerous principles ; 
 that they were an immodest, shameless people ; and 
 that one of them stripped himself stark naked, and 
 went in that, unseemly manner about the streets, at 
 fairs and on market days, in great towns. 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 41 
 
 To all the other charges I answered only, that per- 
 haps they might be either misreported or misunder- 
 stood, as the best of people had sometimes been. But 
 to the last charge of going naked, a particular answer, 
 by way of instance, was just then brought into my 
 mind, and put into my mouth, which I had not thought 
 of before ; and that was the example of Isaiah, who 
 went naked among the people for a long time. (Isaiah 
 xx. 4.) "Aye," said my father, "but you must con- 
 sider that he was a prophet of the Lord, and had an 
 express command from God to go so." u Yes, Sir," 
 replied I, " I do consider that ; but I consider also, 
 that the Jews, among whom he lived, did not own him 
 for a prophet, nor believe that that he had such a com- 
 mand from God." "And," added I, "how know we 
 but that this Quaker may be a prophet too, and might 
 be commanded to do as he did, for some reason which 
 we understand not?" 
 
 This put my father to a stand ; so that letting fall 
 his charges against the Quakers, he only said, " I 
 would wish you not to go so soon, but take a little time 
 to consider of it ; you may visit Mr. Penington here- 
 after." " Nay, Sir," replied I, " pray don't hinder my 
 going now, for I have so strong a desire to go, that I 
 do not well know how to forbear." And as I spake 
 those words, I withdrew gently to the chamber door, 
 and then hastening down stairs, went immediately to 
 the stable, where, finding my horse ready bridled, I 
 forthwith mounted, and went off, lest I should receive 
 
 a countermand. 
 4 * 
 
42 THE HISTORY OF THE [1655. 
 
 This discourse with my father had cast me somewhat 
 back in my journey ; and it being fifteen long miles 
 thither, the ways bad, and my nag but small, it was in 
 the afternoon that I got thither. And understanding 
 by the servant who took my horse, that there was then 
 a meeting in the house, (as there was weekly on that 
 day, w T hich was the fourth day of the week, though I 
 till then understood it not) I hastened in ; and know- 
 ing the rooms, went directly to the little parlour, where 
 I found a few friends sitting together in silence ; and I 
 sat down among them well satisfied, though without 
 words. 
 
 When the meeting was ended, and those of the 
 company who were strangers withdrawn, I addressed 
 myself to Isaac Penington and his w T ife, who received 
 me courteously ; but not knowing what exercises I had 
 been in, and yet was under, nor having heard anything 
 of me since I had been there before in another garb, 
 they were not forward at first to lay sudden hands on 
 me, which I observed, and did not dislike. But as they 
 came to see a change in me, not in habit only, but in 
 gesture, speech, and carriage, and which was more, in 
 countenance also, for the exercise I had passed through, 
 and yet was under, had imprinted a visible character 
 of gravity upon my face, they were exceedingly kind 
 and tender towards me. 
 
 There was then in the family a Friend, whose name 
 was Anne Curtis, the wife of Thomas Curtis of Read- 
 ing, who was come upon a visit to them, and particu- 
 larly to see Mary Penington's daughter Guli, who had 
 
 
1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 43 
 
 been ill of the small-pox since I bad been there before. 
 Betwixt Mary Penington and this Friend I observed 
 some private discourse and whisperings, and had an 
 apprehension that it was upon something that concerned 
 me. Therefore I took the freedom to ask Mary Pen- 
 ington if my coming thither had occasioned any incon- 
 venience in the family. She asked me if I had had 
 the small-pox. I told her no. She then told me her 
 daughter had newly had them, and though she was well 
 recovered of them, she had not as yet been down 
 amongst them, but intended to have come down and 
 sat with them in the parlour that evening, yet would 
 rather forbear till another time, than endanger me : and 
 that that was the matter they had been discoursing of. 
 I assured her, that I had always been, and then more 
 especially was, free from any apprehension of danger 
 in that respect, and therefore entreated that her 
 daughter might come down. And although they were 
 somewhat unwilling to yield to it, in regard of me, yet 
 my importunity prevailed, and after supper she did 
 come down and sit with us, and though the marks of 
 the distemper were fresh upon her, yet they made no 
 impression upon me, faith keeping out fear. 
 
 We spent much of the evening in retiredness of 
 mind, our spirits being weightily gathered inward, so 
 that not much discourse passed among us; neither they 
 to me, nor I to them offered any occasion. Yet I had 
 good satisfaction in that stillness, feeling my spirit 
 drawn near to the Lord, and to them therein. 
 
 Before I went to bed, they let me know that there 
 
^4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 was to be a meeting at Wycombe next day. and that 
 some of the family would go to it. I w T as very glad 
 of it, for I greatly desired to go to meetings, and this 
 fell very aptly, it being in my way home. Next morn- 
 ing Isaac Penington himself went, having Anne Curtis 
 with him : and I accompanied them. 
 
 At Wycombe we met with Edward Burrough, who 
 came from Oxford thither, the day that I, going thither, 
 met him on the way; and having both our mountier- 
 caps on, we recollected that we had met, and passed by 
 each other on the road unknown. 
 
 This was a Monthly meeting, consisting of Friends 
 chiefly, who gathered to it from several parts of the 
 country thereabouts, so that it was pretty large, and 
 was held in a fair room in Jeremiah Stevens' house ; 
 the room where I had been at a meeting before in John 
 Raunce's house being too little to receive us. A very 
 good meeting was this in itself and to me. Edward 
 Burrough's ministry came forth among us in life and 
 pow T er, and the assembly was covered therewith. I 
 also, according to my small capacity, had a share 
 therein ; for I felt some of that divine power working 
 my spirit into a great tenderness, and not only con- 
 firming me in the course I had already entered, and 
 strengthening me to go on therein, but also rending the 
 veil somewhat further, and clearing my understanding 
 in some other things which I had not seen before. 
 For the Lord was pleased to make his discoveries to 
 me by degrees, that the sight of too great a work, and 
 too many enemies to encounter at once, might not dis< 
 
J659.j LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 45 
 
 courage me, and make me faint. When the meeting 
 was ended, the Friends of the town, taking notice that 
 I was the man who had been at their meeting the w r eek 
 before, whom they then did not know, some of them 
 came and spake lovingly to me, and would have had 
 me stay with them, but Edward Burrough going home 
 with Isaac Penington, he invited me to go back with 
 him, to which I willingly consented. For the love I 
 had more particularly to Edward Burrough, through 
 whose ministry I had received the first awakening 
 stroke, drew me to desire his company ; and so away 
 we rode together. 
 
 Yet I was somewhat disappointed of my expecta- 
 tion ; for I hoped he would have given me both 
 opportunity and encouragement to have opened myself 
 to him, and to have poured forth my complaints, fears, 
 doubts, and questionings into his bosom. But he, 
 being sensible that I was truly reached, and that the 
 witness of God was raised, and the work of God 
 rightly begun in me, chose to leave me to the guidance 
 of the Good Spirit in myself, the Counsellor that 
 could resolve all doubts, that I might not have anv 
 dependence on man. Wherefore, although he was 
 naturally of an open and free temper and carriage, 
 and was afterwards always very familiar and affection- 
 ately kind to me, yet at this time he kept himself 
 somewhat reserved, and show T ed only common kindness 
 to me. 
 
 Next day we parted, he for London, I home, undei 
 a very great weight and exercise upon my spirit 
 
4Q THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 
 
 For I now saw, in and by the farther openings of 
 the divine Light in me, that the Enemy by his false 
 reasonings had beguiled and misled me, with respect 
 to my carriage towards my father. For I now clearly 
 saw, that the honour due to parents did not consist in 
 uncovering the head, and bowing the body to them, 
 but in a ready obedience to their lawful commands, 
 and in performing all needful services unto them. 
 Wherefore, as I was greatly troubled for what* I 
 already had done in that case, though it was through 
 ignorance, so I plainly felt I could no longer continue 
 therein, without drawing on myself the guilt of wilful 
 disobedience, which I well knew would draw after it 
 divine displeasure and judgment. 
 
 Hereupon the Enemy assaulted me afresh, setting 
 before me the danger I should run myself into of 
 provoking my father to use severity towards me ; and 
 perhaps to casting me utterly off. But over this 
 temptation the Lord, unto whom I cried, supported me, 
 and gave me faith to believe that he would bear me 
 through whatever might befall me on that account. 
 Wherefore I resolved, in the strength which he should 
 give me, to be faithful to his requirings, whatever 
 might come of it. 
 
 Thus labouring under various exercises on the way, 
 [ at length got home, expecting I should have but a 
 rough reception from my father. But when I came 
 home, I understood my father was from home. 
 Wherefore I sat down by the fire in the kitchen, keep- 
 ing my mind retired to the Lord, with breathings of 
 
 
1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 47 
 
 spirit to him, that I might be preserved from falling. 
 After some time I heard the coach drive in, which put 
 me into a little fear ; and a sort of shivering came 
 over me. But by the time he was alighted and come 
 in, I had pretty well recovered myself; and as soon as 
 I saw him, I rose up, and advanced a step or two, with 
 my head covered, and said, " Isaac Penington and his 
 wife remember their loves to thee." 
 
 He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing 
 that I did not stand bare, and that I used the word 
 Thee to him, he, with a stern countenance, and tone 
 that spake high displeasure, only said, " I shall talk 
 with you, Sir, another time;" and so hastening from 
 me, went into the parlour, and I saw him no more that 
 night. 
 
 Though I foresaw there was a storm arising, the 
 apprehension of which was uneasy to me, yet the peace 
 which I felt in my own breast, raised in me a return 
 of thanksgivings to the Lord, for his gracious support- 
 ing hand, which had thus far carried, me through this 
 exercise ; with humble cries in spirit to him, that he 
 would vouchsafe to stand by me in it to the end, and 
 uphold me, that I might not fall. 
 
4£ THE HISTORY OF THE fl659. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1659 — 1660. 
 
 Ill usage from his Father — Walk to Wycombe — Exercising doubts and 
 their removal — His Father's distress at his absence — Returns home — 
 J. Raunce — His Father's violence — Hat honour — Suffering at home 
 
 — Family worship — Visit from I. Penington and wife — Interference 
 on his behalf — Returns home with them — Arrest at Maidenhead — 
 Examination — Release — Preservation from evil — Kindness received 
 
 — Returns home — Mitigation of ill usage — Attendance of meetings 
 
 — Growth in religious experience — "An Alarm to the Priests" — 
 Visit to Gr. Fox the younger, in London — Escapes abuse, by being 
 supposed to be no Quaker — Thomas Loe — Fifth Monarchy Men — 
 The intercepted letter — Arrested and taken from home by a troop of 
 horse — Esquires Clark and Knowles — A prisoner at Oxford — Letters 
 from T. Loe and I. Penington. 
 
 My spirit longed to be among Friends, and to be at 
 some meeting with them on the first day, which now 
 drew on, this being the sixth day night. Wherefore I 
 proposed to go to Oxford on the morrow, which was the 
 seventh day of the week, having heard there was a 
 meeting there. Accordingly, having ordered my horse 
 to be made ready betimes, I got up in the morning, and 
 made myself ready also. Yet, before I would go, that 
 I might be as observant to my father as possibly I 
 could, I desired my sister to go up to him in his 
 chamber, and acquaint him, that I had a mind to go to 
 Oxford, and desired to know if he pleased to command 
 me any service there. He bid her tell me, he would 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 49 
 
 not have me go till he had spoken with me ; and getting 
 up immediately, he hastened down to me before he 
 was quite dressed. 
 
 As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on, his 
 passion transporting him, he fell upon me with both 
 his fists ; and having by that means somewhat vented 
 his anger, he plucked off my hat, and threw it away. 
 Then stepping hastily out to the stable, and seeing my 
 borrowed nag stand ready saddled and bridled, he 
 asked his man whence that horse came ; who telling 
 
 him he fetched it from Mr. . " Then ride him 
 
 presently back," said my father, " and tell Mr. 
 
 I desire he will never lend my son an horse again, 
 unless he brings a note from me." 
 
 The poor fellow, who loved me well, would fain have 
 made excuses and delays ; but my father was positive 
 in his command, and so urgent, that he would not let 
 him stay so much as to take his breakfast, though he 
 had five miles to ride, nor would he himself stir from 
 the stable, till he had seen the man mounted and gone. 
 Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to make 
 himself more fully ready, thinking he had me safe 
 enough now my horse was gone : for I took so much 
 delight in riding, that I seldom went on foot. 
 
 But while he was dressing himself in his chamber, I, 
 who understood what had been done, changing my 
 boots for shoes, took another hat, and acquainting my 
 sister, who loved me very well, and whom I could con- 
 fide in, whither I meant to go, went out privately, and 
 walked away to Wycombe, having seven long miles 
 5 
 
50 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 thither, which yet seemed little and easy to me, from 
 the desire I had to be among Friends. 
 
 As thus I travelled all alone, under a load of grief, 
 from the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I 
 was to expect from my father, the Enemy took advan- 
 tage to assault me again, casting a doubt into my mind, 
 whether I had done well in thus coming away from my 
 father, without his leave or knowledge. 
 
 I was quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this 
 question was darted into me ; but after that, disturb- 
 ance and trouble seized me, so that I was at a stand 
 what to do, whether to go forward or backward. Fear 
 of offending inclined me to go back, but desire of the 
 meeting, and to be with Friends, pressed me to go 
 forward. 
 
 I stood still awhile to consider and weigh the matter 
 as well as I could. I was sensibly satisfied that I had 
 not left my father with any intention of undutifulness 
 or disrespect to him, but merely in obedience to that 
 drawing of spirit, which I was persuaded was of the 
 Lord, to join with his people in worshipping him ; and 
 this made me easy. 
 
 But then the Enemy, to make me uneasy again, 
 objected, But how could that drawing be of the Lord, 
 which drew me to disobey my father ? 
 
 I considered thereupon the extent of paternal power, 
 which I found was not wholly arbitrary and unlimited, 
 but had bounds set unto it. That as in civil matters 
 it was restrained to things lawful, so in spiritual and 
 religious cases it had not a compulsory power over 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 51 
 
 conscience, which ought to be subject to the Heavenly 
 Father. And therefore, though obedience to parents 
 be enjoined to children, yet it is with this limitation, 
 in the Lord : " Children, obey your parents in the 
 Lord; for this is right." (Ephes. vi. 1.) 
 
 This turned the scale for going forward, and so on 
 I went : and yet I was not wholly free from some fluc- 
 tuations of mind, from the besettings of the Enemy ; 
 wherefore, although I knew that outward signs did not 
 properly belong to the gospel dispensation, yet for my 
 better assurance, I did, in fear and great humility, 
 beseech the Lord, that he would be pleased so far to 
 condescend to the weakness of his servant, as to give 
 me a sign, by which I might certainly know whether 
 my way was right before him or not. 
 
 The sign which I asked was, that if I had done wrong 
 in coming as I did, I might be rejected, or but coldly 
 received at the place I was going to; but if this mine 
 undertaking was right in his sight, he would give me 
 favour with them I went to, so that they should receive 
 me with hearty kindness and demonstrations of love. 
 
 Accordingly, when I came to John Raunce's house, 
 which, being so much a stranger to all, I chose to go 
 to, because I understood the meeting was commonly 
 held there, they received me with more than ordinary 
 kindness, especially Frances Raunce, John Raunce's 
 wife, who was both a grave and motherly woman, and 
 had a hearty love for truth, and tenderness towards all 
 that in sincerity sought after it. This kind reception, 
 confirming me in the belief that my undertaking was 
 
52 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 approved by the Lord, gave great satisfaction and ease 
 to my mind ; and I was thankful to the Lord therefor. 
 Thus it fared with me there ; but at home it fared 
 otherwise with my father. He supposing I had betaken 
 myself to my chamber, when he took my hat from me, 
 made no enquiry after me till evening came ; and then 
 sitting by the fire, and considering that the weather 
 was very cold, he said to my sister, w T ho sat by him, 
 " Go up to your brother's chamber, and call him down ; 
 it may be he will sit there else, in a sullen fit, till he 
 has caught cold." "Alas ! Sir," said she, "he is not 
 in his chamber, nor in the house neither." At that my 
 father startling, said, "Why where is he then?" "I 
 know not, Sir," said she, "where he is; but I know 
 that, when he saw you had sent away his horse, he put 
 on shoes, and went out on foot, and I have not seen 
 him since. And indeed, Sir," added she, "I don't 
 wonder at his going away, considering how you used 
 him." This put my father into a great fright, doubt- 
 ing I was gone quite away ; and so great a passion of 
 grief seized on him, that he forbore not to weep, and 
 to cry out aloud, so that the family heard him, '" Oh 
 my son ! I shall never see him more ! for he is of so 
 bold and resolute a spirit, that he will run himself into 
 danger, and so may be thrown into some jail or other, 
 where he may lie, and die before I can hear of him." 
 Then bidding her light him up to his chamber, he went 
 immediately to bed, where he lay restless and groaning, 
 and often bemoaning himself and me, for the greatest 
 part of the night. 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS E^LWOOD. 53 
 
 Next morning my sister sent a man (whom for his 
 love to me she knew she couM trust) to give me this 
 account; and though by him she sent me also fresh 
 linen for my use, in case I should go farther, or stay 
 out longer, yet she desired me to come home as soon as 
 I could. This account was very uneasy to me. I was 
 much grieved that I had occasioned so much grief to 
 my father ; and I would have returned that evening 
 after the meeting, but the Friends would not permit it, 
 for the meeting would in likelihood end late, the days 
 being short, and the way long and dirty. And besides 
 John Raunce told me that he had something on his 
 mind to speak to my father, and that if I would stay 
 till the next day, he would go down with me, hoping, 
 perhaps, that while my father was under this sorrow 
 for me, he might work some good upon him. Here- 
 upon concluding to stay till the morrow, I dismissed 
 the man with the things he brought, bidding him tell 
 my sister, I intended (God willing) to return home to- 
 morrow; and charging him not to let any body else 
 know that he had seen me, or where he had been. 
 
 Next morning John Raunce and I set out ; and when 
 we were come to the end of the town, we agreed that 
 he should go before, and knock at the great gate, and 
 I would come a little after, and go in by the back 
 way. He did so ; and when a servant came to open 
 the gate, he asked if the justice was at home. She 
 told him yes, and desiring him to come in and sit down 
 in the hall, went and acquainted her master that there 
 was one who desired to speak with him. He, supposing 
 5* 
 
54 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 it was one that came for justice, went readily into the 
 hall to him. But he was not a little surprised when he 
 found it was a Quaker. Yet, not knowing on what 
 account he came, he stayed to hear his business. But 
 when he found it was about me, he fell somewhat 
 sharply on him. 
 
 In this time I w T as come by the back way into the 
 kitchen, and hearing my father's voice so loud, I 
 began to doubt things wrought not well ; but I was 
 soon assured of that. For my father having quickly 
 enough of a Quaker's company, left John Raunce in 
 the hall, and came into the kitchen, where he was 
 more surprised to find me. The sight of my hat 
 upon my head made him presently forget that I was 
 that son. of his whom he had so lately lamented as 
 lost ; and his passion of grief turning into anger, he 
 could not contain himself, but running upon me, 
 with both his hands, first violently snatched off my 
 hat, and threw it away ; then giving me some buffets 
 on my head, he said, " Sirrah, get you up to your 
 chamber." I forthwith went; he following me at the 
 heels, and now and then giving me a whirret on the 
 ear, which, the way to my chamber lying through the 
 hall where John Raunce was, he, poor man, might see 
 and be sorry for, (as I doubt not he was) but could not 
 help me. 
 
 This was sure an unaccountable thing, that my 
 father should, but a few days before, express so high 
 a sorrow for me, as fearing he should never see me 
 any more, and yet now, as soon as he saw me, should 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 55 
 
 fly upon me with such violence, and that only because 
 I did not put off my hat, which he knew I did not 
 keep on in disrespect to him, but upon a religious 
 principle. But as this hat-honour, as it was accounted, 
 was grown to be a great idol, in those times more 
 especially, so the Lord was pleased to engage his 
 servants in a steady testimony against it, whatsoever 
 suffering was brought upon them for it. And though 
 some who have been called into the Lord's vineyard at 
 later hours, and since the heat of that day hath been 
 much over, may be apt to account this testimony a 
 small thing to suffer so much upon, as some have done, 
 not only to beating, but to fines and long and hard 
 imprisonments — yet they who in those times were 
 faithfully exercised in and under it, durst not despise 
 the day of small things; as knowing, that he who 
 should do so would not be thought worthy to be con- 
 cerned in higher testimonies. 
 
 I had now lost one of my hats, and I had but one 
 more. That therefore I put on, but did not keep it 
 long ; for the next time my father saw it on my head, 
 he tore it violently from me, and laid it up with the 
 other, I knew not where. Wherefore I put on my 
 mountier-cap, which was all I had left to wear on my 
 head ; and it was but a very little while that I had 
 that to wear, for as soon as my father came where I 
 was, I lost that also. So now I was forced to go bare- 
 headed, wherever I had occasion to go, within doors 
 and without. 
 
 This was in the eleventh month, called January, 
 
gg THE HISTOKY OF THE [1659 
 
 and the weather sharp, so that I, who had been bred 
 up more tenderly, took so great a cold in my head, 
 that my. face and head were much swelled, and my 
 gums had on them boils so sore, that I could neither 
 chew meat, nor without difficulty swallow liquids. It 
 held long, and I underwent much pain, without much 
 pity, except from my poor sister, who did what she 
 could to give me ease; and at length, by frequent 
 applications of figs and stoned raisins toasted, and 
 laid to the boils as hot as I could bear them, they 
 ripened fit for lancing, and soon after sunk. Then I 
 had ease. 
 
 Now was I laid up as a kind of prisoner for the 
 rest of the w T inter, having no means to go forth 
 among Friends, nor they liberty to come to me. 
 Wherefore I spent the time much in my chamber, in 
 waiting on the Lord, and in reading, mostly in the 
 Bible. But whenever I had occasion to speak to my 
 father, though I had no hat now to offend him, yet 
 my language did as much ; for I durst not say You 
 to him, but Thou or Thee, as the occasion required ; 
 and then would he be sure to fall on me with his fists. 
 
 At one of these times, I remember, when he had 
 beaten me in that manner, he commanded me, as he 
 commonly did at such times, to go to my chamber; 
 this I did, and he followed me to the bottom of the 
 stairs. Being come thither, he gave me a parting 
 blow, and in a very angry tone, said, "Sirrah, if ever 
 I hear you say Thou or Thee to me again, I'll strike 
 your teeth down your throat.'' I was greatly grieved 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 57 
 
 to hear him say so; and feeling a word rise in my 
 heart, I turned again, and calmly said unto him, 
 '•Would it not be just, if God should serve thee so, 
 when thou sayest Thou or Thee to him?" Though 
 his hand was up, I saw it sink, and his countenance 
 fall, and he turned away and left me standing there. 
 I notwithstanding went up into my chamber, and cried 
 unto the Lord, earnestly beseeching him, that he would 
 be pleased to open my father's eyes, that he might see 
 whom he fought against, and for what; and that he 
 would turn his heart. 
 
 After this I had a pretty time of rest and quiet 
 from these disturbances, my father not saying any 
 thing to me, nor giving me occasion to say any thing 
 to him. But I was still under a kind of confinement, 
 unless I would have run about the country bare- 
 headed like a madman; which I did not see it was 
 my place to do. For I found that, although to be 
 abroad and at liberty among my friends would have 
 been more pleasant to me, yet home was at present 
 my proper place, a school in which I was to learn with 
 patience to bear the cross, and I willingly submitted 
 to it. 
 
 But after some time a fresh storm, more fierce and 
 sharp than any before, arose and fell upon me ; the 
 occasion whereof was this. My father having been, 
 in his younger years, more especially while he lived in 
 London, a constant hearer of those who are called 
 Puritan preachers, had stored up a pretty stock of 
 scripture knowledge, did sometimes (not constantly, 
 
gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 
 
 nor very often) cause his family to come together on a 
 first-day in the evening, and expound a chapter to 
 them, and pray. His family now, as well as his estate, 
 was lessened ; for my mother was dead, my brother 
 gone, and my elder sister at London; and having put 
 off his husbandry, he had put off with it most of his 
 servants, so that he had now but one man and one 
 maid servant. It so fell out, that on a first-day night 
 he bid my sister, who sat with him in the parlour, call 
 in the servants to prayer. 
 
 Whether this was done as a trial upon me or no, I 
 know not, but a trial it proved to me ; for they loving 
 me very well, and disliking my father's carriage to me, 
 made no haste to go in, but stayed a second summons. 
 This so offended him, that when at length they did go 
 in, he, instead of going to prayer, examined them, why 
 they came not in when they were first called ; and the 
 answer they gave him being such as rather heightened 
 than abated his displeasure, he with an angry tone said, 
 " Call in that fellow," (meaning me, who was left alone 
 in the kitchen) " for he is the cause of all this." They, 
 as they were backward to go in themselves, so were not 
 forward to call me in, fearing the effect of my father's 
 displeasure would fall upon me ; as soon it did, for I 
 hearing what was said, and not staying for the call, 
 went in of myself. And as soon as I was come in, my 
 father discharged his displeasure on me, in very sharp 
 and bitter expressions ; which drew from me, in the 
 grief of my heart to see him so transported with pas- 
 sion, these few words, " They that can pray with such 
 
1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 59 
 
 a spirit, let them ; for my part I cannot." With that 
 my father flew upon me with both his fists, and not 
 thinking that sufficient, stepped hastily to the place 
 where his cane stood, and catching that up, laid on me, 
 I thought, with all his strength. And, being bare- 
 headed, I thought his blows must needs have broken 
 my skull, had I not laid mine arm over my head to 
 defend it. His man seeing this, and not able to con- 
 tain himself, stepped in between us, and laying hold 
 on the cane, by strength of hand held it so fast, that 
 though he attempted not to take it away, yet he with- 
 held my father from striking w T ith it, which did but 
 enrage him the more. I disliked this, in the man, and 
 bid him let go the cane, and be gone, which he imme- 
 diately did, and turning to be gone had a blow on the 
 shoulders for his pains, which yet did not much hurt 
 him. 
 
 But now my sister, fearing lest my father should fall 
 upon me again, besought him to forbear, adding, " In- 
 deed, Sir, if you strike him any more, I will throw 
 open the casement and cry murder, for I am afraid you 
 will kill my brother." This stopped his hand, and 
 after some threatening speeches, he commanded me to 
 to get to my chamber, which I did, as I always did 
 when he bid me. 
 
 Thither soon after my sister followed me, to see my 
 arm and dress it ; for it was indeed very much bruised 
 and swelled between the wrist and the elbow, and in 
 some places the skin was broken and beaten off. But 
 though it was very sore, and I felt for some time much 
 
gO THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 
 
 pain in it, yet I had peace and quietness in my mind, 
 being more grieved for my father than for myself, who 
 I knew had hurt himself more than me. 
 
 This was, so far as I remember, the last time that 
 ever my father called his family to prayer. And this 
 was also the last time that he ever fell, so severely at 
 least, upon me. 
 
 Soon after this my elder sister, who in all the time 
 of these exercises of mine had been in London, re- 
 turned home, much troubled to find me a Quaker, a 
 name of reproach and great contempt then ; and she 
 being in London had received I suppose the worst cha- 
 racter of them. Yet, though she disliked the people, 
 her affectionate regard to me, made her rather pity 
 than despise me ; and the more when she understood 
 what hard usage I had met with. 
 
 The rest of this winter I spent in a lonesome soli- 
 tary life, having none to converse with, none to un- 
 bosom myself unto, none to ask counsel of, none to 
 seek relief from, but the Lord alone, who yet was more 
 than all. And yet the company and society of faith- 
 ful and judicious Friends would, I thought, have been 
 very welcome, as well as helpful to me in my spiritual 
 travel ; in which I thought I made but a slow progress, 
 my soul breathing after further attainments ; the sense 
 of which drew from me the following lines : 
 
 The winter tree resembles me, 
 
 Whose sap lies in its root: 
 The spring draws nigh ; as it, so I 
 
 Shall bud, I hope, and. shoot. 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. gj 
 
 At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Pening- 
 ton and his wife to make a visit to my father, and see 
 how it fared with me ; and very welcome they were to 
 me, whatever they were to him, to whom I doubt not 
 but they would have been more welcome had it not 
 been for me. They tarried with us all night ; and 
 much discourse they had with my father, both about 
 the principles of Truth in general, and me in particu- 
 lar, which I was not privy to. But one thing I remem- 
 ber I afterwards heard of, which was this. 
 
 When my father and we were at their house some 
 months before, Mary Penington, in some discourse 
 between them, had told him how hardly her husband's 
 father (Alderman Penington) had dealt with him about 
 his hat ; which my father, little then thinking that it 
 would, and so soon to, be his own case, did very much 
 censure the Alderman for, wondering that so wise a man 
 as he was should take notice of such a trivial thing as 
 the putting off or keeping on a hat ; and he spared not 
 to bhime him liberally for it. This gave her a handle 
 to take hold of him b} r . And having had an ancient 
 acquaintance with him, and he having always had an 
 high opinion of and respect for her, she, who was a 
 woman of great wisdom, of ready speech, and of a well 
 resolved spirit, did press so close upon him with this 
 home argument, that he was utterly at a loss how to 
 defend himself. 
 
 After dinner next day, when they were ready to take 
 coach to return home, she desired my father that, since 
 my company was so little acceptable to him, he would 
 6 
 
(?2 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660, 
 
 give me leave to go and spend some time with them, 
 where I should be sure to be welcome. He w r as very 
 unwilling I should go, and made many objections 
 against it, all which she answered and removed so 
 clearly, that not finding what excuse further to allege, 
 he at length left it to me, and I soon turned the scale 
 for going. 
 
 We were come to the coach side before this was 
 concluded on, and I was ready to step in, when one of 
 my sisters privately put my father in mind that I had 
 never a hat on. That somewhat startled him, for he 
 did not think it fit I should go from home (and that so 
 far, and to stay abroad) without a hat. Wherefore he 
 whispered to her to fetch me a hat, and he entertained 
 them with some discourse in the mean time. But as 
 soon as he saw the hat coming, he would not stay till 
 it came, lest I should put it on before him ; but break- 
 ing off his discourse abruptly, took his leave of them, 
 and hastened in before the hat was brought to me. 
 
 I had not one penny of money about me, nor indeed 
 elsewhere : for my father, so soon as he saw that I 
 would be a Quaker, took from me both what money I 
 had, and everything else of value, or that would have 
 made money, as some plate buttons, rings, &c, pre- 
 tending that he would keep them for me, till I came to 
 myself again, lest I, in the meantime, should destroy 
 them. But as I had no money, so being among my 
 friends, I had no need of any, nor ever honed after it ; 
 though once upon a particular occasion I had like tc 
 have wanted it : the case was thus. 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. g3 
 
 I had been at Reading, and set out from thence on 
 the first-day of the week in the morning, intending 
 to reach (as, in point of time I well might) to Isaac 
 Penington's, where the meeting was to be that day ; 
 but when I came to Maidenhead, a town on the way, 
 I was stopped by the watch for riding on that day. 
 
 The watchman, laying hold on the bridle, told me 
 I must go with him to the constable : and accord- 
 ingly I, making no resistance, suffered him to lead 
 my horse to the constable's door. When we were 
 come there, the constable told me I must go before 
 the warden, who was the chief officer of that town ; 
 and bid the watchman bring me on, himself walking 
 before. 
 
 Being come to the warden's door, the constable 
 knocked, and desired to speak with Mr. Warden. 
 He thereupon quickly coming to the door, the con- 
 stable said, " Sir, I have brought a man here to you, 
 whom the watch took riding through the town." The 
 warden w T as a budge old man ; and I looked somewhat 
 big too, having a good gelding under me, and a good 
 riding coat on my back, both which my friend Isaac 
 Penington had kindly accommodated me with for that 
 journey. 
 
 The warden, therefore, taking me to be (as the 
 saying is) somebody, put off his hat, and made a low 
 conge to me ; but when he saw that I sat still and 
 neither bowed to him, nor moved my hat, he gave a 
 start, and said to the constable, " You said you had 
 
g4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 brought a man, but he don't behave himself like a 
 man." 
 
 T sat still upon my horse, and said not a word, but 
 kept my mind retired to the Lord, waiting to see what 
 this would come to. 
 
 The warden then began to examine me, asking me 
 whence I came, and whither I was going : I told him 
 I came from Reading, and was going to Chalfont. He 
 asked me why I did travel on that day: I told him I 
 did not know that it would give any offence barely to 
 ride or to walk on that day, so long as I did not carry 
 or drive any carriage, or horses laden with burthens. 
 " Why," said he, " if your business was urgent, did you 
 not take a pass from the mayor of Reading?" 
 u Because," replied I, "I did not know nor think I 
 should have needed one." "Well," said he, " I will 
 not talk with you now, because it is time to go to 
 church, but I will examine you further anon." And 
 turning to the constable, " Have him," said he, "to 
 an inn, and bring him before me after dinner." 
 
 The naming of an inn put me in mind that such 
 public houses were places of expense, and I knew I 
 had no money to defray it ; wherefore I said to the 
 warden, " Before thou sendest me to an inn, which 
 may occasion some expense, I think it needful to 
 acquaint thee that I have no money." 
 
 At that the warden startled again, and turning quick 
 upon me, said, " How, no money! how can that be? 
 You don't look like a man that has no money." 
 ■' However I look," said I, " I tell thee the truth, that, 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 65 
 
 I have no money; and I tell it to forewarn thee, that 
 thou mayest not bring any charge upon the town." " I 
 wonder," said he, "what art you have got, that you can 
 travel without money ; you can do more, I assure you, 
 than I can." 
 
 I making no answer, he went on and said, "Well, 
 well, but if you have no money, you have a good 
 horse under you, and we can distrain him for the 
 charge." "But," said I, "the horse is not mine." 
 "No!" said he, "but you have a good coat on your 
 back, and that, I hope, is your own." "No," said I, 
 " but it is not, for I borrowed both the horse and the 
 coat." 
 
 With that the warden, holding up his hands, and 
 smiling, said, "Bless me! I never met with such a 
 man as you are before ! What, were you set out by 
 the parish?" Then turning to the constable, he said, 
 " Have him to the Greyhound, and bid the people be 
 civil to him." Accordingly to the Greyhound I was 
 led, my horse set up, and I put into a large room, and 
 some account, I suppose, given of me to the people of 
 the house. 
 
 This was new work to me, and what the issue of it 
 would be, I could not foresee ; but being left there 
 alone, I sat down, and retired in spirit to the Lord, 
 in whom alone my strength and safety was, and begged 
 support of him; even that he would be pleased to 
 give me wisdom and words to answer the warden, when 
 I should come to be examined again before him. After 
 some time, having pen, ink, and paper about me, I set 
 6* 
 
(J6 THE HISTORY OFT HE 1660.] 
 
 myself to write what I thought might be proper, if 
 occasion served, to give the warden ; and while I was 
 writing, the master of the house being come home from 
 his worship, sent the tapster to me, to invite me to 
 dine with him. I bid him tell his master, that I had 
 not any money to pay for my dinner. He sent his 
 man again to tell me, I should be welcome to dine with 
 him, though I had no money. I desired him to tell 
 his master that I was sensible of his civility and kind- 
 ness, in so courteously inviting me to his table, but I 
 had not freedom to eat of his meat unless I could have 
 paid for it. So he went on with his dinner, and I with 
 my writing. 
 
 But before I had finished what was on my mind to 
 write, the constable came again, bringing with him his 
 fellow constable. This was a brisk, genteel young man, 
 a shopkeeper in the town, whose name was Cherry. 
 They saluted me very civilly, and told me they were 
 come to have me before the warden. This put an end 
 to my writing, which I put into my pocket, and went 
 along with them. 
 
 Being come to the warden, he asked me again the 
 same questions he had asked me before ; to which I 
 gave him the like answers. Then he told me the 
 penalty I had incurred, which he said was either to 
 pay so much money, or lie so many hours in the stocks ; 
 and asked me which I would choose. I replied, " I 
 shall not choose either.'' u And," said I, "I have 
 told thee already that I have no money ; though if I 
 had, I could not so far acknowledge myself an offender 
 
•1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. g7 
 
 as to pay any. But as to lying in the stocks, I am in 
 thy power, to do unto me what it shall please the Lord 
 to suffer thee." 
 
 When he heard that, he paused awhile, and then told 
 me, he considered that I was but a young man, and 
 might not perhaps understand the danger I had brought 
 myself into, and therefore he would not use the severity 
 of the law upon me ; but in hopes that I would be 
 wiser hereafter, he would pass by this offence, and 
 discharge me. 
 
 Then putting on a countenance of the greatest 
 gravity, he said to me, " But, young man, I would 
 have you know, that you have not only broken the 
 law of the land, but the law of God also ; and there- 
 fore you ought to ask him forgiveness, for you have 
 highly offended him." "That," said I, "I would 
 most willingly do, if I were sensible that, in this case, 
 I had offended him by breaking any law of his." 
 "Why," said he, "do you question that?" "Yes, 
 truly," said I, "for I do not know that any law of 
 God doth forbid me to ride on this day." "No!" 
 said he, " that's strange ! Where, I wonder, were you 
 bred? You can read, can't you?" "Yes," said 1, 
 "that I can." "Don't you read then," said he, "the 
 commandment, 'Remember the Sabbath day to keep 
 it holy; six days shalt thou labour and do all thy 
 work ; but the seventh-day is the Sabbath of the 
 Lord; in it thou shalt not do any work.'" "Yes," 
 replied I, "I have both read it often, and remember 
 it very well. But that command was given to the 
 
gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 
 
 Jews, not to Christians; and this is not that day, 
 for that was the seventh-day, but this is the first." 
 "How!" said he, "do you know the days of the 
 week no better? You had need then be better taught." 
 
 Here the younger constable, whose name was 
 Cherry, interposing, said, " Mr. Warden, the gentle- 
 man is in the right as to that, for this is the first-day 
 of the week, and not the seventh." 
 
 This the old warden took in dudgeon ; and looking 
 severely on -the constable, said, "What, do you take 
 upon you to teach me ? I'll have you know I will not 
 be taught by you." "As you please for that, Sir," said 
 the constable, " but I am sure you are mistaken in this 
 point ; for Saturday, I know, is the seventh-day, and 
 you know yesterday was Saturday." 
 
 This made the warden hot and testy, and put him 
 almost out of all patience, so that I feared it would 
 have come to downright quarrel betwixt them, for both 
 were confident, and neither would yield. And so ear- 
 nestly were they engaged in the contest, that there was 
 no room for me to put in a word between them. 
 
 At length the old man, having talked himself out of 
 wind, stood still awhile as it were to take breath, and 
 then, bethinking himself of me, he turned to me, and 
 said, "You are discharged, and may take your liberty 
 to "go about your occasions." " But," said I, " I desire 
 my horse may be discharged too, else I know not how 
 to go." "Ay, ay," said he, "you shall have your 
 horse." And turning to the other constable, who had 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 69 
 
 not offended him, he said, " Go see that his horse be 
 delivered to him." 
 
 Away thereupon went I with that constable, leaving 
 the old warden and the young constable to compose 
 their difference as they could. Being come to the inn, 
 the constable called for my horse to be brought out. 
 Which done, I immediately mounted, and began to set 
 forward. But the hostler, not knowing the condition 
 of my pocket, said modestly to me, " Sir, don't you 
 forget to pay for your horse's standing ?" " No truly," 
 said I, " I don't forget it, but I have no money to pay 
 it with, and so I told the warden before." " Well, hold 
 you your tongue," said the constable to the hostler, 
 " I'll see you paid." Then opening the gate they let 
 me out, the constable wishing me a good journey ; and 
 through the town I rode without further molestation, 
 though it was as much Sabbath, I thought, when I went 
 out, as it was when I came in. 
 
 A secret joy arose in me as I rode on the way, for 
 that I had been preserved from doing or saying any 
 thing which might give the adversaries of Truth ad- 
 vantage against it, or the friends of it ; and praises 
 sprang in my thankful heart to the Lord, my pre- 
 server. 
 
 It added also not a little to my joy, that I felt the 
 Lord near to me, by his witness in my heart, to check 
 and w T arn me; and my spirit was so far subjected to 
 him, as readily to take warning, and stop at his check; 
 an instance of both, that very morning, I had. For 
 ae I rode between Reading and Maidenhead, I saw 
 
70 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 
 
 lying in my way the scabbard of an hanger, which, 
 having lost its hook, had slipped off, I suppose, and 
 dropped from the side of the wearer ; and it had in it 
 a pair of knives, whose hafts being inlaid witji silver, 
 seemed to be of some value. I alighted and took it 
 up, and clapping it between my thigh and the saddle, 
 rode on a little way ; but I quickly found it too heavy 
 for me, and the reprover in me soon began to check. 
 The word arose in me, "What hast thou to do with 
 that? Doth it belong to thee?" I felt I had done 
 amiss in taking it ; wherefore I turned back to the place 
 where it lay, and laid it down where I found it. And 
 when afterwards I was stopped and seized on at Maiden- 
 head, I saw there was a Providence in not bringing it 
 with me ; which, if it should have been found (as it 
 needs must) under my coat when I came to be un- 
 horsed, might have raised some evil suspicion or sinis- 
 ter thoughts concerning me. 
 
 The stop I met with at Maidenhead had spent me 
 so much time, that when I came to Isaac Penington's, 
 the meeting there was half over, which gave them 
 occasion, after meeting, to inquire of me if anything 
 had befallen me on the way, which had caused me to 
 come so late ; whereupon I related to them what exer- 
 cise I had met with, and how the Lord had helped me 
 through it ; which when they had heard, they rejoiced 
 with me, and for my sake. 
 
 Great was the love and manifold the kindness which 
 I received from these my worthy friends Isaac and 
 Mary Penington, while I abode in their family. They 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 71 
 
 were indeed as affectionate parents and tender nurses 
 to me, in this time of my religious childhood. For 
 besides their weighty and seasonable counsels, and ex- 
 emplary conversations, they furnished me with means 
 to go to the other meetings of Friends in that country, 
 when the meeting was not in their own house. And 
 indeed, the time I stayed with them was so well spent, 
 that it not only yielded great satisfaction to my mind, 
 but turned, in good measure, to my spiritual advantage 
 in the Truth. 
 
 But that I might not, on the one hand, bear too 
 hard upon my friends, nor on the other hand forget the 
 house of thraldom, after I had stayed with them some 
 six or seven weeks, from the time called Easter to the 
 time called Whitsuntide, I took my leave of them to 
 depart home, intending to walk to Wycombe in one day, 
 and from thence home in another. 
 
 That day w T hen I came home I did not see my father, 
 nor until noon the next day, when I went into the par- 
 lour where he was, to take my usual place at dinner. 
 When I came in, I observed, by my father's counte- 
 nance, that my hat w T as still an offence to him ; but 
 when I had sat down, and before I had eaten anything, 
 he made me understand it more fully, by saying to me, 
 but in a milder tone than he had formerly used to speak 
 to me in, " If you cannot content yourself to come to 
 dinner without your hive on your head, (so he called 
 my hat) pray rise, and go take your dinner somewhere 
 else." 
 
 Upon those words I rose from the table, and leaving 
 
70 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 the room went into the kitchen, where I stayed till the 
 Servants went to dinner, and then sat down very con- 
 tentedly with them. Yet I suppose my father might 
 intend that I should have gone into some other room, 
 and there have eaten by myself. But I chose rather 
 to eat with the servants ; and did so from thence- 
 forward, so long as he and I lived together. And from 
 that time he rather chose, as I thought, to avoid seeing 
 me, than to renew the quarrel about my hat. 
 
 My sisters meanwhile, observing my wariness in 
 words and behaviour, and being satisfied, I suppose, 
 that I acted upon a principle of religion and conscience, 
 carried themselves very kindly to me, and did what 
 they could to mitigate my father's displeasure against 
 me. So that I now enjoyed much more quiet at home, 
 and took more liberty to go abroad amongst my friends, 
 than I had done or could do before. And having in- 
 formed myself where any meetings of Friends were 
 holden, within a reasonable distance from me, I resorted 
 to them. 
 
 At first I went to a town called Hoddenham, in 
 Buckinghamshire, five miles from my father's, where 
 at the house of one Belson, a few who were called 
 Quakers did meet sometimes, on a first-day of the 
 week ; but I found little satisfaction there. After- 
 wards, upon further inquiry, I understood there was a 
 settled meeting at a little village called Meadle, about 
 four long miles from me, in the house of one John 
 White, which is continued there still; and to that 
 thenceforward I constantly went while I abode in that 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 73 
 
 country, and was able. Many a sore day's travel have 
 I had thither and back again, being commonly in the 
 winter time (how fair soever the weather was over head) 
 wet up to the ankles at least ; yet, through the good- 
 ness of the Lord to me, I was preserved in health. 
 
 A little meeting also there was on the fourth-day of 
 the week at a town called Bledlow, two miles from me, 
 in the house of one Thomas Saunders, who professed 
 the truth ; but his wife, whose name was Damaris, did 
 possess it, she being a woman of great sincerity and 
 lively sense ; and to that meeting also I usually went. 
 
 But though I took this liberty for the service of God, 
 that I might worship him in the assemblies of his people, 
 yet did I not use it upon other occasions, but spent my 
 time on other days for the most part in my chamber, 
 in retiredness of mind, waiting on the Lord. And the 
 Lord was graciously pleased to visit me by his quick- 
 ening spirit and life ; so that I came to feel the opera- 
 tion of his power in my heart, working out that which 
 was contrary to his will, and giving me, in measure, 
 dominion over it. 
 
 And as my spirit was kept in a due subjection to this 
 divine power, I grew into a nearer acquaintance with 
 the Lord ; and the Lord vouchsafed to speak unto me 
 in the inward of my soul, and to open my understand- 
 ing in his fear, to receive counsel from him ; so that I 
 not only at some times heard his voice, but could dis- 
 tinguish his voice from the voice of the enemy. As 
 thus I daily waited on the Lord, a weighty and un- 
 usual exercise came upon me, which bowed my spirit 
 7 
 
74 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 very low before the Lord. I had seen, in the Light 
 of the Lord, the horrible guilt of those deceitful priests, 
 of divers sorts and denominations, who made a trade 
 of preaching, and for filthy lucre's sake held the people 
 always learning ; yet so taught them, as that, by their 
 teaching and ministry, they were never able to come to 
 the knowledge (much less to the acknowledgment) of 
 the Truth : for as they themselves hated the Light, 
 because their own deeds w T ere evil, so by reviling, re- 
 proaching, and blaspheming the true Light, wherewith 
 every man that cometh into the world is enlightened, 
 (John i. ix.) they begat in the people a disesteem of 
 the Light ; and laboured, as much as in them lay, to 
 keep their hearers in darkness, that they might not be 
 turned to the Light in themselves, lest by the Light 
 they should discover the wickedness of these their de- 
 ceitful teachers, and turn from them. 
 
 Against this practice of these false teachers, the zeal 
 of the Lord had flamed in my breast, for some time ; 
 and now the burthen of the word of the Lord against 
 them fell heavy upon me, with command to proclaim 
 his controversy against them. 
 
 Fain would I have been excused from this service, 
 which I judged too heavy for me ; wherefore I besought 
 the Lord to take this weight from off me, who was in every 
 respect but young, and lay it upon some other of his 
 servants, of whom he had many, w T ho were much more 
 able and fit for it. But the Lord would not be en- 
 treated, but continued the burden upon me with greater 
 weight ; requiring obedience from me, and promising 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 75 
 
 to assist me therein. Whereupon I arose from my bed ; 
 and, in the fear and dread of the Lord, committed to 
 writing what he, in the motion of his Divine Spirit, 
 dictated to me to write. When I had done it, though 
 the sharpness of the message therein delivered was 
 hard to my nature to be the publisher of, yet I found 
 acceptance with the Lord in my obedience to his will, 
 and his peace filled my heart. As soon as I could, I 
 communicated to my friends what I had written ; and 
 it was printed in the year 1660, in one sheet of paper, 
 under the title of " An Alarm to the Priests ; or, A 
 Message from Heaven to forewarn them, &c." 
 
 Some time after the publishing of this paper, having 
 occasion to go to London, I went to visit George Fox 
 the younger, who, with another Friend, was then a 
 prisoner in a messenger's hands. I had never seen him, 
 nor he me before ; yet this paper lying on the table 
 before him, he pointing to it, asked me if I was the 
 person that writ it. I told him I was. " It's much," 
 said the other Friend, "that they bear it." "It is," 
 replied he, "their portion, and they must bear it." 
 
 While I was then in London, I went to a little meet- 
 ing of Friends, which was then held in the house of 
 one Humphrey Bache, a goldsmith, at the sign of the 
 Snail, in Tower-street. It was then a very trouble- 
 some time, not from the government, but from the 
 rabble of boys and rude people, who, upon the turn of 
 the times at the return of the king, took liberty to be 
 very abusive. 
 
 W'hen the meeting ended, a pretty number of these 
 
76 THE HISTORY OP THE [1,(560. 
 
 unruly folk were got together at the door, ready to 
 receive the Friends as they came forth, not only with 
 evil words, but with blows ; which I saw they bestowed 
 freely on some of them that were gone out before me, 
 and expected I should have my share of when I came 
 amongst them. But quite contrary to my expectation, 
 when I came out, they said one to another, "Let him 
 alone ; don't meddle with him ; he is no Quaker, I'll 
 warrant you." This struck me, and was worse to me 
 than if they had laid their fists on me, as they did on 
 others. I was troubled to think what the matter was, 
 or what these rude people saw r in me, that made them 
 not take me for a Quaker. And upon a close exami- 
 nation of myself with respect to my habit and deport- 
 ment, I could not find anything to place it on, but that 
 I had then on my head a large mountier-cap of black 
 velvet, the skirt of which being turned up in folds, 
 looked, it seems, somewhat above the then common 
 garb of a Quaker ; and this put me out of conceit with 
 my cap. 
 
 I came at this time to London from Isaac Pening- 
 ton's, and thither I went again in my way home ; and 
 while I stayed there, amongst some other Friends who 
 came thither, Thomas Loe of Oxford was one. A 
 faithful and diligent labourer he was in the work of the 
 Lord; and an excellent ministerial gift he had. And 
 in my zeal for Truth, being very desirous that my 
 neighbours might have the opportunity of hearing the 
 Gospel, the glad tidings of salvation, livingly and 
 powerfully preached among them, I entered into com- 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 77 
 
 munication with him about it ; offering to procure some 
 convenient place in the town where I lived, for a meet- 
 ing to be held, and to invite my neighbours to it, if he 
 could give me any ground to expect his company at it. 
 He told me he was not at his own command, but at the 
 Lord's, and he knew not how he might dispose of him ; 
 but wished me, if I found when I was come home, that 
 the thing continued with weight upon my mind, and 
 that I could get a fit place for a meeting, I would ad- 
 vertise him of it, by a .few lines, directed to him in 
 Oxford, whither he was then going; and he might then 
 let me know how his freedom stood in that matter. 
 
 When therefore I was come home, and had treated 
 with a neighbour for a place to have a meeting in, I 
 wrote to my friend Thomas Loe, to acquaint him that 
 I had procured a place for a meeting, and would invite 
 company to it, if he would fix the time, and give me 
 some ground to hope that he would be at it. This 
 letter I sent by a neighbour to Thame, to be given to a 
 dyer of Oxford, who constantly kept Thame market, 
 with whom I was pretty well acquainted, having some- 
 times formerly used him, not only in his way of trade, 
 but to carry letters between my brother and me, when 
 he was a student in that University. For this service 
 he was always paid, and had been so careful in the 
 delivery, that our letters had always gone safe until 
 now. But this time Providence so ordering, or at 
 least for my trial permitting it, this letter of mine, in- 
 stead of being delivered according to its direction, was 
 seized and carried, as I was told, to the Lord Faulk- 
 7* 
 
yg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 land, who was then called Lord Lieutenant of that 
 county. 
 
 The occasion of this stopping of letters at that time, 
 was that mad prank of those infatuated Fifth-monarchy 
 Men, who from their meeting-house in Coleman-street, 
 London, breaking forth in arms, under the command 
 of their chieftain Venner, made an insurrection in the 
 city, on pretence of setting up the kingdom of Jesus ; 
 who, it is said, they expected would come down from 
 heaven to be their leader. So little understood they 
 the nature of his kingdom ; though he himself had 
 declared it was not of this world. 
 
 The king, a little before his arrival in England, had, 
 by his declaration from Breda, given assurance of 
 liberty to tender consciences ; and that no man should 
 be disquieted, or called in question for difference of 
 opinion in matters of religion, who did not disturb the 
 peace of the kingdom. Upon this assurance dissenters 
 of all sorts relied, and held themselves secure. But 
 now, by this frantic action of a few hot-brained men, 
 the king was, by some, holden discharged from his 
 royal w T ord and promise, in his foregoing declaration 
 publicly given. Hereupon, letters were intercepted 
 and broken open, for discovery of suspected plots 
 and designs against the government ; and not only 
 dissenters' meetings of all sorts, without distinction, 
 were disturbed, but very many were imprisoned in 
 most parts throughout the nation ; and great search 
 there was, in all counties, for suspected persons, who, 
 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 79 
 
 if mt found at meetings, were fetched in from their 
 own houses. 
 
 The Lord Lieutenant (so called) of Oxfordshire, 
 had, on this occasion, taken Thomas Loe and many 
 other of our Friends at a meeting, and sent them 
 prisoners to Oxford Castle, just before my letter was 
 brought to his hand, wherein I had invited Thomas 
 Loe to a meeting ; and he, putting the worst con- 
 struction upon it, as if I (a poor simple lad) had 
 intended a seditious me-eting, in order to raise rebellion, 
 ordered two of the Deputy Lieutenants, who lived 
 nearest to me, to send a party of horse to fetch me in. 
 
 Accordingly, while I, wholly ignorant of what had 
 passed at Oxford, was in daily expectation of an 
 agreeable answer to my letter, came a party of horse 
 one morning to my father's gate, and asked for me. 
 
 It so fell out, that my father was at that time from 
 home, I think in London ; whereupon he that com- 
 manded the party alighted, and came in. My eldest 
 sister, hearing the noise of soldiers, came hastily up 
 into my chamber, and told me there were soldiers 
 below, who inquired for me. I forthwith went down 
 to them, and found the commander was a barber of 
 Thame, and one who had always been my barber till 
 I was a Quaker. His name was Whatley, a bold brisk 
 fellow. I asked him what his business was with me : 
 he told me I must go with him. I demanded to see 
 his warrant : he laid his hand on his sword, and said 
 that was his warrant. I told him, though that was 
 not a legal warrant, yet I would not dispute it, but 
 
g0 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 was ready to bear injuries. He told me he could not 
 help it, as he was commanded to bring me forthwith 
 before the Deputy Lieutenants ; and therefore desired 
 me to order an horse to be got ready, because he was 
 in haste. I let him know I had no horse of my own, 
 and would not meddle with any of my father's horses, 
 in his absence especially; and that therefore, if he 
 would have me with him, he must carry me as he 
 could. 
 
 He thereupon taking my sister aside, told her he 
 found I was resolute, and his orders were peremptory ; 
 wherefore he desired that she would give order for an 
 horse to be made ready for me, for otherwise he should 
 be forced to mount me behind a trooper, which would 
 be very unsuitable .for me, and which he was very 
 unwilling to do. She thereupon ordered a horse to be 
 got ready, upon which, when I had taken leave of my 
 sisters, I mounted, and went off, not knowing whither 
 he intended to carry me. 
 
 He had orders, it seems, to take some others also 
 in a neighbouring village, whose names he had, but 
 their houses he did not know. Wherefore, as we 
 rode, he asked me if I knew such and such men, 
 (whom he named) and where they lived ; and when he 
 understood that I knew them, he desired me to show 
 him their houses. "No," said I, "I scorn to be an 
 informer against my neighbours, to bring them into 
 trouble." He thereupon riding to and fro, found by 
 inquiry most of their houses, but, as it happened, found 
 none of them at home, at which I was glad. 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 81 
 
 At length he brought me to the house of one called 
 Esquire Clark, of Weston by Thame, who, being after- 
 wards knighted, was called Sir John Clark; a jolly- 
 man, too much addicted to drinking in soberer times, 
 but was now grown more licentious that way, as the 
 times did now more favour debauchery. He and I 
 had known one another for some years, though not 
 very intimately, having met sometimes at the Lord 
 Wenman's table. This Clark w T as one of the Deputy 
 Lieutenants, before whom I was to be brought ; and 
 he had got another to join with him in tendering me 
 the oaths, whom I knew only by name and character ; 
 he was called Esquire Knowls, of Grays, by Henley, 
 and reputed a man of better morals than the other. 
 
 I was brought into the hall, and kept there ; and as 
 Quakers were not so common then as they now are, 
 (and indeed even yet, the more is the pity, they are 
 not common in that part of the country,) I was made 
 a spectacle and gazing-stock to the family, and by 
 divers I was diversely set upon. Some spake to me 
 courteously, with appearance of compassion ; others 
 ruggedly, with evident tokens of wrath and scorn. 
 But though I gave them the hearing of what they 
 said, which I could not well avoid, yet I said little to 
 them ; but keeping my mind as well retired as I could, 
 I breathed to the Lord for help and strength from him, 
 to bear me up and carry me through this trial, that I 
 might not sink under it, or be prevailed on by any 
 means, fair or foul, to do anything that might dishonour 
 or displease my God. 
 
52 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 At length came forth the justices themselves, (for 
 so they were, as well as Lieutenants,) and after they 
 had saluted me, they discoursed with me pretty 
 familiarly ; and though Clark would sometimes be a 
 little jocular and waggish, w T hich was somewhat natural 
 to him, Knowls treated me very civilly, not seeming to 
 take any offence at my not standing bare before him. 
 And when a young priest, who, as I understood, was 
 chaplain in the family, took upon him pragmatically 
 to reprove me for standing with my hat on before the 
 magistrates, and snatched my cap from off my head, 
 Knowls, in a pleasant manner, corrected him, telling 
 him he mistook himself in taking a cap for a hat, for 
 mine was a mountier-cap, and bid him give it me again ; 
 which he (though unwillingly) doing, I forthwith put 
 it on my head again, and thenceforward none meddled 
 with me about it. 
 
 Then they began to examine me, putting divers 
 questions to me, relating to the present disturbances in 
 the nation, occasioned by the late foolish insurrection 
 of those frantic Fifth-monarchy Men. To all which 
 I readily answered, according to the simplicity of my 
 heart and innocency of my hands ; for I had neither 
 done nor thought any evil against the government. 
 
 But they endeavoured to affright me with threats of 
 danger, telling me, with inuendoes, that for all my 
 pretence of innocency, there was high matter against 
 me, which, if I w^ould stand out, w T ould be brought 
 forth, and that under my own hand. I knew not what 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 83 
 
 they meant by this; but I knew my innocency, and 
 kept to it. 
 
 At length, when they saw I regarded not their 
 threats in general, they asked me, if I knew one Thomas 
 Loe, and had written of late to him. I then remem- 
 bered my letter, which till then I had not thought of; 
 and thereupon frankly told them, that I did both know 
 Thomas Loe, and had lately written to him ; but that 
 as I knew I had written no hurt, so I did not fear any 
 danger from that letter. They shook their heads, and 
 said, it was dangerous to write letters to appoint meet- 
 ings in such troublesome times. They added, that by 
 appointing a meeting, and endeavouring to gather a 
 concourse of people together, in such a juncture espe- 
 cially as this was, I had rendered myself a dangerous 
 person. And therefore they could do no less than 
 tender me the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, 
 which therefore they required me to take. 
 
 I told them, if I could take any oath at all, I would 
 take the oath of allegiance, for I owed allegiance to 
 the king. But I durst not take any oath, because my 
 Lord and Master Jesus Christ had commanded me not 
 to swear at all ; and if I brake his command, I should 
 thereby both dishonour and displease him. 
 
 Hereupon they undertook to reason with me, and 
 used many words to persuade me, that that command 
 of Christ related only to common and profane swear- 
 ing, not to swearing before a magistrate. I heard 
 them, and saw the weakness of their arguings, but did 
 not return them any answer; for I found my present 
 
84 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 business was not to dispute, but to suffer, and that it 
 was not safe for me, in this my weak and childish state 
 especially, to enter into reasonings with sharp, quick, 
 witty, and learned men, lest I might thereby hurt both 
 the cause of Truth, which I was to bear witness to, and 
 myself. Therefore I chose rather to be a fool, and let 
 them triumph over me, than by my weakness give them 
 advantage to triumph over the Truth. And my spirit 
 being closely exercised in a deep travail towards the 
 Lord, I earnestly begged of him, that he would be 
 pleased to keep me faithful to the testimony he had 
 committed to me, and not suffer me to be taken in any 
 of the snares which the enemy laid for me. And, 
 blessed be his holy name, he heard my cries, and pre- 
 served me out of them. 
 
 When the justices saw they could not bow me to their 
 wills, they told me they must send me to prison. I 
 told them I was contented to suffer whatsoever the 
 Lord should permit them to inflict upon me. Where- 
 upon they withdrew into the parlour, to consult toge- 
 ther what to do with me, leaving me meanwhile to be 
 gazed on in the hall. After a pretty long stay, they 
 came forth to me again with great show of kindness, 
 telling me they were very unwilling to send me to jail, 
 but would be as favourable to me as possibly they 
 could ; and that if I would take the oaths, they would 
 pass by all the other matter which they had against 
 me. I told them I knew they could not justly have 
 anything against me, for I had neither done nor in- 
 tended anything against the government, or against 
 
L660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 85 
 
 them. And as to the oaths, I assured them, that my 
 refusing them was merely a matter of conscience to 
 me, and that I durst not take any oath whatsoever, if 
 it were to save my life. 
 
 When they heard this, they left me again, and went 
 and signed a mittimus to send me to prison at Oxford, 
 and charged one of the troopers that brought me 
 thither, who was one of the newly raised militia troop, 
 to convey me safe to Oxford. But before we departed, 
 they called the trooper aside, and give him private in- 
 structions what he should do with me ; which I knew 
 nothing of till I came thither, but expected I should 
 go directly to the Castle. 
 
 It was almost dark when we took horse, and we had 
 about nine miles to ride, the weather thick and cold, 
 for it was about the beginning of the twelfth month, 
 and I had no boots, being snatched away from home 
 on a sudden ; which made me not care to ride very fast. 
 And my guard, who was a tradesman in Thame, having 
 confidence in me that I would not give him the slip, 
 jogged on without heeding how I followed him. When 
 I was gone about a mile on the way, I overtook my 
 father's man, who, without my knowledge, had followed 
 me at a distance to Weston, and waited there abroad 
 in the stables, till he understood by some of the ser- 
 vants that I was to go to Oxford ; and then ran before, 
 resolving not to leave me till he saw what they would 
 do with me. 
 
 I would have had him return home, but he desired 
 me not to send him back, but let him run on till I came 
 
 • 8 
 
gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 to Oxford. I considered that this was a token of the 
 fellow's affectionate kindness to me, and that possibly 
 I might send my horse home by him ; and thereupon 
 stopping my horse, I bid him, if he would go on, get 
 up behind me. He modestly refused, telling me he 
 could run as fast as I rode. But when I told him, if 
 he would not ride he should not go forward, rather 
 than leave me, he leaped up behind me, and on we 
 went. But he was not willing I should have gone at 
 all. He had a great cudgel in his hand, and a strong 
 arm to use it ; and being a stout fellow, he had a great 
 mind to fight the trooper, and rescue me. Wherefore 
 he desired me to turn my horse and ride off, and if the 
 trooper offered to pursue, leave him to deal with him. 
 I checked him sharply for that, and charged him to be 
 quiet, and not think hardly of the poor trooper, who 
 could do no other nor less than he did ; and who, 
 though he had an ill journey in going with me, carried 
 himself civilly to me. I told him also, that I had no 
 need to fly, for I had done nothing that w r ould bring 
 guilt or fear upon me ; neither did I go .with an ill will; 
 and this quieted the man. So on we went ; but were 
 so far cast behind the trooper, that we had lost both 
 sight and hearing of him, and I was fain to mend my 
 pace to get up to him again. 
 
 We came pretty late into Oxford, on the seventh 
 day of the week, which was the market day ; and, 
 contrary to my expectation, which was to have been 
 carried to the Castle, my trooper stopped in the High- 
 street, and calling at a shop, asked for the master of 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 87 
 
 the hoi: ; who coming to the door, he delivered to 
 him the mittimus, and with it a letter from the 
 Deputy Lieutenants, or one of them ; which, when he 
 had read, he asked where the prisoner was. Where- 
 upon, the soldier pointing to me, he desired me to 
 alight and come in; which, when I did, he received me 
 civilly. 
 
 The trooper, being discharged of his prisoner, 
 marched back, and my father's man, seeing me settled 
 in better quarters than he expected, mounted my horse, 
 and went off with him. 
 
 I did not presently understand the quality of my 
 keeper, but I found him a genteel, courteous man, by 
 trade a linen-draper ; and, as I afterwards understood, 
 he was the city-marshal, had a command in the county 
 troop, and was a person of good repute in the place ; 
 his name was Galloway. 
 
 Whether I was committed to him out of regard to 
 my father, that I might not be thrust into a common 
 jail, or out of a politic design, to keep me from the 
 conversation of my friends, in hopes that I might be 
 drawn to abandon this profession, which I had but 
 lately taken up, I do not know. But this I know, 
 that though I wanted no civil treatment, nor kind 
 accommodations where I was, yet after once I under- 
 stood that many Friends were prisoners in the Castle, 
 and amongst the rest Thomas Loe, I had much rather 
 have been among them there, with all the incon- 
 ^enie-pei'r 'b?y underwent, than where I was with the 
 
gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 best entertainment. But this was my present lot, and 
 therefore with this I endeavoured to be content. 
 
 It was quickly known in the city, that a Quaker was 
 brought in prisoner, and committed to the Marshal. 
 Whereupon, the men Friends generally being prisoners 
 already in the Castle, some of the women Friends 
 came to inquire after me, and to visit me ; as Silas 
 Norton's wife, and Thomas Loe's wife, who were 
 sisters, and another woman Friend, who lived in the 
 same street where I was, whose husband was not a 
 Quaker, but kindly affected towards them, a baker by 
 trade, and his name, as I remember, Ryland. 
 
 By some of these an account was soon given to the 
 Friends who were prisoners in the Castle, of my being 
 taken up, and brought prisoner to the Marshal's. 
 Whereupon it pleased the Lord to move the heart of 
 my dear friend Thomas Loe, to salute me with a very 
 tender and affectionate letter, in the following terms : — 
 
 "My beloved Friend, 
 
 " In the truth and love of the Lord Jesus, 
 by which life and salvation is revealed in the saints, is 
 my dear love unto thee ; and in much tenderness do I 
 salute thee. And, dear heart, a time of trial God 
 hath permitted to come upon us, to try our faith and 
 love to him ; and this will work for the good of them, 
 that through patience endure to the end. And I 
 believe God will be glorified through our sufferings, 
 and his name will be exalted in the patience and long 
 suffering of his chosen. When I heard that thou wast 
 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 89 
 
 called into this trial, with the servants of the Most 
 High, to give thy testimony to the truth of what we 
 have believed, it came into my heart to write unto 
 thee, and to greet thee with the embraces of the 
 power of an endless life; where our faith stands, and 
 unity is felt with the saints for ever. Well, my dear 
 friend, let us live in the pure counsel of the Lord, 
 and dwell in his strength, which gives us power and 
 sufficiency to endure all things, for his name's sake; 
 and then our crown and reward will be with the Lord 
 for ever, and the blessings of his heavenly kingdom 
 will be our portion. Oh, dear heart, let us give up 
 all freely into, the will of God, that God may be glori- 
 fied by us, and we comforted together in the Lord 
 Jesus ; which is the desire of my soul, who am thy 
 dear and loving friend in the eternal Truth, 
 
 Thomas Loe." 
 
 a 
 
 We are more than forty here, who suffer inno- 
 cently for the testimony of a good conscience, because 
 we cannot swear, and break Christ's commands ; and 
 we are all well ; and the blessing and presence of God 
 are with us. Friends here salute thee. 
 
 " Farewell! The power and the wisdom of the Lord 
 God be with thee. Amen." 
 
 Greatly was my spirit refreshed, and my heart glad- 
 dened, at the reading of this consoling letter from my 
 friend; and my soul blessed the Lord for his love and 
 8* 
 
90 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 
 
 tender goodness to me, in moving his servant to write 
 thus unto me. 
 
 But I had cause soon after to double and redouble 
 my thankful acknowledgment to the Lord my God, 
 who put it into the heart of my dear friend, Isaac 
 Penington, also to visit me with some encouraging 
 lines from Aylesbury jail, where he was then a 
 prisoner ; and from whence, having heard that I was 
 carried prisoner to Oxford, he thus saluted me : — 
 
 "Dear Thomas, 
 
 " Great hath been the Lord's goodness to 
 thee, in calling thee out of that path of vanity and 
 death, wherein thou wast running towards destruction ; 
 to give thee a living name, and an inheritance of life 
 among his people ; which certainly will be the end of 
 thy faith in him, and obedience to him. And let it 
 not be a light thing in thine eyes, that he now 
 accounteth thee worthy to suffer among his choice 
 lambs, that he might make thy crown weightier, and 
 thy inheritance the fuller. 0, that that eye and heart 
 may be kept open in thee, which knoweth the value 
 of these things ! and that thou mayest be kept close 
 to the feeling of the Life, that thou mayest be fresh 
 in thy spirit in the midst of thy sufferings, and mayest 
 reap the benefit of them ; finding that pared off 
 thereby, which hindreth the bubblings of the ever- 
 lasting springs, and maketh unfit for the breaking 
 forth and enjoyment of the pure power! This is the 
 brief salutation of my dear love to thee, which 
 
1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Q\ 
 
 desireth thy strength and settlement in the power, and 
 the utter weakening of thee as to self. My dear love 
 is to thee, with dear Thomas Goodyare, and the rest 
 of imprisoned Friends. 
 
 "I remain thine in the Truth, to which the Lord 
 my God preserve me single and faithful, 
 
 I. Penington." 
 
 From Aylesbury Jail, 
 14th of the 12th Month, 1660." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1661. 
 
 Visit to Friends in prison — Release from imprisonment — Esquire Clark 
 again — Journey home — Snare devised to keep him from meeting — 
 Counter plans — Race between father and son — Breaking up of the 
 family — Visit to Aylesbury Jail — Friends in prison — Visits to Chalfont 
 — Richard Greenaway and John Ovy — Meeting at I. Penington's 
 broken up by Military — Arrest of Friends — Examination — Discharge 
 by the Justice — John Ovy in trouble — Return home — Visit to his 
 father — Arrest at Beaconsfield — Singular treatment at the constable's 
 house — Mother Grime — A plot foiled — Small-pox — Impaired sight — 
 Recovery. 
 
 Though these epistolary visits in the love of God 
 were very comfortable and confirming to me, and my 
 heart was thankful to the Lord for them, yet I honed 
 after personal conversation with Friends ; and it was 
 hard, I thought, that there should be so many faithful 
 servants of God so near me,*yet I should not be per- 
 
92 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 mitted to come at them, to enjoy their company, and 
 to reap both the pleasure and benefit of their sweet 
 society. For although my Marshal-keeper was very 
 kind to me, and allowed me the liberty of his house, yet 
 he was not willing I should be seen abroad; the rather, 
 perhaps, because he understood I had been pretty well 
 known in that city. Yet once the friendly baker got 
 him to let me step over to his house ; and once (and 
 but once) I prevailed with him to let me visit my friends 
 in the Castle ; but it was with these conditions, that I 
 should not go forth till it was dark, that I would muffle 
 myself up in my cloak, and that I would not stay out 
 late : all which I punctually observed. 
 
 When I came thither, though there were many 
 Friends prisoners, I scarcely knew one of them by face, 
 except Thomas Loe, whom I had once seen at Isaac 
 Penington's ; nor did any of them know me, though 
 they had heard, generally, that such a young man as I 
 was convinced of the Truth, and come among Friends. 
 
 Our salutation to each other was very grave and 
 solemn : nor did we entertain one another with much 
 talk, or with common discourses ; but most of the little 
 time I had with them was spent in a silent retiredness 
 of spirit, waiting upon the Lord. Yet before w T e parted, 
 we imparted one to another some of the exercises we 
 had gone through ; and they seeming willing to under- 
 stand the ground and manner of my commitment, I 
 gave them a brief account thereof, letting Thomas Loe 
 more particularly know that I had directed a letter to 
 him, which having fallen* into the hand of the Lord- 
 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 93 
 
 Lieutenant, was, so far as I could learn, the immediate 
 cause of mj being taken up. Having stayed with 
 them as long as my limited time would permit, which I 
 thought was but very short, that I might keep touch 
 with my 'keeper, and come home in due time, I took 
 leave of my friends there, and with mutual embraces 
 parting, returned to my (in some sense more easy, but 
 in others less easy) prison, where, after this, I stayed 
 not long before I was brought back to my father's 
 house. For after my father was come home, who, as 
 I observed before, was from home when I w T as taken, 
 he applied himself to those justices who had committed 
 me, and not having disobliged them when he was in 
 office, easily obtained leave to have me sent home ; 
 which, between him and them, was thus contrived. 
 
 There was about this time a general muster and 
 training of the militia forces at Oxford, whither, on 
 that occasion, came the Lord Lieutenant and Deputy 
 Lieutenants of the county, of which number they who 
 committed me were two. When they had been awhile 
 together, and the Marshal with them, he stepped sud- 
 denly in, and in haste told me I must get ready quickly 
 to go out of town, and that a soldier would come by 
 and by to go with me. This said, he hastened to them 
 again, not giving me any intimation how I was to go, 
 or whither. 
 
 I needed not much time to get ready in ; but I 
 was uneasy in thinking what the Friends of the town 
 would think of this my sudden and private removal; 
 and I feared lest any report should be raised, that ] 
 
94 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 had purchased my liberty by an unfaithful compliance. 
 Wherefore I was in care how to speak with some Friend 
 about it ; and that friendly baker, whose wife was a 
 Friend, living on the other side of the street at a little 
 distance, I went out at a back door, intending to step 
 over the way to their house, and return immediately. 
 
 It so fell out, that some of the Lieutenants, of whom 
 Esquire Clark, who committed me, was one, were 
 standing in the balcony at a great inn or tavern, just 
 over the place where I was to go by ; and he spying 
 me, called out to the soldiers, who stood thick in the 
 street, to stop me. They being generally gentlemen's 
 servants, and many of them knowing me, did civilly 
 forbear to lay hold on me, but calling modestly after 
 me, said, "Stay, Sir, stay; pray come back." I 
 heard, but was not willing to hear, therefore rather 
 mended my pace, that I might have got within the door. 
 But he calling earnestly after me, and charging them 
 to stop me, some of them were fain to run, and laying 
 hold on me before I could open the door, brought me 
 bnck to my place again. 
 
 Being thus disappointed, I took a pen and ink, and 
 wrote a few lines, which I sealed up, and gave to the 
 apprentice in the shop, who had carried himself hand- 
 somely towards me, and desired him to deliver it to 
 that Friend who was their neighbour, which he promised 
 to do. By the time I had done this, came the soldier 
 that was appointed to conduct me out of town. I 
 knew the man, for he lived within a mile of me, being 
 through poverty reduced to keep an ale-house ; but he 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 95 
 
 had lived in better fashion, having kept an inn at 
 Thame, and by that means knew how to behave him- 
 self civilly, and did so to me. He told me he was 
 ordered to wait on me to Whately, and to tarry there 
 at such at inn, until Esquire Clark came thither, who 
 would then take me home with him in his coach. Ac- 
 cordingly to Whately we walked, (which is from Oxford 
 some four or five miles) and long we had not been there 
 before Clark, and a great company of rude men, came 
 in. 
 
 He alighted, and stayed awhile to eat and drink, 
 though he came but from Oxford, and invited me to eat 
 with him ; but I, though I had need enough, refused 
 it, for indeed their conversation was a burthen to my 
 life, and made me often think of and pity good Lot. 
 He seemed at that time, to be in a sort of mixed 
 temper, between pleasantness and sourness. He would 
 sometimes joke, (which was natural to him) and cast 
 out a jesting flirt at me; but he would rail maliciously 
 against the Quakers. "If," said he to me, " the king 
 would authorize me to do it, I would not leave a 
 Quaker alive in England, except you. I would make 
 no more," added he, "to set my pistol to their ears, 
 and shoot them through the head, than I would to kill 
 a dog." I told him I was sorry he had so ill an opin- 
 ion of the Quakers, but I was glad he had no cause for 
 it, and I hoped he would be of a better mind. 
 
 I had in my hand a little walking stick, with a head 
 on it, which he commended, and took out of my hand 
 to look on it ; but I saw his intention was to search 
 
96 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 Whether it had a tuck in it, for he tried to draw the 
 head; but when lie found it was fast, he returned it 
 to me. lie told me I should ride with him to his 
 house in his coach, which was nothing pleasant to me ; 
 for I had rather have gone on foot, (bad as the ways 
 were,) that I might have been out of his company. 
 Wherefore I took no notice of any kindness in the 
 offer, but only answered, I was at his disposal, not 
 mine own. 
 
 But when we were ready to go, the Marshal came to 
 me, and told me, if I pleased I should ride his horse, 
 and he would go in the coach with Mr. Clark. I was 
 glad of the offer, and only told him he should take out 
 his pistols then, for I would not ride with them. He 
 took them out, and laid them in the coach by him, and 
 away we went. 
 
 It was a fine beast that I was set on, by much the 
 best in the company. But though she was very tall, 
 yet the ways being very foul, I found it needful, as 
 soon as I was out of town, to alight and take up the 
 stirrups. Meanwhile, they driving hard on, I was so 
 far behind, that being at length missed by the com- 
 pany, a soldier was sent back to look after me. As 
 soon as I had fitted my stirrups, and was remounted, 
 I gave the rein to my mare, which being courageous 
 and nimble, and impatient of delay, made great speed 
 to recover the company. And in a narrow passage the 
 6oldier, who was my barber, that had fetched me from 
 Home, and I, met upon so brisk a gallop, that we had 
 
1661.] LIFE 0? THOMAS ELLWOOD. 97 
 
 enough to do on either side to take up our horses and 
 avoid a brush. 
 
 When we were come to Weston, where Esquire 
 Clark lived, he took the Marshal, and some others 
 with him, into the parlour ; but I was left in the hall, 
 to be exposed a second time for the family to gaze on. 
 At length himself came out to me, leading in his 
 hand a beloved daughter of his, a young woman of 
 about eighteen years of age, who wanted nothing to 
 have made her comely, but gravity. An airy piece 
 she was, and very merry she made herself at me. 
 This was all by candle-light ; and when they had 
 made as much sport with me as they would, the 
 Marshal took his leave of them, and mounting me on 
 a horse of Clark's, had me home to my father's that 
 night. 
 
 Next morning, before the Marshal went away, my 
 father and he consulted together how to entangle me. 
 I felt there were snares laid, but I did not know in 
 what manner, or to what end, till the Marshal was 
 ready to go. And then, coming where I was to take 
 his leave of me, he desired me to take notice, that 
 although he had brought me home to my father's house 
 again, yet I was not discharged from my imprisonment, 
 but was his prisoner still ; and that he had committed 
 me to the care of my father, to see me forthcoming 
 whenever I should be called for. And therefore he 
 expected I should in all things observe my father's 
 orders, and not go out at any time from the house 
 without his leave. 
 9 
 
98 THE HISTOKY OF THE [1661. 
 
 Now I plainly saw the snare, and to what end it was 
 laid, and I asked him if this device was not contrived 
 to keep me from going to meetings. He said I must 
 not go to meetings. Whereupon I desired him to take 
 notice, that I would not own myself a prisoner to any 
 man while I continued here. That if he had power 
 to detain me prisoner, he might take me back again 
 with him if he would, and I should not refuse to go 
 with him. But I bid him assure himself, that while I 
 was at home, I would take my liberty both to go to 
 meetings, and to visit Friends. He smiled, and said if 
 I would be resolute, he could not help it ; and so took 
 his leave of me. By this I perceived that the plot 
 was of my father's laying, to have brought me under 
 such an engagement, as should have tied me from going 
 to meetings ; and thereupon I expected I should have 
 a new exercise from my father. 
 
 It was the constant manner of my father to have 
 all the keys of the out-doors of his house, which were 
 four, and those linked upon a chain, brought up into 
 his chamber every night, and fetched out from thence 
 in the morning ; so ^hat none could come in or go out 
 in the night without his knowledge. I knowing this, 
 suspected that if I got not out before my father came 
 down, I should be stopped from going out at all that 
 day. Wherefore, the passage from my chamber lying 
 by his chamber door, I went down softly without my 
 shoes ; and as soon as the maid had opened the door, 
 I went out, (though too early) and walked towards the 
 meeting at Meadle, four long miles off. I expected to 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 99 
 
 have been talked with about it when I came home, but 
 heard nothing of it, my father resolving to watch me 
 better next time. 
 
 This I was aware of; and therefore on the next 
 first-day I got up early, and went down softly, and 
 hid myself in a back room before the maid was 
 stirring. When she was up, she went into my father's 
 chamber for the keys ; but he bid her leave them till 
 he was up, and he would bring them down himself; 
 which he did, and tarried in the kitchen, through 
 which he expected I would go. The manner was, that 
 when the common doors were opened, the keys were 
 hung upon a pin in the hall. While, therefore, my 
 father stayed in the kitchen expecting my coming, I, 
 stepping gently out of the room where I was, reached 
 the keys, and opening another door, not often used, 
 slipped out, and so got away. I thought I had gone 
 off undiscovered : but whether my father saw me 
 through a window, or by what other means he knew 
 of my going, I know not, but I had gone but a little 
 way before I saw him coming after me. The sight of 
 him put me to a stand in my mind whether I should 
 go on or stop. Had it been in any other case than 
 that of going to a meeting, I could not in any wise 
 have gone a step further. But I considered that the 
 intent of my father's endeavouring to stop me, was to 
 hinder me from obeying the call of my Heavenly 
 Father, and to stop me from going to worship him in 
 the assembly of his people ; upon this I found it my 
 duty to go on, and observing that my father gained 
 
100 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 
 
 ground upon me, I somewhat mended my pace. This 
 he observing, mended* his pace also, and at length 
 ran. Whereupon I ran also, and a fair course we had 
 through a large meadow of his, which lay behind his 
 house, and out of sight of the town. He was not, -I 
 suppose, then above fifty years of age, and being light 
 of body, and nimble of foot, he held me to it for a 
 while. But afterwards slackening his pace to take 
 breath, and observing that I had gotten ground of him, 
 he turned back and went home ; and, as I afterwards 
 understood, telling my sisters how I had served him, 
 he said, " Nay, if he wdll take so much pains to go, 
 let him go if he will." And from that time forward 
 he never attempted to stop me, but left me to my 
 liberty, to go when and whither I would ; yet kept me 
 at the usual distance, avoiding the sight of me as 
 much as he could, as not able to bear the sight of my 
 ha^, on, nor willing to contend with me again about it. 
 Nor was it long after this before I was left not only 
 to myself, but in a manner by myself. For the time 
 appointed for the coronation of the king, which was the 
 23d of the second month, called April, drawing on, 
 my father, taking my two sisters with him, went up to 
 London some time before, that they might be there in 
 readiness, and put themselves into a condition to see 
 that so great a solemnity, leaving nobody in the house 
 but myself and a couple of servants. And though this 
 was intended only for a visit on that occasion, yet it 
 proved the breaking up of the family ; for he bestowed 
 both his daughters there in marriage, and took lodg- 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 101 
 
 ings for himself; so that afterwards they never re- 
 turned to settle at Crowell. 
 
 Being now at liberty, I walked over to Aylesbury, 
 w T ith some other Friends, to visit my dear friend Isaac 
 Penington, who w T as still a prisoner there. With him 
 I found dear John Whitehead, and between sixty and 
 seventy more, being well nigh all the men Friends 
 then in the county of Bucks ; many of them were taken 
 out of their houses by armed men, and sent to prison 
 (as I had been) for refusing to swear. Most of these 
 were thrust into an old room behind the jail, which had 
 anciently been a malt-house, but was now so decayed, 
 that it w 7 as scarcely fit for a dog-house. And so open 
 it lay, that the prisoners might have gone out at plea- 
 sure. But these were purposely put there, in confi- 
 dence that they would not go out, that there might be 
 room in the prison for others, of other professions and 
 names, whom the jailor did not trust there. 
 
 While this imprisonment la-sted, w T hich was for some 
 months, I went afterwards thither sometimes to visit 
 my suffering brethren ; and because it was a pretty long 
 way, (some eight or nine miles) too far to be walked 
 forward and backward in one day, I sometimes stayed 
 a day or two there, and lay in the malt-house among 
 my friends, with whom I delighted to be. 
 
 After this imprisonment was over, I went sometimes 
 to Isaac Penington's house at Chalfont, to visit that 
 family, and the Friends thereabouts. There w T as then 
 a meeting, for the most part, twice a week in his house ; 
 but one first-day in four there was a more general 
 9* 
 
IQO THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 
 
 meeting, which was thence called the Monthly Meet- 
 ing, to which resorted most of the Friends of other ad- 
 jacent meetings ; and to that I usually went, and some- 
 times made some stay there. 
 
 Here I became acquainted with a Friend of London, 
 whose name was Richard Greenaway, by trade a tailor, 
 a very honest man, and one who had received a gift for 
 the ministry. He, having been formerly in other pro- 
 fessions of religion, had then been acquainted with one 
 John Ovy, of Watlington, in Oxfordshire, a man of 
 some note among the professors there ; and understand- 
 ing upon inquiry that I knew him, he had some dis- 
 course with me about him. The result whereof was, 
 that he, having an intention then shortly to visit some 
 meetings of Friends in this county, and the adjoining 
 parts of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, invited me to 
 meet him, upon notice given, and to bear him company 
 in that journey; and in the way bring him to John 
 Ovy's house, with whom I was well acquainted ; which 
 I did. 
 
 We were kindly received, the man and his wife being 
 very glad to see both their old friend Richard Green- 
 away, and me also, whom they had been very well ac- 
 quainted with formely, but had never seen me since I 
 was a Quaker. Here we tarried that night, and in the 
 evening had a little meeting there with some few of 
 John Ovy's people, amongst whom Richard Greenaway 
 declared the Truth ; which they attentively heard, and 
 did not oppose, which at that time of day we reckoned 
 was pretty well ; for many were apt to cavil. 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 103 
 
 This visit gave John Ovy an opportunity to inquire 
 of me after Isaac Penington, whose writings (those 
 which he had written before he came among Friends) 
 he had read, and had a great esteem of; and he ex- 
 pressed a desire to see him, that he might have some 
 discourse with him, if he knew how. Whereupon I 
 told him, that if he would take the pains to go to his 
 house, I would bear him company thither, introduce 
 him, and engage he should have a kind reception. 
 This pleased him much ; and he embracing the offer, I 
 undertook to give him notice of a suitable time ; which, 
 after I had gone this little journey with my friend 
 Richard Greenaway, and was returned, I did, making 
 choice of the Monthly Meeting to go to. 
 
 We met by appointment at Stoken Church, with our 
 staves in our hands, like a couple of pilgrims, intend- 
 ing to walk on foot; and having taken some refresh- 
 ment and rest at Wycombe, went on cheerfully in the 
 afternoon, entertaining each other with grave and re- 
 ligious discourse, which made the walk the easier ; and 
 so we reached thither in good time, on the seventh day 
 of the week. I gave my friends an account who this 
 person was, whom I had brought to visit them, and the 
 ground of his visit. He had been a professor of re- 
 ligion, from his childhood to his old age, for he was now 
 both greyheaded and elderly, and was a teacher at this 
 time, and had long been so amongst a people, whether 
 Baptists or Independents I do not well remember. 
 And so well thought of he was, for his zeal and 
 honesty, that in those late professing times, he was 
 
104 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 thrust into the commission of the peace, and thereby 
 lifted up on to the bench, which neither became him 
 nor he it. For he wanted indeed most of the qualifi- 
 cations requisite for a justice of the peace ; an estate 
 to defray the charge of the office, and to bear him up 
 in a course of living above contempt — a competent 
 knowledge in the laws, and a presence of mind or body, 
 or both, to keep offenders in some awe ; in all which he 
 was deficient. For he w^as but a fellmonger by trade, 
 accustomed to ride upon bis pack of skins, and had 
 very little estate, as little knowledge of the law, and 
 was of but a mean presence and appearance to look 
 on. But as my father, I sujDpose, was the means of 
 getting him put into the commission, so he, I know, 
 did what he could to countenance him in it, and help 
 him through it at every turn, till that turn came, at the 
 king's return, which turned them both out together. 
 
 My friends received me in affectionate kindness, and 
 my companion with courteous civility. The evening- 
 was spent in common but grave conversation ; for it was 
 not a proper season for private discourse, both as we 
 were somewhat weary with our walk, and there were 
 other companies of Friends come into the family, to 
 be at the meeting next day. 
 
 But in the morning I took John Ovy into a private 
 walk, in a pleasant grove near the house, whither Isaac 
 Penington came to us ; and there, in discourse, both 
 answered all his questions, objections, and doubts, and 
 opened to him the principles of Truth, to his admi- 
 ration and present satisfaction. Which done, we went 
 
1661.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 105 
 
 in to take some refreshment before the meeting began. 
 Of those Friends who were come over night, in order 
 to be at the meeting, there was Isaac's brother, Wil- 
 liam Penington, a merchant of London, and with him 
 a Friend, whose name I have forgotten, a grocer at 
 Colchester ; and there was also our friend George 
 Whitehead, whom I had not, that I remember, seen 
 before. 
 
 The nation had been in a ferment ever since that 
 mad action of the frantic Fifth-monarchy Men, and 
 was not yet settled ; but storms, like thunder showers, 
 flew here and there by coast, so that we could not pro- 
 mise ourselves any safety or quiet in our meetings. 
 And though they had escaped disturbances for some 
 little time before, yet so it fell out, that a party of 
 horse were appointed to come and break up the meet- 
 ing that day, though we knew nothing of it, till we 
 heard and saw them. 
 
 The meeting was scarce fully gathered when they 
 came. But we that were in the family, and many 
 others, were settled in it in great peace and stillness, 
 when on a sudden the prancing of the horses gave 
 notice that a disturbance was at hand. We all sat 
 still in our places, except my companion, John Ovy, 
 who sat next to me. But he, being of a profession 
 that approved Peter's advice to his Lord, to save him- 
 self, soon took the alarm, and with the nimbleness of 
 a stripling, cutting a caper over the form that stood 
 before him, ran quickly out at a private door, which he 
 had before observed, leading through the parlour into 
 
10fl THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 the gardens, and from thence into an orchard; where 
 lie hid himself in a place so obscure, and withal so con- 
 venient for his intelligence by observation of what 
 passed, that no one of the family could scarce have 
 found a likelier. 
 
 By the time he got into his burrow, came the sol- 
 diers in, being a party of the county troop, commanded 
 by Matthew Archdale, of Wycombe. He behaved 
 himself civilly ; and said, he was commanded to break 
 up the meeting and carry the men before a justice of 
 the peace ; but he said he would not take all ; and 
 thereupon began to pick and choose, chiefly as his eye 
 guided him, for I suppose he knew very few. He took 
 Isaac Penington and his brother, George Whitehead, 
 and the Friend of Colchester, and me, with three or 
 four more of the country, who belonged to that meet- 
 ing. He was not fond of the work, and that made him 
 take no more. But he must take some, he said, and 
 bid us provide to go with him before Sir William Boyer, 
 of Denham, who was a justice of the peace. Isaac 
 Penington being but weakly, rode, but the rest of us 
 walked thither, it being about four miles. 
 
 When we came there, the justice carried himself 
 civilly to us all, courteously to Isaac Penington, as 
 being a gentleman of his neighbourhood ; and nothing 
 was charged against us, but that we were met together 
 without word or deed. Yet this being contrary to a 
 late proclamation, given forth upon the rising of the 
 Fifth-monarchy Men, whereby all dissenters' meetings 
 were forbidden, the justice could do no less than take 
 
1601.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 107 
 
 notice of us. Wherefore he examined all of us whom 
 he did not personally know, asking our names, and the 
 places of our respective habitations. But when he had 
 them, and considered from what distant parts of the 
 nation we came, he was amazed. For George White- 
 head was of Westmoreland, in the north of England ; 
 the grocer was of Essex ; I was of Oxfordshire ; and 
 William Penington was of London. 
 
 Hereupon he told us, that our case looked ill, and 
 he was sorry for it: "for how," said he, " can it be 
 imagined that so many could jump altogether at one 
 time and place, from such remote quarters and parts 
 of the kingdom, if it was not by combination and ap- 
 pointment?" He was answered, that we were so far 
 from coming thither by agreement or appointment, that 
 none of us knew of the others' coming, and for the 
 most of us, we had never seen one another before ; and 
 that therefore he might impute it to chance, or if he 
 pleased, to Providence. 
 
 He urged upon us, that an insurrection had been 
 lately made by armed men, who pretended to be more 
 religious than others ; that that insurrection had been 
 plotted and contrived in their meeting-house, where 
 they assembled under colour of worshipping God ; that 
 in their meeting-house they hid their arms, and armed 
 themselves ; and out of their meeting-house issued forth 
 in arms, and killed many : — so that the government 
 could not be safe, unless such meetings were suppressed , 
 We replied, we hoped he would distinguish, and make 
 a difference between the guilty and the innocent, and 
 
JOS THE HISTORY OF THE [1C6J. 
 
 between those who were principled for fighting, and 
 those who were principled against it ; which we were, 
 and had always been known to be so ; that our meet- 
 ings were public, our doors standing open to all comers, 
 of all ages, sexes, and persuasions, men, women, and 
 children, those that were not of our religion, as well 
 as those that w r ere. And that it was next to madness 
 for people to plot in such meetings. 
 
 He told us, we must find sureties for our good 
 behaviour, and to answer our contempt of the king's 
 proclamation at the next General Quarter Sessions, 
 or else he must commit us. We told him, that know T - 
 ing our innocency, and that w T e had not misbehaved 
 ourselves, nor did meet in contempt of the king's 
 authority, but purely in obedience to the Lord's 
 requirings, to worship him, which we held ourselves 
 in duty bound to do, we could not consent to be 
 bound, for that would imply guilt, which w T e were free 
 from. 
 
 "Then," said he, "I must commit you;" anc 
 ordered his clerk, to make a mittimus. And divers 
 mittimusses were made, but none of them w^ould hold ; 
 for still when they came to be read, we found such 
 flaws in them, as made him throw them aside, and 
 write more. 
 
 He had his eye often upon me, for I was a young 
 man, and had at that time a black suit on. At length 
 he bid me follow him, and went into a private room, 
 shutting the door upon me. I knew not what he 
 meant by this ; but I cried in spirit to the Lord, that 
 
±661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 109 
 
 he would be pleased to be a mouth and wisdom to me, 
 and keep me from being entangled in any snare. 
 
 He asked me many questions concerning my birth, 
 my education, my acquaintance in Oxfordshire, par- 
 ticularly what men of note I knew there. To all 
 which I gave him brief, but plain and true answers, 
 naming several families of best rank in that part of 
 the country where I dwelt. He asked me how long I 
 had been of this way, and how I came to be of it. 
 Which when I had given him some account of, he 
 began to persuade me to leave it, and return to the 
 right way, the Church, as he called it. I desired him 
 to spare his pains in that respect, and forbear any 
 discourse of that kind, for that I was fully satisfied 
 the way I was in was the right way, and hoped the 
 Lord would so preserve me in it, that nothing should 
 be able to draw or drive me out of it. He seemed 
 not pleased with that, and thereupon went out to the 
 rest of the company, and I followed him, glad in my 
 heart that I had escaped so well, and praising God for 
 my deliverance. 
 
 When he had taken his seat again at the upper end 
 of a fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take 
 the utmost rigour of the law against us, but would be 
 as favourable to us as he could. And therefore he 
 would discharge, he said, Mr. Penington himself, 
 because he was but at home in his own house. And 
 he would discharge Mr. Penington of London, because 
 he came but as a relation to visit his brother And 
 he would discharge the grocer of Colchester, because 
 10 
 
HO THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 he came to bear Mr. Penington of London company, 
 and to be acquainted with Mr. Isaac Penington, whom 
 he had never seen before. And as for those others of 
 us, who were of this country, he would discharge 
 them, for the present at least, because they being his 
 neighbours, he could send for them when he would. 
 "But as for you," said he to George Whitehead and 
 me, "I can see no business you had there, and there- 
 fore I intend to hold you to it, either to give bail, or 
 go to jail." 
 
 We told him we could not give bail. " Then," said 
 he, "you must go to jail ;" and thereupon he began to 
 write our mittimus ; which puzzled him again. For he 
 had discharged so many, that he was at a loss w T hat to 
 lay as the ground of our commitment, whose case 
 differed nothing in reality from theirs whom he had 
 discharged. At length, having made divers draughts, 
 which still George Whitehead showed him the defects 
 of, he seemed to be weary of us ; and rising up, said 
 unto us, "I consider that it is grown late in the day, 
 so that the officer cannot carry you to Aylesbury to- 
 night, and I suppose you will be willing to go back 
 with Mr. Penington ; therefore, if you will promise to 
 be forthcoming at his house to-morrow morning, I will 
 dismiss you for the present, and you shall hear from 
 me again to-morrow." 
 
 We told him we did intend, if he did not otherwise 
 dispose of us, to spend that night with our friend 
 Isaac Penington ; and would, if the Lord gave us 
 leave, be there in the morning, ready to answer his 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \\\ 
 
 i^equirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, willing, 
 as we thought, to be rid of us ; for he seemed not to 
 be of an ill temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble, 
 if he could help it. Back then we went to Isaac 
 Penington's. 
 
 But when we were come thither, the work we had 
 with poor John Ovy ! He was so dejected in mind, 
 so covered with shame and confusion of face, for his 
 cowardliness, that we had enough to do to pacify him 
 towards himself. The place he had found out to shelter 
 himself in was so commodiously contrived, that undis- 
 covered he could discern w hen the soldiers went off with 
 us, and understand when the bustle was over, and the 
 coast clear. Whereupon he adventured to peep out of 
 his hole, and in a while drew near, by degrees, to the 
 house again; and finding all things quiet and still, he 
 adventured to step within the doors, and found the 
 Friends who were left behind, peaceably settled in the 
 meeting again. 
 
 The sight of this smote him, and made him sit down 
 among them. And after the meeting was ended, and 
 the Friends departed to their several homes, address- 
 ing himself to Mary Penington, as the mistress of the 
 house, he could not enough magnify the bravery and 
 courage of the Friends, nor sufficiently debase himself. 
 He told her how long he had been a professor, — what 
 pains he had taken, — what hazards he had run, — in 
 his youthful days, to get to meetings ; how, when the 
 ways were forelaid, and passages stopped, he swam 
 through rivers to reach a meeting ; "and now," said 
 
-Q2 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 
 
 he, " that I am grown old in the profession of religion, 
 and have long been an instructor and encourager of 
 others, that I should thus shamefully fall short myself, 
 is matter of shame and sorrow to me." Thus he 
 bewailed himself to her ; and when we came back, he 
 renewed his complaints of himself to us, with high 
 aggravations of his own cowardice. Which gave occa- 
 sion to some of the Friends, tenderly to represent to 
 him the difference between profession and possession, 
 form and power. 
 
 He was glad, he said, on our behalf, that we came 
 off so well, and escaped imprisonment. But when he 
 understood that George Whitehead and I were liable 
 to an after-reckoning next morning, he was troubled, 
 and wished the morning was come and gone, that we 
 might be gone with it. 
 
 We spent the evening in grave conversation, and 
 in religious discourses, attributing the deliverance we 
 hitherto had to the Lord. And the next morning, 
 when we were up and had eaten, we tarried some time 
 to see what the justice would do further with us, and 
 to discharge our engagement to him ; the rest of the 
 Friends, who were before fully discharged, tarrying 
 also with us to see the event. And when we had stayed 
 so long, that on all hands it was concluded we might 
 safely go, George Whitehead and I left a few words in 
 writing, to be sent to the justice, if he sent after us, 
 importing that Ave had tarried till such an hour, and 
 not hearing from him, did now hold ourselves free to 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H3 
 
 depart ; yet so, as that if he should have occasion to 
 send for us again, upon notice thereof we would return. 
 
 This done, we took our leave of the family, and one 
 of another ; they who were for London taking horse, 
 and I and my companions setting forth on foot for 
 Oxfordshire, went to Wycombe, w T here we made a short 
 stay, to rest and refresh ourselves, and from thence 
 reached our respective homes that night. 
 
 After I had spent some time at home, where, as I 
 had no restraint, so, my sisters being gone, I had now 
 no society, I walked up to Chalfont again, and spent 
 a few days with my friends there. As soon as I came 
 in, I was told that my father had been there that day 
 to see Isaac Penington and his wife ; but they being 
 abroad at a meeting, he returned to his inn in the 
 town, where he intended to lodge that night. After 
 supper, Mary Penington told me she had a mind to go 
 and see him at his inn, the woman of the house being 
 a friend of ours ; and I w T ent with her. . He seemed 
 somewhat surprised to see me there, because he thought 
 I had been at home at his house ; but he took no notice 
 of my hat, at least showed no offence at it ; for, as I 
 afterwards understood, he had now an intention to sell 
 his estate, and thought he should need my concurrence 
 therein, which made him now hold it necessary to 
 admit me again into some degree of favour. After we 
 had tarried some little time with him, she rising up to 
 be gone, he waited on her home, and having spent about 
 an hour with us in the family, I waited on him back to 
 his inn. On the way, he invited me to come up to 
 10* 
 
2^4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 London to see my sisters, the younger of whom was 
 then newly married, and directed me w r here to find 
 them, and also gave me money to defray my charges. 
 Accordingly I went ; yet stayed not long there, but re- 
 turned to my friend Isaac Penington's, where I made a 
 little stay, and from thence went back to Crowell. 
 
 When I was ready to set forth, Isaac Penington was 
 so kind as to send a servant, with a brace of geldings, 
 to carry me as far as I thought fit to ride, and to bring 
 the horses back. I, intending to go no further that 
 day than to Wycombe, rode no further than to Beacons- 
 field town's end, having then but five miles to walk. 
 But here a new exercise befel me, the manner of which 
 was thus. Before I had walked to the middle of the 
 tow T n, I was stopped and taken up by the watch. I 
 asked the watchman what authority he had to stop me, 
 travelling peaceably on the highway ; he told me he 
 would show me his authority, and in order thereunto 
 had me into a house hard by, where dwelt a scrivener 
 whose name was Pepys. To him he gave the order 
 which he had received from the constables, which 
 directed him to take up all rogues, vagabonds, and 
 sturdy beggars. I asked him for, which of these he 
 stopped me, but he could not answer me. 
 
 I thereupon informed him what a rogue in law is, 
 viz., one, who for some notorious offence was burnt on 
 the shoulder ; and I told them they might search me 
 if they pleased, and see if I w T as so branded. A vaga- 
 bond, I told them, was one that had no dw r elling~house, 
 nor certain place of abode; but I had, and w r as going 
 
1661 J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H5 
 
 to it, and I told them where it was. And for a beggar, 
 I bid them bring any one that could say I had begged, 
 or asked relief. 
 
 This stopped the fellow's mouth, yet he would not 
 let me go ; but, being both weak-headed and strong- 
 willed, he left me there with the scrivener, and went 
 out to seek the constable ; and having found him, he 
 brought him thither. He was a young man, by trade 
 a tanner, somewhat better mannered than his wards- 
 man, but not of much better judgment. He took me 
 with him to his house ; and having settled me there, 
 went out to take advice, as I supposed, what to do with 
 me, leaving nobody in the house to guard me but his 
 wife, who had a young child in her arms. She inquired 
 of me upon what account I was taken up, and seeming 
 to have some pity for me, endeavoured to persuade me 
 not to stay, but to go my way, offering to show me a" 
 back way from their house, which would bring me into 
 the road again beyond the town, so that none of the 
 town should see me, or know what was become of me. 
 But I told her I could not do so. Then having sat a 
 while in a muse, she asked me if there was not a place 
 in Scripture which said Peter was at a tanner's house, 
 I told her there was such a Scripture, and directed her 
 where to find it. 
 
 After some time she laid her child to sleep in the 
 cradle, and stepped out on a sudden, but came not in 
 again in a pretty while. 
 
 I was uneasy that I was left alone in the house, fear- 
 ing lest if anything should be missing, I might be sua- 
 
11Q THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 
 
 pected to have taken it ; yet I durst not go out to stand 
 in the street, lest it should be thought I intended to 
 slip away. Bat besides that, I soon found work to 
 employ myself in, for the child quickly waking, fell to 
 crying, and I was fain to rock the cradle in my own 
 defence, that I might not be annoyed with a noise, to 
 me not more unpleasant than unusual. At length the 
 woman came in again, and finding me nursing the 
 child, gave me many thanks, and seemed w r ell pleased 
 with my company. 
 
 When night came on, the constable himself came in 
 again, and told me, some of the chief of the town were 
 met together, to consider what was fit to do with me, 
 and that I must go with him to them. I went, and he 
 brought me to a nasty little hut, which they called a 
 town-house, adjoining to their market-house, in which 
 dwelt a poor old woman, whom they called Mother 
 Grime, where also the w 7 atch used by turns to come in 
 and warm themselves in the night. 
 
 When I came in among them, they looked, some of 
 them, somewhat sourly on me, and asked me some 
 impertinent questions, to which I gave them suitable 
 answers. Then they consulted one with another how 
 they should dispose of me that night, till they could 
 have me before some justice of peace to be examined. 
 
 Some proposed that I should be had to an inn, or 
 other public house, and a guard set on me there. He 
 that started this was probably an innkeeper, and con- 
 sulted his own interest. Others objected against this, 
 that it would bring a charge on the town ; to avoid 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H7 
 
 which, they were for having the watch take charge of 
 me, and keep me walking about the streets with them 
 till morning ; most voices seemed to go this way, till a 
 third wished them to consider whether they could 
 answer the doing of that, and the law would bear them 
 out in it : and this put them to a stand. I heard all 
 their debates, but let them alone, and kept my mind to 
 the Lord. 
 
 While they thus bandied the matter to and fro, one 
 of the company asked the rest, if any of them knew 
 who this young man was, and whither he was going ; 
 whereupon the constable, to w T hom I had given both 
 my name and the name of the town where I dwelt, 
 told them my name was Ellwood, and that I lived at a 
 town called Crowell in Oxfordshire. Old Mother 
 Grime, sitting by and hearing this, clapped her hand 
 on her knee, and cried out, " I know Mr. Ellwood of 
 Crowell very well ; for when I was a maid I lived with 
 his grandfather there, when he was a young man." 
 And thereupon she gave them such an account of my 
 father, as made them look more regardfully on me ; 
 and so Mother Grime's testimony turned the scale, and 
 took me off from walking the rounds with the watch 
 that night. 
 
 The constable hereupon bid them take no further 
 care, I should lie at his house that night, and accord- 
 ingly took me home with him, where I had as good 
 accommodation as the house did afford. Before I 
 went to bed, he told me that there was to be a visita- 
 tion, or spiritual court, as he called it, holden next day 
 
H$ THE HISTORY OF THE [I661. 
 
 at Amersham, about four miles from Beaconsfield, and 
 that I was to be carried thither. This was a new thing 
 to me, and it brought a fresh exercise upon my mind. 
 But being given up, in the will of God, to suffer w T hat 
 he should permit to be laid on me, I endeavoured to 
 keep my mind quiet. 
 
 In the morning, as soon as I was up, my spirit was 
 exercised towards the Lord, in strong cries to him, 
 that he would stand by me, and preserve me, and not 
 suffer me to be taken in a snare of the wicked. 
 While I was thus crying to the Lord, the other con- 
 stable came, and I was called down. This was a 
 budge fellow, and talked high. He was a shoe-maker 
 by trade, and his name was Clark. He threatened me 
 with the spiritual court. But when he saw I did not 
 regard it, he stopped, and left the matter to his 
 partner, who pretended more kindness for me, and 
 therefore went about to persuade Clark to let me go 
 out at the back door, and so slip away. 
 
 The plot, I suppose, was so laid, that Clark should 
 seem averse, but at length yield ; which he did, but 
 would have me take it for a favour. But I was so far 
 from taking it so, that I would not take it at all, but 
 told them plainly, that as I came in at the fore door, 
 so I would go out at the fore door. When, therefore, 
 they saw they could not bow me to their will, they 
 brought me out at the fore door into the street, and 
 wished me a good journey. Yet before I went, calling 
 for the woman of the house, I paid her for my supper 
 
1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOP. 119 
 
 and lodging, for I had now got a little money in my 
 pocket again. 
 
 After this I got home, as I thought, very well ; but 
 I had not been long at home before an illness seized 
 on me, which proved to be the small-pox. Of which, 
 as soon as Friends had notice, I had a nurse sent 
 me ; and in a while Isaac Penington, and his wife's 
 daughter, Gulielma Maria Springett, to whom I had 
 been playfellow in our infancy, came to visit me, 
 bringing with them our dear friend Edward Burrough, 
 by whose ministry I had been called to the knowledge 
 of the Truth. 
 
 It pleased the Lord to deal favourably with me in 
 this illness, both inwardly and outwardly. For his 
 supporting presence was with me, which kept my 
 spirit near unto him ; and though the distemper was 
 strong upon me, yet I was preserved through it, and 
 my countenance was not much altered by it. But 
 after I was got up again, and while I kept my chamber, 
 wanting some employment for entertainment's sake, 
 to spend the time with, and there being at hand a 
 pretty good library of books, amongst which were 
 the works of Augustine, and others of those ancient 
 writers, who were by many called the fathers, I betook 
 myself to reading. And these books being printed 
 in the old black letter, with abbreviations of the 
 words, difficult to be read, I spent too much time 
 therein, and thereby much impaired my sight, which 
 was not strong before, and was now weaker than usual 
 by reason of the illness I had so newly had. This 
 
220 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 proved an injury to me afterwards; for which reason 1 
 here mention it. 
 
 After I was well enough to go abroad, with respect 
 to my own health and the safety of others, I went up, 
 in the beginning of the twelfth month, 1661, to my 
 beloved friend, Isaac Penington's at Chalfont, and 
 abode there some time, for the airing myself more 
 fully, that I might be more fit for conversation. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1662. 
 
 Resumption of study — Dr. Paget — John Milton — A solitary winter — 
 Goes to London to read with Milton — Failing health — Sickness at J. 
 Raunce's — Return to London — Arrest at Bull and Mouth Meeting — 
 March to Old Bridewell — Interior of Prison — Whipping-post — Care 
 of women Friends for the prisoners — Patient submission — Spare diet — 
 Bed of Rushes — Sir Richard Brown — Unexpected relief — Tailoring in 
 prison — Poor wages — The poor cobbler — Sessions at the Old Bailey — 
 The oath of Allegiance — A new Plea — Change to Newgate — Close con- 
 finement — Death of a prisoner — Coroner's Jury — Intractable Foreman 
 — The Bridewell prisoners sent back to their old quarters — The sham 
 Quaker detected — The rogues and pickpockets of Newgate — Shocking 
 treatment of the bodies of three executed plotters — Improved treat- 
 ment at Bridewell — Hymn to God — Discharge from prison — Goes into 
 Buckinghamshire — Becomes teacher for I. Penington's children — Death 
 of E. Burrough. 
 
 I mentioned before, that when I was a boy, I had 
 made some good progress in learning, and lost it all 
 again before I came to be a man ; nor was I rightly 
 sensible of my loss therein, until I came amongst the 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 121 
 
 Quakers. But then I both saw my loss, and lamented 
 it; and applied myself with utmost diligence, at all 
 leisure times, to recover it ; so false I found that charge 
 to be, which in those times was cast as a reproach upon 
 the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human 
 learning, because they denied it to be essentially ne- 
 cessary to a gospel ministry, which was one of the con- 
 troversies of those times. 
 
 But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains to 
 regain what once I had been master of, yet I found it 
 a matter of so great difficulty, that I was ready to 
 say, as the noble eunuch to Philip in another case, 
 u How can I, unless I had some man to guide me ?" 
 
 This I had formerly complained of to my especial 
 friend Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which 
 put him upon considering, and contriving a means for 
 my assistance. 
 
 He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, a 
 physician of note in London, and he with John Milton, 
 a gentleman of great note for learning throughout the 
 learned world, for the accurate pieces he had written 
 on various subjects and occasions. 
 
 This person, having filled a public station in the 
 former times, lived now a private and retired life in 
 London ; and having wholly lost his sight, kept alwa'ys 
 a man to read to him, usually the son of some gentle- 
 man of his acquaintance, whom, in kindness, he took 
 to improve in his learning. 
 
 Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pening- 
 ton with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John 
 11 
 
|,22 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 
 
 Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as a ser- 
 vant to him, (which at that time he needed not) nor to be 
 in the house with him, but only to have the liberty of 
 coming to his house at certain hours when I would, 
 and to read to him what books he should appoint me, 
 which was all the favour I desired. But this being a 
 matter which would require some time to bring it 
 about, I, in the mean while, returned to my father's 
 house in Oxfordshire. 
 
 I had before received direction, by letters from my 
 eldest sister, written by my father's command, to put 
 off what cattle he had left about his house, and to dis- 
 charge his servants ; which I had done at the time 
 called Michaelmas before. So that all that winter, 
 when I was at home, I lived like a hermit all alone, 
 having a pretty large house, and nobody in it but my- 
 self, at nights especially. But an elderly woman, 
 whose father had been an old servant to the family, 
 came every morning and made my bed, and did what 
 else I had occasion for her to do, till I fell ill of the 
 small-pox, and then I had her with me, and the nurse. 
 But now, understanding by letter from my sister, that 
 my father did not intend to return to settle there, I 
 made off those provisions which were in the house, that 
 they might not be spoiled when I w^as gone ; and be- 
 cause they were what I should have spent, if I had 
 tarried there, I took the money made of them to my- 
 self, for my support in London, if the project suc- 
 ceeded for my going thither. 
 
 This done, I committed the care of the house to a 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 123 
 
 tenant of my father's, who lived in the town, and 
 taking my leave of Crowell, went up to my sure friend 
 Isaac Penington again. Where understanding that the 
 mediation used for my admittance to John Milton had 
 succeeded so well, that I might come when I would, 
 I hastened to London, and in the first place went to 
 w T ait upon him. He received me courteously, as well 
 for the sake of ^Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of 
 Isaac Penington, who recommended me ; to both whom 
 he bore a good respect. And having inquired divers 
 things of me, with respect to my former progression in 
 learning, he dismissed me, to provide myself of such 
 accommodation as might be most suitable to my future 
 studies. I went therefore and took myself a lodging 
 as near to his house, which was then in Jewen-street, 
 as conveniently I could : and from thenceforward w^ent 
 every day in the afternoon, except on the first-days of 
 the week ; and sitting by him in his dining-room, read 
 to him in such books in the Latin tongue as he pleased 
 to hear me read. 
 
 At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I 
 used the English pronunciation, he told me, if I w r ould 
 have the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read 
 and understand Latin authors, but to converse with 
 foreigners either abroad or at home, I must learn 
 the foreign pronunciation. To this I consenting, he 
 instructed me how to sound the vowels ; so different 
 from the common pronunciation used by the English, 
 who speak Anglice their Latin, that (with some few 
 other variations in sounding some consonants, in par- 
 
J 24 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 ticular cases, — as c before e or i, like ch, sc before i. 
 like sA, &c.,) the Latin thus spoken seemed as different 
 from that which was delivered as the English generally 
 speak it, as if it were another language. 
 
 I had before, during my retired life at my father's, 
 by unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered 
 the rules of grammar, in which I had once been very 
 ready, that I could both read a Latin author, and after 
 a sort, hammer out his meaning. But this change of 
 pronunciation proved a new difficulty to me ; it was 
 now harder to me to read, than it was before to under- 
 stand when read. But 
 
 " Incessant pains the end obtains." 
 
 And so did I ; which made my reading the more 
 acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand, 
 perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learning, 
 gave me not only all the encouragement, but all the 
 help he could. For, having a curious ear, he under- 
 stood by my tone when I understood what I red^Band 
 when I did not ; and accordingly would stolne, 
 examine me, and open the most difficult passagBto 
 me. Thus went I on for about six weeks' time, reel- 
 ing to him in the afternoons ; and exercising myself 
 with my own books in my chamber, in the forenoons, I 
 was sensible of an improvement. 
 
 But, alas! I had fixed my studies in a wrong place. 
 London and I could never agree for health ; my lungs, 
 as I suppose, were too tender to bear the sulphurous 
 air of that city, so that I soon began to droop ; and 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 125 
 
 in less than two months' time, I was fain to leave 
 both my studies and the city, and return into the 
 country to preserve life ; and much ado I had to get 
 thither. 
 
 I chose to go to Wycombe, and to John Baunce's 
 house there ; both as he was a physician, and his wife 
 an honest, hearty, discreet, and grave matron, of 
 whom I had a very good esteem, and who I knew had 
 a good regard for me. There I lay ill a considerable 
 time, and in that degree of weakness, that scarce any 
 who saw me expected my life. But the Lord was 
 both gracious to me in my illness, and was pleased 
 to raise me up again, that I might serve him in my 
 generation. 
 
 As soon as I had recovered so much strength as to 
 be fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who was then 
 at his house in Crowell, to dispose of some things he 
 had there, and who in my illness had come to see me,) 
 so much money as would clear all charges in the 
 house, for both physic, food, and attendance; and 
 having fully discharged all, I took leave of my friends 
 in that family, and in the town, and returned to my 
 studies at London. 
 
 I was very kindly received by my master, who had 
 conceived so good an opinion of me, that my conver- 
 sation I found was acceptable to him, and he seemed 
 heartily glad of my recovery and return; and into 
 our old method of study we fell again, I reading to 
 him, and he explaining to me, as occasion required. 
 
 But, as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to 
 11* 
 
126 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 me, scarce was I well settled *in my work, before I 
 met with another diversion, which turned me quite 
 out of it. For a sudden storm arising, from I know 
 not what surmise of a plot, and thereby danger to the 
 government, the meetings of Dissenters (such I mean 
 as could be found, which perhaps were not many 
 besides the Quakers) were broken up throughout the 
 city, and the prisons mostly filled with our Friends. 
 
 I was, that morning, which was the 26th day of the 
 eighth month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and 
 Mouth, by Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of 
 soldiers, of the trained bands of the city, rushed in, 
 with noise and clamour, being led by one who was 
 called Major Rosewell, an apothecary (if I misre- 
 member not), and at that time under the ill name of a 
 Papist. As soon as he was come within the room, 
 having a file or two of musketeers at his heels, he 
 commanded his men to present their muskets at us, 
 which they did, with intent, I suppose, to strike a 
 terror into the people. Then he made a proclamation, 
 that all who were not Quakers might depart if they 
 would. 
 
 It so happened, that a young man, an apprentice in 
 London, whose name was Dove, the son of Dr. Dove, 
 of Chinner, near Crowell, in Oxfordshire, came that 
 day in curiosity to see the meeting ; and coming 
 early, and finding me there (whom he knew) came and 
 sat down by me. As soon as he heard the noise of 
 soldiers, he was much startled, and asked me softly if 
 I would not shift for myself, and try to get out. I 
 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 127 
 
 told him no ; I was in my place, and was willing to 
 suffer if it was my lot.. When he heard the notice 
 given, that they who were not Quakers might depart, 
 he solicited me again to be gone. I told him I could 
 not do so, for that would be to renounce my profes- 
 sion, which I would by no means do. But as for him, 
 who was not one of us, he might do as he pleased. 
 Whereupon, wishing me well, he turned away, and 
 with cap in hand, went out. And truly I was glad 
 he was gone, for his master was a rigid Presbyterian, 
 who in all likelihood would have led him a wretched 
 life, had he been taken and imprisoned among the 
 Quakers. 
 
 The soldiers came so early, that the meeting was 
 not fully gathered when they came ; and, when the 
 mixed company were gone out, we were so few, and sat 
 so thin in that large room, that they might take a clear 
 view of us all, and single us out as they pleased. He 
 that commanded the party gave us first a general 
 charge to come out of the room. But we, who came 
 thither at God's requirings, to worship him, like that 
 good man of old, who said, " We ought to obey God 
 rather than men," stirred not, but kept our places. 
 Whereupon, he sent some of his soldiers among us, 
 with command to drag or drive us out, which they did 
 roughly enough. 
 
 When we came out into the street, we were received 
 there by other soldiers, who, with their pikes holden 
 lengthways from one to another, compassed us round 
 as sheep in a pound ; and there we stood a pretty 
 
228 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1602, 
 
 time, while they were picking up more to add to our 
 number. In this work none seemed so eager and 
 active as their leader, Major Rosewell. Which I 
 observing, stepped boldly to him, as he was passing by 
 me, and asked him if he intended a massacre ; for of 
 that, in those times, there was a great apprehension 
 and talk. The suddenness of the question, from such 
 a young man especially, somewhat startled him ; but 
 recollecting himself, he answered, " No ; but I intend 
 to have you all hanged by the wholesome laws of the 
 land/ 1 
 
 When he had gotten as many as he could, or thought 
 fit, wdrich were in number thirty-two, (whereof two w T ere 
 catched up in the street, who had not been at the 
 meeting) he ordered the pikes to be opened before us ; 
 and giving the word to march, went himself at the head 
 of us, the soldiers with their pikes making a lane to 
 keep us from scattering. 
 
 He led us up Martins, and so turned down to New- 
 gate, where I expected he would have lodged us. But 
 to my disappointment, he went on through Newgate, 
 and turning through the Old Bailey, brought us into 
 Fleet-street. I w T as then wholly at a loss to conjecture 
 whither he would lead us, unless it were to Whitehall, 
 for I knew nothing then of Old Bridewell ; but on a 
 sudden he gave a short turn, and brought us before 
 the gate of that prison, where knocking, the wicket 
 was forthwith opened, and the master, with his porter, 
 ready to receive us. One of those two who were picked 
 up in the street, being near me, and telling me his 
 
1562.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 129 
 
 case, I stepped to the Major, and told him this man 
 was not at the meeting, but was taken up in the street ; 
 and showed him how hard and unjust a thing it would 
 be to put him into prison. 
 
 I had not pleased him before, in the question I had 
 put to him about a massacre ; and that, I suppose, 
 made this solicitation less acceptable to him from me, 
 than it might have been from some other. For looking 
 sternly on me, he said, " Who are you, that take so 
 much upon you ? seeing you* are so busy, you shall be 
 the first man that shall go into Bridewell ;" and taking 
 me by the shoulders, he thrust me in. As soon as I 
 was in, the porter pointing with his finger, directed me 
 to a fair pair of stairs on the further side of a large 
 court, and bid me go up those stairs, and go on till I 
 could go no further. 
 
 Accordingly I went up the stairs ; the first flight 
 whereof brought me to a fair chapel on my left hand, 
 w r hich I could look into through the iron grates, but 
 could not have gone into if I would. I knew that 
 w r as not a place for me ; wherefore following my 
 direction, and the winding of the stairs, I went up a 
 story higher, which brought me into a room, that I 
 soon perceived to be a court-room, or place of judica- 
 ture. After I had stood awhile there, and taken a 
 view of it, observing a door on the further side, I went 
 to it and opened it, with intention to go in, but I 
 quickly drew back, being almost affrighted at the dis- 
 malness of the place. For, besides, that the w^alls 
 quite round were laid all over, from top to bottom, in 
 
x gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 black, there stood in the middle of it a great whipping- 
 post, which was all the furniture it had. 
 
 In one of these two rooms judgment w T as given, and 
 in the other it was executed on those ill people, who 
 for their lewdness were sent to this prison, and there 
 sentenced to be whipped. Which was so contrived, 
 that the court might not only hear, but see, if they 
 pleased, their sentence executed. 
 
 A sight so unexpected, and withal so unpleasing, 
 gave me no encouragement either to rest, or indeed to 
 enter at all there ; till looking earnestly, I espied, on 
 the opposite side, a door, which giving me hopes of a 
 further progress, I adventured to step hastily to it, 
 and opened it. This let me into one of the fairest 
 rooms that, so far as I remember, I was ever in ; and 
 no wonder, for though it was now put to this mean 
 use, it had, for many ages past, been the royal seat or 
 palace of the kings of England, until Cardinal Wolsey 
 built Whitehall, and offered it as a peace-offering to 
 king Henry the 8th, who until that time had kept his 
 court in this house, and had this, as the people in the 
 house reported, for bis dining-room, by which name it 
 then w r ent. 
 
 This room in length, for I lived long enough in it to 
 have time to measure it, was three-score feet, and had 
 breadth proportionable to it. In it, on the front side, 
 were very large bay windows, in which stood a large 
 table. It had other very large tables in it, with benches 
 round ; and at that time the floor was covered with 
 rushes, against some solemn festival, which I heard it 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 131 
 
 was bespoken for. Here was my nil ultra, and here I 
 found I might set up my pillar ; for although there 
 was a door out of it, to a back pair of stairs which led 
 to it, yet that was kept locked. So that finding I had 
 now followed my keeper's direction to the utmost 
 point, beyond which I could not go, I sat down, and 
 considered the rhetorical saying, — " That the way to 
 Heaven layby the gate of Hell;" the black room, 
 through which I passed into this, bearing some resem- 
 blance to the latter, as this comparatively, and by way 
 of allusion, might in some sort be thought to bear to 
 the former. 
 
 But I was quickly put out of these thoughts by the 
 flocking in of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners ; 
 amongst whom yet, when all were come together, 
 there was but one whom I knew so much as by face ; 
 and with him I had no acquaintance. For I having 
 been but a little while in the city, and in that time 
 kept close to my studies, I was by that means known 
 to very few. 
 
 Soon after w^e were all gotten together, came up the 
 master of the house after us, and demanded our 
 names ; which we might reasonably have refused to 
 give, till we had been legally convened before some 
 civil magistrate, who had power to examine us, and 
 demand our names ; but we, who were neither guileful 
 nor wilful, simply gave him our names, which he took 
 down in writing. 
 
 It was, as I hinted before, a general storm which 
 fell that day, but it lighted most, and most heavy, 
 
239 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 upon our meetings ; so that most of our men Friends 
 were made prisoners, and the prisons generally filled. 
 And great work had the women to run about from 
 prison to prison to find their husbands, their fathers, 
 their brothers, or their servants ; for accordingly as 
 they had disposed themselves to several meetings, so 
 were they dispersed to several prisons. And no less 
 care and pains had they, when they had found them, to 
 furnish them with provisions, and other necessary 
 accommodations. But an excellent order, even in 
 those early days, w r as practised among the Friends of 
 that city, by which there were certain Friends of 
 either sex appointed to have the oversight of the 
 prisons in every quarter; and to take care of all 
 Friends, the poor especially, that should be committed 
 there. 
 
 This prison of Bridewell was under the care of two 
 honest, grave, discreet, and motherly women, whose 
 names were Anne Merrick, (afterwards Vivers,) and 
 Anne Travers, both widows. They, so soon as they 
 understood that there were Friends brought into that 
 prison, provided some hot victuals, meat, and broth, 
 for the weather was cold; and ordering their servants 
 to bring it, with bread, cheese, and beer, came them- 
 selves also with it, and having placed it on a table, 
 gave notice to us, that it was provided for all those 
 that had not others to provide for them, or were not 
 able to provide for themselves. And there w r anted not 
 among us a competent number of such guests. 
 
 As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as I 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 133 
 
 possibly could, that I might draw out the thread of my 
 little stock to the utmost length, yet had I by this time 
 reduced it to tenpence, which was all the money I had 
 about me, or any where else at my command. This 
 was but a small estate to enter upon an imprison- 
 ment with, yet w T as I not at all discouraged at it, nor 
 had I a murmuring thought. I had known what it was 
 moderately to abound, and if I should now come to 
 suffer want, I knew I ought to be content ; and through 
 the grace of God I was so. I had lived by Providence 
 before, when for a long time I had no money at all, 
 and I had always found the Lord a good provider. I 
 made no doubt, therefore, that He who sent the ravens 
 to feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies, would find 
 some means to sustain me with needful food and 
 raiment ; and I had learned by experience the truth 
 of that saying, "Nature is content with few things." 
 
 Although the sight and smell of hot food was suffi- 
 ciently enticing to my empty stomach, for I had eaten 
 little that morning, and was hungry, yet considering 
 the terms of the invitation, I questioned whether I was 
 included in it ; and after some reasonings, at length 
 concluded, that while I had tenpence in my pocket I 
 should be an injurious intruder to that mess, which was 
 provided for such as perhaps had not twopence in 
 theirs. Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as 
 far from the table as I could, and sat down in a quiet 
 retirement of mind, till the repast was over ; which was 
 not long, for there were hands enough at it to make 
 light work of it. 
 12 
 
134 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 
 
 When evening came, the porter came up the back 
 stairs, and opening the door, told us, if we desired to 
 have anything that was to be had in the house, he 
 would bring it us ; for there was in the house a chand- 
 ler's shop, at which beer, bread, butter, cheese, eggs, 
 and bacon, might be had for money. Upon which 
 many went to him, and spake for what of these things 
 they had a mind to, giving him money to pay for them. 
 Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out my 
 tenpence as far as I could, desired him to bring me a 
 penny loaf only. When he returned, we all resorted 
 to him to receive our several provisions, which he 
 delivered ; and when he came to me, he told me he 
 could not get a penny loaf, but he had brought me two 
 halfpenny loaves. This suited me better : wherefore 
 returning to my place again, I sat down and eat up one 
 of my loaves, reserving the other for the next day. 
 This was to me both dinner and supper ; and so well 
 satisfied I was with it, that I could willingly then have 
 gone to bed, if I had had one to go to; but that was 
 not to be expected there, nor had any one any bedding 
 brought in that night. 
 
 Some of the company had been so considerate as to 
 send for a pound of candles, that we might not sit all 
 night in the dark; and having lighted divers of them, 
 and placed them in several parts of that large room, 
 we kept walking to keep us warm. 
 
 After I had warmed myself pretty thoroughly, and 
 the evening avas pretty far spent, I bethought myself 
 of a lodging, and cast mine eye on the table which 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 135 
 
 stood in the bay window, the frame whereof looked I 
 thought somewhat like a bedstead. Wherefore, willing 
 to make sure of that, I gathered up a good armful of 
 the rushes wherewith the floor was covered, and spread- 
 ing them under that table, crept in upon them in my 
 clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head upon 
 one end of the table's frame instead of a bolster. My 
 example w T as followed by the rest, who gathering up 
 rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in other 
 parts of the room ; and so to rest we went. 
 
 I having a quiet easy mind was soon asleep, and 
 slept till about the middle of the night ; and then 
 waking, finding my feet and legs very cold, I crept out 
 of my cabin, and began to walk about apace. This 
 waked and raised all the rest, who finding themselves 
 cold as well as I, got up and walked about with me, 
 till we had pretty well warmed ourselves ; and then we 
 all lay down again, and rested till morning. 
 
 Next day, all they who had families, or belonged to 
 families, had bedding brought in, of one sort or other, 
 which they disposed at the ends and sides of the room, 
 leaving the middle void to walk in. But I, who had 
 nobody to look after 'me, kept to my rushy pallet under 
 the table for four nights together, in which time I did 
 not put off my clothes ; yet, through the merciful 
 goodness of God unto me, I rested and slept well, and 
 enjoyed health, without taking cold. 
 
 In this time divers of our company, through the 
 solicitations of some of their relations or acquaintance 
 to Sir Richard Brown, (who was at that time a great 
 
136 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 
 
 master of misrule in the city, and over Bridewell more 
 especially) were released ; and among these one William 
 Mucklow, who lay in a hammock. He, having observed 
 that I only was unprovided with lodging, came very 
 courteously to me, and kindly offered me the use of 
 his hammock while I should continue a prisoner. This 
 was a providential accommodation to me, which I 
 received thankfully, both from the Lord and from him ; 
 and from henceforth I thought I lay as well as ever 
 I had done in my life. 
 
 Amongst those that remained, there were several 
 young men who cast themselves into a club, and laying 
 down every one an equal proportion of money, put it 
 into the hand of our friend Anne Travers, desiring her 
 to lay it out for them in provisions, and send them in 
 every day a mess of hot meat ; and they kindly invited 
 me to come into their club with them. These saw my 
 person, and judged of me by that, but they saw not my 
 purse, nor understood the lightness of my pocket. But 
 I, who alone understood my own condition, knew I 
 must sit clown with lower commons. Wherefore, not 
 giving them the true reason, I, as fairly as I could, 
 excused myself from entering at present into their 
 mess, and went on as before to eat by myself, and that 
 very sparingly, as my stock would bear. And before 
 my tenpence was quite spent, Providence, on whom I 
 relied, sent me in a fresh supply. For William Pening- 
 ton, a brother of Isaac Penington, a Friend and mer- 
 chant in London, at whose house, before I came to live 
 in the city, I was wont to lodge, having been at his 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \^J 
 
 brother's that clay upon a visit, escaped this storm, and 
 so was at liberty ; and understanding when he came 
 back what had been done, bethought himself of me ; 
 and upon inquiry hearing where I was, came in love to 
 see me. In discourse, amongst other things, he asked 
 me how it was with me as to money, and how well I 
 was furnished. I told him I could not boast of much, 
 and yet I could not say I had none ; though what I 
 then had was indeed next to none. Whereupon he 
 put twenty shillings into my hand, and desired me to 
 accept of that for the present. I saw a Divine Hand 
 in thus opening his heart and hand in this manner to 
 me. And though I would willingly have been excused 
 from taking so much, and would have returned one 
 half of it, yet he pressing it all upon me, I received it 
 with a thankful acknowledgment, as a token of love 
 from the Lord and from him. 
 
 On the seventh day he went down again, as he 
 usually did, to his brother's house at Chalfont, and in 
 discourse gave them an account of my imprisonment. 
 Whereupon, at his return on the second day of the 
 week following, my affectionate friend Mary Penington 
 sent me by him forty shillings, which he soon after 
 brought me ; out of which I would have repaid him the 
 twenty shillings he had so kindly furnished me with, 
 but he would not admit it, telling me I might have oc- 
 casion for that and more before I got my liberty. 
 
 Not many days after this, I received twenty shillings 
 from my father, who being then at his house in Oxford- 
 shire, and, by letter from my sister, understanding that 
 12* 
 
138 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 I was a prisoner in Bridewell, sent this money to me 
 for my support there ; and withal a letter to my sister, 
 for her to deliver to one called Mr. Wray, who lived 
 near Bridewell, and was a servant to Sir Richard 
 Brown, in some wharf of his, requesting him to inter- 
 cede with his master, who was one of the governors of 
 Bridewell, for my deliverance. But that letter coming 
 to my hands, I suppressed it, and have it yet by me. 
 
 Now was my pocket from the lowest ebb risen to a 
 full tide. I was at the brink of want, next door to 
 nothing, yet my confidence did not fail, nor my faith 
 stagger; and now on a sudden I had plentiful supplies, 
 shower upon shower, so that I abounded, yet was not 
 lifted up ; but in humility could say, " This is the 
 Lord's doing." And, without defrauding any of the 
 instruments of the acknowledgments due unto them, 
 mine eye looked over and beyond them to the Lord, 
 who I saw was the author thereof, and prime agent 
 therein ; and w T ith a thankful heart I returned thanks- 
 givings and praises to him. And this great goodness 
 of the Lord to me I thus record, to the end, that all 
 into whose hands this may come may be encouraged to 
 trust in the Lord, whose mercy is over all his works, 
 and w^ho is indeed a God near at hand, to help in the 
 needful time. Now I durst venture into the club, to 
 which I had been invited ; and accordingly, having by 
 this time gained an acquaintance with them, I took an 
 opportunity to cast myself among them ; and thence- 
 forward, so long as we continued prisoners there toge- 
 ther, I was one of their mess. 
 
1662.] LIFE O 1 ? THOMAS ELLWOOD. ^39 
 
 And now the chief thing I wanted was employment, 
 which scarce any wanted but myself; for the rest of 
 my company were generally tradesmen, of such trades 
 as could set themselves on work. Of these divers were 
 tailors, some masters, some journeymen, and with these 
 I mostly inclined to settle. But because I was too 
 much a novice in their art to be trusted with their 
 work, lest I should spoil the garment, I got work from 
 an hosier in Cheapside, which was to make night- waist- 
 coats, of red and yellow flannel, for women and chil- 
 dren. And with this I entered myself among the tail- 
 ors, setting cross-legged as they did, and so spent those 
 leisure hours with innocency and pleasure, which want 
 of business would have made tedious. And indeed 
 that was in a manner the only advantage I had by it ; 
 for my master, though a very wealthy man, and one 
 who professed not only friendship but particular kind- 
 ness to me, dealt I thought but hardly with me. For, 
 though he knew not what I had to subsist by, he never 
 offered me a penny for my work till I had done work- 
 ing for him, and went after I was released, to give him 
 a visit ; and then he would not reckon with me neither, 
 because as he smilingly said, he would not let me so 
 far into his trade, as to acquaint me with the prices of 
 the work, but would be sure to give me enough. And 
 thereupon he gave me one crown piece, and no more ; 
 though I had wrought long for him, and made him 
 many dozens of waistcoats, and bought the thread my- 
 self; which I thought was very poor pay. But, as 
 Providence had ordered it, I wanted the work more 
 
240 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 than the wages, and therefore took what he gave me, 
 without complaining. 
 
 About this time, while w T e were prisoners in our fair 
 chamber, a Friend was brought and put in among us, 
 who had been sent thither by Richard Brown, to beat 
 hemp ; whose case was thus. He was a very poor man, 
 who lived by mending shoes ; and on a seventh-day 
 night late, a carman, or some other such labouring 
 man, brought him a pair of shoes to mend, desiring 
 him to mend them that night, that he might have them 
 in the morning, for he had no other to wear. The 
 poor man sat up at work upon them till after midnight; 
 and then, finding he could not finish them, he went to 
 bed, intending to do the rest in the morning. 
 
 Accordingly, he got up betimes ; and though he 
 wrought as privately as he could in his chamber, that 
 he might avoid giving offence to any, yet could he not 
 do it so privately, but that an ill-natured neighbour 
 perceived it, and went and informed against him for 
 working on the Sunday. Whereupon he was had 
 before Richard Brown, wiio committed him to Bride- 
 well for a certain time, to be kept to hard labour in 
 beating hemp, which is labour hard enough. 
 
 It so fell out, that at the same time were committed, 
 for what cause I do not now remember, two lusty young 
 men who were called Baptists, to be kept also at the 
 same labour. The Friend was a poor little man, of a 
 low condition, and mean appearance ; whereas these 
 two Baptists were topping blades, that looked high and 
 Bpake big. They scorned to beat hemp, and made a 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. J4J 
 
 pish at' the whipping-post; but when they had once felt 
 the smart of it, they soon cried Peccavi, and submit- 
 ting to the punishment, set their tender hands to the 
 beetles. The Friend, on the other hand, acting upon 
 a principle, as knowing he had done no evil for which 
 he should undergo that punishment, refused to work, 
 and for refusing was cruelly whipped ; which he bore 
 with wonderful constancy and resolution of mind. 
 
 The manner of whipping there is, to strip the party 
 to the skin from the waist upwards, — and having then 
 fastened him to the whipping-post, so that he can 
 neither resist nor shun the strokes, — to lash the naked 
 body with long but slender twigs of holly, which will 
 bend almost like thongs, and wrap round the body; 
 and these, having little knots upon them, tear the skin 
 and flesh, and give extreme pain. With these rods 
 they tormented the Friend most barbarously; and the 
 more, for that having mastered the two braving Bap- 
 tists, they disdained to be mastered by this poor 
 Quaker. Yet were they fain at last to yield, when 
 they saw that their utmost severity could not make him 
 yield. And then, not willing to be troubled longer 
 with him, they turned him up among us. 
 
 When we had inquired of him how it was with him, 
 and he had given us a brief account of both his cause 
 and usage, — it came in my mind, that I had in my box 
 (which I had sent for from my lodgings, to keep some 
 few books and other necessaries in) a little gallipot with 
 Lucatellu's balsam in it. Wherefore, causing a good 
 fire to be made, and setting the Friend within a blanket 
 
142 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 
 
 before the fire, we stripped him to the waist, as if he 
 had been to be whipped again, and found his skin so 
 cut and torn with the knotty holly rods, both back, 
 side, arm, and breast, that it w T as a dismal sight to look 
 upon. Then melting some of the balsam, I with a 
 feather anointed all the sores; and putting a softer 
 cloth between his skin and his shirt, helped him on 
 with his clothes again. This dressing gaye him much 
 ease, and I continued it till he was well. And because 
 he w T as a very poor man, we took him into our mess, 
 contriving that there should always be enough for him 
 as well as for ourselves. Thus he lived with us, until 
 the time he was committed for was expired, and then he 
 was released. 
 
 But we were still continued prisoners by an arbitrary 
 power, not being committed by the civil authority, nor 
 having seen the face of any civil magistrate, from the 
 day we were thrust in here by soldiers, which was the 
 26th of the eighth month, to the 19th of the tenth 
 month following. On that day we were had to the 
 sessions at the Old Bailey. But not being called there, 
 we were brought back to Bridewell, and continued 
 there to the 29th of the same month, and then we were 
 carried to the sessions again. I expected I should 
 have been called the first, because my name was first 
 taken down : but it proved otherwise, so that I was one 
 of the last that was called. This gave me the advan- 
 tage of hearing the pleas of the other prisoners, and 
 discovering the temper of the court. 
 
 The prisoners complained of the illegality of their 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 143 
 
 imprisonment, and desired to know what they had lain 
 so long in prison for. The court regarded nothing of 
 that, and did not stick to tell them so. "For," said 
 the Eecorder to them, "if you think yon have been 
 wrongfully imprisoned, you have your remedy at law; 
 and may take it, if you think it worth your while. The 
 court," said he, u may send for any man out of the 
 street, and tender him the oath. So we take no notice 
 how T you came hither, but finding you here, we tender 
 you the oath of allegiance ; which, if you refuse to 
 take, we shall commit you, and at length praemunire 
 you." Accordingly, as every one refused it, he was 
 set aside, and another called. 
 
 By this I saw it was in vain for me to insist upon 
 false imprisonment, or ask the cause of my commit- 
 ment ; though I had before furnished myself with some 
 authorities and maxims of law on that subject, to have 
 pleaded, if room had been given ; and I had the book, 
 out of which I took them, in my bosom ; for the wea- 
 ther being cold, I wore a gown girt about the middle, 
 and had put the book within it. But I now resolved 
 to waive all that, and insist upon another plea, which 
 just then came into my mind. 
 
 As soon therefore as I was called, I stepped nimbly 
 to the bar, and stood up upon the stepping, that I might 
 the better both hear, and be heard ; and laying my 
 hands upon the bar, stood ready, expecting what they 
 would say to me. I suppose they took me for a confi- 
 dent young man, for they looked very earnestly upon 
 me ; and we faced each other without words for a 
 
|44 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 while. At length the Recorder, who was called Sir 
 John Howell, asked me if I would take the oath of 
 allegiance. 
 
 To which I answered, " I conceive this court hath 
 not power to tender that oath to me, in the condition 
 wherein I stand." 
 
 This so unexpected plea, seemed to startle them, so 
 that they looked one upon another, and said somewhat 
 low one to another, "What! doth he demur to the 
 jurisdiction of the court?" And thereupon the Re- 
 corder asked me, " Do you then demur to the jurisdic- 
 tion of the court?" "Not absolutely," answered I, 
 " but conditionally, with respect to my present con- 
 dition, and the circumstances I am now under." 
 
 "Why, what is your present condition?" said the 
 Recorder. "A prisoner," replied I. "And what is 
 that," said he, "to your taking or not taking the oath?" 
 " Enough," said I, "as I conceive, to exempt me from 
 the tender thereof while I am under this condition." 
 "Pray, what is your reason for that?" said he. 
 "This," said I, "That, if I rightly understand the 
 words of the statute, I am required to say, That I do 
 take this Oath freely and without constraint ; which I 
 cannot say, because I am not a free man, but in bonds, 
 and under constraint. Wherefore I conceive, that if 
 you would tender that oath to me, you ought first to 
 set me free from my present imprisonment." 
 
 "But," said the Recorder, "will you take the oath 
 if you be set free?" "Thou shalt see that," said I, 
 "when I am set free. Therefore set me free first, and 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 145 
 
 then ask the question." "But," said he again, "you 
 know your own mind sure ; and can tell now what you 
 would do, if you were at liberty." "Yes," replied I, 
 " that I can ; but I do not hold myself obliged to tell 
 it until I am at liberty. Therefore set me at liberty, 
 and you shall soon hear it." 
 
 Thus we fenced a good while, till I was both weary 
 of such trifling; and doubted also lest some of the 
 standers by should suspect I would take it, if I was set 
 at liberty. Wherefore, when the Kecorder put it upon 
 me again, I told him plainly, No ; though I thought 
 they ought not to tender it me, till I had been set at 
 liberty ; yet if I was set at liberty, I could not take 
 that, nor any other oath, because my Lord and Master 
 Jesus Christ had expressly commanded his disciples, 
 not to swear at all. 
 
 As his command was enough to me, so this con- 
 fession of mine was enough to them. " Take him 
 away," said they; and away I was taken, and thrust 
 into the bail-dock to my other friends, who had been 
 called before me. And as soon as the rest of our 
 company were called, and had refused to swear, we 
 were all committed to Newgate, and thrust into the 
 common side. 
 
 When we came there, we found that side of the 
 prison very full of Friends, who were prisoners there 
 before, as indeed were, at that time, all the other parts 
 of that prison, and most of the other prisons about 
 the town ; and our addition caused a great throng on 
 that side. Notwithstanding which, we were kindly 
 13 
 
J 46 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 welcomed by our friends, whom we found there, and 
 entertained by them, as well as their condition would 
 admit, until we could get in our own accommodations, 
 and provide for ourselves. 
 
 We had the liberty of the hall, which is on the first 
 story over the gate, and which, in the day-time, is 
 common to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well 
 as others, to walk in, and to beg out of; we had also 
 the liberty of some other rooms over that hall, to walk 
 or work in during the day. But at night we all lodged 
 in one room, which was large and round, having in the 
 middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber, which 
 bore up the chapel that is over it. To this pillar we 
 fastened our hammocks at the one end, and to the 
 opposite wall on the other end, quite round the room, 
 and in three degrees, or three stories high, one over 
 the other; so that they who lay in the upper and 
 middle row of hammocks, were obliged to go to bed 
 first, because they were to climb up to the higher by 
 getting into the lower. And under the lower rank of 
 hammocks, by the wall sides, were laid beds upon the 
 floor, in which the sick, and such weak persons as 
 could not get into the hammocks, lay. And, indeed, 
 though the room was large and pretty airy, yet the 
 breath and steam that came from so many bodies, of 
 different ages, conditions, and constitutions, packed up 
 so close together, was enough to cause sickness 
 amongst us, and I believe did so ; for there were 
 many sick, and some very weak. Though we were 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 147 
 
 not long there, yet in that time one of our fellow 
 prisoners, who lay in one of those pallet-beds, died. 
 
 This caused some bustle in the house. For the 
 body of the deceased being laid out, and put into a 
 coffin, was carried down and set in the room called the 
 Lodge, that the coroner might inquire into the cause 
 and manner of his death. And the manner of their 
 doing it is thus. As soon as the coroner is come, the 
 turnkeys run out into the street under the gate, and 
 seize upon every man that passes by, till they have got 
 enough to make up the coroner's inquest. And so 
 resolute these rude fellows are, that if any man resist 
 or dispute it with them, they drag him in by main 
 force, not regarding what condition he is of. Nay, 
 I have been told, they will not stick to stop a coach, 
 and pluck the men out of it. It so happened, that at 
 this time they lighted on an ancient man, a grave 
 citizen, who was trudging through the gate in great 
 haste ; and him they laid hold upon, telling him he 
 must come in, and serve upon the coroner's inquest. 
 He pleaded hard, begged and besought them to let 
 him go, assuring them he was going on very urgent 
 business, and that the stopping him would be greatly 
 to his prejudice. But they were deaf to all his 
 entreaties, and hurried him in, the poor man chafing 
 without remedy. 
 
 When they had got their complement ; and were 
 shut in together, the rest of them said to this ancient 
 man, " Come, father, you are the oldest amongst us, 
 you shall be our foreman." And when the coroner 
 
148 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662, 
 
 had sworn them on the jury, the coffin was uncovered, 
 that they might look upon the body. But the old 
 man, disturbed in his mind at the interruption they 
 had given him, was grown somewhat fretful upon it, 
 and said to them, " To what purpose do you show us a 
 dead body here ? You would not have us think, sure, 
 that this man died in this room ! How then shall we 
 be able to judge how this man came by his death, 
 unless we see the place wherein he died, and wherein 
 he hath been kept prisoner before he died ? How 
 know we but that the incommodiousness of the place 
 wherein he was kept, may have occasioned his death ? 
 Therefore, shew us," said he, "the place wherein this 
 man died." 
 
 This much displeased the keepers, and they began 
 to banter the old man, thinking to have beaten him off 
 it. But he stood up tightly to them : " Come, come," 
 said he, " though you have made a fool of me in bring- 
 ing me in hither, you shall not find a child of me now 
 I am here. Mistake not yourselves ; I understand my 
 place, and your duty, and I require you to conduct me 
 and my brethren to the place where this man died. 
 Refuse it at your peril." 
 
 They now wished they had let the old man go about 
 his business, rather than by troubling him have 
 brought this trouble on themselves. But when they 
 saw he persisted in his resolution, and was peremp- 
 tory, the coroner told them, they must go show him 
 the place. 
 
 It was in the evening when they began this work; 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \^Q 
 
 and by this time it was grown bed-time with us, so that 
 we had taken down our hammocks, which during the 
 day were hung up by the walls, and had made them 
 ready to go into, and were undressing ourselves, in 
 readiness to go into them. When on a sudden we 
 heard a great noise of tongues, and of trampling of 
 feet, coming up towards us ; and bye and bye one of the 
 turnkeys opening our door, said, " Hold, hold, do not 
 undress yourselves, here is the coroner's inquest coming 
 to see you." 
 
 As soon as they were come to the door, for within 
 the door there was scarce room for them to come, the 
 foreman who led them, lifting up his hand, said, "Lord 
 bless me, what a sight is here ! I did not think there 
 had been so much cruelty in the hearts of Englishmen, 
 to use Englishmen in this manner ! We need not now 
 question," said he, to the rest of the jury, "how this 
 man came by his death; we may rather wonder that 
 they are not all dead, for this place is enough to breed 
 an infection among them. Well," added he, "if it 
 please God to lengthen my life till to-morrow, I will 
 find means to let the king know how his subjects are 
 dealt with." 
 
 Whether he did so or no I cannot tell ; but I am apt 
 to think that he applied himself to the mayor or sheriffs 
 of London. For the next day one of the sheriffs, 
 called Sir William Turner, a woollen-draper, in Paul's- 
 yard, came to the press-yard, and having ordered the 
 porter of Bridewell to attend him there, sent up a turn- 
 key amongst us, to bid all the Bridewell prisoners come 
 13* 
 
150 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 down to him, for they knew us not, but we knew our 
 own company. 
 
 Being come before him in the press-yard, he looked 
 kindly on us, and spake courteously to us. " Gentle- 
 men," said he, "I understand the prison is very full, 
 and I am sorry for it. I wish it were in my power to 
 release you, and the rest of your friends that are in it. 
 But since I cannot do that, I am willing to do what I 
 can for you. And therefore I am come hither to in- 
 quire how 7 it is ; and I would have all of you, who came 
 from Bridewell, return thither again, which will be a 
 better accommodation to you ; and your removal will 
 give the more room to those that are left behind. And 
 here is the porter of Bridewell, your old keeper, to 
 attend you thither." 
 
 We duly acknowledged the favour of the sheriff to 
 us and our friends above, in this removal of us, which 
 would give them more room, and us better air. But 
 before we parted from him, I spake particularly to him 
 on another occasion ; which was this. 
 
 When we came into Newgate, we found a shabby 
 fellow there among the Friends, who, upon inquiry, we 
 understood had thrust himself among our friends, when 
 they w r ere taken at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to 
 prison with them, in hopes to be maintained by them. 
 They knew nothing of him, till they found him shut in 
 with them in the prison, and then took no notice of 
 him, as not knowing how or why he came thither 
 But he very soon gave them cause to take notice of 
 him ; for wherever he saw any victuals brought forth 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 151 
 
 for them to eat, lie would be sure to thrust in, with 
 knife in hand, and make himself his own carver ; and 
 so impudent was he, that if he saw the provision was 
 short, whoever wanted, he would be sure to take 
 enough. Thus lived this lazy drone upon the labours 
 of the industrious bees, to his high content, and their 
 no small trouble, to whom his company was as offensive, 
 as his ravening was oppressive ; nor could they get any 
 relief, by their complaining of him to the keepers. 
 
 . This fellow hearing the notice which was given, for 
 the Bridewell men to go down, in order to be removed 
 to Bridewell again, and hoping no doubt that fresh 
 quarters would produce fresh commons, and that he 
 should fare better with us than where he was, thrust 
 himself amongst us, and went down into the press-yard 
 with us : which I knew not of, till I saw him standing 
 there with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he 
 could, that the sheriff might take him for a Quaker ; at 
 sight of which my spirit was much stirred. Wherefore 
 as soon as the sheriff had done speaking to us, and 
 we had made our acknowledgment of his kindness, I 
 stepped a little nearer to him, and pointing to that 
 fellow, said, " That man is not only none of our com- 
 pany, for he is no Quaker, but is an idle, dissolute 
 fellow, who hath thrust himself in among our Friends, 
 to be sent to prison with them, that he might live upon 
 them ; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with 
 him at Bridewell. 
 
 At this the sheriff smiled; and calling the fellow 
 forth, said to him, " How came you to be in prison ¥* 
 
252 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 "I was taken at a meeting," said he. " But what 
 business had you there?" said the sheriff. "I went 
 to hear," said he. " Aye, you went upon a worse 
 design, it seems," replied the sheriff: "but. I'll dis- 
 appoint you," said he, "for I'll change your company, 
 and send you to them that are like yourself." Then 
 calling for the turnkey, he said. " Take this fellow, and 
 put him among the felons; and be sure let him not 
 trouble the Quakers any more." 
 
 Hitherto this fellow had stood with his hat on, as 
 willing to have passed, if he could, for a Quaker ; but 
 as soon as he heard this doom passed on him, off went 
 his hat, and to bowing and scraping he fell, with 
 " Good your worship, have pity upon me, and set me 
 at liberty." "No, no," said the sheriff, " I will not so 
 far disappoint you ; since you had a mind to be in 
 prison, in prison you shall be for me." Then bidding 
 the turnkey take him away, he had him up, and put him 
 among the felons ; and so Friends had a good deliver- 
 ance from him. 
 
 The sheriff then bidding us farewell, the porter of 
 Bridewell came to us, and told us we knew our way 
 to Bridewell without him, and he could trust us ; there- 
 fore he would not stay nor go with us, but left us to 
 take our own time, so we were in before bed-time. 
 
 Then went we up again to our friends in Newgate, 
 and gave them an account of what had passed ; and 
 having taken a solemn leave of them, we made up our 
 packs to be gone. But before I pass from Newgate, I 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. ] 53 
 
 think it not amiss to give the reader some little ac- 
 count of what I observed while I was there. 
 
 The common side of Newgate is generally accounted, 
 as it really is, the worst part of that prison ; not so 
 much from the place, as the people, it being usually 
 stocked with the veriest rogues, and meanest sort of 
 felons and pickpockets, who not being able to pay 
 chamber-rent on the master's side, are thrust in there. 
 And if they come in bad, to be sure they do not go 
 out better ; for here they have an opportunity to in- 
 struct one another in their art, and to impart each to 
 the other what improvements they had made therein. 
 
 The common hall, which is the first room over the 
 gate, is a good place to walk in, when the prisoners 
 are out of it, saving the danger of catching some cattle 
 which they may have left in it ; and there I used to 
 walk in a morning before they were let up, and some- 
 times in the day-time when they have been there. 
 
 They all carried themselves respectfully towards me, 
 which I imputed chiefly to this, that when any of our 
 women Friends came there to visit the prisoners, if 
 they had not relations of their own there to take care 
 of, then I, as being a young man, and more at leisure 
 than most others, for I could not play the tailor there, 
 was forward to go down with them to the grate, and 
 see them safe out. And sometimes they have left 
 money in my hands for the felons, (who at such times 
 were very importunate beggars) which I forthwith dis- 
 tributed among them in bread, which was to be had in 
 the place. But so troublesome an office it was, that I 
 
154 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 thought one had as good have had a pack of hungry 
 hounds about one, as these, when they knew there was 
 a dole to be given. Yet this, I think, made them a 
 little the more observant to me; for they would dispose 
 themselves to one side of the room, that they might 
 make way for me to walk on the other. And when I 
 walked there, I had usually a book in my hand, on 
 which I had mine eye ; which made them think I did 
 not heed what they said. By this means, my ear being 
 attentive to them, I heard them relate one to another 
 many of their roguish pranks. 
 
 One day, as I was walking to and fro beside them, 
 I heard them recounting one to another what feats 
 they had done at pocket-picking and shop-lifting, &c. 
 Whereupon, turning short upon them, I asked them, 
 u Which of you all will undertake to pick my pocket ?" 
 They were not very forward to answer, but viewed me 
 round. I wore a long gown, which was lapped over 
 before and tied about the middle, and had no pocket- 
 holes in it. When they had a while considered it, and 
 I having taken another turn was come up again to 
 them, one of them said, " Why, master, if you will 
 promise not to prosecute us, we will show you a piece 
 of our skill." "Nay, hold there," said I, " I won't 
 so far encourage you in evil, as to promise not to 
 prosecute ;" and away I turned again, having mine eye 
 on my book, but my ears to them. And in a while I 
 heard them contriving how they would have done it. 
 "I," said one of them, "would give him the budge, 
 ax> .? ' *bre he can recover himself, you," said he to 
 
1662.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 155 
 
 another of them, u having your penknife ready, should 
 slit his gown ; and then," said he, a let Honeypot alone 
 for the diving part." This Honeypot was a little boy, 
 then in prison with them for picking a pocket, who by 
 his stature did not seem to be above ten or a dozen 
 years old ; but for his dexterity at pocket-picking was 
 held to be one of the top of the trade. As for the 
 budge, I had had it given me often in the street, but 
 understood not the meaning of it till now ; and I found 
 it was a jostle enough to throw one almost upon his 
 nose. These are some of the evils, which make the 
 common side of Newgate, in measure, a type of hell 
 upon earth. 
 
 But there was, at that time, something of another 
 nature, more particular and accidental, which was very 
 offensive to me. When we came first into Newgate, 
 there lay in a little by-place, like a closet, near the 
 room where we lodged, the quartered bodies of three 
 men, who had been executed some days before, for a 
 real or pretended plot ; which was the ground or at 
 least pretext for that storm in the City, which had 
 caused this imprisonment. The names of these three 
 men were Philips, Tongue, and Gibs ; and the reason 
 why their quarters lay so long there was, the relatives 
 were all that while petitioning to have leave to bury 
 them ; which at length, with much ado, was obtained for 
 the quarters, but not for the heads, which were ordered 
 to be set up in some parts of the City. I saw the 
 heads when they were brought up to be boiled. The 
 hangman brought them in a dirty dust-basket out of 
 
156 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 some by-place, and setting them down amongst the 
 felons, he and they made sport of them. They took 
 them by the hair, flouting, jeering, and laughing at 
 them ; and then giving them some ill names, boxed 
 them on the ears and cheeks. Which done, the hang- 
 man put them into his kettle, and parboiled them 
 with bay-salt and cummin seed ; that to keep them 
 from putrefaction, and this to keep off the fowls from 
 seizing on them. The whole sight, as well that of 
 the bloody quarters first, as this of the heads after- 
 wards, was both frightful and loathsome, and begat 
 an abhorrence in my nature, which as it had rendered 
 my confinement there by much the more uneasy, so it 
 made our removal from thence to Bridewell, even in 
 that respect, the more welcome. 
 
 Having now T , as I hinted before, made up our packs, 
 and taken our leave of our friends, whom we were to 
 leave behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders, 
 and walked, two and two abreast, through the Old 
 Bailey into Fleet-street, and so to Old Bridewell. 
 And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and 
 the streets pretty full of people, both the shopkeepers 
 at their doors, and passengers in the way, would stop 
 us, and ask us what we were, and whither we were 
 going ; and when we had told them we were prisoners, 
 going from one prison to another, (from Newgate to 
 Bridewell) "What!" said they, "without a keeper?" 
 "No," said we, "for our word, which we have given, 
 is our keeper." Some thereupon w T ould advise us not 
 to go to prison, but to go home. But we told them we 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 157 
 
 could not do so ; we could suffer for our testimony, 
 but could not fly from it. I do not remember we had 
 any abuse offered us, but were generally pitied by the 
 people. 
 
 When we w^ere come to Bridewell, we were not put 
 up into the great room in which we had been before, 
 but into a low room in another fair court, which had a 
 pump in the middle of it. And here we were not 
 shut up as before, but had the liberty of the court to 
 w r alk in, and of the pump to wash or drink at. And 
 indeed, we might easily have gone quite away if we 
 would, there being a passage through the court into 
 the street ; but we were true and steady prisoners, and 
 looked upon this liberty, arising from their confidence 
 in us, to be a kind of parole upon us ; so that both 
 conscience and honour stood now engaged for our true 
 imprisonment. 
 
 Adjoining to this room wherein we were, was such 
 another, both newly fitted up for workhouses, and 
 accordingly furnished with very great blocks for beat- 
 ing hemp upon, and a lusty whipping-post there was 
 in each. And it was said, that Richard Brown had 
 ordered those blocks to be provided for the Quakers 
 to w^ork on, resolving to try his strength with us in 
 that case; but if that was his purpose, it was over- 
 ruled, for we never had any work offered us, nor were 
 we treated after the manner of those that are to be so 
 used. Yet we set ourselves to work on them ; for, 
 being very large, they served the tailors for shop- 
 boards, and others wrought upon them as they had 
 14 
 
^58 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 occasion ; and they served us very well for tables to 
 eat on. 
 
 We had also, besides this room, the use of our former 
 chamber above, to go into when we thought fit; and 
 thither sometimes I withdrew, when I found a desire 
 for retirement and privacy, or had something on my 
 mind to write, which could not so w T ell be done in com- 
 pany. And indeed, about this time, my spirit was 
 more than ordinarily exercised, though on very different 
 subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense of the 
 exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to me, in his 
 gracious and tender dealings with me, did deeply affect 
 my heart, and caused me to break forth into a Song 
 of Thanksgiving and Praise to Him : and, on the other 
 hand, a sense of the profaneness, debaucheries, cruel- 
 ties, and other horrid impieties of the age, fell heavy 
 on me, and lay as a pressing weight upon my spirit ; 
 and I breathed forth the following Hymn to God, in ac- 
 knowledgment of his great goodness to me, in profession 
 of my greatful love to him, and supplication to him, 
 for the continuance of his kindness to me, in preserving 
 me from the snares of the Enemy, and keeping me 
 faithful unto himself : — 
 
 HYMN TO GOD 
 
 Thee, thee alone, God ! I fear, 
 
 In thee do I confide ; 
 Thy presence is to me more dear 
 
 Than all things else beside. 
 
662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. Jgg 
 
 Thy virtue, power, life, and light, 
 
 Which in my heart do shine, 
 Above all things are my delight; 
 
 Oh ! make them always mine. 
 
 Thy matchless love constrains my life* 
 
 Thy life constrains my love, 
 To be to thee as chaste a wife, 
 
 As is the turtle dove 
 
 To her elect, espoused mate, 
 
 Whom she will not forsake ; 
 Nor can be brought to violate 
 
 The bond she once did make. 
 
 Just so my soul doth cleave to Thee 
 
 As to her only head, 
 With whom she longs conjoined to be 
 
 In bond of marriage : bed. 
 
 But ah, alas ! her little fort 
 
 Is compassed about, 
 Her foes about her thick resort, 
 
 Within, and eke without. 
 
 How numerous are they now grown, 
 
 How wicked their intent! 
 Oh ! let thy mighty power be shown, 
 
 Their mischief to prevent. 
 
 They make assaults on every side, 
 
 But Thou stand'st in the gap ; 
 Their batt'ring-rams make breaches wide, 
 
 But still Thou niak'st them up. 
 
 Sometimes they use alluring wiles, 
 
 To draw into their power ; 
 And sometimes weep like crocodiles,—* 
 
 But all is to devour. 
 
jgQ THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 Thus they beset my feeble heart 
 
 With fraud, deceit, and guile ; 
 Alluring her from Thee to start, 
 
 And thy pure rest defile. 
 
 But oh ! the breathing and the moan, 
 
 The sighings of the seed, 
 The groanings of the grieved one, 
 
 Do sorrows in me breed. 
 
 And that immortal, holy birth, 
 The offspring of thy breath, 
 . (To whom thy love brings life and mirth, 
 As doth thy absence, death.) 
 
 That babe, that seed, that panting child, 
 
 Which cannot Thee forsake, 
 In fear to be again beguiPd, 
 
 Doth supplication make — 
 
 Oh ! suffer not thy chosen one, 
 
 Who puts her trust in Thee, 
 And hath made Thee her choice alone, 
 
 Ensnar'd again to be. 
 
 Bridewell, London, 1662. 
 
 In this sort did I spend some leisure hours, during 
 my confinement in Bridewell, especially after our return 
 from Newgate thither ; w T hen we had more liberty, and 
 more opportunity, and room for retirement and thought. 
 For, as the poet said, 
 
 Carmina Scribentes Secession et Otia qiicerunt. 
 
 They who would write in measure 
 
 Retire where they may stillness have and leisure. 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Jg| 
 
 And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of 
 our keeper, whose heart God disposed to favour us. 
 
 So that both the master and his porter were very 
 civil and kind to us, and had been so indeed all along. 
 For when we were shut up before, the porter would 
 readily let some of us go home in an evening, and stay 
 at home till next morning ; which was a great con- 
 venience to men of trade and business, which I being 
 free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not 
 hinder others. This he observed, and asked me when 
 I meant to ask to go out ? I told him I had not much 
 occasion nor desire, yet at some time or other perhaps 
 I might have ; but when I had, I would ask him but 
 once, and if he then denied me, I would ask him no 
 more. 
 
 After we were come back from Newgate, I had a* 
 desire to go thither again, to visit my friends who were 
 prisoners there, more especially my dear friend, and 
 father in Christ, Edward Burrough, who was then a 
 prisoner, with many Friends more, in that part of 
 Newgate, which was then called Justice-hall. Where- 
 upon the porter coming in my way, I asked him to let 
 me go out for an hour or two, to see some friends of 
 mine that evening. He, to enhance the kindness, 
 made it a matter of some difficulty, and would have me 
 stay till another night. I told him I would be at a 
 word with him ; for as I had told him before, that if he 
 denied me, I would ask him no more, so he should find 
 I would keep to it. 
 
 He was no sooner gone out of my sight, but I espied 
 14* 
 
2(32 THE HISTUKY OF THE [1662. 
 
 his master crossing the court ; wherefore, stepping to 
 him, I asked him if he was willing to let me go out for 
 a little while, to see some friends of mine that evening. 
 " Yes," said he, " very willing;" and thereupon away 
 walked I to Newgate, where having spent the evening 
 among Friends, I returned in good time. 
 
 Under this easy restraint we lay until the court sat 
 at the Old Bailey again; and then, whether it was that 
 the heat of the storm was somewhat abated, or by what 
 other means Providence wrought it, I know not, we 
 were called to the bar, and, without further question, 
 discharged. Whereupon we returned to Bridewell 
 again, and having raised some money among us, and 
 therewith gratified both the master and his porter for 
 their kindness to us, we spent some time in a solemn 
 meeting, to return our thankful acknowledgment to the 
 Lord, both for his preservation of us in prison, and 
 deliverance of us out of it ; and then taking a solemn 
 farewell of each other, we departed with bag and bag- 
 gage. And I took care to return my hammock to the 
 owner, with due acknowledgment of his kindness in 
 lending it to me. 
 
 Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my 
 friends that were still in prison, and more particularly 
 my friend and benefactor William Penington, at his 
 house ; and then went to wait upon my master Milton, 
 with whom yet I could not propose to enter upon my 
 intermitted studies, until I had been in Buckingham- 
 shire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington and 
 his virtuous wile, with other Friends in that country 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 163 
 
 Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather 
 being frosty, and the ways by that means clean and 
 good, I walked it throughout in a day, and was received 
 by my friends there with such demonstration of hearty 
 kindness, as made my journey very easy to me. 
 
 I had spent in my imprisonment that twenty shillings 
 which I had received of Wi liam Penington, and twenty 
 of the forty which had been sent me from Mary Pen- 
 ington, and had the remainder then about me. That 
 therefore I now returned to her, with due acknowledg- 
 ment of her husband's and her great care of me, and 
 liberality to me in the time of need. She would have 
 had me keep it ; but I begged of her to accept it from 
 me again, since it w T as the redundancy of their kind- 
 ness, and the other part had answered the occasion for 
 which it was sent ; and my importunity prevailed. 
 
 I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance; 
 and therefore purposed, after I had stayed a few days, 
 to return to my lodging and former course in London ; 
 but Providence ordered it otherwise. Isaac Penington 
 had at that time two sons and one daughter, all then 
 very young ; of whom the eldest son, John Penington, 
 and the daughter, Mary, the wife of Daniel Wharley, 
 are yet living at the writing of this. And being him- 
 self both skilful and curious in pronunciation, he was 
 very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudi- 
 ments of the English tongue ; to which end he had sent 
 for a man out of Lancashire, whom upon inquiry he 
 had heard of, who was undoubtedly the most accurate 
 English teacher that ever I met with, or have heard of. 
 
104 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 
 
 His name was Richard Bradley. But as he pretended 
 no higher than the English tongue, and had led them, 
 by grammar rules, to the highest improvement they 
 were capable of in that, he had then taken his leave 
 of them, and was gone up to London, to teach an Eng- 
 lish school of Friends' children there. 
 
 This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought 
 for a new teacher to instruct his children in the Latin 
 tongue, as the old had done in the English, but had 
 not yet found one. Wherefore, one evening as we sat 
 together by the fire in his bed-chamber, w T hich for want 
 of health he kept, he asked me, his wife being by, if I 
 would be so kind to him, as to stay a while with him, 
 till he could hear of such a man as he aimed at, and in 
 the mean time enter his children in the rudiments of 
 the Latin tongue. 
 
 The question was not more unexpected, than sur- 
 prising to me ; and the more, because it seemed directly 
 to thwart my former purpose and undertaking, of en- 
 deavouring to improve myself, by following my studies 
 with Milton, which this would give at least a present 
 diversion from, and for how long I could not foresee. 
 
 But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I 
 lay under to these worthy friends of mine shut out all 
 reasonings, and disposed my mind to an absolute resig- 
 nation to their desire, that I might testify my grati- 
 tude, by a willingness to do them any friendly service 
 that I could be capable of. And though I questioned 
 my ability to carry on that work to its due height and 
 proportion, yet, as that was not proposed, but an ini- 
 
1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 165 
 
 tiation only, by accidence into grammar, I consented 
 to the proposal, as a present expedient, till a more 
 qualified person should be found, without further 
 treaty, or mention of terms between us, than that of 
 mutual friendship. And to render this digression from 
 my own studies the less uneasy to my mind, I recol- 
 lected and often thought of that rule in Lilly, 
 
 Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset, 
 Ipse brevi reliquis dociior esse queat. 
 
 He that th' unlearned doth teach, may quickly be 
 More learn'd than they, though most unlearn'd he. 
 
 With this consideration I undertook this province, 
 and left it not until I married, which was not till the 
 year 1669, near seven years from the time I came 
 thither. In which time, having the use of my friends' 
 books, as well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours 
 much in reading, not without some improvement to 
 myself in my private studies ; which, with the good 
 success of my labours bestowed on the children, and 
 the ngreeableness of conversation which I found in the 
 family, rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, 
 and my stay there more easy to me. 
 
 But, alas ! not many days (not to say weeks) had 
 I been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with 
 sorrow r , for the unexpected loss of Edward Burrough, 
 who was justly very dear to us all. This not only 
 good, but great good man, by a long and close confine- 
 ment in Newgate, through the cruel malice and mali- 
 cious cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by 
 hasty death, on the 14th of 12th month, 1662; to the 
 
166 THE HISTORY OF THE [1663. 
 
 unutterable grief of many, and unspeakable loss to the 
 church of Christ in general. 
 
 The particular obligation I had to him, as the imme- 
 diate instrument of my convincement, and high affec- 
 tion for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply affect 
 my mind, that it was some pretty time before my pas- 
 sion could prevail to express itself in words. At 
 length my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, 
 brake forth in an acrostic, w T hich I called, " A pathetic 
 elegy on the death of that dear and faithful servant 
 of God, Edward Burrough." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1663-1667. 
 
 Paying a debt — Gulielrne Springett — Unfounded suspicions — Making 
 verses — Joins his father in the sale of his estate — Conformity Prest 
 and Represt — Outrages committed at the funeral of a Friend — Sent to 
 jail for being at a funeral — The cruel jailor — Milton at Chalfont — 
 "Paradise Lost" — " Paradise Regained" — Persecution of I. Pening- 
 ton — Morgan Watkins — Sent to the House of Correction in Wycombe 
 — Return to I. Penington's family at Araersham — Defection of J. 
 Perrot — Caught in the snare — Deliverance therefrom — Meeting in 
 London — Public testimony against the delusion. 
 
 I went on in my new province, instructing my little 
 pupils in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, to the 
 mutual satisfaction of both their parents and myself. 
 As soon as I had gotten a little money in my pocket, 
 
1603.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 167 
 
 which as a premium without compact I received from 
 them, I took the first opportunity to return to my 
 friend William Penington the money which he had so 
 kindly furnished me with in my need, at the time of 
 my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due acknowledg- 
 ment of my obligation to him for it. He was not at 
 all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to press it 
 upon him. 
 
 While thus I remained in this family, various sus- 
 picions arose in the minds of some concerning me, with 
 respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli. For 
 having now arrived to a marriageable age, and being 
 in all respects a very desirable woman, w T hether regard 
 was had to her outward person, which wanted nothing 
 to render her completely comely, or to the endowments 
 of her mind, which were every way extraordinary, and 
 highly obliging ; or to her outw^ard fortune, which was 
 fair, and which with some hath not the last, nor the 
 least place in consideration, she was openly and secretly 
 sought and solicited by many, and some of them almost 
 of every rank and condition ; good and bad, rich and 
 poor, friend and foe. To whom in their respective 
 turns, till he at length came for whom she was reserved, 
 she carried herself with so much evenness of temper, 
 such courteous freedom, guarded with the strictest 
 modesty, that, as it gave encouragement or ground of 
 hopes to none, so neither did it administer any matter 
 of offence or just cause of complaint to any. But 
 such as were thus either engaged for themselves, or 
 desirous to make themselves advocates for others, could 
 
1(33 THE HISTORY OF THE [1663. 
 
 not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of 
 jealousy and fear, that I would improve the opportu- 
 nities I had, by frequent and familiar conversation 
 with her, to my ow T n advantage, in working myself into 
 her good opinion and favour, to the ruin of their pre- 
 tences. 
 
 According therefore to the several kinds and degrees 
 of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents 
 their ill surmises against me. Some stuck not to ques- 
 tion the sincerity of my intentions in coming at first 
 among the Quakers ; urging with a Why may it not be 
 so ? that the desire and hopes of obtaining by that 
 means so fair a fortune, might be the prime and chief 
 inducement to me to thrust myself amongst that people. 
 But this surmise could find no place with those worthy 
 friends of mine, her father-in-law and her mother, who, 
 besides the clear sense and sound judgment they had 
 in themselves, knew very well upon w T hat terms I came 
 among them ; how strait and hard the passage was to 
 me ; how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay 
 fair another way ; how much I had suffered from my 
 father for it ; and how r regardless I had been of at- 
 tempting or seeking anything of that nature, in these 
 three or four years that I had been amongst them. 
 
 Some others, measuring me by the propensity of 
 their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run 
 away with her, and marry her. Which they thought I 
 might be the more easily induced to do, from the ad- 
 vantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding 
 and walking abroad with her, by night as well as bv 
 
1663.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Ig9 
 
 day, without any other company than her maid. For 
 so great indeed was the confidence that her mother had 
 in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with 
 her, even from the plots and designs that others had 
 upon her. And so honourable were the thoughts she 
 entertained concerning me, as would not suffer her to 
 admit a suspicion, that I could be capable of so much 
 baseness, as to betray the trust she with so great 
 freedom reposed in me. 
 
 I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled 
 the jealous heads of some concerning me ; neither was 
 I so stupid, nor so divested of all humanity, as not to 
 be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue 
 which adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the 
 eyes and hearts of so many, with the greatest impor- 
 tunity to seek and solicit her. Nor was I so devoid of 
 natural heat, as not to feel some sparklings of desire 
 as well as others. But the force of truth, and sense 
 of honour, suppressed whatever would have risen 
 beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. 
 For I easily foresaw, that if I should have attempted 
 anything in a dishonourable way, by force or fraud 
 upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound upon 
 mine own soul, a foul scandal upon my religious pro- 
 fession, and an infamous stain upon mine honour ; either 
 of w r hich was far more dear unto me than my life. Where- 
 fore, having observed how some others had befooled 
 themselves, by misconstruing her common kindness, 
 expressed in an innocent, open, free, and familiar con- 
 versation, springing from the abundant affability, cour- 
 15 
 
170 THE HISTORY OF THE [1664. 
 
 tesy, and sweetness of her natural temper, to be the 
 effect of a singular regard and peculiar affection to 
 them, I resolved to shun the rock on which I had seen 
 so many run and split : and remembered that saying 
 of the poet, 
 
 Felix quern faciunt alienee 'pericula cautum.- 
 
 * * * * Happy's he, 
 
 Whom others' dangers wary make to be. 
 
 I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage 
 towards her, that I thereby both preserved a fair repu- 
 tation with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her 
 favour and kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, 
 as was fit for her to show, or for me to seek. 
 
 Thus leading a quiet and contented life, I had leisure 
 sometimes to write a copy of verses, on one occasion 
 or another, as the poetic vein naturally opened, with- 
 out taking pains to polish them. Such was the verse 
 occasioned by the sudden death of some lusty people 
 in their full strength. As the consideration of the 
 uncertainty of human life drew from me some lines 
 thereon, so the sense I had of the folly of mankind in 
 misspending the little time allowed them in evil ways 
 and vain sports, led me more particularly to trace the 
 several courses wherein the generality of men run, un- 
 profitably at least; if not to their hurt and ruin ; which 
 I introduced with that axiom of the preacher, Eccles. 
 i. 2. After I had thus enumerated some of the many 
 vanities in which the generality of men misspend their 
 time, I sang an Ode in praise of virtue. 
 
'665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 171 
 
 About this time my father, resolving to sell his es- 
 tate, and having reserved for his own use such parts 
 of his household goods as he thought fit, not willing to 
 take upon himself the trouble of selling the rest, gave 
 them unto me. Whereupon I went down to Crowell, 
 and having before given notice there and thereabouts, 
 that I intended a public sale of them, I sold them, and 
 thereby put some money into my pocket. Yet I sold 
 such things only as I judged useful ; leaving the pic- 
 tures and armour, of which there was some store there, 
 unsold. 
 
 Not long after this, my father sent for me to come 
 to him at London, about some business ; w T hich, when 
 I came there, I understood was to join with him in the 
 sale of his estate, which the purchaser required for his 
 own satisfaction and safety, I being then the next heir 
 to it in law. And although I might probably have 
 made some advantageous terms for myself by standing 
 off, yet when I was satisfied by counsel, that there was 
 no entail upon it, or right of reversion to me, but that 
 he might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased, I readily 
 joined with him in the sale, without asking or having 
 the least gratuity or compensation ; no, not so much as 
 the fee I had given to counsel, to secure me from any 
 danger in doing it. 
 
 There had been, sometime before this, a very severe 
 law made against the Quakers by name ; and, more 
 particularly, prohibiting our meetings under the sharpest 
 penalties, of five pounds for the first offence, so called ; 
 ven pounds for the second ; and banishment for the 
 
Y12 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 
 
 third ; under pain of felony for escaping or returning 
 without license. This law was looked upon to have 
 been procured by the bishops, in order to bring us to 
 a conformity to their way of worship. I wrote a few 
 lines in way of Dialogue between a Bishop and a 
 Quaker, which I called 
 
 CONFORMITY, PREST AND REPREST. 
 
 B. — What ! You are one of them that do deny 
 To yield obedience by conformity? 
 
 Q. — Nay, we desire conformable to be. 
 
 B. — But unto what? 
 
 Q. — The Image of the Son. 
 
 B. — What's that to us? We'll have conformity 
 Unto our form. 
 
 Q. — Then we shall ne'er have done; 
 For, if your fickle minds should alter, we 
 Should be to seek a new conformity. 
 Thus, who to-day conform to Prelacy, 
 To-morrow may conform to Popery. 
 But take this for an answer, Bishop, we 
 Cannot conform, either to them, or thee; 
 For while to truth your forms are opposite, 
 Whoe'er conforms thereto, doth not aright. 
 
 B. — We'll make such knaves as you conform, or lie 
 Confined in prisons, till ye rot and die. 
 
 Q. — Well, gentle Bishop, I may live to see, 
 For all thy threats, a check to cruelty ; 
 And thee rewarded, with thy envious crew, 
 According as unto your works is due. 
 But, in the mean time, I, for my defence, 
 Betake me to my fortress, Patience. 
 
1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 173 
 
 No sooner was this cruel law made, but it was put 
 in execution with great severity. The sense whereof 
 working strongly on my spirit, made me cry earnestly 
 to the Lord, that he would arise and set up his right- 
 eous judgment in the earth, for the deliverance of his 
 people from all their enemies, both inward and out- 
 ward. 
 
 Although the storm, raised by the act for banishment, 
 fell with the greatest weight and force upon some other 
 parts, as at London, Hertford, &c, yet we were not, 
 in Buckinghamshire, wholly exempted therefrom ; for 
 a part of that shower reached us also. For a Friend 
 of Amersham, whose name was Edward Perot, or 
 Parret, departing this life, and notice being given that 
 his body would be buried there on such a day, which 
 was the first day of the fifth month, 1665, the Friends 
 of the adjacent parts of the country resorted pretty 
 generally to the burial ; so that there was a fair 
 appearance of friends and neighbours, the deceased 
 having been well beloved by both. 
 
 After we had spent some time together in the house, 
 Morgan Watkins, who at that time happened to be at 
 Isaac Penington's, being with us, the body was taken 
 up and borne on Friends' shoulders along the street, 
 in order to be carried to the burial-ground, which was 
 at the town's end, being part of an orchard belonging 
 to the deceased, which he in his life-time had appointed 
 for that service. 
 
 It so happened, that one Ambrose Benett, a barrister 
 at law, and a justice of the peace for that county, 
 15* 
 
]_74 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 
 
 riding through the town that morning, in his way to 
 Aylesbury, was, by some ill-disposed person or other, 
 informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there 
 that day ; and that most of the Quakers in the country 
 were come thither to the burial. 
 
 Upon this he set up his horses and stayed ; and 
 when we, not knowing anything of his design against 
 us, went innocently forward, to perform our Christian 
 duty, for the interment of our friend, he rushed out 
 of his inn upon us, with the constables and a rabble 
 of rude fellows, whom he had gathered together, and 
 having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of 
 the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them 
 to set down the coffin. But the Friend, who was so 
 stricken, whose name was Thomas Dell, being more 
 concerned for the safety of the dead body than his 
 own, lest it should fall from his shoulder, and any 
 indecency thereupon follow, held the coffin fast ; which 
 the justice observing, and being enraged that his word, 
 how unjust soever, was not forthwith obeyed, set his 
 hand to the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw it 
 off from the bearer's shoulders, so that it fell to the 
 ground in the midst of the street, and there we were 
 forced to leave it. 
 
 For immediately thereupon, the justice giving com- 
 mand for the apprehending us, the constables with the 
 rabble fell on us, and drew some, and drove others into 
 the inn, giving thereby an opportunity to the rest to 
 walk away. Of those that were thus taken, I was one. 
 And being, with many more, put into a room under a 
 
1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 175 
 
 guard, we were kept there till another justice, called 
 Sir Thomas Clayton, whom Justice Benett had sent 
 for to join with him in committing us, was come. And 
 then, being called forth severally before them, they 
 picked out ten of us, and committed us to Aylesbury 
 jail, for what neither we nor they knew ; for we were 
 not convicted of having either done or said anything 
 which the law could take hold of, for they took us up 
 in the open street, the king's highway, not doing any 
 unlawful act, but peaceably carrying and accompanying 
 the corpse of our deceased friend, to bury it, which 
 they would not suffer us to do, but caused the body to 
 lie in the open street, and in the cart-way ; so that all 
 the travellers that passed by, whether horsemen, 
 coaches, carts, or wagons, were fain to break out of 
 the way to go by it, that they might not drive over it, 
 until it was almost night. And then, having caused 
 a grave to be made in the unconsecrated part, as it is 
 accounted, of that which is called the church-yard, 
 they forcibly took the body from the widow, whose 
 right and property it was, and buried it there. 
 
 When the justices had delivered us prisoners to the 
 constable, it being then late in the clay, which was the 
 seventh day of the week, he, not willing to go so far 
 as Aylesbury (nine long miles) with us that night, nor 
 to put the town to the charge of keeping us there that 
 night, and the first-day and night following, dismissed 
 us upon our parole to come to him again at a set hour 
 on the second-day morning ; whereupon we all went 
 home to our respective habitations, and coming to him 
 
276 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665. 
 
 punctually according to promise, were by him, without 
 guard, conducted to the prison. 
 
 The jailor, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had 
 not long before behaved himself very wickedly, with 
 great rudeness and cruelty, to some of our friends of 
 the lower side of the county, whom he, combining with 
 the clerk of the peace, whose name was Henry Wells, 
 had contrived to get into his jail ; and after they were 
 legally discharged in court, detained them in prison, 
 using great violence, and shutting them up close in the 
 common jail among the felons, because they would not 
 give him his unrighteous demand of fees ; which they 
 were the more straitened in, from his treacherous deal- 
 ing with them. And they having through suffering 
 maintained their freedom, and obtained their liberty, 
 we were the more concerned to keep what they had so 
 hardly gained, and therefore resolved not to make any 
 contract or terms for either chamber-rent or fees, but 
 to demand a free prison ; which we did. 
 
 When we came in, the jailor had ridden out to wait 
 on the judges, who came in that day to begin the assize, 
 and his wife was somewhat at a loss how to deal with 
 us; but being a cunning woman, she treated us with 
 great appearance of courtesy, offering us the choice of 
 all her rooms ; and w T hen we asked upon what terms, 
 she still referred us to her husband, telling us she did 
 not doubt but that he would be very reasonable and 
 civil to us. Thus she endeavoured to have drawn us 
 to take possession of some of her chambers at a ven- 
 ture, and trust to her husband's kind usage. But we, 
 
1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 177 
 
 who at the cost of our friends had a proof of his kind- 
 ness, were too wary to be drawn in by the fair words 
 of a woman, and therefore told her we would not settle 
 anywhere till her husband came home, and then would 
 have a free prison, wheresoever he put us. Accord- 
 ingly, walking all together into the court of the prison, 
 in which was a well of very good water, and having 
 before-hand sent to a Friend in the town, a widow 
 woman, whose name was Sarah Lambarn, to bring us 
 some bread and cheese, we sat down upon the ground 
 round about the well, and when we had eaten, we drank 
 of the water out of it. Our great concern was for our 
 friend Isaac Penington, because of the tenderness of 
 his constitution ; but he was so lively in his spirit, and 
 so cheerfully given up to suffer, that he rather encou- 
 raged us, than needed any encouragement from us. 
 In this posture the jailor, when he came home, found 
 us ; and having before he came to us consulted his 
 wife, and by her understood on what terms we stood, 
 when he came to us, he hid his teeth, and putting on a 
 show of kindness, seemed much troubled that w T e should 
 sit there abroad, especially his old friend Mr. Pening- 
 ton, and thereupon invited us to come in, and take 
 what rooms in his house we pleased. We asked upon 
 w T hat terms, letting him know withal that we deter- 
 mined to have a free prison. 
 
 He, like the Sun and Wind in the fable, that strove 
 which of them should take from the traveller his cloak, 
 having, like the Wind, tried rough, boisterous, violent 
 means to our friends before, but in vain, — resolved now 
 
178 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665. 
 
 to imitate the San, and shine as pleasantly as he could 
 upon us. Wherefore, he told us we should make the 
 terms ourselves, and be as free as we desired ; if we 
 thought fit, when w T e were released to give him any- 
 thing, he would thank us for it, and if not he would 
 demand nothing. Upon these terms we went in and 
 disposed ourselves, some in the dwelling-house, others 
 in the malt-house, where they chose to be. 
 
 During the assize, we were brought before Judge 
 Morton, a sour, angry man, who very rudely reviled 
 us, and would not hear either us or the cause, but 
 referred the matter to the two justices who had com- 
 mitted us. They, when the assize was ended, sent for 
 us to be brought before them at their inn, and fined 
 us, as I remember, six shillings and eightpence a-piece ; 
 which we not consenting to pay, they committed us to 
 prison again for one month from that time, on the act 
 of banishment. 
 
 When we had lain there that month, I, with another, 
 went to the jailor, to demand our liberty, which he 
 readily granted, telling us the door should be opened 
 when we pleased to go. This answer of his I reported 
 to the rest of my friends there, and thereupon we 
 raised among us a small sum of money, which they put 
 into my hand for the jailor ; whereupon I, taking an- 
 other with me, went to the jailor with the money in my 
 hand, and reminding him of the terms upon which we 
 accepted the use of his rooms, I told him that although 
 we could not pay chamber-rent or fees, yet, inasmuch 
 as he had now been civil to us, we were willing to 
 
1665.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 179 
 
 acknowledge it by a small token, and thereupon gave 
 him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, 
 " I thank you and your friends for it ; and to let you 
 see I take it as a gift, not a debt, I will not look on it 
 to see how much it is." The prison door being then 
 set open for us, we went out, and departed to oar re- 
 spective homes. 
 
 Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison, 
 I was desired by my quondam master, Milton, to take 
 a house for him in the neighbourhood where I dwelt, 
 that he might go out of the city, for the safety of him- 
 self and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in 
 London. I took a pretty box for him in Giles Chal- 
 font, a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, and 
 intended to have waited on him, and seen him well set- 
 tled in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment. 
 
 But now being released, and returned home, I soon 
 made a visit to him, to welcome him into the country. 
 After some common discourse had passed between us, 
 he called for a manuscript of his ; which being brought, 
 he delivered to me, bidding me take it home with me, 
 and read it at my leisure, and when I had so done, 
 return it to him with my judgment thereupon. 
 
 When I came home, and had set myself to read it, 
 I found it was that excellent poem, which he entitled 
 Paradise Lost. After I had, with the best attention, 
 read it through, 1 made another visit, and returned him 
 his book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he 
 had done me in communicating it to me. He asked me 
 how I liked it, and what I thought of it ; which I 
 
180 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 
 
 modestly but freely told him. And after some further 
 discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, "Thou 
 hast said much here of Paradise Lost, but what hast 
 thou to say of Paradise Found?" He made me no 
 answer, but sat some time in a muse ; then brake off 
 that discourse, and fell upon another subject. 
 
 After the sickness was over, and the city well 
 cleansed, and become safely habitable again, he re- 
 turned thither. And when afterwards I went to wait 
 on him there, which I seldom failed of doing, when- 
 ever my occasions drew me to London, he showed me 
 his second Poem, called Paradise Regained, and in a 
 pleasant tone said to me, "This is owing to you, for 
 you put it into my head by the question you put to 
 me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of." 
 But from this digression I return to the family I then 
 lived in. We had not long been at home, about a 
 month perhaps, before Isaac Penington was taken out 
 of his house in an arbitrary manner, by military force, 
 and carried prisoner to Aylesbury jail again ; where 
 he lay three quarters of a year, with great hazard of 
 his life, it being the sickness year, and the plague 
 being not only in the town, but in the jail. 
 
 Meanwhile, his wife and family were turned out of 
 his house called the Grange, at St: Peter's Chalfont, 
 by them who had seized upon his estate; and the 
 family being by that means broken up, some went one 
 way, others another. Mary Penington herself^ with 
 her younger children, went down to her husband at 
 Aylesbury. Guli, with her maid, went to Bristol, to 
 
1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. JgJ 
 
 see her former maid, Anne Hersent, who was married 
 to a merchant of that city, whose name was Thomas 
 Biss ; and I went to Aylesbury with the children ; 
 but not finding the place agreeable to my health, I 
 soon left it, and returning to Chalfont, took a lodging, 
 and was dieted in the house of a friendly man ; and 
 after some time went to Bristol, to conduct Guli home. 
 Meanwhile, Mary Penington took lodgings in a farm- 
 house called Bottrel's, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, 
 where, when we returned from Bristol, we found her. 
 
 We had been there but a very little time, before I 
 was sent to prison again upon this occasion. There 
 was in those times a meeting once a month at the 
 house of George Salter, a friend of Hedgerly, to 
 which we sometimes went ; and Morgan Watkins being 
 with us, he and I, with Guli and her maid, and one 
 Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of the College 
 of Physicians at London, with a maiden daughter of 
 theirs, neither of whom were Quakers, but as acquaint- 
 ance of Mary Penington were with her on a visit, 
 walked over to that meeting, it being about the middle 
 of the first month, and the weather good. 
 
 This place was about a mile from the house of 
 Ambrose Benett, the justice, who the summer before 
 had sent me and some other Friends to Aylesbury 
 prison, from the burial of Edward Parret of Amer- 
 sham; and he, by what means I know not, getting 
 notice not only of the meeting, but, as was supposed, 
 of our being there, came himself to it ; and as he 
 came, catched up a stackwood stick, big enough to 
 16 
 
182 THE HISTORY OF THE. [1665 
 
 have knocked any man down, and brought it with him 
 hidden under his cloak. 
 
 Being come to the house, he stood for a while with- 
 out the door, and out of sight, listening to hear what 
 was said, for Morgrm was then speaking in the meet- 
 ing. But certainly he heard very imperfectly, if it 
 was true which we heard he said afterwards among his 
 companions, as an argument that Morgan was a Jesuit, 
 viz : that in his preaching, he trolled over his Latin as 
 fluently as ever he heard any one; whereas Morgan 
 (good man) was better versed in Welsh than in Latin, 
 which I suppose he had never learned: I am sure he 
 did not understand it. 
 
 When this martial justice, who at Amersham had 
 with his drawn sword struck an unarmed man, who he 
 knew would not strike again, had now stood some time 
 abroad, on a sudden he rushed in among us, with the 
 stackwood stick held up in his hand ready to strike, 
 crying out, "Make way there;" and an ancient woman 
 not getting soon enough out of his way, he struck her 
 with the stick a hard blow over the breast. Then 
 pressing through the crowd to the place where Morgan 
 stood, he plucked him from thence, and caused so 
 great a disorder in the room, that it broke the meet- 
 ing up ; yet would not the people go away or disperse 
 themselves, but tarried to see what the issue would be. 
 
 Then taking pen and paper, he sat down at the table 
 among us, and asked several of us our names, which 
 we gave, and he set down in writing. Amongst others 
 he asked Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, what her 
 
r665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 183 
 
 name was, which she readily gave ; and thence taking 
 occasion to discourse him, she so over mastered him 
 by clear reason, delivered in fine language, that he, 
 glad to be rid of her, struck out her name and dis- 
 missed her; yet did not she remove, but kept her place 
 amongst us. 
 
 When he had taken what number of names he 
 thought fit, he singled out half a dozen, whereof 
 Morgan was one, I another, one man more, and three 
 women, of which the woman of the house was one, 
 although her husband then was, and for divers years 
 before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet for tithes, and 
 had nobody to take care of his family and business but 
 her, his wife. 
 
 Us six he committed to Aylesbury jail ; which, when 
 the doctor's wife heard him read to the constable, she 
 attacked him again, and having put him in mind that 
 it was a sickly time, and that the pestilence was re- 
 ported to be in that place, she in handsome terms 
 desired him to consider in time, how he would answer 
 the cry of our blood, if by his sending us to be shut 
 up in an infected place, we should lose our lives there. 
 This made him alter his purpose, and by a new mittimus 
 he sent us to the house of correction at Wycombe. 
 And although he committed us upon the act for banish- 
 ment, which limited a certain time for imprisonment, 
 yet he in his mittimus limited no time, but ordered us 
 to be kept till we should be delivered by due course of 
 law ; so little regardful was he, though a lawyer, of 
 keeping to the letter of the law. 
 
Ig4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1666. 
 
 We were committed on the 13th day of the month 
 called March, 1666, and were kept close prisoners there 
 till the 7th day of the month called June, which was 
 some days above twelve w T eeks, and much above what 
 the act required. 
 
 Then were we sent for to the justice's house, and 
 the rest being released, Morgan Watkins and I were 
 required to find sureties for our appearance at the 
 next assize ; which we refusing to do, w T ere committed 
 anew to our old prison, the house of correction at 
 Wycombe, there to lie until the next assizes ; Morgan 
 being in this second mittimus represented as a notorious 
 offender in preaching, and I, as being upon the second 
 conviction, in order to banishment. There we lay till 
 the 25th day of the same month; and then, by the 
 favour of the Earl of Ancram, being brought before 
 him at his house, we were discharged from the prison, 
 upon our promise to appear (if at liberty and in health) 
 at the assizes ; which we did, and were there discharged 
 by proclamation. 
 
 During my imprisonment in this prison, I betook 
 myself for an employment to making of nets for kitchen 
 service, to boil herbs, &c, in, which trade I learned of 
 Morgan Watkins, and selling some, and giving others, I 
 pretty well stocked the Friends of that country with 
 them. 
 
 Though in that confinement I was not very well 
 suited with company for conversation, Morgan's 
 natural temper not being very agreeable to mine, yet 
 we kept a fair and brotherly correspondence, as be- 
 
1666.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 185 
 
 came friends, prison-fellows, and bed-fellows, which 
 we were. And indeed, it was a good time, I think, 
 to us all ; for I found it so to me, the Lord being 
 graciously pleased to visit my soul with the refreshing 
 dews of his Divine Life, whereby my spirit was more 
 and more quickened to him, and truth gained ground 
 in me over the temptations and snares of the Enemy. 
 This frequently raised in my heart thanksgivings and 
 praises unto the Lord. And at one time more especially 
 the sense I had of the prosperity of truth, and the 
 spreading thereof, filling my heart with abundant joy, 
 made my cup overflow, and the following lines drop 
 
 out : — 
 
 For Truth I suffer bonds, in Truth I live. 
 And unto Truth this testimony give, 
 That Truth shall over all exalted be, 
 And in dominion reign for evermore; 
 The child's already born, that this may see, 
 Honour, praise, glory be to God therefore. 
 
 And underneath thus : — 
 
 Though death and hell should against Truth combine, 
 Its glory shall through all their darkness shine. 
 
 This I saw with an eye of faith, beyond the reach 
 of human sense : for, — 
 
 As strong desire, 
 
 Draws objects nigher 
 In apprehension, than indeed they are ; 
 
 I, with an eye 
 
 That pierced high, 
 Did thus of Truth's prosperity declare. 
 
 16* 
 
186 THE HISTORY OF THE [1667. 
 
 After we had been discharged at the assizes, I re- 
 turned to Isaac Penington's family, at Bottrel's, in 
 Chalfont, and as I remember, Morgan Watkins with 
 me, leaving Isanc Penington a prisoner in Aylesbury 
 jail. The lodgings we had in this farm house (Bot- 
 trel's) proving too strait and inconvenient for the 
 family, I took larger and better lodgings for them in 
 Berrie-house, at Amersham, whither we went at the 
 time called Michaelmas, having spent the summer at 
 the other place. 
 
 Some time after, was that memorable meeting ap- 
 pointed to be holden at London, through a divine open- 
 ing in the motion of Life, in that eminent servant and 
 prophet of God, George Fox, for the restoring and 
 bringing in again those who had gone out from Truth, 
 and the holy unity of Friends therein, by the means 
 and ministry of John Perrot. 
 
 This man came pretty early amongst Friends, and 
 too early took upon him the ministerial office ; and 
 being, though little in person, yet great in opinion of 
 himself, nothing less would serve him than to go and 
 convert the Pope ; in order whereunto, he, having a 
 better man than himself, John Luff, (or Love) to 
 accompany him, travelled to Rome ; where they had 
 not been long ere they were taken up, and clapped 
 into prison. Luff, as . I remember, was put in the 
 inquisition, and Perrot in their bedlam or hospital for 
 madmen. 
 
 Luff died in prison, not without well-grounded sus- 
 picion of being murdered there; but Perrot lay there 
 
1667.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 187 
 
 some time, and now and then sent over an epistle to be 
 printed here, written in such an affected and fantastic 
 style, as might have induced an indifferent reader to 
 believe they had suited the place of his confinement to 
 his condition. 
 
 After some time, through the mediation of Friends, 
 who hoped better of him than he proved, with some 
 person of note and interest there, he was released, 
 and came back to England. And the report of his 
 great sufferings there (far greater in report than in 
 reality), joined with a singular show of sanctity, so 
 far opened the hearts of many tender and compas- 
 sionate Friends towards him, that it gave him the 
 advantage of insinuating himself into their affections 
 and esteem, and made way for the more ready propa- 
 gation of that peculiar error of his, of keeping on 
 the hat in time of prayer, as well public as private, 
 unless they had an immediate motion at that time to 
 put it off. 
 
 Now although I had not the least acquaintance with 
 this man, not having ever exchanged a word with him, 
 though I knew him by sight, nor had I any esteem of 
 him, for either his natural parts, or ministerial gift, but 
 rather a dislike of his aspect, preaching, and way of 
 writing, yet this error of his being broached in the 
 time of my infancy, and weakness of judgment as to 
 truth, while I lived privately in London, and had little 
 converse with Friends, I, amongst the many who were 
 catched in the snare, w T as taken with the notion, as 
 what then seemed to my weak understanding, suitable 
 
188 THE HIS TO 11 Y OF THE [1667 
 
 to the doctrine of a spiritual dispensation. And the 
 matter coming to warm debates, both in words and 
 writing, I, in a misguided zeal, was ready to have en- 
 tered the lists of contention about it; not then seeing 
 w T hat spirit it proceeded from and was managed by, nor 
 foreseeing the disorder and confusion in worship, w T hich 
 must naturally attend it. But as I had no evil inten- 
 tion or sinister end in engaging in it, but was simply 
 betrayed by the specious pretence and show T of greater 
 spirituality, the Lord, in tender compassion to my soul, 
 was graciously pleased to open my understanding, and 
 give me a clear sight of the Enemy's design in this 
 work, and drew me off from the practice of it, and to 
 bear testimony against it as occasion offered. 
 
 But when that solemn meeting was appointed at 
 London, for a travail in spirit on behalf of those who 
 had thus gone out, that they might rightly return, and 
 be sensibly received into the unity of the body again, 
 my spirit rejoiced, and w^ith gladness of heart I went 
 • to it, as did many more of both city and country, and 
 with great simplicity and humility of mind, did honestly 
 and openly acknowledge our outgoings, and take con- 
 demnation and shame to ourselves. And some that 
 lived at too remote a distance, in this nation, as well as 
 beyond the seas, upon notice given of that meeting, 
 and the intended service of it, did the like by writing, 
 in letters directed to and openly read in the meeting ; 
 which, for that purpose, was continued many days. 
 
 Thus, in the motion of Life, were the healing waters 
 etirred ; and many, through the virtuous power thereof, 
 
1667.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. ^§9 
 
 restored to soundness, and indeed not many were lost. 
 And though most of these who thus returned were such 
 as with myself had before renounced the error, and 
 forsaken the practice, yet did we sensibly find, that 
 forsaking without confessing, in case of public scandal, 
 was not sufficient ; but that an open acknowledgment 
 of open offences, as well as forsaking them, was neces- 
 sary to the obtaining complete remission. 
 
 Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the 
 Lord to travel through the country, from county to 
 county, to advise and encourage Friends to set up 
 Monthly and Quarterly Meetings, for the better order- 
 ing the affairs of the church, in taking care of the poor, 
 and exercising a true gospel discipline ; for a due deal- 
 ing with any that might walk disorderly in our name ; 
 and to see that such as should marry amongst us, did 
 act fairly and clearly in that respect. 
 
 When he came into this countv, I was one of the 
 many Friends that were with him at the meeting for 
 that purpose. And afterwards I travelled with Guli 
 and her maid, into the West of England, to meet him 
 there, and to visit Friends in those parts ; and we went 
 as far as Topsham, in Devonshire, before we found him. 
 He had been in Cornwall, and was then returning, 
 and came in unexpectedly at Topsham, where we then 
 were providing, if he had not then come thither, to 
 have gone that day towards Cornwall. But after he 
 was come to us, Ave turned back with him through De- 
 vonshire, Somersetshire, and Dorsetshire, having gene- 
 rally very good meetings where he was ; and the work 
 
190 THE HISTORY OF THE [1667. 
 
 he was chiefly concerned in, went on very prosperously 
 and well, without any opposition or dislike; save that 
 in the General Meeting of Friends in Dorsetshire, a 
 quarrelsome man, who had gone out from Friends in 
 John Perrot's business, and had not come rightly in 
 again, but continued in the practice of keeping on his 
 hat in time of prayer, to the great trouble and offence 
 of Friends, began to .cavil and raise disputes, which 
 occasioned some interruption and disturbance. 
 
 Not only George, and Alexander Parker who was 
 with him, but divers of the ancient Friends of that 
 country, endeavoured to quiet that troublesome man, 
 and make him sensible of his error ; but his unruly 
 spirit would still be opposing what was said unto him, 
 and justifying himself in that practice. This brought 
 a great weight and exercise upon me, who sat at a 
 distance in the outward part of the meeting ; and after 
 I had for some time borne the burden thereof, I stood 
 up in the constraining power of the Lord, and in great 
 tenderness of spirit declared unto the meeting, and to 
 that person more particularly, how it had been with me 
 in that respect ; how I had been betrayed into that 
 wrong practice, how strong I had been therein, and 
 how the Lord had been graciously pleased to show me 
 the evil thereof, and recover me out of it. 
 
 This coming unexpectedly from me, a young man, a 
 stranger, and one who had not intermeddled with the 
 business of the meeting, had that effect upon the ca- 
 viller, that if it did not satisfy him, it did at least 
 silence him; and made him, for the present, sink down 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 191 
 
 and be still, without giving any further disturbance to 
 the meeting. And the Friends were well pleased with 
 this unlooked for testimony from me, and I was glad 
 that I had that opportunity to confess to the Truth; 
 and to acknowledge once more, in so public a manner, 
 the mercy and goodness of the Lord to me therein. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1669-1670. 
 
 Mairiage engagement with Mary Ellis — Journey with Guli Springett into 
 Sussex — John Gigger — Insulting attack by one of the Duke of York's 
 retainers — Tunbridge Wells — Return home — Marriage — Care to se- 
 cure his wife's property to her — Second journey into Kent and Sussex 
 — Unkind behaviour of his father — A song of Praise — Return home — 
 Melancholy death of I. Penington's son — Disputation between William 
 Penn and Jeremy Ives — The "Conventicle Act" — Encouragement 
 given to Informers — Persecution renewed — The drunken Informer 
 detected — A well-matched pair — A false oath against Thomas Zachary 
 — An unjust Justice commits him to jail — Knavery detected — Prosecu- 
 tion of Informers — Conviction of wilful perjury — Informer's trade 
 broken up in Bucks. 
 
 By the time we came back from this journey, the 
 summer was pretty far gone, and the following winter 
 I spent with the children of the family as before, with- 
 out any remarkable alteration in my circumstances, 
 until the next spring, when I found in myself a dispo- 
 sition of mind to change my single life for a married 
 state. 
 
192 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669 
 
 I had always entertained so high a regard for mar- 
 riage, as it was a divine institution, that I held it not 
 lawful to make it a sort of political trade, to rise in the 
 world by. And therefore, as I could not but in my 
 judgment blame such as I found made it their business 
 to hunt after, and endeavour to gain, those w 7 ho were 
 accounted great fortunes, — not so much regarding 
 what she is, as w T hat she has, and making wealth the 
 chief, if not the only thing they aimed at, — so I re- 
 solved to avoid in my ow T n practice that course; and 
 how much soever my condition might have prompted 
 me, as well as others, to seek advantage that way, 
 never to engage on the account of riches, nor at all to 
 marry, till judicious affection drew me to it, w r hich I 
 now began to feel at work in my breast. 
 
 The object of this affection was a Friend, whose name 
 w r as Mary Ellis, w T hom for divers years I had had an 
 acquaintance with, in the way of common friendship 
 only ; and in whom I thought I then saw those fair 
 prints of truth and solid virtue, which I afterwards 
 found in a sublime degree in her ; but what her condi- 
 tion in the world was as to estate, I was wholly a 
 stranger to, nor desired to know. 
 
 I had once, a year or two before, had an opportunity 
 to do her a small piece of service, which she wanted 
 some assistance in; wherein I acted with all sincerity 
 and freedom of mind, not expecting or desiring any 
 advantage by her, or reward from her, being very well 
 satisfied in the act itself, that I had served a friend, 
 and helped the helpless. 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 19g 
 
 That little intercourse of common kindness between 
 us ended, without the least thought, I am verily per- 
 suaded, on her part, well assured on my own, of any 
 other or further relation than that of free and fair 
 friendship ; nor did it, at that time, lead us into any 
 closer conversation, or more intimate acquaintance one 
 with the other, than had been before. 
 
 But some time after, and that a good while, I found 
 my heart secretly drawn and inclining towards her ; 
 yet was I not hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a 
 satisfactory settlement of mind therein, before I made 
 any step thereto. After some time, I took an oppor- 
 tunity to open my mind therein to my much honoured 
 friends Isaac and Mary Penington, who then stood in 
 the place or stead of parents to me. They having 
 solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their unity 
 therewith; and indeed their approbation thereof was 
 no small confirmation to me therein. Yet took I fur- 
 ther deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the Lord, 
 and crying to him for direction, before I addressed 
 myself to her. At length, as I was sitting all alone, 
 waiting upon the Lord for counsel and guidance in 
 this, in itself, and to me so important affair, I felt a 
 word sweetly arise in me, as if I had heard a voice, 
 which said, " Go, and prevail." And faith springing 
 in my heart with the word, I immediately arose and 
 went, nothing doubting. 
 
 When I was come to her lodgings, which were about 
 a mile from me, her maid told me she was in her 
 chamber, for having been under some indisposition of 
 IT 
 
-[94 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 
 
 body, which had obliged her to keep her chamber, she 
 had not yet left it ; wherefore I desired the maid to 
 acquaint her mistress, that I was come to give her a 
 visit ; whereupon I was invited to go up to her. And 
 after some little time spent in common conversation, 
 feeling my spirit weightily concerned, I solemnly 
 opened my mind unto her, with respect to the particu- 
 lar business I came about ; which I soon perceived was 
 a great surprisal to her, for she had taken in an appre- 
 hension, as others also had done, that mine eye had 
 been fixed elsewhere, and nearer home. 
 
 I used not many words to her ; but I felt a divine 
 power went along with the words, and fixed the matter 
 expressed by them so fast in her breast, that, as she 
 afterwards acknowledged to me, she could not shut it 
 out. 
 
 I made at that time but a short visit. For having 
 told her I did not expect an answer from her now, but 
 desired she would, in the most solemn manner, weigh 
 the proposal made, and in due time give me such an 
 answer thereunto as the Lord should give her, I took 
 my leave of her, and departed, leaving the issue to 
 the Lord, 
 
 I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw would 
 take about two weeks' time. Wherefore, the day 
 before I was to set out, I went to visit her again, to 
 acquaint her with my journey, and excuse my absence ; 
 not yet pressing her for an answer, but assuring her, 
 that I felt in myself an increase of affection to her, 
 and hoped to receive a suitable return from her in the 
 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 195 
 
 Lord's time ; to whom, in the mean time, I committed 
 both her, myself, and the concern between us. And in- 
 deed I found, at my return, that I could not have left 
 it in a better hand ; for the Lord had been my advocate 
 in my absence, and had so far answered all her objec- 
 tions, that when I came to her again, she rather ac- 
 quainted me with them than urged them. 
 
 From that time forward, we entertained each other 
 with affectionate kindness, in order to marriage ; which 
 jet we did not hasten to, but went on deliberately. 
 Neither did I use those vulgar w T ays of courtship, by 
 making frequent and rich presents ; not only for that 
 my outward condition would not comport with the ex- 
 pense, but because I liked not to obtain by such means ; 
 but preferred an unbribed affection. 
 
 While this affair stood thus with me, I had occasion 
 to take another journey into Kent and Sussex ; which 
 yet I would not mention here, but for a particular 
 accident which befell me on the way. The occasion of 
 this journey was this. Mary Penington's daughter 
 Guli intending to go to her uncle Springett's, in Sussex, 
 and from thence amongst her tenants, her mother 
 desired me to accompany her, and assist her in her 
 business w T ith her tenants. 
 
 We tarried at London the first night, and set out 
 next morning on the Tunbridge Road, and Seven Oak 
 lying in our w r ay, we put in there to bait. But truly, 
 we had much ado to get either provisions or room for 
 ourselves or our horses, the house was so filled with 
 guests, and those not of the better sort. For the Duke 
 
196 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 
 
 of York being, as we were told, on the road that day 
 for the wells, divers of his guards, and the meaner sort 
 of his retinue, had nearly filled all the inns there. 
 
 I left John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this 
 journey, and was afterwards her menial servant, to take 
 care for the horses, while I did the like, as well as I 
 could, for her. I got a little room to put her into, and 
 having shut her into it, went to see what relief the 
 kitchen would afford us ; and with much ado, by pray- 
 ing hard and paying dear, I got a small joint of meat 
 from the spit, which served rather to stay than satisfy 
 our stomachs, for we were all pretty sharp set. 
 
 After this short repast, being weary of our quarters, 
 we quickly mounted, and took the road again, willing 
 to hasten from a place where we found nothing but 
 rudeness, for the roysterers who at time swarmed there, 
 beside the oaths they belched out at one another, 
 looked very sourly on us, as if they grudged us both 
 the horses we rode on, and the clothes we wore. A 
 knot of these rude people soon followed us, designing, 
 as we afterwards found, to put an abuse upon us, and 
 make themselves sport with us. We had a spot of fine 
 smooth sandy way, whereon the horses trod so softly, 
 that we heard them not till one of them was upon us. 
 I was then riding abreast with Guli, and discoursing 
 with her ; when on a sudden hearing a little noise, and 
 turning mine eye that way, I saw a horseman coming 
 up on the further side of her horse, having his left arm 
 stretched out, just ready to take her about the waist, 
 and pluck her off" backwards from her own horse, to 
 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. \Q^ 
 
 lay her before him upon his. I had but just time to 
 thrust forth my stick between him and her, and bid 
 him stand off; and at the same time reining my horse, 
 to let hers go before me, thrust in between her and 
 him, and being better mounted than he, my horse run 
 him off. But his horse being, though weaker than 
 mine, yet nimble, he slipped by me, and got up to her 
 on the near side, endeavouring to offer abuse to her ; 
 to prevent which, I thrust in upon him again, and, in 
 our jostling, we drove her horse quite out of the way, 
 and almost into the next hedge. 
 
 While we were thus contending, I heard a noise of 
 loud laughter behind us, and turning my head that 
 way, I saw three or four horsemen more, who could 
 scarce sit their horses for laughing, to see the sport 
 their companion made with us. From thence I saw it 
 was a plot laid, and that this rude fellow was not to be 
 dallied with ; wherefore I bestirred myself the more to 
 keep him off, admonishing him to take warning in time, 
 and give over his abusiveness, lest he repented too late. 
 He had in his hand a short thick truncheon, which he 
 held up at me ; on which laying hold with a strong 
 gripe, I suddenly wrenched it out of his hand, and 
 threw it at as far a distance behind me as I could. 
 While he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called up 
 honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest 
 man, and of a temper so thoroughly peaceable, that he 
 had not hitherto put in at all. But now I roused him, 
 and bid him ride so close up to his mistress' horse on 
 the further side, that no horse might thrust in between, 
 17* 
 
198 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 
 
 and I would endeavour to guard the near side. But 
 he, good man, not thinking it perhaps decent for him 
 to ride so near his mistress, left room enough for an- 
 other to ride between. And indeed so soon as our 
 brute had recovered his truncheon, he came up directly 
 thither, and had thrust in again, had not I, by a nim- 
 ble turn, chopped in upon him, and kept him at bay. 
 
 I then told him, I had hitherto spared him, but 
 wished him not to provoke me further. This I spake 
 with such a tone, as bespake a high resentment of the 
 abuse put upon us, and withal pressed so close upon 
 him with my horse, that I suffered him not to come up 
 any more to Guli. This his companions, who kept an 
 equal distance behind us, both heard and saw, and 
 thereupon two of them advancing, came up to us. I 
 then thought I might likely have my hands ' full ; but 
 Providence turned it otherwise. For they, seeing the 
 contest rise so high, and probably fearing it would rise 
 higher, not knowing where it might stop, came in to 
 part us ; which they did by taking him away, one of 
 them leading his horse by the bridle, and the other 
 driving him on with his whip, and so carried him off. 
 
 One of their company stayed behind. And it so 
 happening that a great shower just then fell, we betook 
 ourselves for shelter to a thick and well-spread oak, 
 which stood hard by. Thither also came that other 
 person, who wore the Duke's livery ; and while we put 
 on our defensive garments against the weather, which 
 then set in to be wet, he took the opportunity to 
 discourse with me about the man that had been so 
 
1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 199 
 
 rude to us, endeavouring to excuse him by alledging 
 that he had drunk a little too liberally. I let him know 
 that one vice would not excuse another ; that although 
 but one of them was actually concerned in the abuse, 
 yet both he and the rest of them were abettors of it, 
 and accessories to it ; that I was not ignorant whose 
 livery they wore, and was well assured their lord would 
 not maintain them in committing such outrages upon 
 travellers on the road, to our injury, and his dishonour; 
 that I understood the Duke was coming down, and that 
 they might expect to be called to an account for this 
 rude action. He then begged hard that we would pass 
 by the offence, and make no complaint to their lord ; 
 for he knew, he said, the Duke would be very severe ; 
 and it would be the utter ruin of the young man 
 When he had said what he could, he went off before 
 us, without any ground given him to expect favour; 
 and when we had fitted ourselves for the weather, we 
 followed after at our own pace. 
 
 When we came to Tunbridge, I set John Gigger fore- 
 most, bidding him to lead on briskly through the town, 
 and placing Guli in the middle, I came close up after 
 her, that I might both observe, and interpose, if any 
 fresh abuse should have been offered her. We were 
 expected, I perceived ; for though it rained very hard, 
 the street was thronged with men, who looked very 
 earnestly at us, but did not put any affront upon us. 
 
 We had a good way to ride beyond Tunbridge, and 
 beyond the wells, in bye-ways among the woods, and 
 were the later for the hinderance we had had on the 
 
200 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 
 
 way. And when, being come to Harbert Springett's 
 house, Guli acquainted her uncle what danger and 
 trouble she had gone through on the way, he resented 
 it so highly, that he would have had the persons prose- 
 cuted for it. But since Providence had interposed, 
 and so well preserved and delivered her, she chose to 
 pass by the offence. 
 
 When Guli had finished the business she went upon, 
 we returned home, and I delivered her safe to her 
 glad mother. From that time forward, I continued 
 my visits to my best beloved friend, until we married, 
 which was on the 28th day of the eighth month, 
 called October, in the year 1669. We took each 
 other in a select meeting, of the ancient and grave 
 Friends of that country, holden in a Friend's house, 
 where in those times not only the Monthly Meeting 
 for business, but the Public Meeting for worship, was 
 sometimes kept. A very solemn meeting it was ; and 
 in a weighty frame of spirit Ave were, in which we 
 sensibly felt the Lord with us, and joining us, the 
 sense whereof remained with us all our life-time, and 
 was of good service, and very comfortable to us on all 
 occasions. 
 
 My next care, after marriage, was to secure to my 
 wife what moneys she had, and with herself bestowed 
 upon me. For I held it would be an abominable crime 
 in me, and savour of the highest ingratitude, if I, 
 though but through negligence, should leave room for 
 my father, in case I should be taken away suddenly, 
 to break in upon her estate, and deprive her of any 
 
1669 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 201 
 
 part of that which had been and ought to be her own. 
 Wherefore, with the first opportunity, as I remember 
 the very next day, and before I knew particularly w T hat 
 she. had, I made my will, and thereby secured to her 
 whatever I was possessed of, as well all that which she 
 brought either in moneys or in goods, as that little 
 which I had before I married her ; which indeed was 
 but little, yet more by all that little than I had ever 
 given her ground to expect with me. 
 
 She had indeed been advised by some of her rela- 
 tions to secure before marriage some part at least of 
 what she had, to be at her own disposal. Which, 
 though perhaps not w x holly free from some tincture of 
 self-interest in the proposer, was not in itself the worst 
 of counsel. But the worthiness of her mind, and the 
 sense of the ground on w T hich she received me, w r ould 
 not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me ; and 
 this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of grati- 
 tude, as well as of justice, to regard and secure her; 
 which I did. 
 
 I had not been long married, before I was solicited 
 by my dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and 
 her daughter Guli, to take a journey into Kent and 
 Sussex, to account with their tenants, and overlook 
 their estates in those counties, which, before I was 
 married, I had had the care of. And accordingly 
 I undertook the journey, though in the depth of 
 winter. 
 
 My travels in those parts were the more irksome to 
 me, from the solitariness I underwent, and the want of 
 
202 THE HISTORY OF THE [1609 
 
 suitable society. For my business lying among the 
 tenants, who were a rustic sort of people, of various 
 persuasions and humours, but not Friends, I had little 
 opportunity of conversing with Friends ; though 1 
 contrived to be with them as much as I could, especially 
 on the first day of the week. 
 
 But that which made my present journey more 
 heavy to me, was a sorrowful exercise which was newly 
 fallen upon me from my father, harder to be borne 
 than any I had ever met with before. He had, upon 
 my first acquainting him with my inclination to marry, 
 and to whom, not only very much approved the match, 
 but voluntarily offered, without my either asking or 
 expecting, to give me a handsome portion at present, 
 with assurance of an addition to it hereafter. And 
 he not only made this offer to me in private, but came 
 down from London into the country, on purpose to be 
 better acquainted with my friend ; and did there make 
 the same proposal to her, offering also to give security 
 to any friend or relation of hers for the performance. 
 Which offer she most generously declined, leaving him 
 as free as she found him. But after we were married, 
 notwithstanding such his promise, he wholly declined 
 the performance of it, under pretence of our not 
 being married by the priest and liturgy. This usage, 
 and evil treatment of us thereupon, was a great 
 trouble to me ; and when I endeavoured to soften him 
 in the matter, he forbade me speaking to him of it any 
 more ; and even removed his lodgings that I might not 
 find him. 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 203 
 
 The grief I conceived on this occasion was not for 
 any disappointment to myself, or to my wife ; for 
 neither she nor T had any strict or necessary depend- 
 ence upon that promise ; but my grief was partly for 
 the cause assigned by him as the ground of it, which 
 was, that our marriage was not by priest or liturgy ; 
 and partly for, that his lower circumstances in the 
 world might probably tempt him to find some such 
 (though unwarrantable) excuse to avoid performing his 
 promise. 
 
 And surely hard would it have been for my spirit to 
 have borne up under the weight of this exercise, had 
 not the Lord been exceeding gracious to me, and 
 supported me with the inflowings of his love and 
 Life, wherewith he visited my soul in my travail. The 
 sense whereof raised in my heart a thankful remem- 
 brance of his manifold kindness in his former dealings 
 with me. And in the evening, when I came to my 
 inn, while supper was getting ready, I took my pen, 
 and put into words what had in the day revolved in 
 my thoughts. 
 
 And thus it was : — 
 
 A SONG OF PKAISE. 
 
 Thy love, dear Father, and thy tender care, 
 Have in my heart begot a strong desire 
 
 To celebrate thy name with praises rare, 
 That others too thy goodness may admire, 
 And learn to yield to what Thou dost require. 
 
204 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 Many have been the trials of my mind, 
 
 My exercises great, great my distress ; 
 Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed, 
 
 My sorrows then my pen cannot express, 
 
 Nor could the best of men afford redress. 
 "When thus beset, to Thee I lift mine eye, 
 
 And with a mournful heart my moan did make ; 
 How oft with eyes o'erflowing did I cry 
 
 " My God, my God, oh do me not forsake ; 
 
 "Begard my tears ; some pity on me take!" 
 And to the glory of thy holy name, 
 
 Eternal God, whom I both love and fear, 
 I hereby do declare, I never came 
 
 Before thy throne, and found thee loth to hear ; 
 
 But always ready, with an open ear. 
 And tho' sometimes Thou seem'st thy face to hide, 
 
 As one that had withdrawn thy love from me, 
 >Tis that my faith may to the full be tried, 
 
 And that I thereby may the better see 
 
 How weak I am, when not upheld by Thee. 
 For underneath thy holy arm I feel, 
 
 (Encompassing with strength as with a wall) 
 That, if the Enemy trip up my heel, 
 
 Thou ready art to save me from a fall: 
 
 To Thee belong thanksgivings over all. 
 And for thy tender love, my God, my King, 
 
 My heart shall magnify Thee all my days, 
 My tongue of thy renown shall daily sing, 
 
 My pen shall also grateful trophies raise, 
 
 As monuments to thy eternal praise. 
 
 Having finished my business in Kent, I struck off 
 into Sussex; and finding the Enemy endeavouring still 
 more strongly to beset me ? I betook myself to the 
 
L670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 205 
 
 Lord for safety, in whom I knew all help and strength 
 was. 
 
 As soon as I had despatched the business I went 
 about, I returned home without delay, and to my great 
 comfort found my wife well, and myself very welcome 
 to her, both which I esteemed as great favours. 
 
 Towards the latter part of the summer following, 
 I went into Kent again ; and, in my passage through 
 London, received the unwelcome news of the loss of 
 a very hopeful youth, who had formerly been under 
 my care for education. It was Isaac Penington, the 
 second son of my worthy friends Isaac and Mary 
 Penington, • a child of excellent natural parts, whose 
 great abilities bespake him likely to be a great man, 
 had he lived to be a man. He was designed to be 
 bred a merchant, and before he was thought ripe 
 enough to be entered thereunto, his parents, at some- 
 body's request, gave leave that he might go a voyage 
 to Barbadoes, only to spend a little time, see the place, 
 and be somewhat acquainted with the sea, under the 
 care and conduct of a choice Friend and sailor, John 
 Grove, of London, who was master of a vessel, and 
 traded to that Island ; and a little venture he had with 
 him, made up by divers of his friends, and by me 
 among the rest. He made the voyage thither very 
 well, found the watery element agreeable, had his 
 health there, liked the place, was much pleased with 
 his entertainment there, and was returning home with 
 his little cargo, in return for the goods he carried out ; 
 when on a sudden, through unwariness, he dropped 
 18 
 
206 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 overboard, and (the vessel being under sail with a brisk 
 gale) was irrecoverably lost, notwithstanding the ut- 
 most labour, care, and diligence of the master and 
 sailors, to have saved him. This unhappy accident 
 took from the afflicted master all the pleasure of his 
 voyage ; and he mourned for the loss of this youth, as 
 if it had been his own, yea only son : for as he was in 
 himself a man of a worthy mind, so the boy, by his 
 witty and handsome behaviour in general, and respect- 
 ful carriage towards him in particular, had very much 
 wrought himself into his favour. 
 
 As for me, I thought it one of the sharpest strokes 
 I had met with ; for I both loved the child very well, 
 and had conceived great hopes of general good from 
 him ; and it pierced me the deeper to think how deeply 
 it would pierce his afflicted parents. 
 
 Sorrow for this disaster was my companion in this 
 journey, and I travelled the roads under great exercise 
 of mind, revolving in my thoughts the manifold acci- 
 dents which the life of man was attended with, and 
 subject to, and the great uncertainty of all human 
 things. I could find no centre, no firm basis, for the 
 mind of man to fix upon, but the divine power and will 
 of the Almighty. This consideration wrought in my 
 spirit a sort of contempt of what supposed happiness 
 or pleasure this world, or the things that are in and of 
 it, can of themselves yield, and raised my contempla- 
 tion higher, which as it ripened, and came to some 
 degree of digestion, I breathed forth in mournful 
 accents. 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 207 
 
 • 
 
 About this time, as I remember, it was that some 
 bickerings happened between certain Baptists and some 
 of the people called Quakers, in or about High Wy- 
 combe, in Buckinghamshire, occasioned by some re- 
 flecting words a Baptist preacher had publicly uttered 
 in one of their meetings there, against the Quakers in 
 general, and William Penn in particular. It came at 
 length to this issue, that a meeting for a public dispute 
 was appointed to be holden at West Wycombe, between 
 Jeremy Ives, who espoused his brother's cause, and 
 William Penn. 
 
 To this meeting, it being so near me, I went, rather 
 to countenance the cause, than for any delight I took 
 in such work ; for indeed, I have rarely found the 
 advantage equivalent to the trouble and danger arising 
 from those contests. For which cause I would not 
 choose them ; as, being justly engaged, I would not 
 refuse them. 
 
 The issue of this proved better than I expected. 
 For Ives having undertaken an ill cause, to argue 
 against the Divine Light and universal Grace, conferred 
 by God on all men ; — when he had spent his stock of 
 arguments, which he brought with him on that subject, 
 finding his work go on heavily, and the auditory not 
 well satisfied, he stepped down from his seat and de- 
 parted, w r ith purpose to have broken up the assembly. 
 But, except some few of his party who followed him, 
 the people generally stayed, and were the more atten- 
 tive to w r hat was afterwards delivered amongst them. 
 Which Ives understanding, came in again, and in an 
 
208 THE HISTORY OF THE [1070. 
 
 angry railing manner expressing his dislike that we 
 went not at all away when he did, gave more disgust 
 to the people. 
 
 After the meeting was ended, I sent to my friend 
 Isaac Penington, by his son and servant, who returned 
 home, though it was late, that evening, a short account 
 of the business, in the following distich: 
 
 Prcevahiit Veritas: Inimici Terga dedere: 
 Nos sumas in into; Laus tribuenda Deo. 
 
 Truth hath prevailed ; the enemies did fly, 
 We are in safety; praise to God on high. 
 
 But both they and we had quickly other work found 
 us. It soon became a stormy time. The clouds had 
 been long gathering, and threatened a tempest. The 
 parliament had sat some time before, and hatched 
 that unaccountable law, which was called the Con- 
 venticle Act ; if that may be allowed to be called a 
 law, by whomsoever made, which was so directly con- 
 trary to the fundamental laws of England, to com- 
 mon justice, equity, and right reason, as this mani- 
 festly was. 
 
 First. It broke down and over-run the bounds and 
 banks, anciently set for the defence and security of 
 Englishmen's lives, liberties, and properties, viz : Trial 
 by Juries. Instead thereof, directing and authorizing 
 justices of the peace, and that too privately, out of 
 sessions, to convict, fine, and by their warrants distrain 
 upon offenders against it ; directly contrary to the 
 Great Charter. 
 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 209 
 
 Secondly. By that act the informers, who swear 
 for their own advantage, as being thereby entitled to 
 a third part of the fines, were many times concealed, 
 driving on an underhand private trade ; so that men 
 might be and often were convicted and fined, without 
 having any notice or knowledge of it, till the officers 
 came and took away their goods ; nor even then could 
 they tell by whose evidence they were convicted. 
 Than which, what could be more opposite to common 
 justice, which requires that every man should be 
 openly charged, and have his accuser face to face, that 
 he might both answer for himself before he be con- 
 victed, and object to the validity of the evidence given 
 against him. 
 
 Thirdly. By that act, the innocent were punished 
 for the offences of the guilty. If the wife or child 
 was convicted of having been at one of those assem- 
 blies, w 7 hich by that act was adjudged unlawful, the 
 fine was levied on the goods of the husband or father 
 of such wife or child, though he was neither present 
 at such assembly, nor was of the same religious per- 
 suasion that they were of, but perhaps an enemy to it. 
 
 Fourthly. It was left in the arbitrary pleasure of 
 the justices, to lay half the fine for the house or 
 ground where such assembly was holden, and half the 
 fine for a pretended unknown preacher ; and the whole 
 fines of such and so many of the meeters as they 
 should account poor, upon any other or others of the 
 people, who were present at the same meeting, not 
 exceeding a certain limited sum ; without any regard 
 18* 
 
910 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 to equity or reason. And yet, such blindness 'loth the 
 spirit of persecution bring on men, otherwise sharp- 
 sighted enough, that this unlawful, unjust, unequal, 
 unreasonable, and unrighteous law took place in almost 
 all places, and was vigorously prosecuted against the 
 meetings of Dissenters in general, though the brunt 
 of the storm fell most sharply on the people called 
 Quakers ; not that it seemed to be more particularly 
 levelled at them, but that they stood more fair, steady, 
 and open, as a butt to receive all the shot that came, 
 while some others found means and freedom to retire 
 to coverts for shelter. 
 
 No sooner had the Bishops obtained this law, for 
 suppressing all other meetings than their own, but 
 some of the clergy of most ranks, and some others too, 
 who were over much bigoted to that party, bestirred 
 themselves with might and main, to find out and 
 encourage the most profligate wretches to turn inform- 
 ers ; and to get such persons into parochial offices, as 
 would be most obsequious to their commands, and 
 ready at their beck, to put it into the most rigorous 
 execution. Yet it took not alike in all places ; some 
 being forwarder in the work than others, according as 
 the agents, intended to be chiefly employed therein, 
 had been predisposed thereunto. 
 
 For in some parts of the nation care had been 
 timely taken, by some not of the lowest rank, to 
 choose out some particular persons, men of sharp w T it, 
 close countenances, pliant tempers, and deep dissimu- 
 lation, and send them forth among the sectaries, so 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 211 
 
 called; with instructions to thrust themselves into all 
 societies, conform to all or any sort of religious 
 profession, Proteus-like change their shapes, and trans- 
 form themselves from one religious profession to 
 another, as occasion should require. In a word, to 
 be all things to all ; not that they might win some, but 
 that they might if possible ruin all, at least many. 
 
 The drift of this design was, that they who employed 
 them might, by this means, get a full account, what 
 number of Dissenters' meetings, of every sort, there 
 were in each county, and where kept ; what -number of 
 persons frequented them, and of what ranks ; who 
 amongst them were persons of estate, and where they 
 
 lived ; that when they should afterwards have troubled 
 
 ■ 
 
 the waters, they might the better know where, with 
 most advantage, to cast their nets. 
 
 One of these emissaries, whose post was assigned 
 him in this county of Bucks, adventured to thrust 
 himself upon a Friend, under the counterfeit appear- 
 ance of a Quaker ; but being by the Friend suspected, 
 and thereupon dismissed unentertained, he was forced 
 to betake himself to an inn or alehouse for accommo- 
 dation. Long he had not been there, ere his unruly 
 nature, not to be kept under by the curb of a feigned 
 sobriety, broke forth into open profaneness ; so true is 
 that of the poet, 
 
 Naturam expellas furca licet, usqite recurret. 
 
 To fuddling now falls he with those whom he found 
 tippling there before ; and who but he amongst them ! 
 
212 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670 
 
 In him was then made good the proverb, In Vino Ve 
 vitas ; for in his cups he out with that which was nc 
 doubt to have been kept a secret. 'Twas to his pot 
 companions that, after his head was somewhat heated 
 with strong liquors, he discovered that he was sent 
 forth by Dr. Mew, the then Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, 
 on the design before related, and under the protection 
 of Justice Morton, a warrant under whose hand and 
 seal he there produced. 
 
 Sensible of his error too late, when sleep had restored 
 him to some degree of sense, and discouraged with this 
 ill success of his attempt upon the Quakers, he quickly 
 left that place, and crossing through the country, cast 
 himself among the Baptists, at a meeting which they 
 held in a private place ; of which, the over-easy credu- 
 lity of some that went amongst them, with w T hom he 
 had craftily insinuated himself, had given him notice. 
 The entertainment he found amongst them deserved a 
 better return than he made them ; for, having smoothly 
 wrought himself into their good opinion, and cunningly 
 drawn some of them into an unwary openness and 
 freedom of conversation with him, upon the unpleasing 
 subject of the severity of those times, he most villain- 
 ously impeached one of them, whose name was Head- 
 ach, a man well reputed amongst his neighbours, of 
 having spoken treasonable words ; and thereby brought 
 the man in danger of losing both his estate and life, 
 had not a seasonable discovery of his abominable prac- 
 tices elsewhere, imprinting terror, the effect of guilt 
 upon him, caused him to fly both out of the court and 
 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 218 
 
 country, at that very instant of time, when the honest 
 man stood at the bar, ready to be arraigned upon his 
 false accusation. This his false charge against that 
 Baptist left him no further room to play the hypocrite 
 in those parts. Off therefore go his cloak and vizor. 
 And now he openly appears in his proper colours, to 
 disturb the assemblies of God's people ; this being 
 indeed the very end for which the design at first was 
 laid. . 
 
 But, because the law provided that a conviction must 
 be grounded upon the oaths of two witnesses, it was 
 needful for him, in order to the carrying on his in- 
 tended mischief, to find out an associate, who might be 
 both sordid enough for such an employment, and vicious 
 enough to be his companion. This was not an easy 
 task ; yet he found out one, who had already given an 
 experiment of his readiness to take other men's goods, 
 being not long before released out of Aylesbury jail, 
 where he very narrowly escaped the gallows, for having 
 stolen a cow. 
 
 The names of these fellows being yet unknown in 
 that part of the country where they began their work, 
 the former, by the general voice of the country, was 
 called the Trepan ; the latter, the Informer, and from 
 the colour of his hair, Red-head. • But in a little time 
 the Trepan called himself John Poulter, adding withal, 
 that Judge Morton used to call him John for the Kino; ; 
 and that the Archbishop of Canterbury had given him 
 a deaconry. That his name was indeed John Poulter, 
 the reputed son of one Poulter, a butcher in Salisbury, 
 
214 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 and that he had long since been there branded for a 
 fellow egregiously wicked and debauched, we were 
 assured by the testimony of a young man then living 
 in Amersham, who both was his countryman, and had 
 known him in Salisbury, as well as by a letter from an 
 inhabitant of that place, to whom his course of life had 
 been well known. 
 
 His comrade, who for some time was only called the 
 Informer, was named Ralph Lacy, of Risborough, and 
 surnamed the Cow-stealer : these agreed between them- 
 selves where to make their first onset, which was to be, 
 and was, on the meeting of the people called Quakers, 
 then holden at the house of William Russell, called 
 Jourdans, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, in the county 
 of Bucks. That which was wanting to their accommo- 
 dation, was a place of harbour, fit for such beasts of 
 prey to lurk in ; for assistance wherein, recourse was 
 had to parson Philips, none being so ready, none so 
 willing, none so able to help them, as he. 
 
 A friend he had in a corner, a widow woman, not 
 long before one of his parishioners ; her name was 
 Anne Dell, and at that time she lived at a farm called 
 Whites, a bye-place, in the parish of Beaconsfield, 
 whither she had removed from Hitchindon. To her 
 these fellows were recommended by her old friend and 
 parson. She with all readiness received them, her 
 house was at all times open to them, what she had was 
 at their command. Two sons she had at home with 
 her, both at man's estate. The younger son, whose 
 name was John Dell ? listed himself in the service of 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 215 
 
 his mother's new guests, to attend on them as their 
 guide, and to inform them, who were too much strangers 
 to pretend to know the names of any of the persons 
 there, whom they should inform against. 
 
 Thus consorted, thus in a triple league confederated, 
 on the 24th day of the fifth month, commonly called 
 July, in the year 1670, they appeared openly, and 
 began to act their intended tragedy upon the Quakers' 
 Meeting at the place aforesaid, to which I belonged, 
 and at which I was present. Here the chief actor, 
 Poulter, behaved himself with such impetuous violence 
 and brutish rudeness, as gave occasion for inquiry who 
 or what he was. And soon was he discovered to be 
 the Trepan, so infamous and abhorred by all sober 
 people, and afterwards daily detected of gross im- 
 pieties, and the felonious taking of certain goods from 
 one of Brainford, whom also he cheated of money. 
 These things raising an outcry in the country upon 
 him, made him consult his own safety ; and leaving his 
 part to be acted by others, he quitted the country as 
 soon as he could. 
 
 He being gone, Satan soon supplied his place, by 
 sending one Richard Aris, a broken ironmonger of 
 Wycombe, to join with Lacy in this service, prompted 
 thereto in hopes that he might thereby repair his 
 broken fortune. Of this new adventurer this single 
 character may serve, whereby the reader may make 
 judgment of him (as of the lion by his paw) that at 
 the sessions holden at Wycombe, in October then last 
 past, he was openly accused of having enticed one 
 
216 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 Harding of the same town, to be his companion and 
 associate in robbing on the highway ; and proof was 
 not wanting, that he had made bullets in order to that 
 service, which charge Harding himself, whom he had 
 endeavoured to draw into that heinous wickedness, was 
 ready in court to prove upon oath, had not the prose- 
 cution been discountenanced and smothered. 
 
 Lacy, the cow-stealer, having thus got Aris, the 
 intended highwayman, to be his comrade, they came 
 on the 21st of the month called August, 1670, to the 
 meeting of the people called Quakers, where Lacy, 
 with Poulter, had been a month before ; and taking for 
 granted, that the same who had been there before w T ere' 
 there then, they went to a justice of the peace, called 
 Sir Thomas Clayton, and swore at all adventure against 
 one Thomas Zachary and his wife (whom Lacy under- 
 stood to have been there the month before) that they 
 were then present in that meeting ; whereas neither the 
 said Thomas Zachary nor his wife were at that meet- 
 ing, but w^ere both of them in London, above twenty 
 miles distant, all that da}^, having been there some time 
 before and after. Which notwithstanding, upon the 
 false oath of these false men, the justice laid fines upon 
 the said Thomas Zachary of £10 for his own offence, 
 £10 for his wife's, and £10 for the offence of a pre- 
 tended preacher, though indeed there w T as not any that 
 preached at that meeting that day ; and issued forth 
 his warrant to the officers of Beaconsfield, where 
 Thomas Zachary dwelt, for the levying of the same 
 upon his goods. 
 
1070.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 217 
 
 I mention these things thus particularly, though not 
 an immediate suffering of my own, because, in the 
 consequence thereof, it occasioned no small trouble and 
 exercise to me. For when Thomas Zachary, returning 
 home from London, understanding what had been done 
 against him, and advising what to do, was informed by 
 a neighbouring attorney that his remedy lay in appeal- 
 ing from the judgment of the convicting justice, to the 
 general quarter sessions of the peace — he thereupon 
 ordered the said attorney to draw up his appeal in form 
 of law T , went himself with it, and tendered it to the 
 justice. But the justice, being a man neither well 
 principled nor well natured, and uneasy that he should 
 lose the advantage, both of the present conviction and 
 future service of such (in his judgment) useful men, as 
 those two bold informers were likely to be, he fell 
 sharply upon Thomas Zachary, charging him that he 
 suffered justly, and that his suffering was not on a re- 
 ligious account. 
 
 This rough and unjust dealing engaged the good man 
 to enter into further discourse with the justice, in 
 defence of his own innocency. From which discourse 
 the insidious justice, taking offence at some expression 
 of his, charged him with saying, " The righteous are 
 oppressed, and the wicked go unpunished.'' Which 
 the justice interpreting to be a reflection on the go- 
 vernment, and calling it an high misdemeanour, re- 
 quired sureties of the good man to answer it at the 
 next quarter sessions, and in the mean time to be bound 
 to his good behaviour. But he, well knowing himself to 
 19 
 
218 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 be innocent of having broken any law, or done in this 
 matter any evil, could not answer the justice's unjust 
 demand ; and therefore was sent forthwith a prisoner 
 to the county jail. 
 
 By this severity it was thought the justice designed 
 not only to wreak his displeasure on this good man, 
 but to prevent the further prosecution of his appeal ; 
 whereby he should at once both oppress the righteous, 
 by the levying of the fines unduly imposed upon him, 
 and secure the informers from a conviction of wilful 
 perjury, and the punishment due therefor, that so they 
 might go on without control, in the wicked work they 
 were engaged in. 
 
 But so great wickedness was not to be suffered to go 
 unpunished, or at least undiscovered. Wherefore, al- 
 though no way could be found at present to get the 
 good man released from his unjust imprisonment, yet 
 that his restraint might not hinder the prosecution of 
 his appeal, on which the detection of the informers' 
 villainy depended, consideration being had thereof 
 amongst some Friends, the management of the prose- 
 cution was committed to my care, who was thought, 
 with respect at least to leisure and disengagement from 
 other business, most fit to attend it ; and very willingly 
 I undertook it. 
 
 Wherefore, at the next general quarter sessions of 
 the peace, holden at High Wycombe in October follow- 
 ing, I took care that four subsrantial witnesses, citizens 
 of unquestionable credit, should come down from 
 London, in a coach and four horses, hired on purpose. 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 219 
 
 These gave so punctual and full evidence, that Thomas 
 Za chary and his wife were in London all that day 
 whereon the informers had sworn them to have been at 
 an unlawful meeting, at a place more than twenty miles 
 distant from London, — that notwithstanding what en- 
 deavours were used to the contrary, the jury found 
 them Not Guilty. Whereupon the money deposited 
 for the fines, at the entering of the appeal, ought to 
 have been returned; and so was ten pounds of it, but 
 the rest of the money being in the hand of the clerk 
 of the peace, whose name was Wells, could never be 
 got out again. 
 
 Thomas Zachary himself was brought from Ayles- 
 bury jail to Wycombe, to receive his trial ; and though 
 no evil could be charged upon him, yet Justice Clay- 
 ton, who at first committed him, displeased to see the 
 appeal prosecuted, and the conviction he had made set 
 aside by importunity, prevailed with the bench to re- 
 mand him to prison again, there to lie until another 
 sessions. 
 
 While this was doing, I got an indictment drawn up 
 against the informers Aris and Lacy, for wilful per- 
 jury, and caused it to be delivered to the grand jury, 
 who found the bill. And although the court adjourned 
 from the town-hall to the chamber at their inn, in 
 favour as it was thought to the informers, on supposi- 
 tion we would not pursue them thither, yet thither they 
 were pursued. There were two counsellors present 
 from Windsor, the name of the one being Starky, and 
 of the other, as I remember, Forster ; the former of 
 
220 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 whom I had before retained upon the trial of the 
 appeal. I now retained them both, and sent them into 
 court again, to prosecute the informers, upon this in- 
 dictment; which the} 7 did so smartly, that the inform- 
 ers being present, as not suspecting any such sudden 
 danger, were of necessity called to the bar, and ar- 
 raigned, and having pleaded Not Guilty, were forced 
 to enter a traverse to avoid a present commitment ; all 
 the favour the court could show them being to take 
 them bail one for the other, though probably both not 
 worth a groat, else they must have gone to jail for want 
 of bail, which w r ould have put them beside their busi- 
 ness, spoiled the informing trade, and broken the 
 design. Whereas now they were turned loose again, to 
 do what mischief they could until the next sessions. 
 
 Accordingly they did what they could, and yet could 
 make little or no earnings at it ; for this little step of 
 prosecution had made them so known, and their late 
 apparent perjury had made them so detestable, that 
 even the common sort of bad men shunned them, and 
 would not willingly yield them any assistance. 
 
 The next quarter sessions was holden at Aylesbury, 
 whither we were fain to bring down our witnesses again 
 from London, in like manner, and at like charge, at 
 the least, as before. And though I met with very 
 great discouragements in the prosecution, yet I followed 
 it so vigorously, that I got a verdict against the in- 
 formers for wilful perjury ; and had forthwith taken 
 them up, had they not forthwith fled from justice, ana 
 hid themselves. However, I moved by my attorney, 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLW r OOD. 221 
 
 for an order of court, directed to all mayors, bailiffs, 
 high constables, petty constables, and other inferior 
 officers of the peace, to arrest and take them up, wher- 
 ever they should be found within the county of Bucks, 
 and bring them to the county jail. 
 
 The report of this so terrified them, that of all 
 things dreading the misery of lying in a jail, out of 
 which they could not hope for deliverance, otherwise 
 than by at least the loss of their ears, they, hopeless 
 now of carrying on their informing trade, disjoined. 
 Aris fled the country, so that whatever gallows caught 
 him, he appeared no more in this country. Lacy 
 lurked privily for a while in woods and bye-places, till 
 hunger and want forced him out ; and then casting 
 himself upon an hazardous adventure, which yet proved 
 to him the best course he could have taken, he w T ent 
 directly to the jail, where he knew the innocent man 
 suffered imprisonment by his means, and for his sake. 
 Where asking for, and being brought to Thomas 
 Zachary, he cast himself on his knees at his feet, and 
 with appearance of sorrow, confessing his fault, did 
 so earnestly beg for forgiveness, that he wrought 
 upon the tender nature of that very good man, not 
 only to put him in hopes of mercy, but to be his 
 advocate by letter to me, to mitigate at least, if not 
 wholly to remit the prosecution. To which I so far 
 only consented, as to let him know, I would suspend 
 the execution of the warrant upon him, according as 
 he behaved himself, or until he gave fresh provoca- 
 tion ; at which message the fellow was so overjoyed, 
 19* 
 
999 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 
 
 that relying with confidence thereon, he returned 
 openly to his family and labour, and applied himself to 
 business, as his neighbours observed and reported, 
 with greater diligence and industry than he had ever 
 done before. 
 
 Thus began and thus ended the informing trade in 
 these parts of the county of Bucks ; the ill success that 
 these first informers found discouraging all others, how 
 vile soever, from attempting the like enterprise there 
 ever after. And though it cost some money to carry 
 on the prosecution, and some pains too, yet, for every 
 shilling so spent, a pound probably might be saved, of 
 what in all likelihood would have been lost by the spoil 
 and havoc that might have been made by distresses 
 taken on their informations. 
 
 But very angry w T as the convicting justice, whatever 
 others of the same rank were, at this prosecution, and 
 the loss thereby of the service of those " honest" men, 
 the perjured informers. For as I heard an attorney, 
 one Hitchcock, of Aylesbury, who was their advocate 
 in court, say, U A great lord, a peer of the realm, 
 called them so in a letter directed to him : whereby he 
 recommended to him the care and defence of them and 
 their cause." So he prevailed to have the oath of 
 allegiance tendered in court to Thomas Zachary, which 
 he knew he would not take, because he could not take 
 any oath at all ; by which snare he was kept in prison 
 a long time after, and, so far as I remember, until a 
 general pardon released him. 
 
 But though it. pleased the Divine Providence, who 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 223 
 
 sometimes vouchsafes to bring good out of evil, to put 
 a stop, in a great measure at least, to the persecution 
 here begun, yet, in other parts, both of the city and 
 country, it was carried on with very great severity and 
 rigour ; the worst of men, for the most part, being set 
 up for informers, — the worst of magistrates encoura- 
 ging and abetting them, — and the worst of the priests, 
 who first began to blow the fire, now seeing how it 
 took, spread and blazed, clapping their hands, and 
 hallooing them on to this evil work. The sense 
 whereof, as it deeply affected my heart with a sympa- 
 thising pity for the oppressed sufferers, so it raised in 
 my spirit a holy disdain and contempt, of that spirit 
 and its agent, by which this ungodly work was stirred 
 up and carried on. 
 
224 THE HISTORY OF THE [1671. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1671 — 1683. 
 
 Faithfulness of Friends under persecution — Thomas Hicks — "A dia- 
 logue between a Christian and a Quaker" — Answered by William 
 Penn — Unfair dealing — Meeting for dispute, at Barbican — Another 
 at Wheeler street meeting-house — "A Fresh Pursuit" — A contest for 
 Christianity" — Answer, ''Forgery no Christianity" — Jeremy Ives — 
 Fresh Controversy — "A Friendly Conference, <fcc." — Answered by 
 "Truth Prevailing, Ac." — "The Foundation of Tithes Shaken" — 
 Schism of John Wilkinson and John Story — William Rogers puts 
 forth "The Christian Quaker Distinguished, &c." — Challenge, and 
 meeting at Devonshire House — Preparation and Publication of "An 
 Antidote, <fcc." — Continued persecution under the " Conventicle Act" — 
 Publication of "A Caution to Constables, &c." — Fright of William 
 Ayers — Illness of Guli Penn — Difficulty with two Justices — The 
 Rye Plot — Extrication from the difficulty — Illegal committal of 
 twenty-three Friends to Aylesbury prison. 
 
 Scarcely was the before-mentioned storm of out- 
 ward persecution from the government blown over, 
 when Satan raised against us another storm, of another 
 kind, on this occasion. The foregoing storm of per- 
 secution, as it lasted long, so in many parts of the 
 nation, and particularly at London, it fell very sharp 
 and violent, especially on the Quakers. For they, 
 having no refuge but God alone to fly unto, could not 
 dodge and shift to avoid the suffering, as others of 
 other denominations could, and in their worldly wisdom 
 and policy did; altering their meetings,' with respect 
 both to place and time, and forbearing to meet when 
 
1671.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 225 
 
 forbidden, or kept out of their meeting-houses. So 
 that of the several sorts of Dissenters, the Quakers 
 only held up a public testimony, as a standard or 
 ensign of religion, by keeping their meetings duly 
 and fully, at the accustomed times and places, so long 
 as they were suffered to enjoy the use of their meet- 
 ing houses; and when they were shut up, and Friends 
 kept out of them by force, they assembled in the 
 streets, as near to their meeting-houses as they could. 
 
 This bold and Christian behaviour in the Quakers, 
 disturbed and not a little displeased the persecutors, 
 who, fretting, complained that the stubborn Quakers 
 brake their strength, and bore off the blow from those 
 other Dissenters, whom, as they most feared, so they 
 principally aimed at. For indeed the Quakers they 
 rather despised than feared, as being a people, from 
 whose peaceable principles and practices they held 
 themselves secure from danger ; whereas, having suffered 
 severely, and that lately too, by and under the other 
 Dissenters, they thought they had just cause to be 
 apprehensive of danger from them, and good reason to 
 suppress them. 
 
 On the other hand, the more ingenuous among other 
 Dissenters of each denomination, sensible of the ease 
 they enjoyed by our bold and steady suffering, which 
 abated the heat of the persecutors, and blunted the 
 edge of the sword before it came to them, franklv ac- 
 knowledged the benefit received ; calling us the bul- 
 wark, that kept off the force of the stroke from them ; 
 and praying that we might be preserved, and enabled 
 
226 THE HISTORY OF THE [1673 
 
 to break the strength of the enemy ; nor could some 
 of them forbear, those especially who were called Bap- 
 tists, to express their kind and favourable opinion of 
 us, and of the principles we professed, which em- 
 boldened us to go through that, which but to hear of 
 was a terror to them. 
 
 This their good-will raised ill-will in some of their 
 teachers against us ; who, though willing to reap the 
 advantage of a shelter, by a retreat behind us during 
 the time that the storm lasted, yet partly through an 
 evil emulation, partly through fear lest they should lose 
 some of those members of their society, who had dis- 
 covered such favourable thoughts of our principles and 
 us, — they set themselves, as soon as the storm was over, 
 to represent us in as ugly a dress, and as frightful a 
 figure to the world, as they could invent and put upon 
 us. 
 
 In order whereunto, one Thomas Hicks, a preacher 
 among the Baptists at London, took upon him to write 
 several pamphlets successively, entitled "A Dialogue 
 between a Christian and a Quaker;" which were so 
 craftily contrived, that the unwary reader might con- 
 clude them to be not merely fictions, but real discour- 
 ses, actually held between one of the people called 
 Quakers, and some other person. In these feigned 
 dialogues, Hicks, having no regard to justice or com- 
 mon honesty, had made his counterfeit Quaker say 
 whatsoever he thought would render him one while suf- 
 ficiently erroneous, another while ridiculous enough ; 
 forging, in the Quaker's name, some things so abomi- 
 
1674.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOGD. 227 
 
 nably false, other things so intolerably foolish, as could 
 not reasonably be supposed to have come into the con- 
 ceit, much less to have dropped from the lip or pen, of 
 any that went under the name of a Quaker. 
 
 These dialogues were answered by our friend William 
 Penn, in two books; the first being entitled "-Reason 
 against Railing," the other the " Counterfeit Christian 
 detected ;" in which Hicks being charged with manifest 
 as well as manifold forgeries, perversions, downright 
 lies, and slanders against the people called Quakers in 
 general, William Penn, George Whitehead, and divers 
 others by name, complaint was made, by way of an 
 appeal to the Baptists in and about London, for justice 
 against Thomas Hicks. 
 
 Those Baptists, who it seems were in the plot with 
 Hicks, to defame at any rate, right or wrong, the 
 people called Quakers, taking the advantage of the ab- 
 sence of William Penn and George Whitehead, who 
 were the persons most immediately concerned, and who 
 were then gone a long journey on the service of 
 Truth, to be absent from the city, in all probability, 
 for a considerable time, appointed a public meeting in 
 one of their meeting-houses, under pretence of calling 
 Thomas Hicks to account, and hearing the charge made 
 good against him ; but with design to give the greater 
 stroke to the Quakers, when they, who should make 
 good the charge against Hicks, could not be present. 
 For upon sending notice of their intended meeting, to 
 the lodgings of William Penn and George Whitehead, 
 they were told by several Friends that both William 
 
228 THE HISTORY OF THE [1671. 
 
 Penn and George Whitehead were from home, travel- 
 ling in the countries, uncertain where ; and therefore 
 could not be informed of their intended meeting, either 
 by letter or express, within the time by them limited ; 
 for which reason they were desired to defer the meet- 
 ing till they could have notice of it, and time to return. 
 But these Baptists, whose design was otherwise laid, 
 would not to be prevailed with to defer their meeting ; 
 but glad of the advantage, gave their brother Hicks 
 opportunity to make a colourable defence, where he 
 had his party to help him, and none to oppose him; 
 and having made a mock show of examining him and 
 his works of darkness, they in fine, having heard one 
 side, acquitted him. 
 
 This gave just occasion for a new complaint, and 
 demand of justice against him and them. For as soon 
 as William Penn returned to London, he in print 
 exhibited his complaint of this unfair dealing, and de- 
 manded justice, by a re-hearing of the matter in a 
 public meeting, to be appointed by joint agreement. 
 This went down hardly with the Baptists, nor could it 
 be obtained from them, without great importunity and 
 hard pressing. At length, after many delays and 
 tricks used to shift it off, constrained by necessity, they 
 yielded to have a meeting at their own meeting-house, 
 in Barbican, London. 
 
 There amongst other Friends was I, who undertook 
 to read our charge there against Thomas Hicks, which, 
 not without much difficulty, I did ; they, inasmuch as 
 
1674.] LIFE OP THOMAS ELLWOOD. 229 
 
 the house was theirs, putting all the inconveniencies 
 they could upon us. 
 
 The particular passages and management of this 
 meeting I forbear to mention ; as also of another, 
 which followed soon after, and was held in our own 
 meeting-house, by Wheeler-street, Spitalfields ; there 
 being in print a narrative of each, to which for further 
 information I refer the reader. 
 
 To this meeting Thomas Hicks would not come, but 
 lodged himself at an ale-house hard by ; yet sent his 
 brother Ives, with some others of his party, by clam- 
 orous noises to divert us from the prosecution of our 
 charge against him; w^hich they so effectually per- 
 formed, that they would not suffer the charge to be 
 heard, though often attempted to be read. As this 
 rude behaviour of theirs was a cause of grief to me, 
 so afterwards, when I understood that they used all 
 evasive tricks to avoid another meeting with us, and 
 refused to do us right, my spirit was greatly stirred at 
 their injustice ; and in the sense thereof, willing, if 
 possible, to have provoked them to more fair and 
 manly dealing, I let fly a broadside at them, in a 
 single sheet of paper, under the title of U A fresh 
 Pursuit." In which, having re-stated the controversy 
 between them and us, and reinforced our charge of 
 forgery, &c. against Thomas Hicks and his abettors, I 
 offered a fair challenge to them, not only to Thomas 
 Hicks himself, but to all those, his compurgators, who 
 had before undertaken to acquit him from our charge, 
 together with his companion, Jeremy Ives, to give me 
 20 
 
230 THE HISTORY OF THE [1674. 
 
 a fair and public meeting, in which I would make good 
 our charge against him, as principal, and all the rest 
 of them as accessories. But nothing could provoke 
 them to come fairly forth. 
 
 Yet not long after, finding themselves galled by the 
 narrative lately published of what had passed in the 
 last meeting near Wheeler-street, they, to help them- 
 selves if they could, sent forth a counter account of 
 that meeting, and of the former at Barbican, as much 
 to the advantage of their own cause, as they upon 
 deliberate consideration could contrive it. This was 
 published by Thomas Plant, a Baptist teacher, and 
 one of Thomas Hicks' former compurgators, and bore 
 (but falsely) the title of "A Contest for Christianity, 
 or a faithful Relation of two late Meetings, &c." 
 
 To this I quickly wrote and published an answer. 
 And because I saw the design and whole drift of the 
 Baptists was to shroud Thomas Hicks from our charge 
 of forgery, under the specious pretence of his and 
 their standing up and contending for Christianity, I 
 gave my book this general title, " Forgery no Chris- 
 tianity, or a Brief Examen of a late Book, &e." 
 And, having from their own book plainly convicted 
 that which they called a faithful relation to be indeed 
 a false relation, I, in an expostulatory postscript to 
 the Baptists, reinforced our charge and my former 
 challenge, offering to make it good against them 
 before a public and free auditory. But they were 
 too wary to appear further, either in persor or in 
 print. 
 
1675.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 231 
 
 This was the end of that controversy; which was 
 observed to have this issue — that what those dialogues 
 were written to prevent, was-, by the dialogues, and 
 their unfair, unmanly, unchristian carriage, in endea- 
 vouring to defend them, hastened and brought to pass ; 
 for not a few of the Baptists' members, upon this 
 occasion, left their meetings and society, and came 
 over to the Quakers' meetings, and w r ere joined in 
 fellowship with them. Thanks be to God. 
 
 Though many of the most eminent amongst the 
 Baptists, in and about London, engaged themselves in 
 this quarrel, to have defended, or at least, to have 
 brought fairly oft', if it had been possible, their 
 Brother Hicks, yet the main service lay upon Jeremy 
 Ives : who, having been an unsuccessful trader in 
 cheese, and therein failed more than once, had now 
 for some time given over that employment, and under- 
 took to be the champion for the Baptists, and to 
 maintain their quarrels against all comers. His name 
 was up for a topping disputant ; but indeed, on the 
 best observation I could make of him, both now and 
 formerly, I could not find him a clear and fair dis- 
 putant. He seemed well read in the fallacies of logic, 
 and indeed was rather ready than true and sound in 
 framing syllogisms. But his chief art lay in tickling 
 the humours of rude, unlearned, and injudicious 
 hearers ; thereby insinuating himself into their good 
 opinion, and then bantering his opponent. 
 
 The controversy which had been raised by those 
 cavilling Baptists, had not long been ended, before 
 
232 1 HE HISTORY OF THE [1676. 
 
 another was raised by an Episcopal priest in Lincoln- 
 shire, who fearing, as it seemed, to lose some of his 
 hearers to the Quakers, wrote a book, which he mis- 
 called, U A Friendly Conference between a Minister 
 and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism. " In 
 this he mis-stated and greatly perverted the Quakers' 
 principles, that he might thereby beget in his parish- 
 ioners an aversion to them ; and that he might abuse 
 us the more securely, he concealed himself, sending 
 forth his book without a name. 
 
 This book coming to my hand, it became my con- 
 cern, after I had read it, and considered the evil 
 management and worse design thereof, to answer it ; 
 which I did in a treatise called, " Truth Prevailing, 
 and Detecting Error," published in the year 1676. 
 
 My answer I divided, according to the several sub- 
 jects" handled in the conference, into divers distinct 
 chapters, the last of which treated of Tithes. This 
 being the priests' Delilah, and that chapter of mine 
 pinching them it seems in a tender part, the belly, 
 they laid their heads together, and, with what speed 
 they could, sent forth a distinct reply to the last 
 chapter of Tithes in mine, under the title of " The 
 Right of Tithes asserted and proved." This also 
 came forth without a name, yet pretended to be written 
 by another hand. 
 
 Before I had finished my rejoinder to this, came 
 forth another, called, < ; A Vindication of the Friendly 
 Conference;" said to be written by the author of the 
 feigned conference, who was not yet willing to trust 
 
1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 233 
 
 the world with his name. So much of it as related to 
 the subject I was then upon, Tithes, I took into my 
 rejoinder to the " Eight of Tithes," which I published 
 in the year 1678, with this title, " The Foundation of 
 Tithes Shaken, &c". 
 
 After this it was a pretty while before I heard from 
 either of them again. But at length came forth a 
 reply to my last, supposed to be written by the same 
 hand, who had before written " The Right of Tithes 
 Asserted, &c," but still without a name. This latter 
 book had more of art than argument in it. It was 
 indeed a hash of ill-cooked crambe, set off with as 
 much flourish as the author was master of, and swelled 
 into bulk by many quotations; but those so wretch- 
 edly misgiven, misapplied, or perverted, that to a 
 judicious and impartial reader, I durst oppose my 
 "Foundation of Tithes Shaken," to the utmost force 
 that book has in it. Yet it coming forth at a time 
 when I was pretty well at leisure, I intended a full 
 refutation thereof; and in order thereunto had written 
 between forty and fifty sheets, when other business 
 more urgent intervening, took me off, and detained me 
 from it so long, that it was then judged out of season, 
 and so was laid aside. 
 
 Hitherto, the war I had been engaged in was in a 
 sort foreign, with people of other religious persuasions, 
 such as were open and avowed enemies ; but now 
 another sort of war arose, an intestine war, raised by 
 some among ourselves ; such as had once been of us, 
 and yet retained the same profession, and would have 
 20* 
 
234 THE HISTORY OF THE [1680. 
 
 been thought to be of us still; but having, through 
 ill-grounded jealousies, let in discontents, and there- 
 upon fallen into jangling, chiefly about church disci- 
 pline, they at length brake forth into an open schism, 
 headed by two northern men of name and note, John 
 Wilkinson and John Story. The latter of whom, as 
 being the most active and popular man, having gained 
 a considerable interest in the west, carried the contro- 
 versy with him thither, and there spreading it, drew 
 many, too many, to abet him therein. 
 
 Among these, William Rogers, a merchant of Bris- 
 tol, was not the least, nor least accounted of, by him- 
 self and some others. He was a bold and an active 
 man, moderately learned, but immoderately conceited 
 of his own abilities ; which made him forward to en- 
 gage, as thinking none would dare to take up the 
 gauntlet he should cast down. This high opinion of 
 himself made him rather a troublesome than formidable 
 enemy. 
 
 He in a while arrived to that height of folly and 
 wickedness, that he wrote and published a large book 
 in five parts, to winch he maliciously gave for a title 
 " The Christian Quaker distinguished from the Apos- 
 tate and Innovator;" thereby arrogating to himself, 
 and those w T ho were of his party, the topping style of 
 Christian Quaker, and no less impiously than unchari- 
 tably branding and rejecting all others, even the main 
 body of Friends, for apostates and innovators. W 7 hen 
 this book came abroad, it was not a little (and he for 
 its sake) cried up by his injudicious admirers, whose 
 
16S1.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 235 
 
 applause setting his head afloat, he came up to London 
 at the time of the Yearly Meeting then following ; and 
 at the close thereof, gave notice in writing to this effect 
 — that if any were dissatisfied with his book, he was 
 there ready to maintain and defend both it and himself 
 against all comers. 
 
 This daring challenge was neither dreaded nor 
 slighted, but an answer forthwith returned in writing, 
 signed by a few Friends, amongst whom I was one, to 
 let him know, that as many were dissatisfied with his 
 book and him, he should not fail (God willing) to be 
 met by the sixth hour next morning, at the meeting- 
 place, at Devonshire-house. 
 
 Accordingly we met, and continued the meeting till 
 noon or after ; in which time he, surrounded with those 
 of his own party as might abet and assist him, was so 
 fairly foiled and baffled, and so fully exposed, that he 
 was glad to quit the place, and early next morning the 
 town also ; leaving, in excuse for his going so abruptly 
 off, and thereby refusing us another meeting with him, 
 which we had earnestly provoked him to, this slight 
 shift, that he had before given earnest for his passage 
 in the stage-coach home, and was not willing to lose it. 
 
 I had before this gotten a sight of his book, and 
 procured one for my use on this occasion, but I had 
 not time to read it through ; but a while after, Provi- 
 dence cast another of them into my hands, very unex- 
 pectedly ; for our dear friend George Fox passing 
 through this county among Friends, and lying in his 
 journey at my house, had one of them in his bags, 
 
936 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1682. 
 
 which lie had made marginal notes upon. For that good 
 man, like Julius Caesar, willing to improve all parts of 
 his time, did usually, even in his travels, dictate to his 
 amanuensis what he would have committed to writing 
 I knew not that he had this book with him, for he had 
 not said anything to me of it, till' going in the morn- 
 ing into his chamber, while he was dressing himself, I 
 found it lying on the table by him. And understand- 
 ing that he was going but for a few weeks, to visit 
 Friends in the meetings hereabouts, and the neighbour- 
 ing parts of Oxford and Berkshire, and so return 
 through this county again, I made bold to ask him if 
 he would favour me so much as to leave it with me till 
 his return, that I might have the opportunity of read- 
 ing it through. He consented, and as soon almost as 
 he was gone, I set myself to read it over. But I had 
 not gone far in it, ere, observing the many foul false- 
 hoods, malicious slanders, gross perversions, and false 
 doctrines, abounding in it, the sense thereof inflamed 
 my breast with a just and holy indignation against the 
 w^ork, and that devilish spirit in which it was brought 
 forth ; wherefore, finding my spirit raised, and my un- 
 derstanding divinely opened to refute it, I began the 
 book again, and reading it with pen in hand, answered 
 it paragraphically as I went. And so clear were the 
 openings I received from the Lord therein, that by the 
 time my friend came back, I had gone through the 
 greatest part of it, and was too far engaged in spirit, 
 to think of giving over the work. Wherefore, request- 
 ing him to continue the book a little longer with me, I 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 037 
 
 soon after finished the answer, which, with Friends' 
 approbation, was printed under the title of "An Anti- 
 dote against the Infection of William Rogers's Book, 
 miscalled, The Christian Quaker, &c." This was writ- 
 ten in the year 1682. But no answer was given to it, 
 so far as I have ever heard, either by him or any- 
 other of his party, though many others were concerned 
 therein, and some by name. Perhaps there might be 
 a hand of Providence over-ruling them therein, to give 
 me leisure to attend some other services, which soon 
 after fell upon me. 
 
 For it being a stormy time, and persecution waxing 
 hot, upon the Conventicle Act, through the busy bold- 
 ness of hungry informers, who, for their own advant- 
 age, did not only themselves hunt after religious and 
 peaceable meetings, but drove on the officers, not only 
 the inferior and subordinate, but in some places even 
 the justices also, for fear of penalties, to hunt with 
 them, and for them, — I found a pressure upon my 
 spirit, to write a small treatise, to inform such officers 
 how they might secure and defend themselves from 
 being ridden by those malapert informers, and made 
 their drudges. This I called, " A Caution to Con- 
 stables, and other inferior officers, concerned in the 
 Execution of the Conventicle Act," &c. 
 
 This was thought to have some good service where 
 it came, upon such sober and moderate officers, as well 
 justices, as constables, &c, who acted rather by con- 
 straint than choice, by encouraging them to stand their 
 ground, with more courage and resolution, against the 
 
238 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683 
 
 insults of saucy informers. But whatever ease it 
 brought to others, it brought me some trouble, and had 
 like to have brought me into more danger, had not 
 Providence wrought my deliverance by an unexpected 
 way. For as soon as it came forth in print, which was 
 in the year 1683, one William Ayrs, of Watford in 
 Hertfordshire, a friend and acquaintance of mine, who 
 was both an apothecary and barber, being acquainted 
 with divers of the gentry in those parts, and going 
 often to some of their houses to trim them, took one 
 of these books with him, when he went to trim Sir 
 Benjamin Titchborn, of Rickmansworth, and presented 
 it to him, supposing he would have taken it kindly, as 
 in like cases he had formerly done. But it fell out 
 otherwise. For he, looking it over after Ayrs was 
 gone, and taking it by the wrong handle, entertained 
 an evil opinion of it, and of me for it, though he knew 
 me not. 
 
 He thereupon communicated both the book and his 
 thoughts upon it to a neighbouring justice, living in 
 Rickmansworth, whose name was Thomas Fotherly; 
 who concurring with him in judgment, they concluded 
 that I should be taken up and prosecuted for it, as a 
 seditious book, for a libel they could not call it, my 
 name being to it at length. Wherefore sending for 
 Ayrs, who had brought the book, Justice Titchborn 
 examined him if he knew me, and where I dwelt. Who 
 telling him he knew me well, and had been often at my 
 house, he gave him in charge to give me notice, that I 
 should appear before him and the other justice at Rick- 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 239 
 
 mansworth, on such a day ; threatening, that if I did 
 not appear duly, he himself should be prosecuted for 
 spreading the book. 
 
 This put William Ayrs in a fright. Over he came 
 in haste with this message to me, troubled that he 
 should be a means to bring me into trouble. But I 
 endeavoured to give him ease, by assuring him I would 
 not fail, with God's leave, to appear at the time and 
 place appointed, and thereby free him from trouble and 
 danger. 
 
 In the interim I received advice, by an express out 
 of Sussex, that Guli Penn, with whom I had an inti- 
 mate acquaintance, and firm friendship from our very 
 youths, was very dangerously ill, her husband being 
 then absent in Pennsylvania, and that she had a great 
 desire to see and speak with me. This put me to a 
 great strait, and brought a sore exercise on my mind. 
 I was divided betwixt honour and friendship. I had 
 engaged my word to appear before the justices ; which 
 to omit would bring dishonour on me and my profes- 
 sion. To stay till that time was come and past, might 
 probably prove, if I should then be left at liberty, too 
 late to answer her desire, and satisfy friendship. 
 
 After some little deliberation, I resolved, as the best 
 expedient to answer both ends, to go over next morn- 
 ing to the justices, to lay my strait before them, and try 
 if I could procure from them a respite of my appear- 
 ance before them, until I had been in Sussex, and paid 
 the duty of friendship to my sick friend. This I had 
 the more hopes to obtain, because I knew those jus- 
 
240 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683, 
 
 ticos had a great respect for Guli ; for when William 
 Perm and vshe were first married, they lived for some 
 years at Rickmansworth, in which time they contracted 
 u neighbourly friendship with both these justices and 
 theirs, who ever after retained a kind regard for them. 
 
 Early therefore in the morning I rode over. But 
 being wholly a stranger to the justices, I went first to 
 Watford, that I might take along with me Ayrs, who 
 supposed himself to have some interest in Justice Titch- 
 born. When I came there, understanding that another 
 Friend of that town, whose name was John Well's, was 
 well acquainted with the other justice Fotherly, having 
 imparted to them the occasion of my coming, I took 
 them both with me, and hasted back to Rickmansworth. 
 Where having put our horses up at an inn, and leaving 
 William Ayrs, who was a stranger to Fotherly," there, 
 I met with John Wells to Fotherly 's house ; and being 
 brought into a fair hall, I tarried there while Wells 
 went into the parlour to him ; and having acquainted 
 him that I was there, and desired to speak with him, 
 brought him to me with severity in his countenance. 
 
 After he had asked me, in a tone which spake dis- 
 pleasure, what I had to say to him, I told him I came 
 to wait on him upon an intimation given me, that he 
 had something to say to me. He thereupon, plucking 
 my book out of his pocket, asked me if I owned myself 
 to be the author of that book. I told him if he pleased 
 to let me look into it, if it were mine, I would not deny 
 it. He thereupon giving it into my hand, when I had 
 turned over the leaves, and looked it through, finding 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 241 
 
 it to be as it came from the press, I told him I wrote 
 the book, and would own it, all but the errors of the 
 press. Whereupon he, looking sternly on me, an- 
 swered, "Your own errors, you should have said." 
 
 Having innocency on my side, I was not at all 
 daunted at either his speech or looks ; but feeling the 
 Lord present with me, I replied, "I know there are 
 errors of the press in it, and therefore I excepted 
 them ; but I do not know there are any errors of mine 
 in it, and therefore cannot except them. But," added 
 I, "if thou pleasest to show me any error of mine in 
 it. I shall readily both acknowledge and retract it;" 
 and thereupon desired him to give me an instance, in 
 any one passage in that book, wherein he thought I 
 had erred. He said he needed not go to particulars ; 
 but charge me with the general contents of the whole 
 book. I replied that such a charge would be too gene- 
 ral for me to give a particular answer to it ; but if he 
 would assign me any particular passage, or sentence in 
 the book, wherein he apprehended the ground of offence 
 to lie, when I should have opened the terms, and ex- 
 plained my meaning therein, he might perhaps find 
 cause to change his mind, and entertain a better opinion 
 both of the book and me. And therefore I again en- 
 treated him to let me know what particular passage or 
 passages had given him an offence. He told me I 
 needed not to be in so much haste for that ; I might 
 have it timely enough, if not too soon: "but this," 
 said he, " is not the day appointed for your hearing ; 
 and therefore, what, I pray, made you in such haste to 
 21 
 
242 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 
 
 come now?" I told him I hoped he would not take it 
 for an argument of guilt, that I came before I was sent 
 for, and offered • myself to my purgation before the 
 time appointed. And this I spake with somewhat a 
 brisker air, which had so much influence on him, as to 
 bring a somewhat softer air over his countenance. 
 
 Then going on, I told him I had a particular occa- 
 sion which induced me to come now ; which was, that 
 I received advice last night, by an express out of 
 Sussex, that William Penn's wife, with whom I had an 
 intimate acquaintance and strict friendship, almost 
 from our cradle, lay now there very ill, not without 
 great danger, in the apprehension of those about her, 
 of her life ; and that she had expressed her desire 
 that I would come to her as soon as I could; the 
 rather, for that her husband was absent in America. 
 That this had brought a great strait upon me, being 
 divided between friendship and duty, willing to visit 
 my friend in her illness, which the nature and law of 
 friendship required ; yet unwilling to omit my duty, 
 by failing of my appearance before him and the other 
 justice, according to their command and my promise ; 
 lest I should thereby subject, not my own reputation 
 only, but the reputation of my religious profession, 
 to the suspicion of guilt, and censure of willingly 
 shunning a trial. To prevent which, I had chosen to 
 anticipate the time, and come now, to see if I could 
 give them satisfaction in what they had to object 
 against me, and thereupon being dismissed, pursue my 
 journey into Sussex. Or, if by them detained, to 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 943 
 
 submit to Providence, and by an express to acquaint 
 my friend therewith, both to free her from an expecta- 
 tion of my coming, and myself from any imputation 
 of neglect. 
 
 While I thus delivered myself, I observed a sensible 
 alteration in the justice ; and when I had done speak- 
 ing, he said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's ill- 
 ness, of whose virtue and worth he spake very highly, 
 yet not more than was her due. Then he told me. 
 that for her sake, he would do what he could to 
 further my visit to her. "But," said he, U I am but 
 one, and of myself can do nothing in it: therefore, 
 you must go to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and, if he 
 be at home, see if you can prevail w x ith him to meet 
 me, that we may consider of it. But I can assure 
 you, the matter which will be laid to your charge con- 
 cerning your book is of greater importance than you 
 seem to think it. For your book has been laid before 
 the King and Council ; and the Earl of Bridge- 
 water, w T ho is one of the Council, hath thereupon 
 given us command to examine you about it, and secure 
 you." 
 
 "I wish," said I, "I could speak with the Earl 
 myself, for I make no doubt but to acquit myself unto 
 him ; and if thou pleasest to give me thy letter to him, 
 T will w^ait upon him w T ith it forthwith. For although 
 I know that he hath no favour for any of my persua- 
 sion, yet knowing myself to be wholly innocent in this 
 matter, I can with confidence appear before him, or 
 even before the King in council." 
 
244 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [16S3 
 
 "Well," said he, "I see you are confident; but for 
 all that, let me tell you, how good soever your intention 
 was, you timed the publishing of your book very un- 
 luckily ; for you cannot be ignorant, that there is a 
 very dangerous plot lately discovered, contrived by the 
 Dissenters, against the government and his Majesty's 
 life.* And for you to publish a book, just at this 
 juncture of time, to discourage the magistrates and 
 other officers from putting into execution those laws 
 which were made to suppress their meetings, looks, I 
 must tell you, with but a very scurvy countenance 
 upon you." 
 
 "If," replied I, with somewhat a pleasanter air, 
 "there was any mis-timing in the case, it must lie on 
 the part of those plotters, for timing the breaking 
 forth of their plot while my book was printing; for I 
 can bring very good proof that my book was in the 
 press, and well-nigh wrought off, before any man 
 talked or knew of a plot, but those who were in it." 
 
 Here our discourse ended, and I, taking leave of 
 him for the present, went to my horse, and changing 
 my companion, rode to Justice Titchborn's, having 
 with me William Ayrs, who was best acquainted with 
 him, and who had causally brought this trouble on me. 
 
 When he had introduced me to Titchborn, I gave 
 him a like account of the occasion of my coming at 
 that time, as I had before given to the other justice. 
 
 * This was the Eye Plot, then newly broken forth, and laid 
 upon the Presbyterians. 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 245 
 
 And both he, and his lady, who was present, expressed 
 much concern for Guli Penn's illness. I found this 
 man to be of quite another temper than Justice 
 Fotherly; for this man was smooth, soft, and oily, 
 whereas, the other was rather rough, severe, and sharp. 
 Yet, at the winding up, I found Fotherly my truest 
 friend. 
 
 When I had told Sir Benjamin Titchborn that I 
 came from Justice Fotherly, and requested him to give 
 him a meeting, to consider of my business, he readily, 
 without any hesitation, told me he would go with me 
 to Rickmansworth, from which his house was distant 
 about a mile; and calling for his horses, mounted 
 immediately, and to Rickmansworth we rode. After 
 they had been a little w^hile together, I w T as called in 
 before them ; and in the first place they examined me, 
 What was my intention and design in writing that 
 book? I told them the introductory part of it gave 
 a plain account of it, viz: "That it w^as to get ease 
 from the penalties of a severe law, often executed w r ith 
 too great a severity by unskilful officers, w T ho were 
 driven on beyond the' bounds of their duty, by the 
 impetuous threats of a sort of insolent fellows, as 
 needy as greedy, who, for their own advantage, sought 
 our ruin." To prevent which, was the design and 
 drift of that book, by acquainting such officers how 
 they might safely demean themselves, in the execu- 
 tion of their offices, towards their honest and peace- 
 able neighbours, without ruining either their neigh- 
 bours or themselves, to enrich some of the worst of 
 21* 
 
246 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683 
 
 men. And that I humbly conceived, it was neither 
 unlawful nor unreasonable for a sufferer to do this, 
 so long as it was done in a fair, sober, and peaceable 
 way. 
 
 They then reminded me of the plot; told me it was 
 a troublesome and dangerous time, and my book might 
 be construed to import sedition, in discouraging the 
 officers from putting the law T s in execution, as by law 
 and by their oath they were bound. And in fine 
 brought it to this issue, that they were directed to 
 secure me, by a commitment to prison until the assize, 
 at which I should receive a further charge than they 
 were provided now to give me; but because they were 
 desirous to forward my visit to Madam Penn, they told 
 me they would admit me to bail; and therefore, if I 
 w T ould enter a recognizance with sufficient sureties, for 
 my appearance at the next assize, they would leave 
 me at liberty to go on my journey. 
 
 I told them I could not do it. They said, they 
 would give me as little trouble as they could ; and 
 therefore they would not put me to seek bail, but w T ould 
 accept those twT> friends of mine, who were then pre- 
 sent, to be bound with me for my appearance. 
 
 I let them know T , my strait lay not in the difficulty 
 of procuring sureties, for I did suppose myself to have 
 sufficient acquaintance and credit in that place, if on 
 such an occasion I could be free to use it ; but, as I 
 knew myself to be an innocent man, I had not satis- 
 faction in myself, to desire others to be bound for me, 
 nor to enter myself in a recognizance; that carrying 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 247 
 
 in it, to my apprehension, a reflection on my innocency, 
 and the reputation of my Christian profession. 
 
 Here we stuck and struggled about this a good while ; 
 till at length, finding me fixed in my judgment, and 
 resolved rather to go to prison than give bail, they 
 asked me if I was against appearing, or only against 
 being bound with sureties to appear. I told them I 
 was not against appearing ; which as I could not avoid, 
 if I would, so I would not if I might ; but was ready 
 and willing to appear, if required, to answer whatso- 
 ever should be charged against me. But in any case 
 of a religious nature, or wherein my Christian profes- 
 sion was concerned, which I took this case to be, I 
 could not yield to give any other or further security 
 than my word or promise as a Christian. 
 
 They, unwilling to commit me, took hold of that, and 
 asked if I would promise to appear. I answered 
 " Yes, with due limitations." " What do you mean by 
 due limitations," said they. " I mean," replied I, "if 
 I am not disabled, or prevented by sickness or im- 
 prisonment. For, as you allege that it is a trouble- 
 some time, I perhaps may find it so. I may, for aught 
 I know, be seized and imprisoned elsewhere, on the 
 same account for which I now stand here before you, 
 and if I should, how then could I appear at the assize 
 in this county?" "Oh," said they, "these are due 
 limitations indeed ! sickness or imprisonment are law- 
 ful excuses ; and if either of these befal you, we shall 
 not expect your appearance here ; but then you must 
 
248 T1IE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 
 
 certify us, that you are so disabled by sickness or re- 
 straint." 
 
 u But," said I, " how shall I know when and where I 
 shall wait upon you again after my return from Sussex ?" 
 "You need not," said they, "trouble yourself about 
 that ; we will take care to give you notice of both time 
 and place, and till you hear from us, you may dispose 
 of yourself as you please." 
 
 " Well, then," said I, " I do promise you, that when 
 I shall have received from you a fresh command to 
 appear before you, I will, (if the Lord permit me life, 
 health, and liberty) appear when and where you shall 
 appoint." 
 
 "It is enough," said they; "we will take your 
 word:" and, desiring me to give their hearty respects 
 and service to Madam Penn, they dismissed me, with 
 their good wishes for a good journey. I was sensible 
 that in this they had dealt very favourably and kindly 
 with me, therefore I could not but acknowledge to 
 them the sense I had thereof; w x hich done, I took leave 
 of them, and mounting, returned home with w T hat haste 
 I could, to let my wife know how I had sped. And 
 having given her a summary account of the business, 
 I took horse again ; and went so far that evening to- 
 wards Worminghurst, that I got thither pretty early 
 next morning ; and, to my great satisfaction, found my 
 friend in a hopeful way towards a recovery. 
 
 I stayed some days with her ; and then finding her 
 illness wear dailv off, and some other friends being* 
 come from London to visit her, I, mindful of my 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. £49 
 
 engagement to the justices, and unwilling by too 
 long an absence to give thein occasion to suspect I 
 was willing to avoid their summons, leaving those 
 other friends to bear her company longer, took my 
 leave of her and them, and set my face homewards, 
 carrying with me the welcome account of my friend's 
 recovery. 
 
 Being returned home, I waited in daily expectation 
 of a command from the justices to appear again before 
 them ; but none came. I spake with those Friends 
 who had been with me when I was before them, and 
 they said they had heard nothing of it from them, al- 
 though they had since been in company with them. 
 At length the assize came ; but no notice was given to 
 me, that I should appear there. In fine, they never 
 troubled themselves nor me any further about it. 
 
 Thus was a cloud, that looked black and threatened 
 a great storm, blown gently over by a providential 
 breath ; which I could not but, with a thankful mind, 
 acknowledge to the All-great, All-good, All-wise Dis- 
 poser, in whose hand, and at whose command, the 
 hearts of all men, even the greatest, are ; and who 
 turns their counsels, disappoints their purposes, and 
 defeats their designs and contrivances, as he pleases. 
 For, if my dear friend Guli Penn had not fallen sick, 
 if I had not thereupon been sent for to her, I had not 
 prevented the time of my appearance, but had appeared 
 on the day appointed ; and, as I afterwards understood, 
 that was the day appointed for the appearance of a 
 great many persons, of the dissenting party in that 
 
250 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 
 
 side of the county, who were to be taken up and se- 
 cured, on account of the aforementioned plot, which 
 had been cast upon the Presbyterians. So that, if I 
 had then appeared, with and amongst them, I had in 
 all likelihood been sent to jail with them for company, 
 and that under the imputation of a plotter; than 
 which, nothing was more contrary to my profession and 
 inclination. 
 
 But though I came off so easy, it fared not so well 
 with others ; for the storm increasing, many Friends, in 
 divers parts, both of city and country, suffered greatly ; 
 the sense whereof did deeply affect me, and the more, 
 for that I observed the magistrates, not thinking the 
 laws, which had been made against us, severe enough, 
 perverted the law in order to punish us. For, calling 
 our peaceable meetings riots, which in the legal notion 
 of the word riot is a contradiction in terms, they in- 
 dicted our Friends as rioters, for only sitting in a meet- 
 ing, though nothing was there either said or done by 
 them, and then set fines on them at pleasure. 
 
 This I knew to be not only against right and justice, 
 but even against law ; and it troubled me to think that 
 we should be made to suffer, not only by laws made 
 directly against us, but even by laws that did not at 
 all concern us. Nor was it long before I had occasion 
 offered more thoroughly to consider this matter. For 
 a justice of the peace in this county, who was called 
 Sir Dennis Hampson, of Taplow, breaking in with a 
 party of horse upon a little meeting near Wooburn, 
 in his neighbourhood, the first of the fifth month, 1683, 
 
1633.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 251 
 
 sent most of the men, to the number of twenty-three, 
 whom he found there, to Aylesbury prison, though 
 most of them were poor men who lived by their labour ; 
 and not going himself to the next quarter sessions at 
 Buckingham, on the twelfth of the same month, sent 
 his clerk, with directions that they should be indicted 
 for a riot. Whither the prisoners were carried, and 
 indicted accordingly ; and being pressed by the court 
 to traverse and give bail, they moved to be tried forth- 
 with, but that was denied them. And they, giving in 
 writing the reason of their refusing bail and fees, were 
 remanded to prison till next quarter sessions. But 
 William Woodhouse was again bailed, as he had been 
 before ; and William Mason and John Reeve, w T ho not 
 being Friends, but casually taken at that meeting, 
 entered recognizance as the court desired, and so were 
 released till next sessions. Before which time Mason 
 died, and Reeve being sick, appeared not, but got 
 himself taken off. And in the eighth month following, 
 the twenty -one prisoners that remained were brought 
 to trial ; a jury was found, who brought in a pretended 
 verdict, that they were Guilty of a Riot, for only 
 sitting peaceably together, without word or action ; 
 and though there was no proclamation made, nor they 
 required to depart. One of the jurymen afterwards 
 did confess he knew not what a riot was ; yet the 
 prisoners were fined a noble a-piece, and re-committed 
 to prison during life, or the King's pleasure, or until 
 they should pay the said fines. William Woodhcuse 
 was forthwith discharged, by his kinsman's paying the 
 
252 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683 
 
 fine and fees for him. Thomas Dell and Edward 
 Moore also, by other people of the world paying their 
 fines and fees for them, and shortly after, Stephen 
 Pewsey, by the town and parish where he lived, for 
 fear his wife and children should become a charge 
 upon them. The other seventeen remained prisoners 
 till King James's proclamation of pardon; whose 
 names were Thomas and William Sexton, Timothy 
 Child, Robert Moor, Richard James, William and 
 Robert Aldridge, John Ellis, George Salter, John 
 Smith, William Tanner, William Batchelor, John 
 Dolbin, Andrew Brothers, Richard Baldwin, John 
 Jennings, and Robert Austin. 
 
 The End of Thomas Ellwood's History of his own Life. 
 
1633.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. £53 
 
 SUPPLEMENT 
 
 BY JOSEPH WYETH. 
 
 1683 — 1713. 
 
 Reasons for adding the Supplement — Particular reference to Thomas 
 Ellwood's writings — The reason why " The Right of Tithes re-asserted" 
 was not answered — Thomas Ellwood's replies to William Rogers — 
 His "Discourse concerning Riots" — His " Serious Dissuasive from 
 Persecution" — "A Rod for William Rogers," in verse — An Epistle to 
 Friends — Begins his Davideis — His reply to John Raunce and 
 Charles Harris — His reply to James Hogg — Death of George Fox — 
 Thomas Ellwood prepares his Journal — George Keith — Thomas 
 Ellwood's epistle to Friends respecting the spirit and errors of George 
 Keith — His "Further Discovery, &c." — "Truth Defended"— George 
 Keith's stage of contention at Turner's-hall — Thomas Ellwood's "AnsAver 
 to G#orge Keith's Narrative of his proceedings at Turner's-hall" — Two 
 petitions against Friends — "A sober reply thereto" — Thomas Ellwood 
 on baptism — His "Sacred History," first volume — Thomas Ellwood 
 and William Sewel — " The Glorious Brightness of the Gospel Day, <fcc." 
 — Prosecuted for Tithes — Seizure of his goods — "Sacred History," 
 second volume — Prepares Life of Oliver Sansem for the press — 
 Finishes the Davideis — His place of residence, and various services 
 in the cause of Truth — General character — Sickness and death. 
 
 Our dear friend, Thomas Ellwood, for whom we 
 cannot but have an honourable esteem for his service 
 in the Church, having written an historical account of 
 part of his life, well worth the knowledge of posterity, 
 so far as it goes, viz : to the year 1683, there left 
 off. Whether he writ any further, or whether ever 
 he designed it, or for what reason he did not proceed, 
 22 
 
254 THE HISTORY OF THE [1676. 
 
 is uncertain ; but so it is, that no more of it can be 
 found at present ; it is to be lamented, he being a man 
 so eminent many ways, that any part of it should be 
 lost. In consideration whereof, it arose in my heart 
 to write something in order to supply the deficiency, 
 many things occurring to my mind, which it is a pity 
 should be omitted. Therefore, for the respect I bore 
 him, and owe to his memory, being acquainted with 
 him for more than the last twenty years of his life, I 
 shall endeavour to make up that defect, as far as I am 
 capable, though far short of what himself might have 
 done, by giving an account of some of the most 
 material passages of the remaining part of his life, 
 and such memorials of him and his works, as came to 
 my hands : which I shall set down with as much brevity 
 and plainness as I can, in sincerity to him, and the 
 truth he professed and adorned. Particularly of his 
 labours, writings, sufferings, and end, from the time he 
 left off. 
 
 But first I must look back a little, to give some 
 additional account of some passages in relation to his 
 answers to the priests about tithes, for the reader's 
 information and satisfaction, which everybody may not 
 know, to prevent misapprehensions in the case. 
 
 In the year 1676 he answered a nameless book mis- 
 called, "A Friendly Conference between a Minister 
 and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism," in 
 a book entitled, " Truth prevailing and detecting 
 Error." This he divided into nine chapters, according 
 to the various subjects he treated of, (wherein that 
 
1678.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 255 
 
 nameless author had endeavoured to misrepresent us,) 
 the last of which was of tithes. "This" to use his 
 own words, " pinching the priests in a tender part, the 
 belly, (as Erasmus wittily said Luther did the Monks,) 
 made them bestir themselves, and lav their heads 
 together, to consider what was to be done." After 
 divers debates and much consultation, (as he was 
 informed) about it, it was at last resolved to answer 
 that first, which, though the last chapter in his book, 
 yet had it the first and chiefest place in the priests' 
 minds and affections, " the priests' Delilah ; the very 
 darling and minion of the clergy," says T. Ellwood, "the 
 oil by which their lamp is nourished ; the pay by which 
 their army is maintained, as the priest confesses ; and to 
 take away tithes, would be to stop the oil that nourishes 
 the lamp, and force them to disband for want of pay." 
 This being, as I say, their chiefest concern, and lying 
 nearest to the heart, obtained from them the first and 
 chiefest defence ; which at length came forth by a 
 nameless author also, in a book entitled, " The Right 
 of Tithes asserted and proved." To which T. Ell- 
 wood replied in 1678, in a large book, entitled, "The 
 Foundation of Tithes shaken, and the four principal 
 posts (of divine institution, primitive practice, volun- 
 tary donation, and positive laws) on which the name- 
 less author of the said book had set his pretended 
 Right to Tithes, removed." Tracing them along from 
 the patriarchs to the time of the law; showing the 
 design and use ef them under it, and how they were 
 abolished by the coming and suffering of Christ in 
 
256 THE HISTORY OF THE [J6S0. 
 
 the flesh ; and how they came to be set up again in 
 the declension of the church, by Popish kings and 
 councils, in the night of apostacy, for superstitious 
 and idolatrous ends and uses, contrary to the gospel 
 dispensation, and consequently not obligatory on 
 Christians, by any divine right, to pay in this gospel 
 day; answering all the objections and pretences which 
 w.ere brought by that author for them, from the four 
 fore-mentioned topics. 
 
 To this book of T. Ellwood's there w T as a pretended 
 answer put forth two years after, supposed by the 
 author of the former, but nameless still, the author not 
 daring to own his work with his name, (though since 
 called Comber's) entitled, " Right of Tithes re-as- 
 serted ;" wherein the proofs from the four former points 
 are said to be strengthened and vindicated, especially 
 from the objections taken out of Mr. Seidell's History 
 of Tithes. As if it was chiefly designed against John 
 Selden, T. Ellwood's name, or book, not being so much 
 as mentioned in the title-page, though often in the 
 book; as if it was how T ever designed as an answ T er to 
 him. This therefore T. Ellwood, though not entitled 
 to it, took in hand to rejoin to, and had begun and 
 made some considerable progress in it ; but before he 
 had gone through or finished it, some other occasions 
 falling in his way, (of which hereafter,) it was laid by 
 and never finished; though he had writ, as he told me, 
 near sixty sheets, (though I find but forty-six, among 
 his papers ; but these, with his notes and quotations, 
 will make nearer sixty) ; for he had collected a vast 
 
1680.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 257 
 
 number of materials out of authors, in order thereto, 
 as appears by his papers, which I have since seen. 
 For thus it was, that some of the priests' party, vaunt- 
 ing that this second book of the priests' was not an- 
 swered, I took occasion once at London, in the year 
 1692, to speak to him about it, and he told me that 
 the substance of the priests' arguments, in this second 
 book, were answered in his former, " The Foundation 
 of Tithes Shaken," only some new quotations which 
 he had brought ; and that was what he chiefly designed 
 to deal with the priests about, to examine and clear, by 
 adding some new ones also ; but that he never expected 
 to have the last word with the priests about tithes, 
 which their interest lay so much, in, that they would 
 never be satisfied ; but always be cavilling about some 
 way or other, how little soever it was to the purpose ; 
 and some other services taking him off, (as aforesaid,) 
 he laid it by. This I mention to satisfy any who may 
 question in their minds why it was never answered, or 
 at least gone through. And this is the reason why I 
 resumed this matter. 
 
 In a paper found among his manuscripts, being an 
 introduction to his said intended answer, he says : — 
 
 " In handling the argument of Tithes, I write with this dis- 
 advantage, that I encounter a numerous party and order of 
 men, with whom interest is far more prevalent than truth ; 
 whose profit will not permit them to yield to reason; whose 
 advantage will not suffer them to acknowledge the plainest 
 demonstration ; their gain as apparently lying in that which I 
 oppose, as Demetrius's and his fellow craftsmen the silversmiths 
 
 22* 
 
258 THE HISTORY OF THE [1630. 
 
 of Ephesns, did in that which the apostle preached against. 
 Hence is it that they bend all their strength, and employ their 
 utmost force to maintain this point, by which they are main- 
 tained ; and, like those shrine-makers of old, they endeavour to 
 carry it by noise and clamour, instead of truth and reason. Noi 
 do they regard what they say, how false soever; or whom they 
 bespatter, how undeservedly soever, in order to the upholding 
 their adored Diana, and enjoying their most beloved Delilah, 
 Tithes. My present adversary is not ashamed to say, that 
 I and my fellow quaking speakers, (as he reproachfully calls 
 us,) have our gain by railing against Tithes. A charge so appa- 
 rently and ridiculously false, that it needs no more than its own 
 malice and folly to detect it. With equal reason might Deme- 
 trius have charged St. Paul, that he and his brethren had their 
 gain by impugning the idolatrous worship of Diana." 
 
 " Sacrilege and idolatry, the priests say, are sins near akin, 
 but covetousness and the clergy are, perhaps, nearer. The great 
 outcry against sacrilege is made, for the most part, by idolators 
 and false ministers ; who, as they are most greedy and crafty to 
 get, so are they most solicitous and careful to keep, most enraged 
 and clamorous, when they come to lose their unjustly acquired 
 gains. Thus was it with the popish clergy, after they had gulled 
 the people by a religious cheat, of a great part of their sub- 
 stance, they laboured .to terrify them by the name of sacrilege 
 from attempting to recover that which had been so fraudently 
 gotten from them, and doubtless the English clergy, as they 
 derive in chief part the maintenance they possess, from their 
 predecessors, the popish clergy, from whom they received their 
 priesthood, have therewith also taken up from them their old 
 cry of sacrilege, with which as a bugbear, they would scare all 
 from attempting to discover the cheat. 
 
 " But the legal alienation of a great part of those surreptitious 
 acquisitions of the clergy began in Henry the VIII. 's time, car- 
 ried on in Edward the VI. 's, and completed in Queen Elizabeth's 
 (the two last being Protestant Princes), hath abated the edge of 
 that clerical weapon, and satisfied the disinterested part of the 
 
1680.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 259 
 
 nation, that the word sacrilege, in this ease, is but like a scare- 
 crow, especially when used by the priests for their own profit, 
 as most commonly it is; for though they pretend the mainte- 
 nance of God's worship, yet it is their own maintenance they 
 intend. 
 
 " And herein Demetrius and they most partly agree ; for he also 
 urged as the most specious pretence, and which was most likely 
 to impress the people, the danger, lest, by Paul's preaching, the 
 temple of the great goddess Diana should- be despised, and her 
 magnificence destroyed. Acts xix. 27. Whereas the great in- 
 ducement to him for stirring, was the danger lest his craft 
 should be set at nought, and he should thereby lose the gains he 
 made by Diana's temple, verses 25, 27. Do the priests now cry 
 out against sacrilege? So did Demetrius and his craftsmen then. 
 Did they cloak their private interest with a seeming regard and 
 care for the temple and^magnificence of their goddess Diana? 
 So do the priests theirs now, with a pretence of zeal for the wor- 
 ship of God. Did they in their fury take no notice of the ma- 
 gistrates, nor laws of their country? So neither do many of 
 the priests now, who without regard to law or magistrates, run 
 furiously and tumultuously into their neighbour's grounds, with 
 their servants and teams, and forcibly and arbitrarily take and 
 carry away their corn and hay, when, where, and in what quan- 
 tity they please. AVill the priests allege, that notwithstanding 
 these irregular practices, yet they have the laws and magistrates 
 on their side? So had Demetrius and his company too; while 
 the good Apostle, not backed by laws, nor countenanced by ma- 
 gistracy, was yet enabled by Divine assistance, to stand the 
 shock of all their rage and fury, and boldly to testify against 
 that which was corrupt and naught, although it had the favour 
 and support of a law and magistracy too ; and indeed, so apt is 
 the comparison in most respects between those shrine-makers 
 and these tithe-takers, that my adversary in vain labours to 
 retort it; for even the very particulars he instances to cast it 
 upon me, fix it more firmly on the head of himself and his own 
 party. . 
 
260 THE HISTORY OF THE [1680. 
 
 Nor is he less put to it to avoid the force of his own unwary 
 expressions, of the oil for the lamp, and pay for the soldier, 
 whereby he hath discovered that he and his brethren are mere 
 mercenary men, whose lamp will burn no longer than it is fed 
 with the oil of Tithes. This was one of the arcana cleri ; a 
 secret, it seems, that should not have been divulged. But chil- 
 dren, and he knows who beside, are said to tell true. And he 
 having inconsiderately blabbed it out, his chief cue and art is 
 now, how to palliate, extenuate and mince the matter, and var- 
 nish it over with some kind of flourish, that the ground of it 
 may not be seen ; but this he does so weakly, and lays his colour 
 so thin, that even the weakest eye may easily see through it. 
 The mention I made of these passages in my former book, he 
 calls tedious and nauseous repetitions, and tedious no doubt, 
 and nauseous it is to him and his brethren to see the false foun- 
 dation of their ministry so openly exposed ; but so little do I 
 fear these repetitions being nauseous or tedious to the indiffer- 
 ent reader, that upon this occasion, I desire him to peruse them 
 again, in the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth pages of my 
 former book." 
 
 " From Tithes being the oil to their lamp, and pay to their army," 
 he says, "I draw as I imagine, a cutting consequence, viz. — 
 That their lamps will not burn without oil, nor they fight with- 
 out pay. This cutting consequence (as he calls it) he touches as 
 tenderly as if he w r as afraid it would cut his fingers, though he 
 well knew that in the wording of it, he had taken off its edge 
 as much as he could: for if my consequence had been only, that 
 their lamps will not burn without oil, it would not then have 
 been so keen. He might then have replied, Whose will? Can 
 any lamp burn without oil. No, sure. Every lamp must have 
 oil ; but the oil should be suitable to the lamp ; an outward lamp 
 should have outward oil, an inward lamp inward oil. Now, 
 they pretending their ministry to be a spiritual lamp, a reli- 
 gious lamp, (as the true ministry indeed is,) and is and can be 
 nourished only by the spiritual heavenly oil of the divine eter- 
 nal Word; and yet confessing tithes to be the oil that nourishes 
 
1682.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. . 261 
 
 their ministerial lamp, and without which their lamp will not 
 burn: thi? plainly shows their lamp is not spiritual, nor their 
 ministry what they pretend. " 
 
 By this we may judge [ex pede Herculem *) of the 
 priests' performance, and T. Ellwood's answer, had he 
 gone through and finished it; which yet, I hope, so 
 far as he hath gone, may one time or other see the 
 light, being well worth the perusal as it is ; and had he 
 finished it, I am satisfied it would have been a very ser- 
 viceable piece, no hand, in my judgment, being more 
 capable of such a performance: but he had, as I said, 
 some other services on his hands to divert him, of which 
 no doubt one was his answer to William Rogers' great 
 book aforesaid, entitled, "An Antidote against the In- 
 fection of William Rogers' book, miscalled the Chris- 
 tian Quaker," in five parts, containing about thirty 
 sheets, and issued in the year 1682 ; in which he an- 
 swered him chapter by chapter, and almost paragraph 
 by paragraph, in relation to church government, and 
 the good order of Truth established amongst us ; and 
 also as to most of the principles of Truth, which the 
 said William Rogers, in one part of his work, had en- 
 deavoured to pervert to his own ends. A laborious 
 w T ork it was, and difficult task to go through so evenly 
 as he hath done ; and though it is controversy, yet 
 pleasant to read. As also his " Caution to Constables 
 and other inferior officers, concerning the execution of 
 the Conventicle Act. With some observations there- 
 
 * As of a giant by his toe. 
 
262 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683 
 
 upon. Humbly offered, by way of advice to such 
 well-meaning and moderate justices of the peace as 
 would not willingly ruin their peaceable neighbours," 
 which work is mentioned in his own account. 
 
 And now to come to the time where he breaks off 
 his own relation, and to carry it on, in some measure, 
 though far short and inferior to what his own hand 
 could have done. For it cannot be expected, that any 
 one can write another man's life like himself, there 
 being many passages, public and private, outward and 
 inward, even as to the frame of his own mind and 
 condition between God and his own soul, which, as no 
 man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of 
 a man which is in him, so none can relate but himself, 
 or like himself: for as the wise man says, " The heart 
 knoweth his own bitterness, and the stranger cannot 
 intermeddle with his joy." But what occurs from my 
 own knowledge, or from his books and papers, pertinent 
 to the case in hand, shall faithfully be related. 
 
 Therefore, to resume the thread of his discourse, 
 and begin where he leaves off. He intimates at the 
 close of his own account, that the magistrates not 
 thinking the laws made against us, viz : the Conven- 
 ticle Act, &c, severe enough, perverted the law, by 
 making our peaceable meetings riots, and indicting 
 our friends as rioters, that they might fine at pleasure, 
 which he knew to be contrary to law and justice. Nor 
 was it long, says he, before he had occasion offered 
 ^liore thoroughly to consider this matter, viz : the 
 breaking up of the meeting near Woobourn, by Justice 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 263 
 
 Hampson, sending Friends to prison, and indicting 
 them for a riot. This shows he designed to write a 
 book on that subject, though he doth not mention it ; 
 and accordingly did this year, under this title, "A 
 Discourse concerning Riots : occasioned by some of 
 the people called Quakers being indicted for a Riot." 
 Of which he gives, by way of preface, this further 
 account : — 
 
 " The proceedings of late in city and country, 
 against some of the people called Quakers, for riots, 
 for only meeting peaceably together to serve and 
 worship God, first put me upon enquiring into the 
 nature of riots : what upon enquiry I have found, I 
 here present to public view for common benefit, that 
 none through ignorance may be the occasion of bring- 
 ing an unjust suffering upon an innocent people, and 
 thereby guilt on themselves. I do not pretend much 
 skill in law, a study and profession I w T as never bred 
 to, but having spent some hours on this occasion, in 
 searching what the law-books say in this case, I hope 
 I may, without incurring the censure of presumption, 
 communicate my gleaning to such of my well-meaning 
 countrymen, as have not leisure or opportunity to 
 inform themselves otherwise. I solemnly declare, I 
 have no other end or aim in this work, than to do 
 good, and prevent evil; which consideration, with 
 men of candour and ingenuity, will be, I hope, a 
 sufficient apology for my seeming boldness in this 
 undertaking. " 
 
 And so he proceeds to set forth what riots are in 
 
264 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 
 
 the law and law-books, of which he cites divers, and 
 Scripture too, to show that our peaceable meetings, 
 which in those days they used to make riots, that they 
 might imprison and fine us at pleasure, could not be 
 riots ; though, through ignorance or envy, they were 
 often so rendered, (which showed their injustice,) say- 
 ing : — 
 
 " How truly I have stated the case on the one hand, 
 with respect to riots, the many quotations in the fore- 
 going discourse will show. How true an account, on 
 the other hand, I have given of our meetings, the 
 whole nation, and all nations where we have meetings, 
 may judge. Upon the whole, my request is, that all, 
 both justices and jurors, who have or shall be concerned 
 in this or the like case, will seriously weigh the matter, 
 and not strain the law beyond its due extent. To 
 oppress any by colour of law is the greatest abuse of 
 law." 
 
 He concludes with a serious recapitulation, and 
 application of the whole, that none for the future 
 might err ignorantly in that respect ; and if any would 
 wilfully, they might be left without excuse. 
 
 About the same time, or not long after, he wrote also 
 a " Seasonable Dissuasive from Persecution, humbly 
 and modestly, yet with Christian freedom and plainness 
 of speech, offered to the consideration of all concerned 
 therein; on behalf generally of all that suffer for 
 conscience-sake, and particularly of the people called 
 Quakers." In the beginning of this, he defines what 
 persecution is : — 
 
1683.] . LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 265 
 
 " Persecution is a word of so harsh a sound, and so generally 
 distasteful to English ears, that scarce any of those who are 
 most forward and active in that work, are willing to have their 
 actions called by that name. That none therefore who have set 
 an hand to that work, or whose minds are any whit inclined 
 thereto, may, from the dislike they have to the word [Persecu- 
 tion], reject this dissuasive as a thing wherein they are not 
 concerned, I think it needful here to declare what it is I mean 
 by persecution. By persecution then, I intend a forcing or 
 compelling any, by pain or penalties, bodily or pecuniary, to 
 relinquish or forsake that exercise of religion, or way of worship, 
 which they believe to be the right way of worship, and the true 
 and acceptable exercise of religion which God hath required of 
 them. And to receive, embrace, conform to, and perform some 
 other exercise of religion and way of worship, which they who 
 are so compelled are either firmly persuaded is not the right, or 
 at least have no belief that it is right. This, in short, is that 
 which I call persecution ; and this is that which I dissuade from, 
 whatever other name the actors of it may please themselves in 
 calling it by." 
 
 To begin with the first of these, viz : the forcing or 
 compelling any to forsake and leave that exercise of 
 religion, or way of worship, &c. The reasons by which 
 he endeavours to dissuade all men from such an under- 
 taking, are these, i. e. the heads of them: — 
 
 First. You may, for aught you know, be found fighting 
 against God. You are not, you cannot be, upon your own 
 principles, infallibly sure, that that way of worship, which you 
 thus endeavour to force us from, is not the true worship of God. 
 
 Second. By endeavouring to force us from that way of 
 worship, which we believe the Lord hath led us into, and 
 requireth of us, you endeavour to force us to make shipwreck 
 of faith. 
 
 Third. In endeavouring by force and cruelty to restrain us 
 
 23 
 
266 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 
 
 from worshipping God, as we are fully persuaded He hath 
 taught us, and doth require of us, you go out of the path of the 
 righteous, and tread in the steps of the wicked and ungodly. 
 
 Fourth. That exercise of religion which you would force us 
 from, is not simply of itself condemned and disallowed by that 
 law, by the severity of which you would force us from it. 
 
 Fifth. In thus eagerly pursuing us and disturbing our peace- 
 able meetings, you give yourselves, as well as us, a great deal 
 of needless trouble. " Refrain from these men, and let them 
 alone." 
 
 Sixth and lastly. Be pleased to consider what sort of agents 
 and instruments you are fain to make use of, and not seldom 
 are yourselves made use of by, to carry on this work. Con- 
 cluding this part, thus ; never give cause for this epitaph to 
 be written on your tombs, " Here lies a persecutor of the people 
 of God." 
 
 Now for the other branch of persecution, viz: The 
 forcing or compelling of any, by pain or penalties, to 
 receive, embrace, conform to, and perform some exer- 
 cises of religion, and way of worship, &c. The reasons 
 by which he endeavours to dissuade all men from such 
 an undertaking, are these, viz : the heads : — 
 
 "First. In thus imposing your way of worship upon others, 
 you act quite contrary to Christ and his Apostles. Second. In 
 thus imposing your way of worship upon others, you follow the 
 worst of patterns, Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, &c. 
 Third. In forcing people to your way of worship, who have no 
 belief that it is right, you cause them to sin, for whatsoever is 
 not of faith is sin. Fourth. In forcing people to your way of 
 worship, who have a firm persuasion and belief that it is not 
 right, you make men hypocrites and time-servers. Fifth. By 
 obtruding and forcing your religion upon others, you greatly 
 disparage and undervalue it, and give men the more ground tc 
 
1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 267 
 
 suspect and dislike it. Sixth. You break that great command 
 which Christ says is the law and the prophets, viz : "All things 
 whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so 
 to them." 
 
 All these reasons are illustrated and backed with 
 Scripture and reason, concluding with a very close and 
 seasonable application to our persecutors. A solid, 
 serious discourse it is, if any arguments had been 
 sufficient to dissuade men from persecution, of which 
 there was very great about this time, particularly in 
 London, Bristol, and divers other places. The w r hole 
 is well worth perusal ; and I should have inclined to 
 insert it at large, but that it hath pleased God to 
 incline the hearts of our superiors to ease us in that 
 respect, by granting a toleration to Protestant dissent- 
 ers ; for which w T e are thankful. These three, viz : — 
 Caution to Constables, Discourse of Riots, and Dis- 
 suasives from Persecution, were all written, or at least 
 printed, in this year, 1683. 
 
 And he acquitted himself so well on these subjects, 
 that one William Tour nay, to him unknown, sent him 
 a letter from London, taking notice of the aforesaid 
 tracts, which he was so well pleased with, that he 
 desired his judgment on the 23rd, 29th, and 35th of 
 Queen Elizabeth, in relation to the proceedings then 
 upon them. To which our friend T. Ellwood returned 
 him an answer in a large letter, which is in his decades 
 of letters, among many others to clivers persons and 
 on various subjects, well worthy the perusal, from the 
 year 1670 down to his latter times; and if they w T ere 
 
OQg THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 publisned, would help to supply the deficiency of his 
 own account of the latter part of his life. 
 
 William Rogers, whom our author answered in the 
 year 1682, as aforesaid, though he did not reply to it, 
 or ever attempted it that I have heard of, put forth a 
 rhyming scourge for George Whitehead, against whom 
 he bent his most inveterate spleen, and who had also 
 answered his great book, falsely called " The Christian 
 Quaker," in a book entitled " The Accuser of the 
 Brethren cast down." T. Ellwood wrote an answer to 
 his scourge, in verse, entitled, " Roger o-Mastix, A 
 Rod for William Rogers, in return for his Rhyming 
 Scourge." For which he gives the following reason : — 
 
 " To such as ask, why I in verse have writ? 
 This answer I return ; I held it fit 
 Yerse should in verse be answered, prose in prose, 
 My adversary his own weapon chose. 
 He chose before in prose to write, and then 
 I answer'd him in prose. So now again, 
 Since he his style from prose to verse hath chang'd, 
 And in the Muses' walks hath boldly ranged, 
 In his own method him I chose to treat, 
 Lest he should wise be in his own conceit." 
 
 In the second month, 1686, he had a concern upon 
 his spirit, in a deep sense of the Enemy's working to 
 sow divisions, and endeavouring to lay waste the tes- 
 timony of Truth, to write an epistle to Friends ; which 
 he did very solidly and weightily, to stir up Friends to 
 faithfulness, and to beware of the Enemy's wiles, and 
 avoid that rending, dividing spirit, which was then at 
 work to cause division and strife among Friends. This 
 
1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 269 
 
 being so seasonable and excellent, both for matter and 
 style, it is thought meet to be here inserted. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO FRIENDS. 
 
 " Dear Friends, unto whom the gathering arm of the Lord 
 hath reached, and who have known, in your several measures, a 
 being gathered thereby into the heavenly life, and are witnesses 
 of the preserving power, by which you have been kept faithful 
 to the Lord, and regardful of his honour : unto you in an espe- 
 cial manner is the salutation of my true and tender love in the 
 Lord ; and for you, as for myself, are the breathings and fervent 
 desires of my soul offered up, in the one Spirit, unto him who 
 is your God and mine, that both you and I may be for ever kept 
 in the fresh sense of his tender mercies and great loving-kind- 
 ness unto us, that therein our souls may cleave firmly unto him, 
 and never depart from him. For, Friends, it is a trying day, a 
 day of great difficulty and danger, wherein the Enemy is at 
 w6rk, and very busy, setting his snares on every side, and 
 spreading his temptations on every hand ; and some, alas ! have 
 entered thereinto, and are caught and held therein, for whom 
 my soul in secret mourns. 
 
 "And truly, Friends, a great weight hath been upon my spirit 
 for many days, and my mind hath been deeply exercised, in the 
 sense I have of the Enemy's prevailing, by one bait or other, 
 to unsettle the minds of some, unto whom the arm of the Lord 
 had reached, and in some measure gathered to a resting-place; 
 but not abiding in that pure Light, by which they were at first 
 visited, and to which they were at first turned, the understand- 
 ing hath been veiled again ; the eye, which was once in some 
 measure opened, hath the god of this world insensibly blinded 
 again, and darkness is come over them, to that degree, that they 
 can now contentedly take up again what in the day of their con- 
 vincement, and in the time of their true tenderness, they cast 
 off as a burden too heavy to be borne. my Friends ! this hath 
 been the Enemy's work ; therefore it greatly behooves all to 
 
 23* 
 
270 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 watch against him : for it hath been for want of watchfulness, 
 that he hath got entrance into any. For, when the mind had 
 been from off the true watch, in a secure and careless state, 
 then hath he secretly wrought, and presented his fair baits, his 
 allurements or enticements, by pleasure or profit to catch the 
 unwary mind. And hence it hath come to pass, that some, who 
 have come out fairly, and begun well, and have seemed in good 
 earnest to set their hands to God's plough, have looked back, and 
 been weary of the yoke of Christ, and have either lusted after 
 the flesh-pots of Egypt again, or turned aside into some by-path 
 or crooked way, in the wilderness, and thereby fallen short of 
 the promised good land. " 
 
 "But you, my dear Friends, in whom the word of life abides, 
 and who abide in the virtue and savour thereof, ye know the 
 wiles of the Enemy, and the power which subdues him, and the 
 Rock in which the preservation and safety is. So that I write 
 not these things unto you, because ye know them not; but the 
 end of my thus writing is, to stir up the pure mind in all upon 
 whom the name of the Lord is called, that we all may be pro- 
 voked to watchfulness against the workings of the wicked one. 
 Therefore, dear Friends, bear, I beseech you, the word of exhor- 
 tation, though from one that is little and low, and through mercy 
 sensible of it, and who hath not been accustomed to appear after 
 this manner ; for the wind, ye know, bloweth where it listeth. 
 
 "Friends, call to mind the former times, and remember the 
 days that are past and gone, when the day of the Lord first 
 dawned unto you, and his power seized upon you. Ye know 
 how weighty and retired the spirits of Friends then were; how 
 grave and solid their deportment and carriage ; how few and 
 savoury their words, tending to edify the hearers ; how great a 
 fear and backwardness was in them, to enter into familiarity 
 with the world's people. Friends! that was a good day, and 
 that was a safe state ; for fear begets watchfulness, and watch- 
 fulness is a means to prevent danger. Therefore, all Friends, 
 keep in the holy fear, and therein watch against the Enemy, 
 that he entangle you not, nor hurt your spirits by a t,oo near 
 
1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 271 
 
 familiarity, and intimate conversing with the people of the 
 -world ; for therein, I assure you, lies a snare. 
 
 " For though it be both lawful and necessary, and in some 
 cases also useful and serviceable to the Truth, to converse with 
 them that are without ; yet if any Friend should adventure in a 
 frank and free mind, beyond the limits of the pure fear, to en- 
 tertain familiarity with the world's people, the spirit of the 
 world in them will seek an entrance ; and, if not diligently 
 watched against, will also get an entrance, and bring a hurt and 
 a loss upon him or them into whom it so gets. For, being once 
 entered, it will insensibly work, and dispose the mind to a con- 
 descension to and compliance with 4he people of the world it 
 converses with, first in one thing, then in another ; in words, in 
 behaviour, &c, little things in appearance, but great in conse- 
 quence, till at length an indifferency gets up in the mind, and 
 the testimony of Truth by degrees is let fall. But while the 
 pure fear is kept to and dwelt in, the watch is always set, the 
 spirit is retired and weighty, and a holy awfulness rests upon 
 the mind, which renders such converse both safe to the Friends, 
 and more serviceable to them they converse withal. 
 
 " And, Friends, not only in your conversing with the world's 
 people, but in all your conversation and course of life, watch 
 against the spirit of the world , for it lies near to tempt, and to 
 draw out the mind, and to lead back into the world again. You 
 know, Friends, that at the first, when the visiting arm of the 
 Lord reached to us, he led us out of the world's ways, manners, 
 customs, and fashions : and a close testimony, both in word and 
 practice, was borne against them. But how hath this testimony 
 been kept up, and kept to, by all who have since made profession 
 of the Truth! Ah! how hath the Enemy, for want of watch- 
 fulness, s*)len in upon too many, and led out their minds from 
 that which did at first convince them, into a liberty beyond the 
 Cross of Jesus Christ! and in that liberty they have run into 
 the world's fashions, which the worldly spirit continually invents 
 to feed the vain and airy minds withal, that they may not come 
 to gravity and solidity. 
 
272 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 " Thence it hath come to pass, that there is scarcely a new 
 fashion come up, or a fantastic cut invented, but some one or 
 other, that professes Truth, is ready with the foremost to run 
 into it. Ah, Friends ! the -world sees this, and smiles, and points 
 the finger at it. And this is both a hurt to the particular, and a 
 reproach to the general. Therefore oh ! let the lot be cast ; let 
 search be made by every one, and let every one examine him- 
 self, that this Achan, with his Babylonish garment, may be 
 found and cast out ; for indeed he is a troubler of Israel. 
 
 u And all Friends, who upon true search shall find yourselves 
 concerned in this particular, I warn and exhort you all, return 
 to that which at first convinced you; to that keep close, in that 
 abide, that therein ye may know, as at the first, not only a bridle 
 to the tongue, but a curb to the roving mind, a restraint to the 
 wandering desire. For assuredly, Friends, if Truth be kept to, 
 none will need to learn of the world what to wear, what to put 
 on, or how to shape and fashion their garments; but Truth will 
 teach all how best to answer the end of clothing, both for useful 
 service and modest decency. And the Cross of Christ will be a 
 yoke to the unruly will, and a restraint upon the wanton mind ; 
 and will crucify that nature that delights in finery and in bravery 
 of apparel, in which the true adorning doth not stand, but in 
 the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, 
 even a meek and quiet spirit. 
 
 " And the grace of God, which hath appeared to all, and which 
 hath brought salvation to many, will not only teach to deny all 
 ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, 
 and godly in this present world, but will also lead those that 
 obey it, out of all excess, and out of all superfluities and worldly 
 vanities ; and will teach them to order their conversation aright. 
 Therefore, to this heavenly grace let every mind be turned, and 
 therein stayed; that thereby all who profess the Truth may be 
 kept in the holy limits of it ; that in their whole conversation 
 and course of life — in eating, in drinking, in putting on appa- 
 rel, and in whatsoever else we do or take in hand, all may be 
 
1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 273 
 
 done to the glory of God, that our moderation in all things may 
 appear unto all men. 
 
 "And let not any deceive and hurt themselves with a false 
 plea, saying, ' I will be left to my liberty ; I have freedom to do, 
 go, or wear so and so ; and religion stands not in clothes/ &c, 
 for that liberty which the worldly spirit leads into, is not indeed 
 the true liberty, but is a false and feigned liberty, which leads 
 into true and real bondage. And though religion stands not 
 simply in clothes; yet true religion stands in that which sets a 
 bound and limit to the mind with respect to clothes, as well as 
 to other things. So that where there is a running out into ex- 
 cess and vanity in apparel, that is a certain indication and token 
 that the mind is got loose, and hath cast off the yoke, and is 
 broken away from its due subjection to that divine power, in 
 which the true religion stands. 
 
 "Great hath been the hurt which the Enemy hath done in 
 this day, by leading into a false freedom, and crying up a wrong 
 liberty; for under this pretence have crept in great disorders, 
 some running out one way, and some another; some mixing in 
 marriages with the world's people, and some going to the priest 
 to be married. And many loose and unclean spirits have 
 shrouded themselves under this plausible pretence of being left 
 to their liberty, unto whom Truth's order is irksome and uneasy; 
 and they kick against it, and call it imposition, because it checks 
 their licentious liberty. 
 
 " Therefore all, who join with their plea, examine and try what 
 liberty it is ye claim and stand for ; for the true liberty is not 
 inconsistent with the Cross of Christ, nor repugnant to his yoke, 
 but agrees with it, and is obtained through it, and maintained 
 by it. And none whom the Son hath made free indeed, will or 
 can plead, or make use of that liberty, in opposition to any 
 means which the God of order hath appointed or set up in his 
 church, for keeping out confusion, disorder, and looseness. And 
 hereby all may take a right measure, and may certainly know 
 what kind of liberty that is, which some have so hotly contended 
 for, in opposition to that necessary and commendable order 
 
274 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 which God hath led his people into, and which the Enemy, in his 
 agents, labours so hard to lead them oat of: for the Enemy well 
 knows, that the tendency and service thereof is to detect and 
 discover his secret workings, and to bring his deeds to light and 
 judgment; and therefore he strives with might and main to 
 overturn it, crying out through his instruments, 'Away with 
 your order, let every one be left to his liberty ;' by which seem- 
 ingly fair and specious plea, not only the loose, disorderly, fac- 
 tious spirits have been let up, and encouraged to greater bold- 
 ness and licentiousness; but some simple and well-meaning 
 Friends also, not seeing the design of Satan therein, have been 
 misled thereby, and made use of by the Enemy, and the more 
 subtle of his instruments, to oppose the good order of Truth. 
 
 " Thus hath the Enemy wrought, and sought to lay waste the 
 work of the Lord. But the Lord, magnified be his holy name, 
 hath not been wanting to his people, who in sincerity of heart 
 have diligently waited on Him, and trusted in him; for he hath 
 all along raised up some, whose eyes he hath opened, to see the 
 design and working of the evil one, and whose spirits he hath 
 engaged to stand up in a faithful testimony against him, contend* 
 ing for the way of Truth. Which when they, in whom the 
 Enemy wrought, perceived, and found they could not run over 
 the heads of Friends, and carry things on as themselves pleased, 
 they set themselves in a heady, wilful spirit, to raise disturb- 
 ances in meetings for business, by encouraging and abetting 
 such heady, loose, contentious, and disorderly persons, as would 
 join with them; thus hardening themselves, and provoking the 
 Lord to give them up to blindness and hardness of heart, till at 
 length the Enemy prevailed so far upon them, as to work them, 
 by degrees, from discontent to prejudice, then to enmity, and so 
 at length, in divers places, to an open defection, apostacy, and 
 separation. 
 
 " Now, although I know, my dear Friends, that ye who have 
 kept 3 7 our habitation in the Light of the Lord, and whose eye is 
 single therein, have a clear sight and understanding, that the 
 spirit which hath thus wrought and fought against the Truth, is 
 
1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 275 
 
 not, nor can be of God, but is of the wicked one ; and although 
 the fruits it hath brought forth, through the agents and instru- 
 ments in and by which it hath wrought, in making disturbances 
 in meetings, to the breaking the church's peace, causing divisions 
 among Friends, publishing to the world most wicked, malicious, 
 railing, and scandalous books against Friends, (an effect of the 
 greatest enmity,) shutting and keeping Friends out of their com- 
 mon meeting-houses, in which they have a just right and pro- 
 perty, and not suffering them to meet therein, (which is a part 
 of the persecution inflicted on Friends by the world,) and at 
 length also setting up separate meetings, in opposition to the 
 meetings of God's people ; — although, I say, these fruits are suf- 
 ficient of themselves to discover and manifest, to an unclouded 
 mind, what spirit that is and must needs be, which hath brought 
 them forth ; yet inasmuch as some, partly through weakness of 
 judgment, and partly through personal affection to some of those 
 leading separatists, are yet in danger to be betrayed by their fair 
 words and feigned speeches, wherewith they lie in wait to de- 
 ceive ; I feel a concern remain upon my spirit, in the love of 
 God, to warn all such, that they join not with, nor give counte- 
 nance unto that spirit, that hath thus wrought against the Lord, 
 and against his people. 
 
 " For, Friends, in the holy fear of the living God, and in the 
 openings of the spring of his pure life in my soul at this time, 
 and from the certain knowledge and clear demonstration which 
 I have received from him therein, I testify and declare unto you, 
 that this spirit, which in this day hath run out, and hath drawn 
 out some into opposition against the way and work of the Lord, 
 into division and separation from the people of the Lord, and 
 from the holy assemblies which the Lord hath gathered, and by 
 his powerful presence hath owned, and daily doth own ; — this 
 spirit, I say, is the same with that which formerly wrought in 
 other appearances, against the Truth, in our time; and is the 
 same with that spirit, which wrought against the work of the 
 Lord in the days of the holy apostles. This mystery of iniquity 
 then wrought, and caused many to turn aside, and to leave the 
 
276 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 right way of the Lord, and to forsake the assemblies of God's 
 people, yea, and to run into separation too ; upon whom the Holy 
 Ghost hath sent this brand, that they were sensual, having not 
 the Spirit. And many close and sharp testimonies did the Lord 
 give forth through his servants, in that day, against this spirit, 
 and against those that were joined to it, and acted by it, as may 
 be seen in the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 "Yea, Friends, this spirit that hath led some now to set up 
 their separate meetings is the same that led Jeroboam, the son 
 of Nebat, to set up his separate altar at Bethel, of which you 
 may read, 1 Kings, 12th and 13th chapters. He was afraid, 
 that if the people should continue to go up to the house of the 
 Lord, to do sacrifice there, as they had been accustomed to do, 
 and as the Lord had required, they would then forsake him, and 
 return to the Lord again. 
 
 "And this Spirit now is afraid that if they whom he hath 
 seduced and drawn aside, should still frequent the assemblies of 
 God's people, and continue to meet with Friends as before, that 
 heavenly power which is evidently manifest in the meetings of 
 God's people, might at one time or other reach unto them, touch 
 their hearts, open the right eye in them, and give them to see 
 the mischief and misery he is leading them into. And there- 
 fore to prevent this, and to keep his captives close unto him, he 
 hath contrived to set up separate meetings, in opposition to the 
 meetings of God's appointment, as Jeroboam set up his separate 
 altar, in opposition to the altar which God hath commanded to 
 be set up ; and to keep the people from going thereto. And so 
 subtilly did this spirit work then as well as now, that Jeroboam 
 contrived to have his false worship bear some resemblance to 
 the true, that he might the more easily beguile the people ; for 
 he ordained a feast like unto the feast that was in Judah. But 
 it was in the month which he had devised of his own heart. 
 Mark that, there is a blot upon it; how fair or specious soever 
 the worship he set up appeared or seemed to be, yet it was but 
 the device of his own heart ; it was neither appointed by God, 
 nor accepted of God. For you may read in the 13th chapter, 
 
1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 277 
 
 that the Lord sent a prophet, a man of God, out of Judah to 
 Bethel, and he cried against the altar in the word of the Lora, 
 and prophesied the destruction thereof by Josiah ; which was 
 afterwards outwardly fulfilled, as you may read. Now Josiah 
 signifies the fire or burning of the Lord. And in the holy dread 
 of the living eternal God, I declare the fire of the Lord is 
 kindled and kindling against this accursed separating spirit, 
 and against its work, and against all those that join with it 
 therein. Therefore, all fear before the mighty God, and stand 
 still and consider your ways ; and let none resist or reject the 
 warning of the Lord, lest such be hardened to destruction. For 
 Jeroboam, you may read, stood by his separate altar. And 
 when he heard the saying of the man of God, which he cried 
 against the altar in Bethel, he put forth his hand, saying, Lay- 
 hold on him. But his hand which he put forth against him, 
 dried up, so that he could not pull it in again to him. 
 
 "0 Friends! consider, how hath dryness and withering 
 come upon many a great and stout one in this day, who have 
 lifted up themselves against the Lord, and have sought, by the 
 devices of their own hearts, to establish themselves, in their own 
 way, against the way of the Lord, so that the hand they have 
 put forth in that work, they could not pull in again. 
 
 " Now mind, I pray you, Friends, and observe the way of 
 the working of this Spirit in that day. Here was the enmity, 
 the rough nature of Cain and Esau, the spirit of persecution 
 got up first in Jeroboam to dismay the man of God; Lay hold 
 of him, said he ; but when he saw that would not do, then the 
 subtle serpent, the crafty fox, the fair speeches, the smooth 
 words, the seeming friendship, and show of kindness, to betray 
 him. Come home with me, said he to the man of God, and 
 refresh thyself, and I will give thee a reward. 
 
 " Friends ! stand in the fear and counsel of the Lord, and 
 in the dominion of his power, over this wicked spirit in all its 
 twistin^s and twinings. Let neither the frowns nor the fawn- 
 ings, the threats nor the flatteries, the hard speeches, nor the 
 oily words, the pharisaical friendship, the dissembling love, the 
 
 24 
 
278 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 seeming kindness, the familiar carriage, the free entertainment, 
 the offer of advantage, &c, have any influence upon you, to 
 draw you in the least measure to join or touch with God's 
 enemy ; with him that sets up a separate altar, a separate meet- 
 ing in opposition to, and to draw or keep from, the right way 
 of the Lord. Mind well the answer which the man of God gave 
 to Jeroboam's tempting invitation ; * If/ said he, ' thou wilt give 
 me half thine house, I will not go in with thee ; neither will I 
 eat bread, nor drink water in this place/ This was where the 
 separate altar was set up. 
 
 "And he gives a forcible reason for it; for so it was charged 
 me by the word of the Lord. Here now, you see both the 
 charge of the Lord, and the good resolution of the man of God; 
 I will not go in with thee, who hast revolted from God, neither 
 •will I eat or drink in this place, where an ensign of separation 
 and opposition to the way of God is set up. Consider this well, 
 I warn you all, in whom there is yet any true breathings after 
 the living God, who retain any tenderness, and in whom there 
 is any simplicity left, consider this well when thy pretended 
 friend or friends, in a great deal of seeming love and kindness, 
 shall invite thee to partake with them at their separate altar, 
 to sit down with them in their separate meeting. Thou canst 
 not be a man of God, and go in with them or eat or drink in 
 that place. Thou canst not sit down there to wait for the 
 bread of life, or the water of life to be given thee there ; no, 
 the word of the Lord, if thou givest heed unto it, will charge 
 thee otherwise. Therefore, to that pure living word, let every 
 mind be turned, and thereto kept in a diligent waiting to 
 receive wisdom, strength, and power from the Lord therein, 
 that none may be betrayed by the subtilty of the enemy, with 
 whatsoever fair pretences he may come. For remember how 
 the man of God, that was enticed by another to eat and drink 
 outwardly at Bethel, the place where the separate altar was 
 set up, lost his outward life therefor. And if thou shalt pre- 
 sume to go in to eat or to drink spiritually, that is, to join in 
 worship with the sons of Nebat at this day, in the separate 
 
16S61 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 279 
 
 meetings which any of them have set up in opposition to the 
 assemblies of God's people, and to the blessed way and work 
 of the Lord, how knowest thou, but thou may'st forever lose 
 thy spiritual life, and never know a day of quickening more? 
 
 " Therefore, all Friends, watch against every temptation there- 
 unto, as you love your lives, as you regard the good and eternal 
 welfare of your souls; and let not the name or person of any 
 man have power over you, to draw you aside, neither let 
 numbers sway with you : in which, I know, these adversaries 
 of Truth do not a little boast, though, blessed be God, with 
 little reason ; but remember that Jeroboam of old had ten tribes 
 out of twelve, to cry up his separate altar, notwithstanding 
 which, he is branded to posterity in the holy record with this 
 brand, * Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin/ 
 Therefore, let not any follow a multitude to do evil. (Exodus, 
 xxiii. 2.) But all follow that which is good, both among your- 
 selves, and to all men. (1 Thess. v. 15.) For, Friends, you 
 know whither the broad way leads, and what it is the wide gate 
 opens into, which the many go in at; but keep ye to the strait 
 gate, and walk ye on in the narrow way, for in it is safety, and 
 at the end of it everlasting happiness. 
 
 " But, Friends, because of the straitness of this gate, and the 
 narrowness of this way, some that have attempted to walk in it, 
 are grown weary of it, and have sought out another way, which, 
 Jeroboam-like, they have devised, of their own hearts, wherein 
 they may have more room, more scope, more company, ease in 
 the flesh, liberty to the flesh, and all without control. And this, 
 I am satisfied, hath not been the least motive to the separation 
 in this day, as it was the greatest in days past ; though some, 
 that have been drawn into it, may not perhaps see the ground 
 upon which it was undertaken. But the Lord hath opened an 
 eye in many, which sees the rise and ground, entrance and end, 
 of this libertine spirit and its work. And this eye will the Lord 
 daily open more and more, in all that diligently and in sincerity 
 wait upon him. 
 
 " Therefore, all Friends everywhere, who have not yet a clear 
 
280 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 
 
 sight, and a thorough understanding of the nature and work, 
 design and drift of this dividing spirit, wait, I beseech you, in 
 simplicity of heart and lowliness of mind, upon the Lord, and 
 keep to the measure of the grace you have received from him ; 
 and suffer not your minds to be swayed or biassed by any 
 personal kindness, natural affection, relation, kindred, or ac- 
 quaintance, but stand single and open to the Lord, not joining 
 to, nor any way countenancing that which the testimony of 
 Truth, in the arisings of the heavenly life, and breakings forth 
 of the divine power through any, goes forth against. So will 
 your present standing be safe, and you be preserved out of the 
 snares of this insinuating and treacherous spirit; and the Lord, 
 in his appointed time, as ye abide with him, will open your 
 understandings further, and give you a clearer sight of that, 
 which, at preeent, you do not fully see, and thereby bring you 
 to that certainty and assurance, which, blessed be his name, he 
 hath brought many unto. 
 
 "And you, my dear Friends, whose spirits the Lord hath 
 stirred up, and whose hearts he hath engaged in a holy zeal, to 
 stand up for his blessed Name and Truth, and to bear a faith- 
 ful testimony against this wicked rending spirit, go on in the 
 strength and power of the Lord, in the might of the God of 
 Jacob ; for you are assuredly on the Lord's side, and the Lord 
 Jehovah, the strength of Israel, is on your side. Therefore, 
 Friends, be encouraged in the Lord, to stand steadfast in your 
 testimony, not giving w r ay to the Enemy, no/hot for a moment. 
 And take heed, I beseech you, in the love of God, how ye enter 
 into an}' treaty of peace or terms of agreement with this ungodly, 
 treacherous spirit, which is out of the Truth, and draws out of 
 the Truth, and fights against the Truth; for there is no peace 
 unto it, saith my God. 
 
 "And they who have joined themselves unto it, and have 
 wickedly given themselves up to be acted by it, and to act for 
 it, must pass through the river of judgment, if ever they be 
 redeemed from under its power. Friends, condemnation must 
 first be felt and owned, before reconciliation can be known ; and 
 
1688.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 281 
 
 the fire of the Lord must pass upon the transgressor, to consume 
 the works of darkness, the ungodly deeds, the envious, reviling 
 speeches, the wicked, malicious, slanderous books and pamph- 
 lets, &c, and to burn up the ground from whence they sprang. 
 For a flaming sword hath the Lord God set in his Eden, which 
 turneth every wa} 7 ; and none that are gone out can ever come 
 in again, but they must pass under the flaming edge thereof. 
 Therefore, my dear Friends, stand your ground in the authority 
 of the heavenly life, and tamper not with God's enemies. Re- 
 member the word of the Lord to the prophet : ' Let them return 
 unto thee, but return not thou unto them/ And then what 
 follows? 'I will make thee unto this people a fenced brazen 
 wall, and they shall fight against thee, but they shall not prevail 
 against thee ; for I am with thee, to save thee, and to deliver 
 thee/ saith the Lord. 
 
 " So the God of life fill your hearts daily more and more with 
 a Phineas' zeal for the honour of his name, and furnish you 
 abundantly with wisdom and council, with boldness and courage, 
 with strength and power, to encounter and overcome the Enemy; 
 and make every one more watchful against the spirit of the 
 world, to withstand it in all its allurements to vanity, of what- 
 soever kind ; that whatsoever would defile the camp of the Lord 
 may be purged out, and kept out, that the Lord may more and 
 more delight in his people, and shower down his blessings upon 
 them. Which is the fervent desire of your faithful friend in 
 the love and service of the unchangeable Truth, 
 
 Thomas Ellwood." 
 
 The 24th of the Second 
 month, 1686. 
 
 After this I do not find he writ anything, except 
 some private letters in his Decades, but lived retired 
 till the year 1688. In which time of privacy, as fittest 
 for it, he began a work, which he did not finish till 
 many years after, and that was the life of David, king 
 24* 
 
282 THE HISTORY OF THE [1690 
 
 of Israel, in verse ; which he began for his own 
 diversion, not thinking then of printing it, and carried 
 it on to the end of the third book. But then the 
 Prince of Orange landing, and the Revolution follow- 
 ing, the nation being in arms against King James, the 
 noise of guns, and sound of drums, &c, so disturbed 
 his meditation and gentle muse, that his poetical genius 
 left him for a time, and he thereupon left his work for 
 above twenty years ; of which more hereafter in its place. 
 
 And here he retired again for two years ; so that I 
 find nothing to remark of him, either public or private, 
 but some private letters, till the year 1690 ; when John 
 Raunce and Charles Harris, of Wycombe, in that 
 county, publishing " A Memorial, " as they called it, 
 " for the present generation, and also for that which is 
 to come, being an Account from Wycombe concerning 
 the Difference;" &c, this Thomas Ellwood answered in 
 a book entitled, " The Account from Wycombe lately 
 published by John Raunce and Charles Harris, ex- 
 amined, and found false. And a Warning thereof 
 given, to all such well-meaning persons among the 
 people called Quakers, as through personal Affection, 
 Want of Consideration, or Weakness of Judgment, 
 have been betrayed, or may be in Danger to be be- 
 trayed by them, or any other in the same dividing 
 Spirit with them ; and led aside from the Way of 
 Truth, into a Separation from the people of God : for 
 whose Recovery and Preservation this is written." 
 Which begins thus : — - 
 
 " For your sakes it is, ye much pitied ones, more 
 
1691.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 283 
 
 than for any weight in the account itself, or worth in 
 the authors of it, that I have thus taken notice of it. 
 For indeed as soon as I had perused it, I felt a com- 
 passionate concern spring in my heart on your behalf s, 
 and a direction in spirit to open some passages therein, 
 and relating thereto, to you, that ye might be pre- 
 served from being taken, or if in any measure taken, 
 might be rescued and delivered from the snare, which 
 the enemy of your souls and of all righteousness, hath 
 made use of these men to set, to entangle, entrap and 
 catch you by. And to the true witness of the holy 
 God in every one of your consciences, who retain any 
 honest breathings after the Lord and the way of holi- 
 ness, do I recommend this my undertaking, and the sin- 
 cerity of my intention therein." 
 
 Wherein he discovered their deceit, as to their sepa- 
 ration ; and that it was not for conscience, but from a 
 libertine spirit, to lay waste the good order in the 
 church, as their actions manifested ; of which he gave 
 some instances, not to their advantage. But their 
 works have made them manifest. 
 
 The next book he published was in 1691, viz., " A 
 Reply to an Answer, lately published, to a Book long 
 since written by W. Penn, entitled, 'a brief Examina- 
 tion and State of Liberty spiritual ; both with respect 
 to Persons in their private Capacity, and in their 
 Church Society and Conversation." Which book was 
 written, or at least published by W. Penn, in the year 
 1681, to distinguish between true and false liberty, 
 little understood by some, and too frequently abused 
 
284 THE HISTORY OF THE [1691. 
 
 by others : " Liberty from Sin, not to sin ; to do his 
 (God's) Will, and not our own ;" as W. Penn expresses it. 
 
 Which true spiritual liberty being abused by some in 
 the profession of the Truth, as our friend Thomas Ell- 
 wood observes in his preface ; who under the pretence 
 of being left to that liberty in themselves, and to their 
 own freedom therein, both took liberty to do such 
 things as were inconsistent with that true liberty, and 
 with the principle of Truth which they professed, and 
 despising those useful, good and necessary helps and 
 means, which the Lord hath provided and furnished 
 his church and people with, for the preventing and 
 keeping out such disorders, evils and scandals, as the 
 unruly nature of man, through such a mistake of true 
 liberty, might and would bring in, did reject the coun- 
 sel, admonition or reproof of their brethren, with, 
 W T hat hast thou to do with me? leave me to my own 
 freedom. To reclaim, if it might be, those wdio are 
 thus deceived, and prevent others from being so, the 
 author being pressed in spirit for Zion's sake, and for 
 the peace of Jerusalem ; and having a deep sense, as 
 himself expresses, of the workings of the enemy of 
 Zion's peace, to rend and divide the heritage of God, 
 did write the fore-mentioned treatise, for the establish- 
 ment of the faithful, information of the simple-hearted, 
 and reproof of the arrogant and high-minded. 
 
 Which striking at the false liberty and pretences of 
 the separate party, it seems it had lain on their sto- 
 machs undigested these ten years : and then came forth 
 an answer to it by J. H. supposed to be John Hogg, 
 
1691.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 285 
 
 one of the separates about Hull. This answer our 
 friend T. Ellwood undertakes, and replies to in a pretty 
 large book; in which he shows what is meant by true 
 spiritual liberty, in W. Penn's own definition, which he 
 defends ; shows their abuse of it, answers their argu- 
 ments, or rather cavils against it, in behalf of their 
 false libertine spirit and practices, which too many ran 
 into, to their own hurt, and separation from the church, 
 the body of Christ, whereof he is head. Saying in the 
 preface, u The God of truth knows, I have no other end 
 in this reply, than to defend truth and the children of 
 it, against the slanderous suggestions, false charges, and 
 wicked insinuations of the adversaries ; to lay open their 
 deceitful dealing, and to remove, as the Lord shall en- 
 able me, the stumbling-blocks which they have laid in the 
 way of the weak, whereby they have caused some to fall 
 into misapprehensions and hard thoughts of Friends 
 without cause. And I beseech the God of mercy to 
 open the understandings and clear the sight of all those, 
 whose simplicity has been betrayed by the others' sub- 
 tilty, that they may see and escape the enemy's snares, 
 and return to the true fold, from which they have been 
 led astray." To this work I never heard of any re- 
 joinder; only some private letters passed between J. 
 Hogg and T. Ellwood about some passages in it. 
 
 His next were, first, in 1692, " Thomas Ellwood's 
 answer to so much of Leonard Key's late printed sheet 
 as relates to him." Which paper of Leonard Key's 
 was intended mostly to excuse their shutting Friends 
 out of their meeting-house at Reading. The second, 
 
286 THE HISTORY OF THE [1693. 
 
 in 1693, was " Deceit discovered, and Malice mani- 
 fested in Leonard Key's late paper from Reading." 
 
 The next and last book he wrote in relation to this 
 controversy with the Separates, was " A fair examina- 
 tion of a foul Paper called Observations and Reflec- 
 tions, &c, lately published by John Raunee and 
 Leonard Key," who after their separate bickerings, 
 come now to join their forces together in this paper, 
 which seems to be reflections on Thomas Ellwood's last 
 mentioned paper. * * * * So he goes on to answer 
 their cavils, confirming by certificate his former charge 
 of their scandalous practice at Wycombe, then answers 
 their new slander (the old proving false,) that he suf- 
 fered his father to want ; raking into his ashes when 
 he had been dead above ten years, to cast something 
 at his son (so restless is envy,) as if he had been short 
 in his duty to his father, which T. Ellwood fairly and 
 clearly wipes off, vindicating himself as to his not being 
 at his father's burial, which John Raunee throws at 
 him, though Thomas in his last had fairly related the 
 occasion; which was his sister's illness at London, 
 though she recovered ; and w T hich one would think 
 might have satisfied any one, not overgrown with 
 envy, &c, &c, &c. 
 
 Here ends his controversy with the Separates; in 
 which I must needs say, he acquitted himself as an 
 ingenuous man, a Christian, and a fair opponent. 
 
 Our dear friend George Fox dying in the eleventh 
 month, 1690, and leaving behind him an excellent 
 Journal of his travels and sufferings, our friend T. 
 
1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 987 
 
 Ellwood (as nobody fitter) about this time was at the 
 pains of transcribing it, and fitting it for the press; 
 (a laborious work.) It was printed next year in a large 
 folio; and to it T. Ellwood prefixed a notable account 
 concerning him, which is the only single testimony 
 printed with it, except that of his wife, M. Fox, and 
 an excellent preface by W. Penn. 
 
 But now a new scene opens. For George Keith, 
 who had known better things than most opposers that 
 ever rose up against Truth and Friends, having been a 
 Quaker, and a preacher among them near thirty years, 
 and bad written many books in vindication of Truth 
 and Friends ; but now falling out, and differing with 
 some of his brethren in Pennsylvania, whither he went 
 some years before, because he could not have his own 
 way in everything, came over with some of his party, 
 full fraught with contention, against the Yearly Meet- 
 ing in 1694. This, difference came before the meeting 
 by some letters from beyond sea, which were read in 
 course in the meeting, whereupon G. Keith desired to 
 be heard. After the other business of the meeting was 
 over, Friends condescended, for several days, to hear 
 him and his party, and Samuel Jennings, &c, on the 
 other side, in hopes to have reconciled the difference 
 before it w T ent any further ; but as the prophet said, 
 "When I would have healed Israel, then the iniquity 
 of Ephraim w T as discovered," &c.,* so, the more en- 
 deavours were used to reconcile him to his brethren, 
 the more his deceit appeared; and the more tenderness 
 
 * Hosea vii. 1. 
 
288 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694 
 
 any showed towards him, the more perverse he was in 
 turning it to a wrong use, and strengthening himself in 
 his opposition. There was no holding what would 
 away, as the proverb is ; resolved he was for a breach, 
 by opposing Friends more and more, till he ran him- 
 self quite out from among them. Which our friend 
 T. Ellwood observing the bent and tendency of, not 
 only in the Yearly Meeting, but after ; and how he en- 
 deavoured to make divisions among Friends, to divide 
 the heritage of God, he took up his pen again, and 
 writ an excellent Epistle to Friends ; briefly comme- 
 morating the gracious dealings of the Lord with them, 
 and warning them to beware of that spirit of conten- 
 tion and division which hath appeared of late in George 
 Keith and some others, which he addressed to Friends 
 thus : — 
 
 " Dear Friends, whom the Lord hath called with an holy call- 
 ing, and who, through faithfulness to the heavenly call, are 
 become the chosen of the Lord : It is in my heart, in the open- 
 ings of the love of God, to send these few lines among you, as 
 a salutation of true and hearty love unto you ; and in the ten- 
 dering sense of the Lord's unspeakable goodness unto us, which 
 at this time rests with an affecting weight upon my spirit, briefly 
 to commemorate the gracious dealings of the Lord with us since 
 we have been a people." 
 
 Which he commemorated as follows: — 
 
 "Great and manifold have been the mercies of our God unto 
 this people, in this his day, and his loving kindnesses are beyond 
 expressing; when we were young and little, his fatherly care 
 was over us, he preserved us and nourished us, and caused us 
 to grow up before him. How did he carry his Limbs in his 
 bosom, when the beasts of prey roared on every side, seeking 
 
1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 280 
 
 to devour ! Who can rehearse the many deliverances he hath 
 wrought for his people, in their passage from Spiritual Egypt? 
 How hath he girded their loins with strength, and covered their 
 heads in the day of battle ! How hath he subdued their enemies 
 before them, and put to flight the armies of aliens! How hath 
 he fed them with bread from heaven, and made them to suck honey 
 out of the rock ! Yea, he hath caused the rock to give forth water 
 abundantly, and hath been to his people as a brook in the way, 
 and the shadow of a mighty rock in a weary land. So that from a 
 sensible experience, we can say to his praise, our bread hath been 
 sure, and our water hath not failed, as we have singh' relied on him. 
 Oh ! his goodness is unutterable, and his faithfulness hath never 
 failed them that have trusted in him ; when have we ever been 
 in prison for his sake, and he hath not visited us and comforted 
 us there? What sufferings have any undergone on his account, 
 and he hath not abundantly recompensed the loss? Nay, hath 
 he not often stopped the mouths of lions, and reproved rulers 
 for the sake of his people ; saying, Touch not mine anointed, 
 and do my prophets no harm. In all our exercises he hath been 
 with us, and he hath stood by us in our sorest trials; yea, he 
 hath caused his angel to camp round about us, so that no weapon 
 formed against us hath prospered, but every tongue that hath 
 risen up against us, the Lord hath given us power to condemn ; 
 blessed be his holy name, and exalted and magnified be his glo- 
 rious power forever. 
 
 " These things and much more than I can write, I doubt not, 
 but ye, my dear Friends, are witnesses of; ye especially my 
 elder brethren, who were called early in the morning of this 
 day, and have stood faithful in your testimony for God until 
 now, who from your own both early and late experiences can 
 set your seals to the truth thereof; and unto you I do believe 
 this brief commemoration of the goodness and loving kindness 
 of the Lord to his people, will be. pleasing and delightful, as I 
 hope it may prove useful and profitable unto us all, in stirring 
 up of the pure mind, and putting us in fresh remembrance of 
 the Lord's manifold favours towards us, and gracious dealings 
 
 25 
 
290 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 
 
 with us ; which should be as a renewed engagement upon us to 
 cleave fast unto the Lord, and in humility of heart, to walk 
 closely with him, both that we may, as far as in us lies, answer 
 his great loving kindness to us-ward, and receive from him still 
 daily strength and ability to stand, and withstand the assaults 
 and temptations of the enemy, and escape his snares, wherewith 
 he is at this time, as busy and industrious to betray and draw 
 aside from the simplicity of the truth, as ever he was. 
 
 " For, Friends, ye know we have a restless adversary to watch 
 against, and to war with ; one that sometimes walks about as a 
 roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, and sometimes creeps 
 about as a subtle serpent, seeking whom he may betray ; whom, 
 in each appearance, it is our duty and interest to resist, steadfast 
 in the faith that overcomes. I need not recount unto you, my 
 friends, the many winds and floods, storms and tempests^ of open 
 and cruel persecutions, which this roaring adversary hath often 
 raised and caused to beat upon us, to have driven us, if pos- 
 sible, from off our foundation. Ye cannot have forgotten it, 
 nor that noble arm of the Lord which was made bare for our 
 preservation, and by preserving us against the most furious 
 attacks, gave evidence even to the world, that we are that people 
 whose house is founded and built upon the immovable rock, 
 Christ Jesus. At this sort of fighting the enemy hath been 
 foiled ; which hath made him shift his hand, and like a cunning 
 hunter spread his nets, set his snares, lay his baits to catch the 
 simple and unwary ones. Thus wrought this subtle enemy in 
 the early times of Christianity, sometimes stirring up the rulers, 
 both Jews and Gentiles, to fall with violent and bloody hands 
 upon the little flock of Christ; and sometimes in the intermis- 
 sions of those storms, covering his hooks with the taking baits 
 of pleasure, profit and preferment, and catching some, perhaps, 
 of those that had withstood the strongest storm of outward per- 
 secution, and making them instruments for himself to work by, 
 to betray others. 
 
 " Such was Diotrephes of old, whose aspiring mind, loving 
 and seeking pre-eminence, laboured to make a schism in the 
 
1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 291 
 
 church, prating against even the elders thereof with malicious 
 words. What mischief the wicked one hath wrought in our day, 
 by such ambitious spirits, I need not recount ; nor is it pleasing to 
 me to remember; ye know it, to your grief, as well as I. But 
 this in all such cases is observable, that such as have made dis- 
 turbances in the church, and have run into divisions and sepa- 
 rations from Friends, have framed to themselves some specious 
 pretence or other, as the inducement to their undertaking, which 
 they have industriously spread abroad, and varnished over with 
 the fairest colours they could, to allure and draw others to join 
 them." 
 
 This, with much more to the same purpose, which 
 might be cited, I thought meet to mention, of the mer- 
 cies of the Lord to his people, and preservation of 
 them from the beginning ; well worth the reading. 
 Then he recounts the wiles and workings of the 
 Enemy, in drawing some aside from the simplicity of 
 the Truth, and stirring them up to make divisions on 
 one pretence or other, to disturb the peace of the 
 church, and hinder the work of the Lord in the earth ; 
 as lately in the separates. So now, being disappointed 
 in that, he hath formed a new design in Gr. Keith ; yet 
 to show the difference between the former and this, 
 and consequently the confusion of their pretences, theirs 
 relating to discipline, this to doctrine ; they alleged 
 that Friends were gone too much from the inward to 
 the outward ; this, that Friends were gone too much 
 from the outward to the inward, &c, for our adversa- 
 ries seldom agree in their charges. So T. Ellwood 
 goes on to examine and compare his books, published 
 beyond sea, with those he writ here, as to the ground 
 
292 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 
 
 of the difference and separation ; which he lays at his 
 door, manifesting his deceitful pretences, fallacies and 
 self-contradictions; answering his cavils, and confuting 
 his calumnies, that none might be deceived by him. 
 Concluding, by way of application and warning to 
 Friends, to beware of the Enemy's wiles ; which I 
 doubt not had a good effect as to many, in preserving 
 them out of the Enemy's snare, who were in danger 
 of being staggered by him. 
 
 When our friend T. Ellwood had written this epistle, 
 he went up to London with it, and presented it to the 
 Second-day's Morning Meeting, where such books and 
 writings of Friends, as are intended for the press, used 
 to be read and considered, and read it through in that 
 meeting ; and not one Friend, though the meeting was 
 pretty full, showed any disunity therewith, but ap- 
 proved it, and left it to him to publish it. And yet 
 G. Keith, pretended that it was printed in great dis- 
 unity, and against the mind of many Friends, as 
 though it was only approved and promoted by a party. 
 I mention this, to show he stuck at nothing to make 
 good his part. 
 
 Against this book of T. Ellwood's, G. Keith made a 
 heavy complaint to Friends, to have it called in, as 
 very injurious to him, (to his cause, to be sure, poor 
 man !) who had written so many books against Friends, 
 after he had written so many for them, and would not 
 take Friends' advice himself; how then could he expect 
 they should answer him ? so that his complaint and 
 clamour not prevailing to stifle it, he takes another way. 
 
1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 293 
 
 first putting out a sheet against it, called, "A Loving 
 Epistle," but envious enough; in which he charged T. 
 Ellwood with fifty perversions, &c, which he said he 
 had noted in his book ; but left his proofs behind to 
 come after (the first by post, as the proverb is, the 
 second by Tom Long the carrier) in another book 
 which he threatened to publish, if T. Ellwood's was 
 not called in, and disowned; this not prevailing neither, 
 some weeks after, he sent forth his threatened book, 
 miscalled, a A Seasonable Information," &c, but very 
 unseasonable for himself, as to his reconciliation with 
 Friends ; although he pretended he had rather lay 
 down his natural life, or have his right hand cut off, 
 than be disunited or disjointed from them. This book 
 he pretended to be an answer to T. Ellwood's epistle, 
 and to contain his proofs (such as they were) of the 
 charge he had published before. To both these, our 
 friend T. Ellwood replied this year, in a book entitled, 
 "A further Discovery of that Spirit of Contention and 
 Division, which hath appeared of late in George 
 Keith, &c, wherein his Cavils are answered, his False- 
 hood is laid open, and the Guilt and Blame of the 
 Breach and Separation in America, &c, are fixed faster 
 on him ; written by way of Epistle, (as the former was) 
 and reeommended as a farther Warning to Friends;" 
 which begins thus : — p 
 
 "Dear Friends, who have received the Truth in the love of it, 
 and have kept your habitation therein, unto whom the Truth is 
 exceedingly precious, and who desire the prosperity thereof 
 above all things ; unto you is the salutation of my endeared love 
 
 25* 
 
294 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 
 
 in this blessed Truth, in which the fellowship of the faithful 
 stands. In this it is I desire to know you, to be known by you, 
 and to have fellowship with you ; earnestly breathing to the 
 God of Truth, the Father of spirits, that He would be pleased 
 to pour forth more abundantly of his good Spirit into all our 
 hearts, and fill us with the blessed fruits thereof, that there may 
 be no room for the Enemy to enter, to break this holy fellow- 
 ship ; but that all who profess to believe in the Light, may so 
 walk therein, that a clear sight they may have thereby, and a 
 true discerning between things that differ, and may be able to 
 make a right judgment what is of God, and what is not ; that 
 so the design of that spirit (by whatsoever instrument it works) 
 which would break or disturb the church's peace, and cast 
 reproach upon the heritage of God, may be so discovered and 
 laid open, that all may see and shun it. As this is the exercise 
 and travail of my spirit, so it is the service I have been of late, 
 and am at present engaged in. For, Friends, it is not many 
 months since I saluted you with an epistle, wherein my spirit 
 was drawn forth, briefly to commemorate the gracious dealings 
 of the Lord with his people ; and, as in a general way, to remind 
 you of the many attempts the Enemy hath made by force and 
 fraud, to hinder the work of God from going on ; so more par- 
 ticularly to warn you to beware of that spirit of contention and 
 division, which hath appeared of late in George Keith, and some 
 few others that join with him, who have made a separation from 
 Friends in some parts of America. In writing that epistle, I 
 did not consult flesh and blood, neither had I an eye to my own 
 ease and quiet, outwardly; for I had no reason to expect rest 
 from so restless a man, nor fair treatment from one, who, in 
 his late writings and personal debates, hath so notoriously let 
 loose his pen and tongue, to an unbridled liberty of railing and 
 reviling. But I cleared my conscience, in discharging my duty 
 to God and to his church, and therein have that peace, which 
 all his abuses cannot disturb/' 
 
 And so he proceeds to clear himself of the perver- 
 
1695.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 295 
 
 sions, which George Keith charged him with, and 
 answers all his cavils against his book ; manifesting 
 his deceit, evasions, and sophistry, so effectually, that 
 I do not find that G. Keith ever replied to it, being 
 answered home, and having enough, I suppose, of the 
 controversy with T. Ell wood ; for though our friend 
 Thomas answered several other of G. Keith's books 
 afterwards, (of which hereafter) he never replied to 
 any of them ; which shows he had enough of it. 
 
 T. Ellwood's next book was in 1695, entitled, " Truth 
 Defended, and the friends thereof cleared from the 
 false charges, foul reproaches, and envious cavils cast 
 upon it and them by George Keith, ( an apostate from 
 them,) ir two books by him lately published; one called 
 ' A true Copy of a Paper delivered into the Yearly 
 Meeting the other, ' The pretended Yearly Meeting's 
 namele^ Bull of Excommunication.' : In which last, 
 George Keith gives an account of his coming to the 
 Yearly Meeting, (1695) and of his entertainment in 
 it, wheri admitted; as if he had never been there be- 
 fore, viz: "That he was allowed to sit at the great 
 square table among the ministers and commissioners, 
 (as he calls them,) that could hold about it, either fully, 
 or near double, to the number of twenty-four : " whether 
 by allusion to the twenty-four seats and elders, men- 
 tioned Rev. iv., but doubling the number, he doth not 
 determine; adding, "I think it suits not their crying 
 out so much as they w T ere wont against chief seats in 
 the synagogues, to erect such a stately fabric in their 
 meeting-house at that time, little differing from the 
 
296 THE HIST0KY OF THE [1696 
 
 manner of a throne, but that it is low upon the floor, 
 covered with green cloth." All which only serves to 
 show his own pageantry, and which our friend T. Ell- 
 wood corrects him for, according to his deserts. For 
 the table will hold few more than twenty-four or twenty- 
 eight at most, and only necessary to lay books and 
 papers on to write. 
 
 In the beginning of this book, our friend T. Ellwood 
 resumes the controversy from the beginning, shows the 
 rise of the difference, and proceedings thereupon, in 
 relation to George Keith, particularly after his coming 
 into England in the beginning of 1694, and how he 
 came to be disowned by the Yearly Meeting, in 1695, 
 for his rejecting the advice of the former, and opposite 
 carriage thereunto. 
 
 He shows that by G. Keith's disorderly practices he 
 had excluded himself from our society, before Friends 
 disowned him. So leaving him without excuse, and 
 the weight of his iniquity upon his own head, which he 
 could never get from under, but waxed worse and 
 worse, as evil men and seducers used to do, so that 
 Truth was set over his head, and Friends were clear 
 of him. 
 
 But now another occasion offered, and that was, one 
 Gerard Croese, a Dutchman, publishing U A General 
 History (so called) of the Quakers, containing the 
 Lives, Tenets, Sufferings, Trials, Speeches, and Letters 
 (as pretended) of the most eminent of them/' first in 
 Latin ; which was translated and printed in English in 
 the year 1696. "Wherein, though he had represented 
 
1696.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 297 
 
 some things pretty fairly, yet in others, through inad- 
 vertency or ignorance, (I hope not wilfully,) he had 
 misrepresented us, and our principles and practices ; 
 whereupon our friend Thomas Ellwood, according to 
 an advertisement at the end of the said history in 
 English, that some remarks on it would be published, 
 wrote some remarks on it in Latin, intending, doubt- 
 less, to publish them ; but in the mean time, before 
 they were finished, a book of the same nature, and to 
 the same purpose, in Latin, was published in Holland, 
 by way of remarks or observations on the said history; 
 which seemed again to circumvent him in his intended 
 remarks on it, so that he laid them by, and never 
 finished them, and so the world was deprived of this 
 piece also. 
 
 But now G\ Keith being gone out from the fellow- 
 ship of the faithful, and hardened in his enmity against 
 Friends, he arrived to the top or height of opposition ; 
 he had been playing small stakes hitherto, but now 
 came to throw all at once. In order to wdiich, he 
 erected a stage of contention at Turner's-hall in Phil- 
 pot-lane, London, where he had held separate meetings 
 for some time before ; to oppose Friends in general, 
 under pretence of discovering divers errors out of the 
 Quakers' books (that were never in them) ; and pub- 
 lished an advertisement of a meeting he intended to 
 hold there, in the fourth month, 1696, to discover the 
 Quakers' errors, though he had been one so long him- 
 self, and vindicated them, as to all that any could 
 object against, and yet now came to accuse them him- 
 
298 THE HISTORY OF THE [169S 
 
 self. But Friends slighted him, not thinking it worth 
 their while to follow him, or dance after his pipe to 
 Turner's-hall. Of which contentious meeting he after- 
 wards published a narrative ; which our friend T. Ell- 
 wood answered this year, in a book entitled, "An 
 Answer to George Keith's Narrative of his Proceed- 
 ings at Turner's-hall, &c, wherein his Charges against 
 divers of the people called Quakers, (in that and 
 another Book of his, called Gross Errors, &c.,) are 
 fairly considered, examined, and refuted." And he 
 made his title good in a close answer, and entire con- 
 futation of all his cavils against our Friends' books.* 
 
 Some angry priests in Norfolk, on our Friends having 
 a meeting near one of them, and Truth spreading, to 
 their regret, challenged a dispute with some Friends 
 at West Deerham, in that county, the 8th of the tenth 
 month, 1698. Where some of our Friends appearing, 
 and answering them, so disappointed the priests in 
 their envious designs in the said dispute, that they 
 afterwards promoted two petitions against our Friends 
 to the Parliament, one from Norfolk, the other from 
 Suffolk, to stir up persecution against them, that what 
 they could not do by arguments, they might by force. 
 To which two petitions, our friend T. Ellwood (having 
 obtained copies of them) wrote "A Sober Reply on 
 behalf of the People called Quakers, to two Petitions 
 against them, the one out of Norfolk, and the other 
 
 * For a further account of the apostacy of George Keith, the 
 reader is referred to Sewer's History of the People called 
 Quakers. 
 
1699.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 299 
 
 from Bury in Suffolk ; being some brief Observations 
 upon them;" printed 1699, manifesting their mischiev- 
 ous machinations against the Truth and Friends. This, 
 with some other discouragements, through the labour 
 and industry of Friends at London, in attending the 
 Parliament, and delivering printed papers, particularly, 
 U A few Considerations humbly offered to the members 
 of Parliament, to obviate some evil Jealousies, and 
 Designs against the People called Quakers," so quashed 
 their malicious purposes, that their petitions were never 
 delivered to, or received by the Parliament, but fell 
 and came to nothing ; and their evil designs were frus- 
 trated, Friends were preserved, and Truth prospered 
 over their heads. 
 
 About this time also our friend William Perm being 
 gone to Pennsylvania in the 7th month of 1699, and 
 George Keith continuing his opposition against Truth 
 and Friends, sometimes more general at Turner's-hall, 
 where, as the course of his delirious distemper returned, 
 (as J. .Wyeth observes in his answer to his advertise- 
 ment this year,) he held his contentious meetings once 
 a-year, to pick passages out of Friends' books to cavil 
 at, though he could not answer nor clear himself of 
 Thomas Ellwood's, or others that were wrote against 
 him. And sometimes more particularly against single 
 persons, especially William Penn, against whom he 
 chose to vent his malice above most others, especially 
 now in his absence, making him the butt of his indig- 
 nation ; and published two books against him, ono 
 called, " The Deism of William Penn and his breth- 
 
300 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1702. 
 
 ren &c." This our friend T. Ellwood undertook to 
 answer, and made a considerable progress in it, in a 
 large book of forty sheets. 
 
 But before he had finished this answer, though he 
 had gone about two-thirds through it, Benjamin Coal, 
 of Bristol, published a book there, entitled, " Honesty 
 the truest Policy," showing the sophistry, envy, and 
 perversion of George Keith in his three books. On 
 perusal of which, Thomas Ellwood deelined pursuing 
 the subject further. 
 
 His next service, upon a general foot, which I find 
 any footsteps of, was on this occasion : one John 
 Shockling, a priest, of Ash near Sandwich in Kent, 
 having got some of the Snake's books,* set up for an 
 opposer or disputant about Water Baptism, and sent a 
 paper to John Love, called, "A Question upon those 
 words in Matthew xxviii. 19, ' Go ye therefore and 
 teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' 
 Whether the apostles were not commanded by them 
 to baptize with water ?" This paper and question our 
 friend T. Ellwood answered in the fourth month, 1701, 
 very much to the purpose. To which the priest, being 
 unwilling to take an answer and let it drop so, replying, 
 (I might say to little purpose,) T. Ellwood wrote a 
 Rejoinder, in the fourth month, 1702. Both which 
 Answ T er and Rejoinder, being very pertinent to the 
 purpose, and notable on that subject, I should insert 
 
 * In allusion to Leslie's " Snake in the Grass." 
 
1705.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 301 
 
 some of it, but that it was only private, and never 
 published that I know of; and therefore I would not 
 begin to be the first publisher thereof. 
 
 But now we come to his great work of the History 
 of the Old Testament, which at his leisure he had in 
 hand for some years; and both he and we had this ad- 
 vantage of his being put by his work in answering ad- 
 versaries, particularly that of the Snake, and G. Keith's 
 Deism — having now seemed to have done with contro- 
 versy, that he had the more time and leisure to prose- 
 cute this more excellent work; which having finished 
 in 1704, he brought it up to London, to show it to 
 Friends, for their perusal and approbation. Which 
 being done, it was published in folio the next year, 
 1705, under the title of " Sacred History ; or the His- 
 torical Part of the Holy Scriptures of the Old Testa- 
 ment, gathered out from the other parts thereof, and 
 digested (as near as well could be) into due Method, 
 with respect to Order of Time and Place. With some 
 Observations here and there, tending to illustrate some 
 Passages therein." 
 
 In his preface to which, he mentions the praise of 
 historv out of Cicero, viz. — that it is u the Witness of 
 Times, the Light of Truth, the Life of Memory," &c, 
 which he thinks cannot be so w T ell verified of any par- 
 ticular history, as of that which, being written by 
 divinely-inspired penmen, is contained in the books of 
 the Old and New Testament. Then speaking of the 
 motive or inducement to the undertaking, two things, 
 he says, more especially led him to it; one, that the 
 26 
 
302 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1705. 
 
 Divine Providence, the wisdom, power, goodness, and 
 favour of God, in ordering, disposing, providing for, 
 preserving, defending, and wonderfully delivering his 
 servants and people out of the greatest straits, diffi- 
 culties, hardships, dangers, and sufferings, being more 
 directly, and in a continued series and course of actions 
 set before the reader's eye, he might be thereby the 
 more stirred up, and engaged to admire and magnify, 
 to love, reverence, and fear the Lord, and be the more 
 careful not to offend him. The other motive was, that 
 all the youth especially, of either sex, under whatso- 
 ever religious denomination they go, might be furnished 
 with such an entertainment, to spend, at least, their 
 leisure hours upon, as might yield them at once both 
 profit and delight. After which he proceeds to speak 
 of the manner of performance under eight heads. 
 
 Then he gives account who hath written on this sub- 
 ject; particularly a Treatise called, " The General 
 View of the Holy Scriptures," supposed to be the 
 learned Broughton's, which T. Ellwood commends as a 
 useful discourse in its kind. And of late years " Chris- 
 topher Ness, his History and Mystery of the Old and 
 New Testaments," in four volumes ; a book, says he, 
 well fraught w T ith variety of useful matter ; but the 
 mystery is not only interwoven with the history, but 
 hath also so much overgrown it, that the reader who 
 desires to peruse the history by itself, will be at some 
 loss in that respect. And that which promises most to 
 answer his end, he says, is R. Blome's History of the 
 Old and New Testament. A work indeed not only in- 
 
1705.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 303 
 
 structive and delightful, but pompous and magnificent. 
 A character that may justly be applied to our friend's 
 own work, except the word pompous. A work indeed 
 it is both pleasant and profitable ; such judicious ob- 
 servations, and witty, though grave, turns on passages 
 and things, as make it, as well as his other writings, 
 not only pleasant to read, but profitable to the reader. 
 A work that will remain a monument of his worth and 
 ingenuity to generations to come. 
 
 I would only add, that there is a book of Sulpitius 
 Severus, entitled, Sacred History ; but as that is in 
 Latin, and far short of this of T. Ellwood's, so this 
 cannot interfere with that, or be justly thought to be in 
 imitation of it. 
 
 About this time we entered into a more particular 
 correspondence, by letters on several occasions, which 
 we continued, at times, almost till his death. So that 
 I usually imparted to him the most remarkable occur- 
 rences that passed here, and often advised with him in 
 the most important affairs, as I had occasion ; and he, 
 in requital, was always ready to answer me, in a very 
 obliging manner, in anything I desired. And I must 
 acknowledge, he was very helpful to me by his advice, 
 in some controversies I had with some late adversaries, 
 which I shall not now name, some of them being gone 
 to their graves ; and his friendly correspondence was 
 always very acceptable, and instructive as well as 
 grateful to me, in his agreeable letters ; of which I 
 have many by me. Some of which he hath inserted in 
 his Decades. 
 
304 THE HISTORY OF THE [1706 
 
 The next year, viz. 1706, there followed an inter- 
 course of some letters between him and William Sewel, 
 of Holland, upon some particular points, which led into 
 a friendly correspondence between them in some other 
 matters not unpleasant to read. Several of which 
 letters of T. Ellwood's are in his Decades, with many 
 others to divers persons, friends, and others, on various 
 subjects ; which, if ever it should be thought meet to 
 publish them, or any of them, they would, I doubt not, 
 be very instructive, as well as diverting. 
 
 His next public work was on this occasion. About 
 this time a book w T as published by a nameless author, 
 called, "A Divine Treatise, written by way of Essay, 
 to demonstrate, according to the Mosaical Philosophy, 
 Water Baptism, Imposition of Hands, and the Com- 
 memoration of the Death and Passion of our ever 
 blessed Lord and Saviour, under the Species of Bread 
 and Wine," &c. This treatise coming accidentally or 
 providentially to our friend Thomas Ellwood's hands, 
 as he says in his preface, he observed that the design 
 of the author therein was, to re-introduce and set up 
 again those typical representations therein treated of, 
 among those who have been led by the Lord out of the 
 use thereof, into a more spiritual dispensation. And 
 finding his understanding in some measure opened, to 
 see the danger and mischief of that undertaking, and 
 his spirit withal stirred in him against it, he felt a con- 
 cern upon his mind to publish his observations which 
 he had made thereon, that others might the more 
 clearly see and readily escape the snare therein laid to 
 
1707.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 305 
 
 entangle them, and to draw them into bondage to out- 
 ward ceremonies, and elementary shadows again. This 
 he did in a book printed in 1707, entitled, " The glo- 
 rious Brightness of the Gospel Day, dispelling the 
 Shadows of the Legal Dispensation, and whatsoever 
 else of human Invention, hath been superadded there- 
 unto." And hoped to make it evident, that they are 
 not of the nature of the Gospel dispensation ; nor have 
 by any divine institution a continued place or service 
 in the church of Christ : without taking notice who or 
 what he was that wrote it. He says herein : — 
 
 " Since the author of the treatise under my observation hath 
 thought fit to conceal his name, I shall not pry behind the 
 curtain which himself hath thereby drawn before him, or con- 
 cern myself to inquire either who or what he is, or has been ; 
 but without any regard to that, shall directly apply myself to 
 give a plain answer to the most material parts of his treatise." 
 
 This he did to the purpose, in a close and ner- 
 vous answer ; it being indeed an excellent treatise, 
 well worth the perusal of every impartial reader ; to 
 whom therefore I recommend it. 
 
 And now I must say something of him under another 
 consideration as well as writing. He had written seve- 
 ral books against Tithes, as before hinted, to show the 
 unsuitableness of them to the gospel dispensation, being 
 JeAvish in their original, and Popish in their revival, 
 and that the obligation of paying them was ceased 
 under the gospel, as to any divine right from Scrip- 
 ture. And now it fell to his lot to suffer also in his 
 turn for his testimony against the payment of them ; 
 26* 
 
306 THE HISTORY OF THE [1708. 
 
 for to him it was given, in the behalf of Christ, not 
 only to believe in Him, and bear witness to his coming 
 in the flesh, and offering up himself, to put an end to 
 the law and priesthood, tithes and offerings ; but also 
 to suffer for his sake, being prosecuted, with three 
 Friends more, viz., John Penington, Abraham Butter- 
 field, and Wm. Catch, in the Exchequer for tithes, at 
 the suit of Joshua Leaper, tithe-farmer, of Amersham, 
 in the county of Bucks, under Humphrey Drake, clerk, 
 rector, and parson, (so called,) of the rectory and parish 
 church of Agmondesham, alias Amersham aforesaid. 
 Thomas Ellwood and the rest were subpoenaed to appear 
 at Westminster, in Trinity Term, 1707; which they 
 did by an attorney, to prevent being in contempt of 
 the court, and took a copy of the complainant's bill. 
 But for not answering, attachments were issued out in 
 Michaelmas Term, to take them up ; on which they 
 were taken into custody in the eleventh month, and 
 afterwards an Habeas Corpus sent down to the sheriff 
 of Bucks, to bring them up to the Exchequer bar in 
 Trinity Term, 1708 ; on which they came up. To pre- 
 vent the plaintiff's going on to a sequestration by de- 
 fault, they put in their answers; setting forth the value 
 of the tithes, according to the best of their knowledge. 
 Yet so vexatious was the adversary, that he would not 
 be satisfied with their answer, but got a commission of 
 inquiry to examine witnesses in the country, as to the 
 value of the tithes, which they did at Amersham in 
 the tenth month. The first witness they examined 
 was one E. — G. — , of the parish of Chessam, aged 
 
1709.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 307 
 
 (as they say) 44 years, or thereabouts, who deposed. 
 "That he knew the complainant and defendants; and 
 had known the complainant about sixty years," (w T hich 
 was about sixteen years before he was born :) whereby 
 we may judge of the rest of his evidence. 
 
 The charge of this commission, and executing it. 
 came to between thirty and forty pounds, though 
 some of it w r as abated on taxing the cost ; and yet they 
 proved little, if anything more than the defendants had 
 set down in their answers, yet went on to a hearing on 
 it, and obtained a decree for the tithes and costs. For 
 not performing which, attachments were issued out 
 afresh against them in Trinity Term, 1709, to the 
 sheriff of Hertfordshire, and then a proclamation ; T. 
 Ellwood, A. Butterfield, and W. Catch, living in that 
 county ; but John Penington, living in Bucks, was 
 dropped, because the attachments to the sheriff of 
 Hertfordshire would not reach him. But the sheriff 
 living remote, did not endeavour to take them, and the 
 prosecutor seemed rather to aim at a sequestration on 
 their goods and estates, than their bodies ; so that see- 
 ing them resolved to go on, the defendants, to prevent 
 it j offered to surrender themselves to the sheriff; but 
 he returned them each, Non est inventus, and they got 
 a commission of rebellion antedated, and moved for a 
 serjeant-at-arms the same day, to run them to a se- 
 questration in all haste, Leaper being sick and bad, 
 like to die, lest he should not live till it was accom- 
 plished ; but being so illegal, at least in point of time, 
 for that there ought to be eight days between the test 
 
308 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1709 
 
 and return of the writ, in thirty miles off London, and 
 fourteen beyond, on our appearing against it, they 
 could not obtain it till Hillary term. In which time 
 Leaper recovered, and one might have hoped that he 
 might have repented ; but instead thereof, then got a 
 sequestration against them and their estates, both real 
 and personal. The claims on Thomas Ellwood, Abra- 
 ham Butterfield, and William Catch, amounted to £32 
 14s. lOd. and the costs to £71 17s. 8d. making a total 
 of £104 12s. 6(i. ; to defray which, goods were dis- 
 trained from Thomas Ellwood to the amount of <£24 
 10s. Od. and from his two friends, amounting to £107 
 16s. 8ci, total £132 6s. 8d. ; thus leaving a balance of 
 £27 14s. 2d. over the entire demand and costs. 
 
 And yet, what by charge of sequestration making 
 out, and selling the corn underhand, they brought in 
 the defendants in debt, and wanted more. 
 
 I have been the larger in this account, to show the 
 proceeding of the Exchequer, and the fruit of tithes, 
 to ruin the Queen's subjects for small matters, when 
 they might recover by justices' warrants to the value 
 of £10, with the hundredth part of the charge. 
 
 Now we come to the second volume of his great 
 work, the History of the New Testament, which he had 
 in hand at times, for the most part since he finished 
 his former; and when he had finished this, he brought 
 it up to London for Friends' perusal and«approbation ; 
 where it was read, and afterwards published this year, 
 1709, in folio, under the same title as the former, 
 only as that was of the Old Testament, this was of the 
 
1709.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. g()0 
 
 New, viz., " Sacred History, or the Historical Part of 
 the Holy Scriptures of the New Testament," &c, as 
 in the title of the former, which as I gave some ac- 
 count of, so it behooves I should of this. The former 
 treatise (says he in his preface) having found a favour- 
 able reception, he was thence encouraged to resume his 
 pen, which at the close of that volume he had let fall, 
 and proceed to the methodizing of the historical part 
 of the New Testament in two parts. In the first part 
 whereof the reader will find an account of the concep- 
 tion, birth, life, travels, doctrines, discourses, miracles, 
 sufferings, death, burial, resurrection, and ascension 
 of our blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the 
 author of the true Christian religion, plainly, fairly, 
 and succinctly given ; ushered in with a brief account 
 of the conception, birth, manner of life, ministry, and 
 death of his forerunner John, surnamed the Baptist; 
 and attended, in the second part, with a like historical 
 account of the acts and travels of the apostles of our 
 Lord, in the propagation of his blessed Gospel, after 
 the ascension of our blessed Saviour : so far, at least, 
 as the evangelist Luke, in the Acts of the Apostles, 
 hath recorded, or the clue or thread of the holy text 
 leads him ; beyond which, he says, he was not willing 
 to adventure. 
 
 In this undertaking, he says, he aimed at the same 
 end as in the former, viz. That all the youth, espe- 
 cially of either sex, under whatsoever religious deno- 
 mination they go, might be further furnished with such 
 an entertainment, to spend at least their leisure hours 
 
310 THE HISTORY OF THE [1709 
 
 upon, as might yield them at once both profit and de- 
 light ; and might be thereby drawn off from mis-spend- 
 ing their precious time upon other, either hurtful, or 
 at best, unprofitable subjects. Then he gives account 
 why he hath, with the matter of fact, delivered the 
 discourses, speeches, sermons, and doctrines delivered 
 by our blessed Lord to his disciples, &c. ; namely, that 
 the nature of the history required it, and that without 
 it the discourse would have been less profitable and 
 pleasant to the reader, and by that means less condu- 
 cive to the end he proposed, which is to allure him to 
 read the Holy Scriptures with delight. 
 
 After which he gives an account of his going from 
 place to place in the Evangelists, to reduce the several 
 parts and passages of the history (in the first part) to 
 their due and proper times and places, which he en- 
 deavoured to do, (though difficult) as near as he could. 
 But the second part (the Acts) being all written by one 
 hand, the method is more regular, and the course of 
 the history more clear. Yet the apostolical epistles 
 being without date, are hardly, he conceives, to be re- 
 duced with indubitable certainty to exact order ; which 
 yet he hath endeavoured to place them right, accord- 
 ing to the best of his understanding. Then owning 
 the helps he had in compiling this history, had been 
 chiefly from the critics, and Cradock's Harmony of the 
 four Evangelists, and his Apostolical History, with a 
 few words of the performance ; w 7 hich if not done as it 
 should, nor as he would, yet as well as he could ; and 
 
1710.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 311 
 
 therefore, in all humility, recommending and commit- 
 ting it to the divine disposal, he concludes his preface. 
 
 Next to the preface is an introduction, concerning 
 the penmen of the New Testament, and in what lan- 
 guage originally written, and in what order of time, 
 particularly of the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, 
 Luke, and John, what they were, the time of their 
 writing, and some particular circumstances concerning 
 them and their ends, well worth the reader's perusal, 
 for the better understanding the history, both of the 
 evangelists and apostles. So proceeds to the History ; 
 which he deduces from the promised Seed after the fall, 
 for man's restoration, which the prophets foretold the 
 coming of, and which he pleasantly draws out at large 
 in order of time, and explains with the like judicious 
 observations as in the former ; taking in the Epistles 
 of Saint Paul, &c, in the second part, in their proper 
 places, as near as could be, and gives an account of 
 them, the occasion why, the manner how, and time 
 when they were written : ending with the Revelations, 
 which he renders as a revelation unrevealed, with some 
 brief notes on it. The whole, as I said of the former, 
 being both pleasant and profitable ; both which will 
 remain a lasting monument of him in time to come. 
 
 This year, 1710, our friend Oliver Sansom, formerly 
 of Farringdon, since of Abingdon, in Berkshire, who 
 had long war with the priests about tithes, died in the 
 second month ; and leaving behind him an account of 
 some remarkable passages of his life, which he com- 
 municated in his lifetime to our friend T. Ellwood to 
 
312 THE HISTORY OE THE [1711. 
 
 peruse, who being always ready to be helpful and 
 serviceable to all, especially his friends, he transcribed 
 the same, and fitted it for the press. This work was 
 printed this year ; and to it Thomas Ellwood prefixed 
 a testimony concerning him, pertinent to the occasion. 
 There is one book more of his, which he published 
 in his life-time, which it seems he had had by him, for 
 the most part, a long time, and after he had finished 
 his Sacred History of the New Testament, he took in 
 hand to finish, and completed ; and that is, the Life of 
 David in verse ; first begun for his own diversion, not 
 then thinking of the press, and carried on, by degrees, 
 to the end of the third book, in the year 1688, as hinted 
 before in that year ; when the Prince of Orange land- 
 ing, and the nation being in arms, the noise of guns, 
 and sounds of drums and trumpets so affrighted and 
 disturbed his peaceful muse, (as he says in his preface,) 
 that both she for a while forsook him, and he there- 
 upon the work, for above twenty years ; save that on 
 a review, observing how abruptly David was brought 
 in, he added the first chapter of the first book, to in- 
 troduce his hero from the beginning of his story. 
 Where it rested again, without any prospect of its ever 
 going further, until the last winter, (1711) when having, 
 as he says, less health and more leisure, than ai some 
 times before, he took it up for an entertainment, to 
 make some uneasy hours pass over somewhat less un- 
 easily. And after he had read it through, consider- 
 ing that if, after his death, it should be found among 
 his papers, and committed to the press, it would be 
 
1712.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 313 
 
 but an imperfect piece, he found an inclination to carry 
 on the story to the end of David's life ; and giving a 
 kind invitation to his gentle muse to return (which by 
 some short visits on particular occasions in the inter- 
 val, had given him some ground to hope she had not 
 quite forsaken him), he entered again upon the subject 
 where he had left off, and by degrees went through it, 
 till he had brought his warlike hero to his peaceful 
 grave. 
 
 After it was finished, deliberating whether to publish 
 it himself, or leave it as a posthume, to be published by 
 some kind hand after his death ; for some reasons par- 
 ticularly, that if any should carp at it, he might be 
 capable to answer for himself, he thought best to 
 publish it in his life-time ; and accordingly brought it 
 up with him when he came to the Yearly Meeting, 1712, 
 but not having then an opportunity to have it read, he 
 came up again with it some time after, I think the last 
 time he was at London ; and after reading, committed 
 it to the press this year, under the title of " Davideis. 
 The Life of David, King of Israel. A Sacred Poem, 
 in five books, in octavo." Though, as he observes, 
 Abraham Cowley wrote a poem called Davideis, he had 
 not read it till after he had finished his ; and besides 
 their different way of writing, A. Cowley's was but of 
 the troubles of David in his youth, and that not half 
 finished. And that he had the same aim in this, as in 
 that of his Sacred History aforesaid. The book begins 
 thus : — 
 27 
 
314 THE HISTORY OF THE [1712. 
 
 I sing the life of David, Israel's King: 
 Assist, thou Sacred Pow'r, who didst him bring 
 From the sheepfold, and set him on the throne, 
 Thee, I invoke, on Thee rely alone. 
 Breathe on my muse, and fill her slender quill 
 With Thy refreshing dews from Herman-hill ; 
 That what she sings may turn unto thy praise, 
 And to thy name may lasting trophies raise. 
 
 Thus having gone through his printed books and 
 papers, which I have endeavoured to give a plain and 
 succinct account of, and of him out of them, as far as 
 I could, and with as much brevity as well might be, I 
 shall now speak somewhat of him in his private capacity, 
 and other services and station in the church, with his 
 death and character ; and so conclude the whole. 
 
 He lived many years, if not most of his time, espe- 
 cially after be w T as married, at Hunger-hill, in the 
 parish of Agmondesham, alias Amersham, in Bucking- 
 hamshire, though his house stood in Hertfordshire, as 
 aforesaid ; where the Monthly Meetings of men and 
 women were constantly kept, for that part of the 
 county of Bucks : wherein he was very serviceable in 
 writing, advising, and exhorting to keep all things well 
 and in good order, according to Truth and the testi- 
 mony thereof; and had a peculiar gift for government 
 in the church, and ordering things in Monthly and 
 Quarterly Meetings, and used to come up constantly 
 to the Yearly Meeting at London, and was very service- 
 able therein ; not only by his grave counsel and advice, 
 but also in reading and writing on occasion, especially 
 in difficult matters. He had a singular talent in indi- 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 315 
 
 ting and composing of things, epistles, and papers, 
 beyond many; so that I must needs say, he was an 
 ornament to the meeting, and will be much missed 
 therein, and many other ways. His wife died about 
 five years before him, being a solid, weighty woman, 
 who had a public testimony for the Lord and his Truth 
 in meetings ; and therefore the greater loss to him and 
 Friends : and for himself, he lived a private, retired 
 life, not concerning himself with much business in the 
 world, but gave himself much to reading and writing, 
 and lived in good repute among Friends, and all sorts 
 of people, as far as ever I heard of, to a pretty good 
 age. He bore age very well, being of a regular life, 
 and healthy constitution ; only in his latter years he 
 was somewhat troubled at times with an asthma. 
 
 At last he was taken ill of a palsy, the 23rd of 
 second month, 1713, which he bore with great patience 
 and resignation ; an account of which, and his dying 
 words, I leave to them who were with him in the time 
 of his sickness, the eighth day of which he departed 
 this life, being the 1st of third month, in the seventy- 
 fourth year of his age ; having served his generation 
 according to the will of God, he fell asleep, and was 
 honourably buried the second day following, being the 
 4th of the third month, at Jordan s ; being accompanied 
 from his own house by a great many Friends and 
 others, to the meeting-house there, (the meeting he 
 belonged to,) and interred in the burying-ground be- 
 longing thereto, where was a very large meeting, and 
 great appearance of Friends and others, several public 
 
316 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 Friends being there from London and other parts ; and 
 divers living testimonies borne to the Truth, he lived 
 and died in, in a living remembrance of him, and his 
 services in the church. 
 
 A man of a comely aspect, of a free and generous 
 disposition, of a courteous and affable temper, and 
 pleasant conversation ; a gentleman, a scholar, a true 
 Christian, an eminent author, a good neighbour, and 
 kind friend : whose loss is much lamented, and will be 
 much missed at home and abroad. The Lord, if it be 
 his will, raise up many more such pillars, elders, and 
 overseers of his flock, and family, as watchmen upon 
 Zion's walls ; for his honour, and the benefit of his 
 church and people, saith my soul. Amen. 
 
 J. Wyeth. 
 
 London, 
 30th of ninth month, 1713. 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 317 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Since the writing of the foregoing Supplement, I 
 have understood that our friend Thomas Ellwood, after 
 he had finished and published his Davideis, signified, 
 that he had but one thing more that lay upon his 
 mind; and that was, to add something to his Journal, 
 or Account of his Life ; this was chiefly to give an ac- 
 count of his books and writings ; which shows he had 
 not done it, or finished it before, and it is to be doubted 
 he did not after, not living long after that, and so no 
 more to be expected (more is the pity) from his own 
 hand. So it shows what his design was, as to what he 
 intended to have added to it, had he lived to perform 
 it, or had not death prevented him. So that the afore- 
 said Supplement seems, in some sort at least, to an- 
 swer his own intention, though far short, as was said, 
 of what his own hand could have done ; yet so far as 
 it does any way answer his mind, I am therein glad 
 that I have done any service to his memory, or the 
 Truth in that respect, having endeavoured to represent 
 things according to his own mind, and to speak of him 
 and things as probably he would have done if he had 
 been living, and hope the reader will accept it the 
 better. To whom therefore I recommend it, as giving 
 at least a fair character of the books he wrote, and 
 controversies he managed, both published and unpub- 
 27* 
 
318 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 
 
 lished ; which I hope will be no dis-service, but service 
 to the Truth, as it is intended in the fear of God. 
 
 To whose honour, and the service of his Truth, I 
 desire, with great sincerity, to dedicate the remainder 
 of my days, and rest a friend to all men, 
 
 J. Wyeth. 
 
 The following is given as a specimen of Thomas 
 Ellwood's poetry, written at an early period of his 
 
 life 
 
 Oh that mine eyes might closed be 
 
 To what becomes me not to see ; 
 
 That deafness might possess mine ear, 
 
 To what concerns me not to hear; 
 
 That Truth my tongue might always tie, 
 
 From ever speaking foolishly ; 
 
 That no vain thoughts might ever rest, 
 
 Or be conceived in my breast; 
 
 That by each word, each deed, each thought, 
 
 Glory may to my God be brought. 
 
 But what are wishes ! Lord, mine eye 
 
 On thee is fix'd, to thee I cry ; 
 
 Oh purge out all my dross, my tin, 
 
 Make me more white than snow within; 
 
 Wash, Lord, and purify my heart, 
 
 And make it clean in every part ; 
 
 And when 'tis clean, Lord keep it too, 
 
 For that is more than I can do. 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 319 
 
 TESTIMONIES 
 
 TESTIMONY OF GEORGE BOWLES 
 
 CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 Dear Friends. It is in my heart, on this occasion, 
 briefly to commemorate the tender dealings of the 
 Lord with his people in this latter age of the world, 
 when it hath pleased him, in love to poor lost man, 
 graciously to appear, by the breaking forth of his 
 glorious gospel day. And by the secret divine reaches 
 of the hand of God, which hath been felt and seen in 
 the Light of it, many have been drawn in their spirits 
 to seek after the Lord, and to enquire after the know- 
 ledge of the way of life and salvation ; and blessed be 
 his holy name, who was graciously pleased, by the in- 
 shinings of this Divine Light in the hearts of many, 
 to expel the darkness and rend the veil. 
 
 And then was the arm of his mighty power made 
 bare, for the gathering many thousands to the saving 
 knowledge of himself. And in that day was the Lord 
 pleased, according to his promise, to pour forth of his 
 spirit upon sons and upon daughters ; yea, upon ser- 
 vants and upon handmaids, and many were made to 
 prophesy ; and being qualified by the Holy Spirit 
 
320 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 which they received and were baptized by it into his 
 name, became willing, and were freely given up in 
 obedience to the Lord, and in bowels of tender love to 
 the souls of mankind, in his power to preach the gospel 
 of life and salvation to those to whom they were sent ; 
 and many were turned from darkness to light, and from 
 the power of Satan unto God, by their ministry. 
 
 Amongst whom our dear deceased friend and brother 
 Thomas Ellwood was one, whose conscience was reached 
 and awakened by the powerful ministry of dear Edward 
 Burrough, as I have heard him relate. And of that 
 day and time, and the worthy instrument by whose 
 ministry he was convinced, and turned unto God, and 
 made sensible of the divine principle of life and Light 
 in his own heart, have I heard him speak with great 
 regard ; and also of the sufferings which did attend 
 him, after he received the Truth, in his father's family, 
 for the Truth's sake ; and how the Lord preserved him 
 in that time, under the various exercises which he 
 passed through for Truth's testimony ; which for 
 Christ's sake he was conscientiously concerned to stand 
 in, according to that plainness and simplicity which 
 Truth then led, and still continues to lead the sincere 
 disciples of Christ into, by which they were distin- 
 guished from the world ; and, for the sake thereof, they 
 were despised of men, and hated of the world. Such 
 was the plain language of Thou to one, and refusing 
 the hat honour; for which T. Ellwood suffered not a 
 little in that day, as by the account of his life more 
 fully appears. And it were well if all, who come up 
 
]713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 321 
 
 in a profession of the blessed Truth, in this time, were 
 faithful in these, and in the other branches of its tes- 
 timony. And let all consider, that the neglecting 
 thereof is, in a degree, a making void the sufferings 
 of the faithful, (and strengthening the hands of evil 
 doers,) who, for the sake of their testimony, loved not 
 their lives to the death ; but underwent cruel mockings, 
 buffetings, stonings, whippings, stockings, revilings, 
 imprisonments, and spoiling of goods ; rejoicing in the 
 Lord, that they were counted worthy to suffer, either 
 less or more, for his name's sake. In respect of which, 
 this my dear friend was a good example, he being a 
 man of a steady mind, and very patient in suffering, as 
 well as faithful in his testimony for Truth, and took 
 joyfully the spoiling of his goods, wherein he was tried 
 but a few years before his death. 
 
 He was often concerned in defence of Truth's testi- 
 mony, both against our professed adversaries, and also 
 against the libertine spirit which appeared in some, 
 professing the same Truth with us, who opposed them- 
 selves against that good order and discipline which 
 the Truth led Friends into. All whieh will abundantly 
 appear from the books themselves, which are in print, 
 which he writ upon various occasions, and upon divers 
 subjects; and let not his great labour and industry be 
 forgotten, in his writing those two historical volumes, 
 relating to the Old and New Testament ; a work truly 
 great, and is and may be of great use and service. 
 
 By all which his many labours, it may be perceived 
 by the wary and enlightened reader, that the Lord 
 
822 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713, 
 
 had endowed him with an excellent gift, and qualified 
 him for the service of Truth, his church and people ; 
 in which he employed the talent which the bountiful 
 Lord had given him, to the honour of the great Giver, 
 and to the comfort and edification of the church of 
 Christ. 
 
 But more especially were his services known to the 
 brethren in this county of Bucks ; most of whom are 
 fallen asleep, and but few remaining here, who knew 
 him in his beginning, or his first services for the Lord, 
 his church and people ; amongst whom he was a zeal- 
 ous asserter of that excellent discipline the Lord had 
 opened in, and led his people to, for the preserving 
 his church as a garden enclosed : for which cause, how 
 did many of those libertines set themselves fiercely 
 against him, and shoot their arrows at him ; but the 
 Lord defended him, and covered his head in the day 
 of battle, and his bow abode in strength, and his 
 bough spread over the wall, and continued fresh and 
 green ; but a blast from the Lord came upon their evil 
 work ; and how have they melted away ! And how is 
 their strength failed, and their work brought to nought ! 
 But the blessing of the Lord is with his people, even 
 w T ith the faithful, to this day, whom he hath preserved 
 as a peculiar treasure to himself: blessed be his holy 
 name for evermore. 
 
 And furthermore, it may be truly said of this our 
 dear friend, that as the Lord fitted him for his service, 
 so was he eminently serviceable in his hand, in the 
 church of Christ; particularly in these parts, of which 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 323 
 
 there are many living witnesses, in this and the adja- 
 cent counties, of his great labour of love, having served 
 the church freely, with great diligence and faithful- 
 ness ; the true sense of which toucheth me and others, 
 with the deeper sense of the great loss the church hath 
 by his removal : but being also sensible, through the 
 Lord's goodness, that our loss is his eternal gain, I feel 
 in my heart an humble submission to the will of Him 
 who doth whatsoever pleaseth Him, both in heaven and 
 in earth ; and who shall say unto him, " What doest 
 thou? M 
 
 And it is the tender breathing of my spirit to the 
 God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that he 
 would be graciously pleased, in pity and compassion to 
 his poor people, to raise up, fit and furnish more faith- 
 ful servants for his work and service, and make them 
 zealous for his name and Truth upon the earth, that 
 the place of this my dear friend, and other faithful 
 servants of the Lord and his people, of late removed 
 from amongst us in these parts, may be supplied ; and 
 that the spouse of Christ may, amidst all her tribula- 
 tions, afflictions, and sore exercises, be made to praise 
 the Lord, and bless his holy name, who taketh away 
 one, and raiseth up another, and blesseth his children 
 with his goodness, according to his promise made of 
 old by the holy prophet Isaiah, (xliv. 3.) saying, "I 
 will pour my spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing 
 upon thine offspring." And thus hath the Lord pre- 
 served Zion from age to age : and I doubt not, but am 
 
324 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 fully persuaded, that he will still bless his people, and 
 preserve Zion, and deliver her from all her enemies. 
 
 And, my dear friends, brethren, and sisters, although 
 it be matter of sorrow to us to part with our dear 
 friends, especially such as have been made serviceable 
 in their day, and have faithfully served the Lord and 
 his people in their generation, as it may (I hope with- 
 out just occasion of offence to any) be said of dear 
 Thomas Ellwood, that he was a man who served the 
 Lord in faithfulness, and his people with cheerfulness, 
 and his neighbours with uprightness and integrity ; and 
 therefore both they and we have the greater loss. Yet 
 may we not sorrow unseasonably, as those which sorrow 
 without hope ; but, believing that the Lord hath taken 
 him to himself in mercy (though it may be in judgment 
 to some who were unworthy), let us all learn resignation 
 to his blessed will, and say with Job, " The Lord gave, 
 and the Lord hath taken away.; blessed be the name 
 of the Lord." 
 
 And, dear friends, I may farther signify unto you, 
 that it being my lot to be with this our dear friend, of 
 whom I am speaking, almost every day of his last ill- 
 ness, I did observe in him, to my great comfort and 
 satisfaction, a quiet composed frame of mind and spirit, 
 and resignation to the will of God. When I came 
 first to him, soon after I heard of his being taken ill, 
 which was the twenty-fourth of the second month, I 
 found him very much disabled by the distemper, which 
 was thought to be a palsy, that seized him, especially 
 on his right side, so that he could not stand alone, nor 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 325 
 
 help himself, but a little with his left hand ; and his 
 speech was also very much interrupted, insomuch that 
 it was with great difficulty, for the most part, that he 
 expressed himself so as to be understood. 
 
 Some time after I came to him, there being also other 
 friends with him, we sat down together under a weighty 
 exercise of spirit, waiting upon the Lord, in deep 
 silence, with our eye to Him, it pleased the Lord 
 eminently to appear amongst us, and to fill our hearts 
 with the refreshing streams of his divine love, and to 
 open the mouth of one of us in prayer and supplica- 
 tion ; and the Lord was graciously pleased abundantly 
 to replenish our spirits, to our mutual comfort, in a 
 living sense of divine goodness ; and this our dear 
 friend expressed himself in great tenderness and broken- 
 ness of spirit on this wise, "I am sensibly comforted 
 and refreshed in this visit." 
 
 And that ofternoon, he, fixing his eyes upon me with 
 great earnestness of spirit, expressed, as well as he 
 could at that time, a great concern that was upon his 
 mind for Truth, and the friends of it, in divers particu- 
 lars ; especially in relation to our own Monthly and 
 Quarterly Meetings, the writings of both which had 
 been under his care for more than forty years ; after 
 which he was much eased in his spirit, and so continued 
 to the last, so far as I perceived ; often saying, w T hen 
 asked how he did, " I am easy, I am quiet." And he 
 was often very tender in his spirit, expressing his re- 
 signation to the will of God, whether in life or death, 
 saying, "If the Lord hath no more work for me to do, 
 28 
 
326 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 I am content and resigned to his will ; and my hearty- 
 farewell is to all my brethren." 
 
 And at another time, nearer his end, he said to us 
 present, in much brokenness of heart, " I am full of 
 joy and peace, my spirit is filled with joy," or to this 
 effect ; for by reason that his speech was so weakened, 
 several things could not be so well collected, which he 
 at times spake, in a tender sense of the Lord's good- 
 ness ; the sense of which deeply affected some of us 
 who were with him. And my heart is sorrowfully 
 affected at this time, in a sense of the great loss which 
 the church of Christ (in these parts especially), hath 
 by his removal : but in this I am comforted, in a living 
 sense of the Lord's mercy and goodness to him, in 
 carrying him through his affliction in great patience 
 and quietness, under which he was sweetly refreshed 
 by the streams of divine love, and his cup was often 
 made to overflow ; and we, who were present, being 
 touched with a sense thereof, were comforted therein, 
 being in a travail of spirit for him, and did in our 
 measures truly sympathize with him under his afflic- 
 tion. And I am fully satisfied, he laid down his head 
 in peace with the Lord, and is gathered to his ever- 
 lasting rest. 
 
 He departed this life the first of the third month, 
 1718, about the second hour in the morning, in the 
 seventy-fourth year of his age. He received the Truth 
 in the year 1659, and lived in fellowship with the 
 friends of it about fifty-three years : and I think it 
 may be truly said of him, that as he lived so he died, 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 397 
 
 the servant of the Lord and his people, and hath left 
 a sweet savour behind him, and his memory is blessed 
 with the righteous for ever. Amen. 
 
 George Bowles. 
 
 Eighth Month, 1713. 
 
 TESTIMONY FROM THE MONTHLY MEETING 
 
 At Hunger-Hill, the 7th of the Fourth Month, 1713, concern- 
 ing our dear and well-beloved Friend and Brother in the 
 Truth, Thomas Ellwood, deceased. 
 
 That the dead which die in the Lord are blessed of 
 him, we have great assurance from John the divine in 
 bis writing to the seven churches, (Rev. xiv. 13,) w^here 
 he tells them, that he " heard a voice from heaven, say- 
 ing, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord 
 from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may 
 rest from their labours, and their works do follow 
 them. ,, Of which number, w T e have no cause to doubt 
 but this our dear friend is one; who was eminently ser- 
 viceable in the church of Christ. A man to whom the 
 Lord had given a large capacity beyond many, and fur- 
 nished him with an excellent gift; whereby he was 
 qualified for those services in the church, in the per- 
 formance of which he did shine as a star, which re- 
 ceived its lustre and brightness from the glorious Sun 
 of Righteousness. He was wise, but humble ; conde- 
 scending to the weak, and ready to help where he saw 
 and felt sincerity ; but sharp to that wdiich he appre- 
 
328 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 hended to be insincere and deceitful; for which cause, 
 he was not acceptable to hypocrites and disorderly 
 walkers. Yet he was a man of a very acceptable and 
 agreeable conversation, as well as sober and religious, 
 both in the church and in the world, being of a free 
 and affable temper and disposition, far from affectation, 
 but of a courteous behaviour and graceful carriage to 
 all, and very serviceable to, and amongst his neighbours. 
 
 He was very near and dear to many of us, who were 
 most intimately acquainted with him, and his memorial 
 is sweet to us. His services in our meetings, and in 
 the Quarterly Meeting for the county of Bucks, were 
 very great, and of many years' continuance ; in which 
 he showed great diligence, being of a ready mind, 
 willing to serve the church, according to that ability 
 which the Lord had given him ; and his heart and house 
 were open to his friends, and the Monthly Meeting was 
 kept there more than forty years, and remains there to 
 this day. Our loss is great by his removal; but in 
 this w T e are satisfied, that it is his everlasting gain, 
 being gathered, as we have good cause to believe, to 
 his eternal rest. The knowledge we had of him, and 
 the good account which we have received of him, in 
 the time of his last illness, by those who were most 
 constantly with him, and of his quiet and peaceable 
 departure, doth sensibly engage our hearts to acquiesce 
 in the will of the Lord ; and therein we have peace and 
 comfort. 
 
 He departed this life the first of the third month, 
 1718, and was honourably buried in Friends' burying- 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 329 
 
 place, at New Jordans, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, 
 in the county of Bucks, the fourth day of the same 
 month. 
 
 Signed, by the appointment of the Monthly Meet- 
 ing, by us : — 
 
 George Bowles, Daniel Roberts, 
 
 William Grimsdall, Abraham Barber, 
 
 James Smith, Thomas Olliffe. 
 Daniel Wharley, 
 
 TESTIMONY FROM THE WOMEN'S MEETING, 
 
 CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 A CONCERN is upon our spirits to write somewhat 
 concerning our dear deceased friend and elder, Thomas 
 Ellwood, who was highly valued by us for that wisdom 
 and counsel which were with him ; and being of a free 
 and affable temper, ready to assist those who stood in 
 need thereof, encouraged many to apply to him for 
 advice, under the divers circumstances and various 
 exercises which this uncertain world affords ; which we 
 have found to be for our good, as we followed it. He 
 was an early comer to meetings, seldom hindered by 
 weather (though he lived three miles distant) when 
 bodily weakness did not hinder, of late years being oft 
 indisposed as to his health. The Monthly Meeting 
 28* 
 
330 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 
 
 was held at his house about forty years, and he always 
 looked very kind and courteous on Friends when they 
 came there, and took care and notice of the meanest, 
 who came in sincerity. He was zealous for good 
 order, and against such, who, being in an apostatized 
 spirit, opposed it ; and may well be numbered amongst 
 the worthies, whose names are upon record for their 
 valour ; so is this our friend worthy to be, who never 
 turned his back on such who opposed the Truth ; but 
 stood his ground, as his printed sheets on such occa- 
 sions do show. As also his other works, of several 
 kinds, do manifest how great endowments God had 
 bestowed on him, (yet we, who knew him in his conver- 
 sation, are engaged to set forth how kind and conde- 
 scending he was to the weakest capacity, and would 
 help out when they wanted a word,) that generations 
 to come may learn how good it is to forsake all, and 
 follow Christ Jesus, as this our friend did, and the 
 account of his life shows ; who not only gives wisdom, 
 but teacheth humility also. 
 
 He was greatly respected by his neighbours, for his 
 services amongst them ; his heart and doors were open 
 to the poor, both sick and lame, who wanted help, and 
 had it freely, taking care to provide things useful for 
 such occasions, (blessed also with good success,) often 
 saying, he mattered not what cost he was at, to do 
 good. Such lament their loss ; what then may we do, 
 who miss him in a higher station, in his great service 
 in the church of Christ ? but even desire to be re- 
 signed to the will of the Lord, who preserved him 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 331 
 
 through all his hardships, to a dominion over false 
 brethren, and is now out of their reach, and out of 
 temptation too ; on whose head the blessing asked for 
 Joseph rests, who, as a fruitful bough, his branch 
 spreads over the wall of opposition, and his bow abode 
 in strength ; the hands of whose arms were made strong 
 by the help of the mighty God of Jacob, to whom be 
 the glory for what he hath wrought in our day, whose 
 own works praise him for evermore. And the tears 
 of sorrow that we shed for the loss of this our deceased 
 friend, let them be remembered to bow our spirits, each 
 of us, into a godly care, that we may come up, accord- 
 ing to our several capacities, to follow the Lord faith- 
 fully, in a godly zeal for his honour ; and so come to 
 lay down our heads in joy and peace, as this our friend 
 expressed he did. 
 
 This eminent servant of Christ was early convinced 
 of the way of Truth, wherein he continued to the 
 finishing of his days ; for the sake of which he soon 
 became a sufferer, not only by imprisonment, for wor- 
 shipping God in the assemblies of his people, but also 
 from his father, by whom he was made as an outcast, 
 for no other cause but for his faithful testimony in 
 taking up the cross to the world's behaviour and 
 language; whereupon he was invited by his much 
 valued friend, Isaac Penington, to his house, w 7 here 
 he abode several years, until he married. He was a 
 blessing in, as well as a great comfort and help to 
 that family ; and by his wise conduct therein, gained 
 much esteem, not only from the elders, but the youth, 
 
332 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 
 
 whom he instructed in learning ; and though most 
 of them are by death removed, yet one still remains, 
 who, from certain and experimental knowledge, can 
 commemorate his worth, being engaged thereto from a 
 sense of the benefit of his good and wholeseme advice, 
 given at sundry times and on divers occasions, which 
 friendship continued firm to the last. 
 
 His natural capacity was large, and his understand- 
 ing in the things of God very deep ; which excellent 
 qualifications meeting in one, rendered him useful 
 beyond many to his country, as well as very service- 
 able in the church ; by both which he is and will be 
 greatly missed. But he is gone to his grave in a full 
 age, and gathered as a shock of corn in its season, 
 having done his day's work faithfully : so that saying 
 may be verified in him, "The end crowns all." 
 
 His sickness was sudden, which soon deprived him 
 of the use of his limbs ; yet he retained the faculties 
 of his inward and outward senses clear all along ; and 
 notwithstanding at times his pains were great, his 
 exemplary patience and resignation w T ere remarkably 
 apparent to those that visited and attended him ; so 
 that their sorrow, in parting with so dear a friend, was 
 intermixed with comfort in beholding the heavenly 
 frame of mind wherewith he was adorned. 
 
 Thus, after all his labours, he entered into everlast- 
 ing rest, and left many behind weeping, though not 
 without hope that they shall again meet at the general 
 assembly of saints, where the redeemed shall sing 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 333 
 
 praises to their blessed Redeemer, whose right it is to 
 reign for ever. 
 
 We have this farther to add, namely ; that our esteem 
 of him was great, because of that real worth that was 
 in him, through the operation of the mighty power of 
 the Lord that separated him from the love of the world ; 
 so that he chose (with Moses) rather to suffer affliction 
 with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of 
 sin for a season ; and it pleased the Lord to fit him with 
 wisdom and counsel, so that he w T as made able to give 
 judgment in difficult cases, wherein many of us have 
 particularly received benefit, and therefore have cause 
 to lament the loss we have by his removal. And oh ! 
 say our souls, that the Lord would raise up many more 
 in his room, to the praise and honour of the good Hus- 
 bandman. And it is our desire that we, who are yet 
 behind, may be made able so to steer our course through 
 this troublesome world, that when our end comes, we 
 may lay down our heads in peace with the Lord, and 
 leave a good savour behind us, as this our friend hath 
 done. 
 
 This is written in true love and respect to the memory 
 of our deceased friend, as it pleased the Lord to move 
 upon our hearts : and being read and approved in our 
 Women's Meeting at Hunger-hill, the fourth of the 
 eleventh month, 1713, was subscribed in behalf of the 
 said Meeting, by us : — 
 
 Mary Baker, 
 Mary Wharley, 
 Mary Larcum. 
 
334 TI1E HISTORY OF THE £1713. 
 
 ELIZABETH RICHARDSON'S TESTIMONY 
 
 Concerning our dear friend Thomas Ellwood, of Hunger-hill. 
 
 He was much esteemed amongst good men: good 
 men, in their day and station upon the earth, represent 
 Him who made all things good in the beginning, who 
 said, (Gen. i. 3,) " Let there be light, and there was 
 light." And also said, (verse 26,) u Let us make man 
 in our image, after our likeness." Oh, high favour! 
 " So God created man in his own image, in the image 
 of God created he him ; male and female created he 
 them," (verse 27,) and blessed them, and gave them 
 dominion under himself; for he was chief commander 
 then ; and so he is witnessed to be now, where his 
 heavenly image is come into again, and men live in it, 
 as did this our dear friend, who did good in his day 
 and generation. Counsel was w T ith him, to give to such 
 as needed, and did apply to him : he was of a tender 
 spirit, and had dominion over passion, over pride, and 
 over covetousness : so he was comfortable to, and in 
 his family. He w T as amiable in the church of Christ, 
 and a doer of good amongst his neighbours. And 
 being an elder amongst, and with the elders, he hath 
 not only obtained a good report, but also the blessing 
 in the promised Seed, which bruises the Serpent's head. 
 He was valiant in suffering for his testimony, which he 
 held in the Truth ; and, may not I say, unwearied in 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 335 
 
 his labours for the setting forth the same and excel- 
 lency of it; whereby we see what the Truth, makes 
 men to be, who do come under the conduct and power 
 of it ; even as fixed stars in the firmament of his divine 
 power, who has caused the morning of his heavenly 
 and glorious gospel day to break forth ; and as with 
 the day that springs from on high, in tender mercy 
 hath he visited many souls. And early did this our 
 worthy deceased friend embrace it, as it appears by his 
 testimony concerning that eminent and blessed mes- 
 senger and minister of the gospel, George Fox. 
 
 And now, he having endured the tim^ of proving, 
 and the days of tribulation and suffering, together with 
 the perils and slights, and under valuings, of false 
 brethren, against whose ungodly work he was engaged 
 to stand as a noble warrior, in the defence of, and for 
 the glorious gospel of Christ : not admiring men's per- 
 sons, but the work of the gospel power. And although 
 he was endowed with parts and accomplishments above 
 many, he was humble and grave ; not self-seeking, but 
 esteeming the power of Truth, though it did appear 
 through mean instruments. He was honourable, and 
 honoured, for that he sought not his own honour, but 
 the honour of Truth, not only by his sufferings for it 
 and labours in it, but also in standing firmly against 
 the loose libertine ones, who would have thrust in 
 amongst the lambs and flock of Christ, in an unclean 
 adulterating spirit, from the life of the true Shepherd, 
 and Heavenly Husband, Christ Jesus : but to the 
 tender-hearted, and sincere-minded, he was strengthen- 
 
336 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 
 
 ing and comfortable. I knew him when I was but 
 young, and I can truly say, my heart has often been 
 affected, on his behalf, with thankfulness to the Lord, 
 who made him as a strong pillar in his spiritual house, 
 with many more of his dear servants and children, w T ho 
 shall no more go out. His memory is in my heart es- 
 teemed beyond what I can write. Oh ! surely " The 
 righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance," 
 (Psalm cxii. 6.) "And they that be wise, shall shine 
 as the brightness of the firmament: and they that turn 
 many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever." 
 (Daniel xii. 3t) 
 
 Elizabeth Richardson. 
 
 Hunger-Hill, 
 5th of Seventh Month, 1713, 
 
1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 337 
 
 TESTIMONY OF RICHAKD VIVERS 
 
 CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 He was a man of great wisdom and understanding ; 
 and the Lord, the giver of it, being pleased to visit him 
 in his early days, made choice of him, and by the sanc- 
 tification of his Holy Spirit, fitted and prepared him 
 for his work and service, whereunto he was called. And 
 although he did not often appear as a minister, yet in 
 those meetings set apart for the affairs of Truth, he 
 often appeared in great wisdom, having an extraordi- 
 nary talent given of the Lord for that work, more than 
 many other brethren ; and faithful he was in waiting 
 for instruction from God, to improve the same to his 
 glory, and the church's advantage. For nothing was 
 more desirable to him, than to be employed in the 
 Lord's service ; so it pleased the Almighty to furnish 
 him with understanding and strength, faithfully to do 
 his day's work. And now he hath taken him to himself, 
 where his soul is at rest ; and although our loss be his 
 gain, therein I, with many more, am greatly comforted, 
 for I can truly say I loved him in the Truth, from the 
 first of my acquaintance with him, and so it remained 
 to the end of his course, being nearly forty years since 
 we knew each other ; and whenever we conversed to- 
 gether, our discourse was chiefly concerning heavenly 
 things, and the affairs of the church : and I always 
 thought my time well spent with him, although oppor- 
 29 
 
338 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. [1713 
 
 tunity would not serve for so much of it as I desired, 
 had it been the will of God. 
 
 And this I can say, according to my observation, he 
 was a man true to his friend, and deliberate in the 
 choice of his acquaintance, to whom he showed real 
 love and sincerity of heart. And he was one of a steady 
 and sound judgment, as to the things of God ; often 
 desiring that those who came amongst us, especially 
 children of believing parents, might not settle down 
 only in a form of godliness, without the power, (at 
 which door the apostacy entered,) but that they might 
 be raised up to walk in that, wherein the saints' fellow- 
 ship doth stand, which is the Light of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, enlightening every man that cometh into the 
 world : and then the ancient testimony of Truth will be 
 more and more raised up in their hearts, and they being 
 preserved of the Lord in it, it will more be maintained 
 in its several branches, as in former days. Blessed be 
 the name of the Lord, who hath a people in these latter 
 ages of the world, to whom he hath given power to 
 stand for his Truth, whilst on earth, and to be tender 
 of the honour of his name ; of the number of whom 
 this our deceased friend and brother was; who, although 
 dead, yet his memory liveth, and will be preserved 
 amongst the righteous in generations yet to come. 
 
 Richard Vivers. 
 
 Banbury, 
 30th of the 11th month, 1714. 
 
INDEX 
 
 A. 
 
 Act, Conventicle, provisions of the Page 208 
 
 Archdale, Matthew, breaks up a meeting at I. Penington's... 106 
 
 Aeis, Richard, character of, turns Informer , 215 
 
 Ayrs, William, presents T. Ellwood's " Caution to Constables" 
 
 to Sir B. Tichborn, and thereby gets him into trouble, 238 
 accompanies T. Ellwood to the Justices 240 
 
 B. 
 
 Bache, Humphrey, meeting at the house of 75 
 
 Baptists, bickering between some, and some Friends 207 
 
 injustice of some of the Teachers of, towards Friends!.. 227 
 
 many join Friends , 281 
 
 Benett Ambrose, shamefully abuses Friends at a funeral, and 
 
 throws the corpse into the road 174 
 
 breaks up a meeting of Friends 182 
 
 seuds T. Ellwood and W. Watkins to prison 183 
 
 Birch, Nathan, cruelty of to some Friends, his prisoners 176 
 
 behaviour of, towards T. Ellwood and others 177 
 
 Bishops, The, having obtained the Conventicle Act, set vile men 
 
 at work as Informers 210 
 
 Boyen, Sir William, Friends brought before 106 
 
 course pursued by, towards Friends 107-110 
 
 interview of, with T. Ellwood 108 
 
 Bradley, Richard, teacher of I. Penington's children 184 
 
 Brown, Sir Richard, releases some Friends from Bridewell.... 136 
 sends a poor Friend to Bridewell to beat hemp for working 
 
 on First-day , 140 
 
 orders blocks prepared in Bridewell for the Quakers to 
 beat hemp on — is disappointed 157 
 
 Burrough, Edward, speaks effectually at the first meeting of 
 Friends attended by T. Ellwood — speaks in the family 
 of I. Penington, his doctrine objected to by W. Ellwood, 22 
 
 (339) 
 
340 INDEX. 
 
 Burrough, Edward, opinion of, respecting W. Ellwood and his 
 
 daughter and son 23 
 
 a prisoner in Newgate 161 
 
 dies in prison ,.»„ .-. 165 
 
 C 
 
 Charles II. King, declaration of, from Breda 78 
 
 Chinner, a Friend speaks in the church at 20 
 
 Clark, Esquire, loose character of — T. Ellwood brought before 81 
 
 declares he would kill all the Quakers in England, had 
 
 he the power 95 
 
 with his daughter, makes game of T. Ellwood ,. 97 
 
 Cayton, Thomas Sir, unites with Justice Benett in sending 
 
 some Friends to prison who were at a funeral 175 
 
 fines T. Zachary, on the oath of a perjured Informer 216 
 
 abuses T. Zachary, and commits him to prison for not 
 
 giving surety „ 217 
 
 anger of, at the punishment of Informers — tenders the 
 oath of allegiance to T. Zachary, and keeps him in 
 prison , 222 
 
 Coal, Benjamin, publishes " Honesty the truest policy" against 
 
 GL Keith , 300 
 
 Curtis, Thomas, with J. Nailer, at the Grove meeting 22 
 
 Curtis, Anne, met by T. Ellwood at I. Penington's 42 
 
 D. 
 
 Dell, Thomas, struck by Justice Benett, while carrying the 
 
 coffin of a Friend — the coffin thrown into the road.... 175 
 
 Dell. Anne, harbours two Informers 214 
 
 Dove, a young man of the name of, escapes from the Bull and 
 
 Mouth Meeting 126 
 
 Ellis, Mary, becomes the wife of T. Ellwood 200 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, motives for writing the journal of — birth of.. 8 
 carried to London when two years old — playfellow with 
 
 Guli Springett 9 
 
 sent to school at Thame — conduct of, while at school... 10-11 
 effect of not being kept at study — course of life in early 
 
 youth 12 
 
 frequently visits Lord Wenman 13 
 
 adventure of, with a quarrelsome husbandman 14 
 
 gratitude of, for being preserved from taking human life — 
 
 death of the mother of 17 
 
INDEX. 341 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, death of the brother of — accompanies his 
 
 father in a visit to I. Penington's at Chalfont 18 
 
 impressions made on, by finding that they had become 
 
 Quakers 19 
 
 speaks favourably to his father of a Friend arrested at 
 
 Chinner , 20 
 
 with his sisters accompanies his father the second time 
 
 to I. Penington's — first attends a Friend's meeting... 21 
 
 effect produced upon, by the preaching of E. Burrough 22 
 
 E. Burrough's sense of the state of , 23 
 
 attends [church] for the last time 24 
 
 goes to a Friend's meeting at Wycombe — helped by 
 
 the ministry of S. Thornton 25 
 
 effect upon, by the operation of the Light in his heart, 26-27 
 obliged to give up unnecessary trimmings, to omit using 
 
 flattering titles, and to use the plain language 29-30 
 
 deceived into supposing he might retain his usual 
 
 manners and address to his father 30 
 
 betrayed into unauthorized religious performances 31-32 
 
 brought to see his delusion — sent to Oxford session by 
 
 his father — close trial 33 
 
 meets E. Burrough on his way, but they do not 
 
 recognise each other 35 
 
 meets several of his old acquaintances at Oxford — 
 maintains his principles, and acknowledges himself 
 
 a Quaker 35-36 
 
 treated civilly by the Clerk — through fear of falling, 
 
 avoids the cross in leaving the town 37 
 
 interrogated by his father as to his motives for visiting 
 
 I. Penington 40 
 
 replies to some of his father's charges against the 
 
 Quakers 41 
 
 goes to I. Penington's, and attends a meeting — judi- 
 cious care of I. Penington and his wife toward 42 
 
 attends meeting at Wycombe, and is confirmed in the 
 
 course he had adopted 44 
 
 finds he must adopt the carriage of a Quaker towards 
 
 his father 46 
 
 first instance of his doing so 47 
 
 wishing to go to Oxford to attend meeting, he is for- 
 bidden by his father, who beats him, and takes away 
 
 his hat 48-49 
 
 walks to Wycombe — reflections of, respecting parental 
 
 authority 50 
 
 desires a sign for his confirmation, which is granted... 51 
 
 grief of the father of, at his absence from home 52 
 
 again beaten by his father for keeping on his hat 54 
 
 29* 
 
342 INDEX. 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, reflections of, on hat honour 55 
 
 being kept without a hat, takes a bad cold — repeat- 
 edly beaten by his father for using thou and thee 
 to him *. 56 
 
 reply of, to his father when threatening to " knock his 
 
 teeth down his throat" 57 
 
 again beaten, for a few words said to his father when 
 called to family prayer — the servant and sister 
 interfere on behalf of 59 
 
 I. and M. Penington visit the father of, and plead with 
 
 him on behalf of „ 61 
 
 goes home with I. and M. Penington 62 
 
 taken up by the watchman while travelling on the 
 first-day of the week — carried before the warden, 
 who examines him 63-64 
 
 astonishes the warden by telling him he had no money, 
 and that the horse he rode, and the coat he wore, 
 were not his own 65 
 
 denies the obligation of the commandment respecting 
 
 keeping the Sabbath 67 
 
 is discharged 68 
 
 restrained from carrying away a scabbard which he 
 found lying in the road, and his leaving it, proved a 
 protection to him — manifold kindness towards, by 
 I. Penington and wife 70 
 
 returns home — ordered by his father to eat out of his 
 
 presence, because of his keeping his hat on 71 
 
 kindness towards, of his sister — attends the meeting 
 
 in Meadle 72 
 
 attends the meeting in Bledloe — growth of, in the 
 
 knowledge of the Truth 73 
 
 great exercise of, on account of the deceit and covet- 
 
 ousness of the priests 74 
 
 writes and publishes "An Alarm to the Priests" 75 
 
 escapes abuse when attending a meeting in London, 
 because he was supposed not to be a Quaker — meets 
 Thos. Loe at I. Penington's 76 
 
 offers to procure T. Loe a meeting in his neighbour- 
 hood — writes to him about it — letter of, intercepted 
 and carried to Lord Faulkland 77 
 
 taken away from home by a troop of horse — refuses 
 
 to inform against his neighbours 80 
 
 carried before Squires Clark and Knowls 81 
 
 the hat of, snatched from off his head by a young 
 
 priest — examined and threatened by tlic magistrates, 82 
 
 tendered the oath of allegiance 83 
 
 gent to Oxford under charge of a trou^ci 85 
 
INDEX. 343 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, his father's servant offers to rescue him 86 
 
 committed a prisoner to the city marshal 87 
 
 letter from T. Loe, to 88 
 
 letter from I. Penington, to 90 
 
 obtains permission to visit the Friend prisoners in Oxford 
 
 castle, and goes 92 
 
 released from custody 93 
 
 attempts to visit a Friend in Oxford, but is stopped by the 
 
 soldiers 94 
 
 sets off for home under the escort of the marshal of 
 
 Oxford 95 
 
 unbecoming treatment of, at Esquire Clark's 97 
 
 detects the scheme of his father and the marshal to keep 
 
 him from meeting 98 
 
 gets out from the house, when his father wished to keep 
 
 him from meeting 99 
 
 race between, and his father 100 
 
 father and sisters of, leave home and go to London to live, 100 
 visits I. Penington in Aylesbury jail, where he meets I. 
 
 Whitehead and over sixty other Friends 101 
 
 accompanies R. Greenaway oh a visit to some meetings — 
 
 goes to the house of John Ovy ,,... 102 
 
 takes J. Ovy with him on a visit to I. Penington 103 
 
 arrested at a meeting at I. Penington's 106 
 
 with others carried before Sir W. Boyen 106 
 
 treatment of, by Sir W. Boyen 107-110 
 
 meets with his father, when on a visit to I. Penington... 113 
 
 on his way home arrested at Beaconsfield 114 
 
 kindly treated by the constable's wife 115 
 
 carried to the town-house — meets Mother Grime — debate 
 
 how to dispose of 116-117 
 
 threatened with the ''Spiritual Court" 118 
 
 discharged — returns home — attacked with small-pox — 
 
 sight of, affected 119 
 
 goes to I. Penington's 120 
 
 efforts of, to acquire learning — brought to the acquaint- 
 ance of J. Milton by Dr. Paget 121 
 
 sells the cattle, &c, for his father — lives alone 122 
 
 goes to London, and engages in reading to Milton — in- 
 structed by Milton in the pronunciation of Latin 123 
 
 improvement of, in his studies 124 
 
 obliged to leave London on account of health — sickness 
 
 at J. Raunee's — recovery, and return to London 125 
 
 arrest of, at meeting at Bull and Mouth 127 
 
 marched to Old Bridewell — pushed in, and with thirty- 
 two more confined in a large room up stairs — descrip- 
 tion by, of the rooms in Bridewell 129-131 
 
344 INDEX. 
 
 Kilwood, Thomas, low state of the finances of, when sent to 
 Bridewell — full trust of, in Divine Providence — declines 
 the invitation to partake of the food provided by 
 
 Friends 133 
 
 dines and sups on a half-penny roll , 134 
 
 lodges on some rushes on the floor of the prison 135 
 
 unexpectedly supplied with a bed — on account of poverty 
 
 declines joining in a mess with his friends 136 
 
 unexpectedly supplied with money by W. Penington, Mary 
 
 Penington, and his Father 137 
 
 joins in the Friends' mess, 138 
 
 employs himself as a tailor — badly paid by his employer, 139 
 kindness of, to a poor Friend who had been badly beaten 
 
 in Bridewell 141 
 
 brought before the Sessions at Old Bailey 142 
 
 objects to the Court tendering the oath to him while a 
 
 prisoner « 144 
 
 refusing to swear, is committed to Newgate 145 
 
 manner of lodging there ► 146 
 
 relation by, of the manner in which a Coroner's jury dis- 
 covered the cruel treatment of Friends in Newgate, 148-149 
 with other Friends transferred, through the kindness of 
 
 Sir W. Turner, from Newgate to Bridewell 150 
 
 applies to Sir William, to rid Friends of an impostor who 
 
 was imposing himself on them 151 
 
 description by, of Newgate as he witnessed it while 
 
 prisoner there 153-156 
 
 the thieves' plan for picking the pocket of 154 
 
 account by, of the shocking treatment of the remains of 
 
 three executed plotters 155 
 
 with the other Friends, goes from Newgate to Bridewell 
 
 without a keeper 156 
 
 religious exercises of, while in Bridewell, preparing a 
 
 Hymn to God « ... 158 
 
 obtains leave from the jailor to visit his friends in New- 
 gate — with the other Friend prisoners discharged — 
 
 visits W. Penington, Milton, and I. Penington 162 
 
 returns money loaned him by M. Penington 163 
 
 becomes teacher to I. Penington's children — grief of, at 
 
 the death of E. Burrough 165 
 
 writes a "pathetic elegy" on the death of E. Burrough.. 166 
 returns to W. Penington the money he had furnished him 
 
 in Bridewelll 167 
 
 description by, of Guli Springett's conduct towards her 
 
 suitors 167 
 
 suspicions entertained respecting the designs of, on Guli 
 Springett 168-169 
 
INDEX. 345 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, mention of severe verses written by 170 
 
 receives and sells some of his father's goods — joins his 
 
 father in the sale of his property 171 
 
 "Conformity Prest and Represt" by 172 
 
 committed to Aylesbury jail with other Friends 175 
 
 with the other Friends, refuses to hire rooms of the jailor, 176 
 
 discharged from jail 178 
 
 hires a residence for Milton at Giles Chalfont — at Milton's 
 
 request examines -'Paradise Lost," in manuscript 179 
 
 suggests to Milton to write Paradise Regained 180 
 
 goes to a meeting at G. Salter's, and is arrested, and with 
 
 Morgan Watkins sent to jail 181-183 
 
 detained twelve weeks — brought before the justice, and 
 committed again for refusing to find sureties — dis- 
 charged by Earl of Ancram 181 
 
 verses written by. while in prison 185 
 
 account by, of his being taken with the error of J. 
 
 Perrot 187-188 
 
 acknowledgment by, and condemnation of his error at the 
 
 great meeting appointed in London 188 
 
 with Guli Springett travels into the north of England, 
 
 meets with and accompanies G. Fox 189 
 
 silences a troublesome man in Dorsetshire, who was con- 
 tending for J. Perrot's error , 190 
 
 views of, concerning marriage — proceedings of, in rela- 
 tion to marriage with Mary Ellis 192-193 
 
 journey of, into Kent and Sussex with Guli Springett 195 
 
 encounter of, with one of the Duke of York's retainers, 
 
 who insults Guli on the road- 196-199 
 
 returns home — marriage of 200 
 
 care of, to secure the estate to his wife 201 
 
 makes another excursion into Kent and Sussex 201 
 
 grief of, on account of his father's conduct — "A Song 
 
 of Praise" by 203 
 
 receives information of the loss overboard of I. Pening- 
 
 ton's son Isaac 205 
 
 great sorrow of, at the death of I. Penington, jr 206 
 
 undertakes the prosecution of two informers who had 
 
 perjured themselves 218 
 
 carries the case forward, and obtains judgment against 
 
 them 220-221 
 
 writes "A Fresh Pursuit" against the Baptists 229 
 
 answers T. Plant by " Forgery no Christianity" 230 
 
 answers "A Friendly Conference, &c," by " Truth Pre- 
 vailing, &c," 232 
 
 character of the work S. 254 
 
346 INDEX. 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, answers the anonymous "Right of Tithes 
 
 by "The Foundation of Tithes Shaken" 233 
 
 character of, and example of S. 255 
 
 prepares an answer to "Right of Tithes Reasserted' 7 — 
 
 extract from 257-261 
 
 is one of the Friends who accept the challenge of W. 
 
 Rogers — meets him and refutes him 235 
 
 obtains from G. Fox a copy of W. Roger's book, and 
 
 answers it by "An Antidote, &c." 235 
 
 further account of the "Antidote" 261 
 
 publishes "A Caution to Constables" 237 
 
 further notice of the "Caution" 261 
 
 summoned before Justices Tichborn and Fotherly 238 
 
 great strait of, being sent for Guli Penn, who was sick, 
 
 and being engaged to appear before two Justices at the 
 
 same time ,... 239 
 
 goes to the Justices — interview between them singly and 
 
 together 240-248 
 
 visits Guli Penn and returns 249 
 
 reasons given by, why he did not finish and publish his 
 
 reply to "Right of Tithes Reasserted" 257 
 
 publishes "A Discourse concerning Riots" — extract from 
 
 the preface — character of the work 263-264 
 
 publishes "Seasonable Dissuasive from Persecution" — 
 
 extracts therefrom 264-267 
 
 applied to by W. Tournay for his opinion on certain Acts 
 
 of Queen Elizabeth — replies thereto 267 
 
 writes a reply in verse to W. Roger's attack on George 
 
 Whitehead — reasons why in verse — writes "An Epistle 
 
 to Friends." 1686 268 
 
 Epistle of, to Friends 269-281 
 
 begins the Davideis 281 
 
 publishes a reply to J. Raunce and C. Harris — extracts 
 
 from it 282 
 
 publishes a reply to an answer to a book by VV. Penn on 
 
 Spiritual Liberty, put forth by J. Hogg 283 
 
 character of W. Penn's work, and T. Ellwood's reply to 
 
 the attack made on it 283-285 
 
 answers Leonard Key 285 
 
 publishes an Examination of " Observations and Reflec- 
 tions, &c," by J. Raunce and L. Key 286 
 
 prepares G Fox's Journal for the press 287 
 
 epistle of, to Friends, in reference to G. Keith 288-292 
 
 lays the epistle before the Second-day's morning meeting, 292 
 puts forth another work against G. Keith — extract 
 
 from 293-294 
 
INDEX. 347 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, publishes "Truth Defended," another reply 
 
 to two of G. Keith's attacks 295 
 
 prepares remarks on G. Creese's History of the Quakers.. 296 
 answers G. Keith's "Narrative of his Proceedings" — 
 writes "A Sober Reply to two Petitions against Quakers" 298 
 
 answers T. Shocklin on the subject of water baptism 300 
 
 publishes first part of his "Sacred History" 301 
 
 corresponds with W. Sewell 304 
 
 publishes " The Glorious Brightness of the Gospel 
 
 Day, &c," against ceremonies and ordinances 305 
 
 prosecuted for tithes, and with some other Friends heavily 
 
 fined — account of 305-308 
 
 publishes second part of "Sacred History" 308 
 
 account of it 309-311 
 
 prepares for the press account of the Life of Oliver Sansom, 312 
 
 publishes the " Davideis" 313 
 
 short account of the last sickness of, and some of the last 
 
 expressions of, by G. Bowles 324-326 
 
 Ellwood, Walter, the name and estate of, inherited from his 
 
 grandfather — returns from London to Crowell 9 
 
 appointed a Justice of the Peace 11 
 
 adventure of. with a quarrelsome husbandman, on his 
 
 way from Watlington , 13-16 
 
 deals leniently with a Friend brought before him 21 
 
 visits I. Penington the second time at Peter's Chalfont — 
 
 objects to the doctrine preached by E. Burrough 22 
 
 disputes with J. Nailor 23 
 
 speaks disparagingly of the Quakers 40 
 
 falls upon his son with his fists for keeping his hat on.... 49 
 
 again beats his son for the same 54 
 
 threatens to "knock his son's teeth down his throat," 
 
 for saying thou and thee , 56 
 
 beats his son, at the time when he called the family to 
 
 prayer 59 
 
 visited by I. and M. Penington, who plead with him on 
 
 behalf of his son 61 
 
 orders his son not to eat in his presence 71 
 
 with the marshal of Oxford, tries to ensnare his son, 
 
 and prevent his going to meeting 97 
 
 pursues his son to stop his going to meeting 99 
 
 with his daughter goes to London to live 100 
 
 sends money to his son in Bridewell 138 
 
 refuses to perform his promise to his son and wife, under 
 
 plea of their not being married by a priest 202 
 
 F. 
 
 Faulkland, Lord, sends T. Loe and other Friends prisoners to 
 
 Oxford jail — orders the arrest of T. Ellwood... 79 
 
348 INDEX. 
 
 Fifth Monarchy Men, insurrection of the 78 
 
 Fotijerly, Thomas, interview of T. Ellwood with 240-246 
 
 Fox, George, the younger, expression of, respecting T. Ell- 
 wood's "Alarm to the Priests" , 75 
 
 Fox, George, travels through the country, setting up meetings 
 
 for Discipline 189 
 
 Friend, a poor, shamefully beaten in Bridewell 141 
 
 Friends, many committed to prison as rioters, merely for sitting 
 
 in their meetings , ♦ . 250 
 
 G. 
 
 Galloway, marshal of Oxford, has T. Ellwood a prisoner at 
 
 his house 87 
 
 Gigger, John, servant of Guli Springett, accompanies her and 
 
 T. Ellwood into Sussex 196 
 
 Gray, Walter, the daughter of, grandmother of T. Ellwood.... 9 
 
 Greenaway, Richard, with T. Ellwood, visits meeting in Ox- 
 fordshire and Berkshire — visits J. Ovy, and has a 
 meeting at his house , 102 
 
 Grime, Mother, testimony of, concerning T. Ellwood's family... 117 
 
 H. 
 
 Hampson, Sir Dennis, breaks into a Friends' meeting, and sends 
 
 twenty-three to prison as rioters 251 
 
 Hicks, Thomas, misrepresents Friends in "A Dialogue between 
 
 a Christian and a Quaker" 226 
 
 refuses to attend the appointed meeting to -clear himself. 229 
 
 HOwell, John, controversy with, by T. Ellwood, respecting 
 
 taking the oath of allegiance 144 
 
 Hvmn to God, by T. Ellwood 158 
 
 I. 
 
 Informers, character of , 210 
 
 one of the, seeks to pass himself off on a Friend — is 
 repulsed — goes to an inn — gets drunk, and betrays 
 his employers 211-212 
 
 ingratiates himself with a Baptist — informs against him, 
 and has him tried for treason 212 
 
 two prosecuted by T. Ellwood for perjury — found guilty, 
 and obliged to secrete themselves 219-221 
 
 Ives, Jeremy, disputes with W. Penn 207 
 
 character of, by T. Ellwood i 231 
 
INDEX. 349 
 
 J. 
 
 Jury, Coroner's, manner of obtaining a, at Newgate 147 
 
 a determined foreman of a, discovers the manner in 
 which Friends were treated at Newgate, and makes 
 
 report thereof 148- 149 
 
 K. 
 
 Keith, Geokge, falls out with Friends — appears before the 
 
 Yearly Meeting in London — runs into controversy, 287-288 
 
 writes against T. Ellwood * 292 
 
 publishes two books, containing false charges against 
 
 Friends 295 
 
 erects a stage at Turner's-hall, where he opposes Friends, 297 
 
 Key, Leonard, puts forth a sheet against Friends 285 
 
 with J. Raunce, publishes "Observations and Reflec- 
 tions, &c," against Friends 280 
 
 Knowls, Esquire, T. Ellwood brought before 81 
 
 corrects a young priest who had snatched T. Ellwood's 
 cap off his head 82 
 
 L. 
 
 Lacy, Ralph, snrnamed the cow-stealer, an Informer — makes 
 
 attempt on Friends in Chalfont 214 
 
 Lamrarn, Sarah, obtains provision for Friends in Aylesbury 
 
 jail 177 
 
 Loe, Thomas, authorizes T. Ellwood to write to him respecting 
 
 a meeting in his neighbourhood 77 
 
 letter of, to T. Ellwood — wife of, visits T. Ellwood when 
 brought prisoner to Oxford , 88 
 
 Luff (or Love), John, accompanies J. Perrot to Rome, and 
 
 dies there 18G 
 
 M. 
 
 Merrick, Anne, with Anne Travers, supplies Friends in Bride- 
 well with what they need 132 
 
 Maw, Doctor, vice-chancellor of Oxford, sends out an Informer, 212 
 
 Milton, John, notice of, by T. Ellwood 121 
 
 instructs T. Ellwood in the Latin 123 
 
 requests T. Ellwood to read the manuscript of " Paradise 
 
 Lost" 179 
 
 writes "Paradise Regained" at the suggestion of T. 
 
 Ellwood 180 
 
 Minister, Episcopal, an, puts forth a book against Friends, 
 
 entitled, "A Friendly Conference, &c." 232 
 
 Morton, Justice, grants a protection to an. Informer 212 
 
 30 
 
350 INDEX. 
 
 N. 
 
 Nailer, James, disputes with W. Ellwood at I. Penington's 23 
 
 Newgate, T. Ellwood committed to 145 
 
 crowded condition of — manner of Friends lodging in.... 146 
 description of, by T. Ellwood 153-156 
 
 Norton, Silas, wife of, visits T. Ellwood when brought prisoner 
 
 to Oxford 88 
 
 0. 
 
 Ovt, John, a meeting held at the house of 102 
 
 some account of 103 
 
 accompanies T. Ellwood to I. Penington's 104 
 
 escapes and hides himself when a meeting at I. Pening- 
 ton's was broken up 105-106 
 
 distress of, on account of his cowardice 111-112 
 
 P. 
 
 Paget, Doctor, introduces T. Ellwood to Milton 121 
 
 Parker, Judith, accompanies Guli Springett to a Friends' meet- 
 ing, and is arrested 182 
 
 so reasons with the justice, that he strikes off her name, 183 
 Penington, Isaac, gravity of the family of, after they had 
 
 become Friends 18 
 
 letter from, to T. Ellwood 90 
 
 monthly meeting held in the house of 101 
 
 meeting at the house of, broken up, and he and others 
 
 arrested 106 
 
 has T. Ellwood introduced to Milton 121 
 
 detained prisoner in Aylesbury jail three quarters of a 
 
 year, and his family broken up . ... 180 
 
 Penington, Isaac, Jr., account of the loss of, at sea.. 205 
 
 Penington, Mary, sends money to T. Ellwood in prison 137 
 
 Penington, Mary, daughter of Isaac, marries D. Wharley 163 
 
 Penington, William, arrest of, at a meeting at his brother's, 
 
 I. Penington 106 
 
 supplies T. Ellwood with money while in prison 137 
 
 Penn, William, disputes with Jeremy Ives 207 
 
 answers T. Hicks in two books — with G. Whitehead, 
 
 appeals to the Baptists against T. Hicks 227 
 
 demands a public meeting with the Baptists 228 
 
 two books written against, by G. Keith 299 
 
 Penn, Guli, sends for T. Ellwood when sick 239 
 
 Perot, Edward, shameful treatment of the remains of, at the 
 
 time of his funeral 174-175 
 
INDEX. 351 
 
 Perrot, John, some account of, and of his error 186-187 
 
 Petitions, against Friends, promoted by some priests 298 
 
 Philips, Parson, abets the Informers in their attempts on 
 
 Friends - 214 
 
 Plant, Thomas, publishes "A Contest for Christianity" 230 
 
 Potman, Elizabeth, married to Walter Ellwood 8 
 
 Poulter, John, (the Trepan) an Informer and a thief 213 
 
 violence of, obliged to leave the country 215 
 
 Priests, some, of Durham, challenge Friends to dispute, which 
 
 is accepted, and they answered 298 
 
 Prisons, Friends sent to the, in London looked after by persons 
 
 appointed for that service 132 
 
 Q. 
 
 Quakers, faithfulness of the, under the persecution raised 
 
 through the ''Conventicle Act" 224-225 
 
 ill-will of some of the Baptist Teachers, towards 226 
 
 R. 
 
 Raunce, John, meeting held at the house of 25 
 
 accompanies T. Ellwood home, having a concern to speak 
 
 to his father 53 
 
 T. Ellwood sick at the house of 125 
 
 with C. Harris, writes against Friends 282 
 
 with L. Key, publishes " Reflections and Observations," 
 against Friends 286 
 
 Raunce, Frances, kindness of. towards T. Ellwood 51 
 
 Rogers, William, character of — publishes "The Christian 
 
 Quaker Distinguished, &c." 234 
 
 goes up to London — challenges Friends — is met and 
 
 refuted 235 
 
 Rosewell, Major, breaks up the meeting at the "Bull and 
 
 Mouth" — sends Friends to prison 126-129 
 
 Salter, George, meeting held at the house of, broken up 181 
 
 Saunders, Thomas, and Damaris, meeting held at the house of, 73 
 
 Shocklin, John, sets up for a disputant on water baptism 300 
 
 Springett, Gulielma, early acquaintance of T. Ellwood with.. 9 
 
 grave carriage of, after she became a Friend 19 
 
 met by T. Ellwood, when recovering from the small-pox. 143 
 outrageous conduct towards, by some servants of the 
 Duke of York 195-199 
 
352 INDEX. 
 
 Springett, Harvey, resents the abuse of Guli by the servants 
 
 of the Duke of York 20C 
 
 Springett, Lady, widow of Sir William, marries I. Penington, 9 
 
 Stevens, Jeremiah, monthly meeting held at the house of 44 
 
 Storer, John, dissensions produced by 234 
 
 T. 
 
 Thornton, Samuel, ministry of, beneficial to T. Ellwood 25 
 
 Tichborn, Sir Benjamin, T. Ellwood summoned before, for 
 
 writing "A Caution to Constables, &c." 238 
 
 interview between, and T. Ellwood 245-248 
 
 Tourney, William, applies to T. Ellwood for his judgment on 
 
 certain Acts of Queen Elizabeth..., 267 
 
 Travers, Anne, takes care for Friends in Bridewell 132 
 
 Trepan, an Informer, called Red-head 213 
 
 Turner, Sir William, allows part of Friend prisoners at New- 
 gate to go to Bridewell 150 
 
 punishes an impostor who imposed himself on Friends 
 at Newgate 152 
 
 V. 
 
 Venner, chief of " The Fifth Monarchy Men" 78 
 
 W. 
 
 AY atkins, Morgan, attends the funeral of E. Perot 173 
 
 arrested at a meeting, and with T. Ellwood, sent to jail.. 183 
 brought before a justice, and recommitted — discharged 
 by the Earl of Ancram 184 
 
 Wenman, Lord, sponsor for T. Ellwood — kindness of, to T. 
 
 Ellwood 13 
 
 Wharley, Daniel, marries I. Penington's danghter, Mary 163 
 
 Whitehead, George, arrested at a meeting at I. Penington's, 
 
 and carried before Sir W. Boyer 106 
 
 treatment of, by Sir W. Boyer 109-110 
 
 Whitehead, John, imprisoned at Aylesbury 101 
 
 White, John, meeting held at the house of 72 
 
 Wilkinson, John, produces discord among Friends 234 
 
 y. 
 
 York, Duke of, insults from the retainers of, put upon Guli 
 
 Springett and T. Ellwood 196-199 
 
INDEX. 353 
 
 z, 
 
 Zachart, Thomas, fined for alleged attendance at a meeting 
 
 from which he was twenty miles distant 216 
 
 appeals — prosecuted and fined for refusing security 217 
 
 tried — found "not guilty." but kept prisoner 219 
 
 the Informer who had sworn falsely against him, con- 
 fesses his guilt to him, and begs forgiveness 221 
 
 kept in prison a long time for refusing to take the oath 
 of allegiance 222 
 
 JHE END. 
 
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